A/N: Hello! Thank you for your interest. Firstly, please be aware the content in this story is not suitable for children—including (but not limited to), blood/violence, murder, attempted rape, mental illness, unhealthy/inter-age relationships, substance abuse, foul language, and (while not explicit,) sexual content. Please refrain from reading if you're under eighteen years old.

Thank you for your interest regardless, reviews and favorites are always appreciated!

Vital; "essential," something acutely necessary. When she thought about it, it was befitting (in an almost ironic way) that a person's "vitals" were the measures of their heartbeat—as that read-out also considered the lack-thereof. That "vital" something might very well be necessary in both life—and death.

Prologue

Stop cryin' and smile.

Was this a dream? An illusion? A desperate wish made true by her own mind?
No. This was real.

The azure orbit reflected in her eyes. Despite everything, or perhaps considering it—she just couldn't smile. She couldn't. Forcing the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards even in the slightest was all but impossible, right now more than ever. For so long she'd wanted to see him again, to know their promise could find salvation before her grave. And now, he was right here, he was all she could see, all she could fathom. He was still alive.

She couldn't stop crying. She was so relieved. She was so happy. And because of that, however ironically, she just couldn't smile. Her dead, tearful gaze bore into his asymmetric, golden eyes. There was only one thing she wanted more than to stay in that single moment forever. At least it'd be her last.

And then—pain rebounded through her form in the fraction of an instant. Red splattered across vision—but somehow, all went white, like the wings of an angel. It almost seemed unfair to him, that she couldn't bring herself to smile right now. But, if this was enough for him...

The last thing she could remember was falling forward, and farther into his embrace.

This was it, right?
—Finally, their promise...

"Zack!"

Instantly, Rachel jolted awake on high alert. She panted heavily, sweat dripping down the side of her forehead; her lashes fluttered rapidly in a blur of confusion. She awoke to the unsteady feeling of a shaky, moving structure. It made the tendon connecting her shoulder to her torso ache abnormally and without mercy. It was... a familiar feeling. "Geezus—!" A startled voice echoed the sentiment from beside her, causing the moving structure to jostle slightly. Rachel felt the motion course through her aching body. "Where's the damn fire?!"

Her intense heartbeat seemed to slow, if not stopping entirely. Her blurry vision drifted through her blonde locks before settling on him. Zack.

"Well, well. Look who's finally awake," he exhaled a laugh to accompany a teasing tone. Awareness was slowly settling. They were... in a car, in the driver and passenger's seats, respectively. "I was almost worried for a second, but I know it takes a lot more than a gunshot to kill you." Ray let out a curious "huh?" and, as if on cue, her gaze twitched in search of such an ailment—and as she did, she flinched in pain, clutching her shoulder. "'Ey, easy!" he exclaimed, though it resounded more-so in a tone of annoyance than concern. "Didn't ya just hear me?!"

"I..." a breathy exhale interrupted her sentiment. She looked to her shoulder, wrapped shoddily in medical bind; it was stained red. It felt nothing like her last gunshot; it grazed and tore through part of the tendon, but it wasn't fatal—nor intentional, it seemed. Trying to wrap her brain around the idea, she repeated after him, "I was shot."

He laughed, as if to say, 'no shit'.

Rachel paused to remember the moment. The distant red and blue lights resounded with sirens, and he'd even said they didn't have much time. The police must've had orders to shoot on sight. Too bad all the training in the world was no match for a seasoned killer turned escaped convict. "Oh," Rachel replied simply. Her heart twinged with the notion of disappointment.

"Poured the whole thing of that anti-hemma-whatever shit on it and used the bandages on my hands for the wraps." Ray's gaze fell to his palms, gripping the steering well. He was... wearing a dirty pair of gloves. "Gonna have to stitch yourself up, though."

He didn't need to go through all that trouble to save her. Really.

"Officer Friendly was pretty shitty shot." He gave her something akin to a teasing look, but it seemed more like a taunt. "Sucks for you, but y'know how it goes." Regardless of the fact, she could see a fresh shade of red on his hoodie among the coagulated splatters. She gave him a weak look.

"Are you okay?"

"Just grazed my side," he reassured her, just as he always had. "You should be worryin' about yourself. You're lucky I left the motor running, or we'd be up shit creek without a paddle," he gave an amused chuckle. "Almost didn't get away." Finally taking notice to the situation, Rachel gave a momentary pause.

"I didn't know you could drive."

He raised an eyebrow, mouth slightly agape in an entirely unamused look. "Please."

...Right. He'd probably stolen more cars then she'd even ridden in. Finally allowing her gaze to release him, Ray looked towards the forward window—and the long, open highway. The sight of a seemingly unending nothing made her shoulder ache deeper. It'd be a while before they'd find somewhere to stop. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Across the state line," he replied. "The old preacher waitin' at his safe-house for us."

Father Gray?
"He's... alive?"

"Yeah," Zack exhaled a laugh. "Sumbitch made it out of a that buildin' right under our noses, can ya believe it?" He had a knowing smirk on his face despite the fact. "Doesn't surprise me though; he's the one who broke my ass outta the slammer."

Huh. She wondered if Zack would deny the preacher's affinity for him, now. "Do you know how to get there?" Rachel asked, genuinely curious (and depending on his answer, also impressed.)

"He made me a map. It ain't too hard to follow." The young man reached forward, grabbing a wrinkled roadmap before tossing it to Ray. She studied it for a moment; it looked to be a pretty straight shot on the highway. "Besides, I've been there before."

She looked back over to him in the closest thing she could feel to surprise. "When?"

"When he and I met," Zack explained simply. "Geezer had a church around my old stomping grounds before he started that hell hole."

"I see," replied Rachel softly. A pause lingered as he offered nothing more on the matter. Asking the obvious, she had to inquire, "Do you... think we can trust him?"

"I hope so," Zack only laughed, taking the matter in stride, "or I'ma beat his ass for makin' us drive all the way there just to fuck with us." He took his eyes off the road for a moment to flash Ray an amused smirk. As he looked back, Ray couldn't help but echo the sentiment despite her vacant optics.

A gloved palm reached for the FM radio. After muttering among the static and smacking the dial, Zack settled on some rock station or another. Despite the ruckus, it was oddly calming to his younger companion. Rachel leaned back in her seat, staring up at the roof of the car.

Zack, Zack...
You're really alive.

Rachel's empty gaze then fell to the half drawn window, landing on the azure mass in the sky, as if gravity had pulled her into its orbit. The full moon was yet that brilliant, fluorescent shade of blue... the real moon—even now.

But, Zack—
Why am I?