Hi guys, sorry for my tardy up dates. I was on a trip with my youthgroup up in Wisconsin, which is a long way from Illinois! And on top of that I've got family from Nevada visiting for the next two weeks. But I figured I'd better give you guys the next update!

I know this is gonna sound random, but trust me it all makes sense later!

And the text message Gilla refers to is the one that woke him up in the middle of the night just before lizard Amaya texted to say she stole the gun.


ENJOY!


"Ouch!"

She caught herself on the wall of the building before she could do a face plant on the pavement. She muttered a few choice words about littering and moved on, pulling the hood of her coat farther forward.

She had come so far, and now she was so close. It took the woman less than fifteen minutes to reach her destination.

It wasn't much to look at. In fact, the only way this little apartment building could be any cruddier was if it was condemned. Considering the prestigious position he held, she would have thought he would live in a better house.

She let herself into the building with the key he gave her. Inside, the building was just as cruddy as the outside. The interior was dark, and dingy, the paint was fading, there was garbage on the floor.

"And the elevator's broken." She muttered. "Typical."

Three flights of stairs up and two wrong doors later she finally found 17C. Again, she let herself in with the key. She was pleasantly surprised and pleased to see that the apartment did not reflect the condition of the rest of the building.

While not brightly colored by any means, the apartment had been painted a clean white to take advantage of any and all light coming in through the small windows. Dark blue curtains fluttered in the slight breeze from the windows, the color running a close match to the carpet, which was worn but clean.

The furniture was a collection of mis-matched, well used, but still serviceable pieces. All looked nothing like each other, and yet all seemed to go together in an odd sort of harmony.

The only odd thing was that there was nothing hanging from the walls and absolutely no pictures of any kind. No family. No friends. Not even a calendar. She smiled as she closed the door behind her. Yes, this was the right place.

She had been doubtful when she'd seen the building, but this….this was him.

Neat. Clean. Ordered. She smiled wider. Tidy. It had never ceased to amaze her how fastidious he could be about his living space.

She had found him.

She winced and pulled the hood of her coat forward again, hiding her face in shadow. Most people would have called her paranoid. She was in an empty apartment. No one knew she was here. No one had a clue of any sort as to her whereabouts.

But she wouldn't take the chance.

She sat down on a sort of backless couch set in front of the largest of the windows and settled in to wait for him. If she knew anything about this man, she wouldn't have long to wait.

He's going to be livid…

A click sounded from the direction of the door and she whipped around in fear. A man was standing in the doorway, and it took her a moment to recognize him. He had changed a great deal since the last time she'd seen him. He looked nothing like the boy she had known for so long.

He froze, startled at the sight of a stranger in his apartment. His hand made a grab for something on his belt. A weapon. She gasped, backpedalling into the cool glass of the window.

Something about her must have seemed familiar to him, as he stopped, the knife he'd been going for glinting coldly in the moonlight.

"Hermano…" she breathed.


Gilla sighed, digging in his pocket for his keys.

It had been a long night. A very long night. He thought bitterly. Now that the mice were safe and had what they needed to restore the children, he had thought to take care of personal business.

Starting with a certain late night text message he had never answered.

He had known he was going to get read the riot act for that one. But when he had put in the call to Des's home phone, he was stunned to find that Des no longer lived there.

There had been no hint or warning of any kind. One night Des was there, the neighbor woman heard the angry shouting clear across the road, and the next day Des was gone.

Leaving Gary high and dry in a completely empty house with no clue where all his family members went.

Gilla snorted contemptuously at the thought. At the rate the man's family members kept mysteriously disappearing, Gilla was beginning to think they were being bumped off and dumped in a ditch. And he wouldn't put it past Gary to do it.

In which case he would have to kill the man, a task he knew he would enjoy.

He hated Gary, hated him with a passion. But he couldn't lay a finger on the man. That would hurt Des. And hurting Des is something I absolutely refuse to do.

He had sent out people all throughout Chicago, asked them to put out the call to their friends and family member's outside Chicago, and had pulled in quite a few favors besides. Nothing. Not a single black hair or shred of Mexican hued skin.

It was as if Des had fallen off the face of the earth.

He fiddled with the lock of his door, grumbling in annoyance when the lock gave him trouble. It clicked open after a couple minutes and he swung the door open, intent on taking a long hot shower, literally falling into bed and sleeping for a week.

He stopped in the open door. Something wasn't right.

His fatigue dulled senses took a few seconds to register the fact that his door hadn't been locked, and that there was someone in the apartment. Instincts honed from years running the rougher streets of Chicago suddenly kicked in and his favorite blade seemed to materialize in his hand as he prepared to fight to protect his life and his home.

Instead of attacking, the figure gasped and backpedalled into the glass, getting tangled in his curtains. He frowned and stopped his advance. If the person had come here to hurt him, they wouldn't have sat out in plain sight, or reacted with such obvious fear.

More details began to register, and his eyes grew wider as he began to recognize the figure sitting on his modified couch.

The feminine figure in the form fitting clothing. The long wavy black hair lying along her shoulders. The somber glint from warm dark eyes in the shadow of her hood. The delicate, brown skinned hands. Her voice.

"Hermano*…" she murmured.

He dropped the knife with a clatter and ran to her, scooping her up with an exultant cry. She gave a startled squeak then buried her head in his shoulder and burst into tears. It had been a long time. And that, she knew, was her fault.

It was with a start that she realized he was crying to!

He buried his face in the soft warmth of her hair, breathing in the familiar scent. "Desiree! Oh Desiree I am so sorry!" he wept brokenly. He held her tight, afraid to let go lest she disappear into thin air. "I am so sorry, God, please forgive me…"

She blinked in surprise and pushed away from him, stepping back to get a better look at him. "Forgive you?" she asked.

Anguish crossed his face. "Please…"

She shook her head. "For what? Philippe, it was never your fault…It was mine. I couldn't bear to face you."

Gilla frowned. He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders. Something was off about her. Wrong.

She was crying.

Desiree didn't cry! He wiped his eyes and pushed her hood back, knowing full well what he would probably find there, and yet desperately praying he would not.

Desiree closed her eyes and bowed her head in shame at the horrified look on his face.

The bruises upon her face were still quite fresh, only a few days old, and so their color was still vibrant. Both her eyes had been blacked, though only the right had swollen shut, leaving her vision bleary and lopsided. Her lips had been split on the right side, and there were two small cuts decorating her cheek and temple. She'd used band aid stitches to hold them closed.

Gilla's eyes traveled down, the street fighter in him seeing the way she stood, the way she held herself, the stiff way in which she moved, and marking these things for what they were.

Battle injuries.

Days old wounds. Desiree had been in a fight. Recently.

He could see the bruises traveling down her neck, as though someone had tried to strangle her. And judging by the stiff way she held herself, her body was probably covered in similar injuries. Nothing serious on its own, small cuts and bruises. But all together, they made for a whole new world of hurt.

Her left arm was strangely stiff too.

He caught hold of it, using all the caution and gentleness one would employ with a skittish deer, and pushed her sleeve back. She had splinted her arm from the back of her hand clear up to the elbow with several rulers and a pair of shoe strings, holding her wrist stiff and secure.

He wasn't a doctor, but experience told him that the wrist was probably broken or at the least severely sprained. Emotion that he had no name for welled up in him. He felt her good hand cup his cheek and lift his face to look at her.

She wiped the tears from his cheeks as best she could with one hand, leaving the broken one to rest in his gentle hold.

"This is my fault." She whispered. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to admit I was wrong." She looked away. "If I'd had the guts to admit it, to tell you what was happening…! And now because of my stupid pride I've lost everything! My home, my husband, my baby! I've alienated my family…!"

He let go of her arm and put his hands on her shoulders once more. "Shh.."

She quieted down somewhat. He could read a wealth of pain, agony, guilt, and loneliness in her eyes. She was so afraid of him. That he would be angry, disappointed. That he would push her away. But at the same time, she needed him.

Desperately.

"Desiree. I love you. And I will do everything I can to help you now. Starting with getting you to a doctor. After that, you are getting a good night's sleep. We will decide what to do from there. Ok?"

Relief was evident on her features. She slowly nodded, sniffling. "Hold me." She whispered.

He nodded and pulled her close, letting her nestle against him. Giving her a shoulder to cry on. "No problem Des."


* Hermano is spanish for 'brother', for those of you who don't know. My sister is learning spanish and she's already developing her own form of spanglish.

Reveiw!

Untill next time...