Christine

The ceremony itself was pretty standard, as far as weddings go. The fellow officiating followed the script and we said traditional vows. What I hadn't expected was the bond's reaction. The moment we were announced husband and wife, I felt like it released its chokehold on my throat and receded into the back of my mind, purring like a kitten. Erik breathed in sharply, and when he kissed me it was an expression of joy and relief rather than perfunctory gesture I had planned it to be.

"What happened?" I whispered amidst all the applause and background noise.

"Perhaps we convinced it that we will not attempt to part ways? I believe there was a measure of truth to our theory… that the less we fight the bond, the less it restricts us. It is still there—I can feel it—but it is pacified for now."

"Should we… try to separate, then? Like… see how far it'll extend?"

Erik shook his head. "Later, perhaps. We had been wondering what would be possible if we decided to work with the bond rather than constantly testing its limits. I propose we continue doing so, for the time being. Tonight, at least. It is our wedding night, after all; spending it trying to escape me is hardly impeccable behavior, my dear."

Was he leering at me? What was that look in his eye? Is he thinking about what I think he's thinking about? The growing undercurrent of emotion I felt from him confirmed that, yes, in fact, he was. I wasn't so sure how I felt about that. And of course, he sensed my hesitance and returned it with insecurity and no small amount of bitterness, which made me feel angry—

You know, there's something to be said for keeping one's feelings to themselves. I mean, you always kind of want to know what your counterpart is feeling, but this all-inclusive knowing had a tendency to put us onto these emotional spirals where we kept responding off each other and going crazy.

"We have to stop this!" I said.

"Agreed," he answered, solemnly. Then he took my hand and said, "There is no need for drama. Allow me to attend to a bit of business and then we shall retire to our room for the evening."

I wasn't so sure I liked the look in his eyes. It kind of made me wary in a 'is he thinking about what I think he's thinking about?' kind of way.

Before I could say a word about it, though, he was gone. Not far, but his attention was no longer on me. He was speaking softly to one of the hotel employees. The man was somewhat pale, so I had to wonder what Erik was threatening him with. Eventually the man nodded and scrambled away.

"What was that about?" I asked, when Erik had returned to my side.

"I had to ensure our guests were compensated for their time, since we will not be available to see to it ourselves." I had to marvel at how fondly he said the words 'guests'. Erik sneers at the slightest sign of imperfection or inelegance. I mean slightest. For a guy who spent twenty years in a six by six hospital cell, he is surprisingly judgmental. Yet I believed I detected a mild ripple of affection when referring to this rag-tag group getting raucously drunk and slipping buffet food into their pockets. He's an odd duck, I tell you what.

"Besides that," he continued, "I had to be sure our suite was available for us."

"You got us a room?"

He seemed somewhat offended. "Of course! I did say I would take care of you. You are my wife! Surely you did not me to keep you underground or hiding in alleyways."

"You're right. Sorry. I guess I… I don't know… forget about it, okay? I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Very well then," he answered. "I believe we have lingered here long enough. Come with me, angel."

This sounds silly, but I was suddenly struck with the urge to giggle. Maybe it was exhaustion setting in. It just all seemed so absurd… in an almost magical sort of way. I mean… it did surpass all since of normality, didn't it? I had just fled a burning building with an escaped mental patient slash murder slash car-thief and arsonist. And then gotten into a plane and had a Vegas theme wedding with said individual. And now we were traipsing through the halls like a couple of vacationers. And I wasn't even questioning it. Like Erik said 'Hey let's go do this thing that's crazy and illegal and probably dangerous' and I'm like 'Okay, cool, whatever.'.

There had to be a rational reason for it. Like, maybe my bond with Erik was making me just as crazy as he was. Or maybe I was drugged or hypnotized or just giddy-tired…

But, at that moment, I just couldn't care less. Leaving the rest of our timeline out of this—in that singular moment in time… I was perfectly and completely happy.

Which made what happened next all the more horrible.

-0-0-0-

We opted for the stairs instead of the elevator—enclosed spaces make Erik a little uncomfortable since the hospital—but we took our time going up. I was being silly—saying and doing oddball things for no reason—and Erik was indulging me with good humor. We were relaxed, and I was vaguely reminded of those comfortable evenings, sharing stories and sandwiches on opposite sides of his cell door.

That had been the problem, you know, letting my guard down. I just about jumped out of my skin when we reached the top of the stairs and a man stepped out from around the corner.

No, not a man, I thought again after a moment. A boy. He couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen—lanky, all knees and elbows, you know?—but his eyes looked older. He didn't have that wide-eyed, awkward look of the kids I remember from high school. His face was somber, black eyes jaded and bitter. And somehow familiar…

"Hello Erik," the boy spat. Wow, there's some anger there. So much for respect for your elders, right? "I suppose I don't have to introduce myself, do I?"

A half second pause while Erik gave the kid a once-over. "You must be Tarek Khan!" he exclaimed. It dawned on me as well… the voice and eyes were there, though his skin and hair were lighter. "I wondered if I was ever going to meet you. I was… unavailable… when you were first born, but I have seen pictures! Your father has always been very proud of—"

"Don't you DARE speak of my father!"

Erik looked taken aback. His previous dealings with the Khan family had always been about shared camaraderie and thinly-veiled death threats. Erik had always been the volatile one; the Khan's, calm and steadfast—if exasperated at times. The pure venom in this boy's voice came as a surprise. Especially because they'd apparently never met.

"This is all your fault! Everything is your fault! You don't… you don't even know, do you?"

He was a very angry young man—much as Erik had been at that age. Erik must have seen that, because after the initial shock, his posture relaxed. He didn't hold that… insolent, lazy stance that he always used with Nadir… but he didn't seem as on edge, either. And he didn't seem to want to goad him like he did with the boy's father.

He raised a placating hand, though his other was stuffed into his pocket. "If you are referring to what happened with your father—"

The kid interrupted him. "You don't even know the half of what happened to my father. He was totally obsessed. All it ever was, was 'Erik this' and 'Erik that'. You'd think he was in love with you or something. Everything… everything is all your fault, do you know? You ruined him. You're the reason he took that lousy job and you're the reason my mother left us! And now he's in the hospital and it's all your fault!" He was practically vibrating, he was so worked up. He also had a hand in his jacket. I wondered if Erik noticed.

Erik didn't concede or deny his accusations. Instead, he changed the subject. "How did you find me?"

He rolled his eyes and made that irritating scoffing noise that teenagers are so good at. "Please! Tracking you down is, like, the first thing I ever learned. Did you know… did you know that every minute I spent with my dad… the only time he ever had time for me… was when he was teaching me how to deal with you? How to find you, how to keep you out of trouble, how practically every one of my ancestors has been stuck with you because you're a freak who doesn't know how do the world a favor and just die already?"

Erik bristled at the term freak and was suddenly on edge again.

"Now, listen here, boy—"

"I'M NOT YOUR BOY!" He shouted. I looked around to see if we were attracting attention, but the hall seemed to be empty. He planned this!

"Do you know why you don't die?" he continued, and his voice seemed almost distant. "Because nobody's tried hard enough!"

The series of events that followed happened quickly and awkwardly. Tarek Khan drew a small pistol from his jacket and Erik whipped a thin rope from his own. He wielded the rope with his left hand and extended his right to—I assume—summon the gun to him. Meanwhile I threw myself in front of Erik, knocked into him, breaking both his aim and his concentration.

And taking a bullet to the chest.

Whether the child intended to shoot or whether it was the accidental result of Erik's magic ripping the firearm from his hand, we'll never know.

We did know two things, however—first that I no longer had to wonder whether I had fallen in love with Erik. And, second, that we were finally about to find out what happens when half a soul dies.

And that was the last conscious thought I had for a very, very long time.