*thinks hard* You know… I've been posting this fic for a while now. I miss posting once every 13 days. That's not bad….

*******************************************************************************

"I'm not self-serving," protested Knives.

She straightened up. "You're not," she said flatly, then laughed.

"What?"

She snickered. "You want to keep this conversation light? Just drop that chain of thought, ok?"

He grumbled a bit, but she didn't catch any words. He shifted again, ending up a little closer to her. "You were married?"

"Yup. Seven years. You think you know a guy, think he loves you, then you find you are horribly, horribly wrong." She sighed.

Knives frowned a little, puzzled. "How old are you?"

She laughed a little. "You know, with the torture and death and wandering in the desert and all I've lost track of time a little. I think I was fifty-seven when I died, but I might be fifty-eight now. Might not."

He looked over at her, surprised. "That old? I thought you were younger."

"Do you think I'd be this smart any younger?"

"Actually, I think you're just full of crap."

"Ancient crap, I'll have you know." She chuckled.

"Fifty-eight. Huh," he mused.

"Yup."

"You don't look that old."

"No, I don't, do I? Funny story, that. I'm missing a few scars, too. I don't think this is the same body I was born in. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but it's one of those concepts that weirds me out when I think about it."

He thought for a moment. "So, you were fifty-seven and still going out on missions? Weren't you getting a little old for that sort of thing?"

"No. I'm a Genalt. Basic life span of a hundred fifty years. My late fifties and I was still in my prime. Am still in my prime. Am re-primed?" She shrugged, letting semantics lie.

"Amazing."

"Isn't it? Amazing is one of those scary words, especially when people start using it to describe you."

"You don't want to be amazing?"

"I'd rather be ignored. Too many people notice you, then want something from you, then your life stops being your own."

"You sound bitter."

"Me? I try not to. Bitter is a waste of time. Much like most people's version of hate. Wasted emotions."

"You think hate is a wasted emotion?"

"For most people, yes. They go around saying, I hate this, I hate that, when what they really mean is that they don't like it. I say, if you're going to hate something, you should hate it with such depth of emotion that makes any other feeling pale in comparison. Hate should be pure, sweet, deep, and above all else, justified."

"You've thought much about this. I assume you hate someone. Your husband?"

"I don't hate him. Pity him, loathe him, but not hate. He isn't worthy of my hate. No, I hate my stepfather." Her voice twisted on the word, and Knives felt a chill.

"Why him, and not your husband?"

"My husband had his reasons for what he did. My stepfather," she controlled her voice better this time, "hurt me, and continued to destroy my life merely because he could. He enjoyed having power over me, and contriving situations where he could hurt me, merely because my pain brought him intense pleasure." She fell silent again, peering at her toes intently.

Knives draped one arm over her shoulder, then hugged her close. She tensed, then relaxed into the comforting embrace. She sighed. "I know I shouldn't let him bother me anymore. He isn't here, he can't hurt me anymore. But some hatreds are too difficult to let go of that easily. Sometimes pain runs too deep."

"That's quite true," he agreed.

They sat together silently for a few minutes. The first moon crested the top of the spire, sending a soft silvery light down upon their heads.

"The desert is pretty when it's night," she said after a few moments of looking out across the sands.

"It can be," agreed Knives easily. "It looks less deadly."

"Hmm," she said, then punched him lightly. "Like you."

He looked down on her. "Like you, too."

She sighed. "Deadly beauty. What a cliché, and yet… sometimes even clichés can come true."

"Like the cliché of the evil villain who throws over his ways for love?"

"I like that cliché. I don't think it will happen, but it would be nice if it could."

"You don't believe that love conquers all?"

"I'm not sure I even believe in love. If it existed, don't you think I'd have some sense of it by now?"

"Ace loves you. That much is obvious."

"Sure. And I love her too. But… is that all there is to love? A joy in their company and a willingness to die for them? I think I've loved a lot of people, but I'm tired of no one loving me back. Ugh. Don't listen to me; I'm all whiny tonight."

"It's not an unreasonable request, to be loved."

"You'd think that. But experience shows that love doesn't show up all that often." Her mouth twisted wryly. "I think we should leave the pity party before I get depressed again."

"So we go back to the discussion of clichés? I think we were talking about villains."

"And love still." She sighed again. "I don't believe in villains, anyway."

He shifted, pulling her a little closer. "Really?"

"Nope. It's a curse; I can almost always see both sides to an argument. I can't just look at someone and say, 'Look, he's totally evil and must be stopped!' I look at him and think, 'Hmm. He has a reason to act like an asshole. Let's address the problem, and then maybe he won't feel compelled to be an asshole.'"

"Does it work?"

"Every now and then. Some people are just too messed up. Most of those are power-hungry bastards who don't care about the pain they cause others. Other problems don't really have answers. But I still don't believe in villains. It's too easy a category to abuse."

"And here I was, thinking I got to be your villain."

"I can think of better things for you to be."

*******************************************************************************

AN: Group. Polls. Much fun. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/CymberleahsFics/