Note: This is a Sakura chapter, so the obligatory content warning for some real intense self loathing and suicidal thoughts. If that sounds tough to handle right now, that's okay.

In the shower, Sakura couldn't see the huge, ugly scab on her neck, but it stung every time she turned her head or let the scalding water hit it too directly, so she couldn't exactly forget about it either. The water ran down her back, unpleasantly hot, while she stared vacantly at the wall and tried to come to grips with her present situation.

She felt empty. Void. A hollow shell wrapped around a black hole core that would devour everything if the containment was breached. That was your chance, she thought dully, but there was no emotional weight to it. They were just words. That was your way out. It wouldn't have been her fault. It would have been Assassin's. Assassin probably would have told Senpai that it was her choice, but Senpai would have known that Assassin was really the one to blame.

She strains against that stubborn will to live, forcing stiff muscles into motion. Just a little, and her sinful blood would spill onto the bed and her filthy, depressing life would come to an end. Assassin stares down at her dispassionately, and she doesn't know what he wants. If he wants.

Is he trying to help her? Is that what he thinks this is?

sakura?

Does he think that by offering her the choice, that she will be freed? If only it were that simple. If only the idea of wanting to die were a monster you could slay and be done with, if only you had the right sword in hand.

are you okay?

but she stares up at her death, and her death stares down at her. it will not give her what she wants. She must take it.

She wants it so badly.

you're my friend. i'll always worry about you.

Why can't she do it? Why? Why? Why, why, why, why, why why why why whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywh

i wont let

whywhywhyWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY

i wont let it change you

She'd known that. And yet… all she could think about in that moment had been what the look on Senpai's face would be when he heard. When he found her. She was probably just projecting. It would probably be relief that he'd feel, the burden of having to take care of her being lifted from his poor shoulders.

But. But if she was wrong.

She'd be even more monstrous than she already was. The water scalded her, and her long hair clung to her body, and she could feel her fingers getting pruny, but she didn't move. A little more discomfort wouldn't make up for the thought, but she would try anyway.

Too cowardly to die. Too cowardly to leave. Just cowardly enough to let herself be pulled along in his wake, to drag every problem and issue she had to him to deal with. But she couldn't leave. If he told her to, she could, but… she didn't think he would. So she was trapped. Trapped in a wonderful place that she didn't deserve. A Hell of her own making, where the flames that burned her were made of guilt and the chains that bound her were fear.

He wants me to live.

Why?

What was she so attached to in this life that she couldn't just let herself fall?

Was it him?

He wouldn't want me to stay alive for him, she thought morosely. He'd want me to stay alive for me.

But we can't do that, the part of her that knew how to survive said. We know we don't get to think like that. It only makes the rest hurt worse.

I know, Feeling Sakura whispered. But if it's what he would want-

We're going to tear ourself apart, Surviving Sakura said bluntly. He's a crutch. Use him. He cares about us, even though he shouldn't. Is that any different than how we usually use him?

Shut up, shut up, shut up SHUT UP-

Sakura blinked.

The air was thick with steam, making breathing a little harder than it should have been. How long have I been standing here? She forced her mind to quiet itself once again, and turned the water off. She stood there, alone, in the cool air, feeling the goosebumps rise on her skin. The steady dripping of the faucet was the only sound in the bathroom.

She found herself in front of the mirror, naked, dripping wet, though she didn't remember walking over. That wasn't particularly abnormal when she got like this. Purple hair draped around her like a possessive mantle. An angry red and brown gash, still healing, on the side of her neck, like a scarlet letter marking her as tainted. "Disgusting," she whispered. The word meant nothing to her own ears. She couldn't feel its sting. She couldn't feel the rage behind it. She felt nothing. Nothing. Nothing. A filthy body. Her skin crawled just looking at it; it couldn't have been any more plain if the record of her sins had been carved into every inch of her flesh. This was the person Senpai liked so much.

What a fool he was.

Slowly, she dressed. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of herself in the corner of her eye, and the hatred would so overwhelm her that she would freeze. This kind of self loathing came and went. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that had happened. Maybe it was how close she had come to her own death the night before. 'Why' didn't really matter. All that mattered was that she was here, and she was so tired...

She closed her eyes and slid to the ground bonelessly. Even dressing herself was such a painful, painful effort. What was the point? What was the point of any of this?

She remembered the feeling of Senpai's arms around her, holding her tight once more. She forced herself to live in that moment, to remember every detail she could. The warmth of his skin. The roughness of his shirt on her own skin. The sound of his voice.

You don't deserve that.

No, of course she didn't.

But she craved it. It was a hunger that could never be sated. The desire to be touched, to be acknowledged, to be loved. It was disgusting. It was contemptible. She shivered in the cold, wrapping her own arms around herself, but it was a poor substitute for him.

Nothing would ever be more than that.

The morning air was brisk, but not unpleasant. Ms. Fujimura had a small stash of clothing at Shirou's house for emergencies (mostly spilled-food based incidents), and she'd borrowed a gray sweatshirt, slipping it over the outfit she'd borrowed from Rin. Around her neck, she had wrapped one of Shirou's scarves. It was simple and black, and it smelled faintly of him. It helped.

Leaving the house wasn't a smart idea, but she was fairly desperate for a small change of scenery, so she'd resolved to walk around the neighborhood a little. She'd keep her eyes and ears wide open, of course, but she needed the fresh air.

She stood at the gate, a light breeze swirling her hair in a slightly-annoying dance around her, her hands in her pockets to keep them warm. She breathed in, breathed out, and started walking the familiar streets.

Her head had started to clear from the very first breath of winter air, and the weight had lifted, if only a little. She was grateful for that. The episode in the bathroom was surreal, like a bad dream fading in the early morning sun. The sky was cloudy and grey overhead, but she didn't mind; there was a kind of beauty in that kind of colorless world. She didn't pass anyone familiar as she walked, which was a relief. The year and a half since she'd made this place a kind of second home had been the best in her life, in many ways, and she tried to keep focusing on that. Nothing else. She remembered the good times, founded on a lie as they were.

Her path meandered this way and that, with no real regard for direction or destination. She knew this place well enough not to get lost, so long as she didn't wander too far away. It was just a brief sojourn, but she tried to take every ounce of satisfaction she could in it. She was useless to Senpai and Rin, but she could pretend she was busy at a time like this.

She was heading back when she noticed something strange. As light snowflakes drifted through the air around her, in a small cluster of trees between several houses, a purple shape on the ground caught her eye. Frowning, she drew closer, until—

She was about a dozen feet away when she realized with horror that she was looking at a body. No, no, she thought with relief a moment later, not a body — the little girl was breathing. She probably just got tired playing and fell asleep, Sakura thought with a small smile. It's starting to snow, though, so I should go make sure she's okay.

She took another step forward, then froze. She could feel… something. A slight buzz on the back of her neck. Magic.

Is she a magus?

Something clicked into place, and she noticed for the first time that the little girl's hair was as white as the snow falling all around them. And a purple coat…

This was the girl, wasn't it? The one who had tried to kill Senpai? The one with the monstrous Berserker?

Illyasviel von Einzbern.

Sakura's mouth went bone dry, and adrenaline shot through her. She had to move. She had to run, she had to find a way to warn Senpai, she had to-

She's unconscious.

She had to get out of here. Berserker could be around, could be anywhere, and she couldn't be here when he-

She's Senpai's enemy.

Sakura took a halting step forward, and the fingers on her right hand twitched.

Senpai would die before he would kill this girl, but she wouldn't hesitate to kill him.

She's helpless. You can scratch one Master off of Senpai's list, right here. He would never need to know, but you could help him. You could repay him for everything he's doing for you by keeping him safe.

A suffocating darkness descended upon her.

make sure she never hurts him again

She took another step.

snap her neck

Her throat was pale and fragile and unprotected.

drain her dry

She had no wards raised. It would only take a moment to rip the life from her magic circuits.

let her bleed

For Shirou.

"You're protecting me, right?"

A sound in her mind like shattered glass.

This was wrong.

bones crack skin tears

This was wrong.

as easy as you killed the flowers

What am I doing? she thought desperately, and forced herself to halt.

as easy as you fixed the table

The desire to kill this girl was so powerful, so overwhelmingly strong, but it wasn't right, it wasn't what Shirou, what Senpai would want.

for shirou for SHIROU

Was this who she was? Was this the person she wanted to be?

YOU KNOW BEST

Illya's chest rose and fell gently.

SHE CAN'T HURT HIM IF SHE'S DEAD

A trickle of dried blood had crusted in the corner of her lips.

KILL HER

No no no no no no no. Her hands trembled and shook, and she dug her nails into her palm. The pain pushed the darkness away, and she felt like herself again; shaky and weak and cowardly but her, and guilt rushed in to fill the void that the murderous intent had left. I keep-

Rin stares at her from the doorway, wide eyed with surprise, and Sakura knows that one of them will not walk away from this.

I keep trying to-

Warmth spreads with her belly as Shinji cringes, and she wants to laugh. Let him suffer as she has.

What am I becoming?

Snowflakes settled on the girl's face and melted, leaving tiny dots of moisture on her pale skin. Her breath misted in the cold air.

stop the breath

Shirou would never forgive her. Senpai would never forgive her.

eyes bulge and face red

Darkness pulsed at the corners of her vision, and she shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples. What is this? It didn't matter. What mattered was the thought she had just had, what she had been planning to do-

To kill a little girl.

The voice in her head was silent, but that wasn't true, was it? That voice had been her voice. She could no more silence that voice than she could change herself into a good person.

She had to make it right. It didn't make any sense, but she had to make it right, and Shirou had not killed this girl the other day at the supermarket, and so she needed to follow his example. Shirou wouldn't kill a defenseless child. So she couldn't either. There was something backwards about the logic, but her thoughts were molasses, and she couldn't remember what.

Shirou wouldn't see the girl as an enemy Master. He would see her as someone to help. It was cold, and she was unconscious, and it was beginning to snow; would she freeze to death out here? She should…

cross her off the list

She should take her home. She should take the girl back and make sure she was okay. She could put Illya in the guest bed, and make sure she was warm until she woke up, and

shirou's life for her blood

"No," Sakura whispered, and she stepped forward. The urge to do something unforgivable had not receded, not entirely, but she could identify it now, and so she could fight it. "I have to help her…" Her foot crunched on a twig, and they were no longer alone.

Something came alive.

The first thing she noticed was a bass growl, the kind of protective animalistic warning that she imagined presaged one's throat being torn out by wolves, but amplified by the most powerful speaker she could imagine. The presence crashed into her all at once, but she forced herself to stay still. To show weakness could be to-

The thought was not even complete when one of the trees shifted, and she realized that she was not looking at a tree. The coloring was the same, and the figure had been perfectly still, so it wasn't surprising that she hadn't noticed its camouflage, but that wouldn't make her any less dead in a few seconds.

The great, hulking beast that stepped out of the trees matched Shirou's description of Berserker exactly, right down to the heavy stone axe-sword and the glowing red eyes. The ground shook with every step, and the rumbling growl continued unabated, the monster's throat quivering with the sound. Thud. Thud. Thud. It moved slowly, but that wouldn't last if it decided to kill; she'd heard from Shirou how unbelievably fast that thing could go. It stood over the unconscious little girl protectively, its weapon dragged behind it, carving a line in the dirt.

It took every fiber of willpower Sakura possessed not to turn and flee, or to quail in terror, or to simply pass out on the spot. She was defenseless. Nothing she could do would save her from being cut in half by Berserker's wrath, if he so decided. Instead, she smiled warmly, just like she'd always practiced. "I'm not here to hurt anybody," she said quietly, ignoring the part of her that still demanded blood and the part of her that screamed to turn and run. This is like one of Grandfather's illusions. The ones where he wants me to show weakness, but that won't actually hurt me unless I let it.

Berserker bared his teeth threateningly, shifting his grip on his sword to something more ready to swing.

Slow breaths. Slow breathing. Just like Senpai would do. Stay calm.

"She's your Master, right?" she asked, her voice as gentle as she could manage. Berserker didn't react, but neither did he attack. This is less scary than the worm pit. At least… at least if I mess this up it'll be over quick. "She's hurt, I think. I want to help her. You want to help her too, right?"

The monster glared hatefully down at her. His red eyes burned with animalistic malice. He must be under some command, she realized. Whatever she was doing, she wanted to be protected, but didn't want him flying off the handle and making a scene during the daytime if he didn't have to. Which meant that as long as he didn't think she was about to attack, he would simply remain protective.

That realization wasn't as soothing as she might have hoped.

She raised her hands slowly, showing Berserker that she was unarmed. He snarled, a sound like a jet engine, but she didn't flinch. She took a slow step forward. "I want to bring her somewhere safe. She helped S- someone I care about a couple of days ago, so I owe her." Like that spell that would hurt me if I screamed. That's all this is. She wasn't good at a lot, but she knew how to endure. I've trained for this. She took another step, and Berserker roared, blasting her with hot, rank breath, slamming his axe-sword into the ground at his side. I've trained for this. It blew her hair back and threw chunks of dirt into her face, but still, she refused to flinch. I've trained for this. "Will you let me help her?"

Berserker's eyes narrowed, and he stared into her and through her. Something was happening in his head, but she couldn't see what it was. He's probably deciding whether or not to squash you like a bug, she thought, and she almost laughed. That probably would have gotten her killed too. He gazed down at her.

She gazed levelly back. She smiled again, closing her eyes this time in a desperate gamble that the less threatening she looked, the less likely he would be to eviscerate her. She didn't know how to look any less threatening than that.

She cracked an eyelid enough to see his shape. He was still. For a long, long time, he was statue-still. Finally, agonizingly slowly, Berserker stepped back far enough that Sakura could reach the girl.

Half-expecting that Berserker would change his mind and disembowel her anyway, Sakura approached the girl. The monster still stood unnervingly close, heavy blasts of steam pouring from his mouth in the cold air, gazing down at her. Ready to stop her should she do something he didn't like. This close, he stank like a slab of rotting meat, but she didn't react. The worm pit smells worse than him.

Kneeling down, she pressed her fingers to the girl's neck, making sure she had a regular pulse; somewhere above her, Berserker growled, but she forced her eyes to stay on Illya. Don't show weakness. Sakura was hardly a trained medical professional, but she'd done her share of work in the nurse's office at school, and she'd learned a couple things that only occasionally came in handy.

Maybe now would be one of those times.

Illya's pulse was steady and strong. If there was some deeper problem, it wasn't with her heart. Her breathing was also regular — the subtle rise and fall of her chest and the small puffs of white air from her mouth told Sakura that much. Her skin was cold to the touch, but that wasn't much wonder in this winter air. Next, Sakura pulled up one side of Illya's hat, then removed one of her gloves, checking for signs of frostbite. It had been very cold the night before, and Sakura didn't know how long Illya had been out here, but nothing looked like it was setting in. Hypothermia might be a problem, but I can't check her temperature out here.

It was strange to think that this girl was the one who had almost killed Senpai the other night. That this girl could control the monstrosity standing over them. It didn't make sense to her tired brain, even with the subtle aura of magecraft drifting off of her. The voice in her head — the voice of her own bloodlust — had stopped talking. All that was left in its place was a bone-deep regret.

Whether it was regret that Illya was still alive, or regret for wanting to hurt her in the first place, Sakura wasn't sure. She didn't like the uncertainty. You know what kind of person you are.

There wasn't much she could do for Illya out here, other than to watch her, and maybe hope she didn't freeze to death before Sakura's eyes. I need to bring her home, she thought with sudden clarity. It's what Senpai would do. With a quiet exhalation, she looked back up at Berserker, who was watching her every move with vicious, motionless intensity. She smiled up at him. She didn't feel it. "I want to bring her home-"

The terrifying Servant started to growl again, baring teeth like tombstones.

Sakura forced herself to continue, her voice level. "-So that I can get her warm. Do you know what hypothermia is? When a person gets too cold, they can get very sick. I don't want that to happen, do you?"

Berserker didn't respond, except to continue that unnatural, unnerving growl. It wasn't a sound anything that had ever been human should have been able to make.

What kind of thing would convince something like him? She had no idea what the answer to that question was, so she kept barreling on, speaking in the kind of soothing monotone one might use when being threatened by a strange dog. "I can put her in a real bed, get her some blankets, maybe make her some soup…" She closed her eyes again, tilting her head in as innocent a smile as she could imagine with her heart in her throat. "Does little Illya like hot chocolate? I think I could make her some of that."

The growl trailed off, but the monster's expression didn't change. Something told Sakura he was still unconvinced.

"You can come too, of course," Sakura said, trying desperately not to sound like she was desperate. "You can follow me all the way back, and make sure I'm taking good care of her." Did I just invite Berserker into Senpai's house? was immediately followed by Can Berserker fit in Senpai's house?, which was in turn followed by Oh no, what am I doing?

That last one was kind of an old friend.

Berserker looked down at her, then with a grunt like a chuffing dog, stepped back, looking pointedly out at the road. The message was clear. Go. But I'll be watching.

Sakura smiled gratefully, relief flooding through her in a wave so powerful she almost collapsed, then stood to give Berserker a deep bow of gratitude. "Thank you," she said, then set about picking the little girl up. Sakura wasn't very strong; she expected to struggle more than a little, and was halfway afraid that she'd have to ask Berserker to carry his own Master for her.

She didn't expect Illya to be as light as she was. It's like she's barely there.

Sakura could relate to that.

Sakura didn't want to put Illya in her own bed (how strange it was that after one night, she thought of it as her bed), but she couldn't come up with a better place. It was the softest, warmest place in the whole house, so her objections could only be personal.

It's not your bed. Stop being territorial.

She didn't have a good argument for that.

Sakura sat over the girl's sleeping form for a few minutes, watchful for any sign of trouble or stirring, but that was the exact kind of activity she tried to avoid. The whole… sitting-silently-with-nothing-to-do-but-think thing. She was getting antsy, and the dark thoughts were creeping in, so she left the room, closing the door gently behind her, to find something to do.

Should she try to send Rin and Senpai a message? It would take a lot out of her, but she could probably magic something up if she needed to. It would just worry them, she reasoned. There wasn't much left that needed cleaning, and Shirou had made enough food this morning to make do for several meals, so she found herself just kind of… wandering.

Which was how she found herself standing in the doorway to Senpai's room. Something had drawn her there, and she didn't know what it was; the night before hadn't been the first time she'd ever been in there, but…

"But" nothing. She was being a creep. She wasn't entitled to his space.

She moved on, but a part of her lingered.

Now that she was moving again, the loneliness wasn't as bad as it had been the day before. She felt a little like a ghost, all alone, wandering the halls of some abandoned western mansion. All she needed was an ethereal, flowing white dress to make it complete. "Ooooo," she said, waving her hands in a rough approximation of a ghostly moan, and giggled. She felt… not lighter, exactly, but as though something painful that she hadn't even been aware of had been purged from her.

She wasn't sure if she should be concerned about that, but she also didn't want to look the gift horse in the mouth on this one.

As she walked, she ran her fingers along a familiar wall, the cool surface just this side of smooth to her touch. This really is a wonderful house, she thought, trying to ignore the pang of longing that it elicited. Shirou is lucky. What must it be like to wake up in one's home, not having to remember all the horrible things that had happened to you under that very same roof?

There was another thought that she wanted to have, but that she didn't let herself feel; it was too big, too scary — her good mood felt especially precarious, and lamenting what she couldn't have wouldn't do her any good.

She just had to avoid thinking about why the side of her neck hurt so badly. Easy.

Senpai didn't have much in the way of possessions; he lived simply, and that fact didn't seem to bother him all that much. He liked to talk about what a full life he lived, and how he just didn't have time for much else. She wasn't sure how genuine that emotion was, but it did mean that there wasn't a whole lot in the house to keep one entertained without company. He does always seem happy to see me and Ms. Fujimura.

Inevitably, she ended up standing in front of his one sparse bookshelf (well, the one shelf that wasn't full of books about cooking), examining for the hundredth time his collection. A small pile of manga volumes (she wondered how many of them had been Shinji's, years ago, before their relationship had soured). A book on blacksmithing (he'd told her that he'd tried to learn that particular skill, but that he hadn't had the time or the equipment). A few novels that had probably mostly been gifts. A couple nonfiction works on mythology, but nothing that looked to immediately pertain to their situation.

Senpai wasn't much of a reader, but that was okay. He had a lot of other skills, and he was a hard worker.

Nothing immediately excited her, but she grabbed one of the manga volumes that looked halfway interesting, then shuffled back to the guest room to sit by Illya and read to herself. When was the last time I sat down to read something because I wanted to? She couldn't remember. Illya was still asleep, and a little bit of color had come back into her pale cheeks, so Sakura took a seat on the floor and cracked it open.

Time passed. For a little while, Sakura didn't think about the Holy Grail War, or about how much danger Senpai was in, or the gibbering mess she had been just a few hours ago. All of that was far away.

"Where am I?"

The sound of the quiet, unsteady voice snapped Sakura out of her trance, and her head shot up. The little girl was lying in bed, looking at her with unfocused eyes, an expression Sakura couldn't read on her face. Her eyes are red. Red like blood. Sakura cleared her throat, stood, and bowed politely. "You're in Shirou's house," she said, halfway apologetic. "I found you out in the cold, so I brought you home to try to help."

"Home," Illya said faintly. She looked around the room, surveying her surroundings with an exhausted caution. "You're that Makiri girl, aren't you?" She coughed weakly, struggling to sit up, and Sakura gestured to a glass of room temperature tap water on the nightstand. Illya looked at it, clearly suspicious.

"We're Matou now," Sakura said quietly, that familiar feeling of unpleasant emptiness spreading within her gut. "But yes. I can't exactly hide that if you already know who I am." What else does she know? Still, as a gesture of goodwill, Sakura took the glass and sipped it, before Illya's eyes. "It's not poisoned. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd just have left you out there." That last part's not exactly true, but it's close enough. She held the glass out. I hope she can't read my mind.

kill her before-

Shut up, she thought.

Illya took it and drank deeply, as if it were the first water she'd seen in days. For all Sakura knew, it might be.

"Um," Sakura said, unconsciously adjusting the scarf to make sure it was still wrapped tightly around her neck. "I want you to know that I understand we're enemies, but Senpai wouldn't want us to fight, and I'm not a Master."

Illya lowered the now half-empty glass with a bitter laugh. "That sounds like him," she said, suddenly sounding much older than her apparent years. She swirled the water, strangely careful not to spill a single drop on the sheets. "I guess it's not just him that's an idiot. The Holy Grail War is a battle to the death, no matter how many times you guys try to make peace."

Sakura intimately knew the sound of someone trying to convince themselves of something they weren't sure of, and Illya didn't exactly buy what she was selling herself. "Still," she said, "Senpai said you saved his life at the grocery store, and I'm very grateful for that. It was the least I could do."

Illya frowned at her with those wide, unsettling red eyes. "What's your name?"

"Sakura," she said. "It's nice to meet you."

There was a depth to Illya's gaze that didn't mesh with the childish features. A kind of cunning intelligence. A suspicion. A world-weariness. A cynicism. But also a perceptiveness, Sakura thought nervously, that seemed to cut straight to her core.

She was silent for a long time, studying Sakura. Piercing her with her eyes.

"What are you, Sakura?" Illya finally asked, and the words were like a shiv between Sakura's ribs.

She knows. She knows she knows-

But what did she know? Sakura wasn't sure, but that didn't stop the screaming paranoia. "I don't-"

Illya shook her head, her mouth set in a tight line. "I can feel something," she said, and her voice was tense; her body seemed weak as a kitten, but that didn't always translate one-to-one with one's magical ability. "Don't pretend you're normal." It wasn't an accusation, really, but Sakura found herself shrinking away from the girl as though she'd started screaming and brandishing a knife. "What are you?"

What art thou?

"I won't let it change you."

"I'm just me," Sakura whispered. It was the only thing she could think to say. What can she see? What can she see that I can't? What can everyone see that I can't?

"You-" Illya began, then fell into another coughing fit. This time, a bit of water did splash down into her lap before it subsided, and she pressed the glass to her chapped lips once again.

Sakura waited patiently, trying to compose herself and failing miserably. She could only imagine the look that was on her face. "What… am I?"

Illya's eyes flicked to her, and Sakura flinched. Again, she didn't speak, but rather, just studied. The empty glass met the wooden nightstand with a quiet clink. There was something between mistrust and understanding in her gaze.

Sakura eyed it nervously. "Would you like some more water? Tea? Hot chocolate?"

"Where's Berserker?" Illya asked instead.

"Outside," Sakura replied. "I convinced him not to break Senpai's walls because it would be hard for you to get better if you were still cold." I still don't know how that worked. "He's very protective."

"What are you doing here?" Illya asked pointedly, the moment Sakura was done talking. "Your brother is an enemy Master. What side are you on?"

Sakura looked down at her hands. I was trying so hard not to think about Nii-san, and it was almost working. "I'm…" She hesitated. She knew the answer, but to say it would be the ultimate betrayal — the one that could never be taken back or forgiven. She was here, and had been here, but she still had not committed all the way to helping Senpai. She knew things she hadn't told him. About a lot of things, but mostly about Rider. She was holding back.

What side are you on?

If the choice came between her brother and Senpai… what would she do?

She knew the answer, and it ate away at her like battery acid.

"I'm on Shirou's side," she said in a small voice, but to her, it sounded like an iron gate slamming shut forever. Her hands clenched into impotent fists, and she set her jaw defiantly. "I'm going to protect him."

"And you still saved me," Illya said in disbelief. "I'll tell you one last time. He's an idiot, with idiotic ideas. You can't protect him without getting your hands dirty. Especially if he won't."

Sakura didn't look up at her. "Are you trying to argue that I should kill you here and now?" She could hear the hollow echo in her voice.

Illya was silent. "You wouldn't. Berserker can be here faster than you can do anything to me."

"No," Sakura said softly, then looked up and smiled. For once… it was almost genuine. Almost. "I wouldn't. But not because I'd die trying."

Illya frowned at her, clearly trying to understand, and either not getting it or not letting herself get it. "You care about him that much."

"I love him," she said, and the words were out before she could take them back. Horror deeper than mere shame lanced through her from every direction, and she pressed her hands to her mouth as if to prevent anything from making what she'd just said even worse. I can't be. I can't be. I shouldn't want what I can't have want what I don't deserve can never deserve-

Should the worst come to pass, I will stand ready to ensure no harm shall come to either thy sister or the man thou love.

Illya watched Sakura's distress with a surprisingly soft expression. "You love him," she echoed, but not in mockery. It was more… thoughtful than that. More distant. As if it were something she'd never considered.

Sakura's face burned, and her blood had been replaced with liquid guilt as she stared down at the floor, protectively tugging her scarf tighter. "Senpai is a good person. I don't know why you hate him, and I don't think he does either, but…" She didn't know where she was going with this. She was babbling. "He doesn't deserve it. Hate me instead, if you want, but don't hate him. He cares about everyone, no matter how bad they are, and…" Her voice was shaking, but the dam had broken. "He wants to help. He always just wants to help, and even if he doesn't know how he tries, even when people don't deserve it, because he's a hero, and he doesn't think he is yet but he is, he's the best of us." A heavy shuddering breath as she ran out of air. She was talking so fast. "He doesn't see how broken people are. He doesn't see the cracks and the dirt and the blood, he doesn't hate me for them, and I don't understand why, but he doesn't and it makes me want to be better." She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and she saw stars. "It makes me want to stop being a bad person and do something good, even if all I can do is help someone who wants to kill him because that's what he would do. I..." Her voice cracked, trailing off into something barely a whisper. "I want to make him happy. Because he makes me happy. And I'll never be able to without lying to him."

Her eyes remained firmly closed, so she couldn't see Illya's reaction to her outburst. She didn't know why she'd said all that. She didn't even let herself think like that, because as much as she deserved the pain of knowing that kind of happiness was unattainable, she still wanted to delude herself into thinking there was hope.

Silence. Not even the rustle of sheets broke the tension.

"He's that kind of person?" Illya said, but behind the words Sakura could feel a familiar ocean of loneliness and despair.

Sakura nodded. "He is," she whispered.

"I thought I knew a person like that once," Illya said, and though her voice was steady, that barely hidden shimmering black loss made Sakura want to cry for her. "I thought I did."

Note: You ever look at something you've written and go "wow, I don't think I'm okay?"

That's about where I'm at on this one. It's honest but it's... rough. I've been struggling more with my shit lately, and it sucks. Turns out writing is hard when you're depressed.

Thanks, y'all. See you in two weeks.

Next chapter: Malak ul-Maut