Disclaimer: I thought that we had covered this extensively. I thought there was no need for me to feel stupid by stating the obvious, saying that I don't own RK, or any of its aspects. Apparently, I was wrong. *sigh*

In memory of Daniel Sada, with respect, love and admiration. Of course he never knew RK and wouldn't understand a single word of what goes on here. But I know he'd appreciate it. He deserves any honor I can give.

Warning: Dark, as seems to be the norm for me. I'd recommend reading Should the World Fail to Fall Apart first, or this one won't make an ounce of sense.


I'll Fall with Your Knife

Knell

And with the token bird I made,
send it to fly
right to your side.
With the broken wing
you sailed,
oh, like winter in July.
Peter Murphy ~ I'll Fall with Your Knife

I am afraid of you now, now that you left me.

I don't want to stand before his grave. But I have to, to stand before yours. It's not fair. I hate that. You have no time to lend (I hate this). And if you're Guilt then I'm the Shame. And if I'm Hurt then you're the Blame.

You do not deserve lies. You do not deserve sweet-coated words to hide your fate, and you do not deserve your death to be watered thin, its true nature hidden just to spare some tears. There is no dignity in hiding. It doesn't matter that the truth is shit. If it's the truth, that's all I know. I look for you, and just say "I know the lie that was is now the last. I'll go for you."

And she's gone. Not here. While we, sad fools we are, are stuck far from not-here. (Feeling the same as I did, feeling the same as I might do tomorrow. Watching my hopes follow dreams down the drain.) She's gone.

And they all lie about it. They lie, and they cover and they hide, because they're scared that knowing will crumble their world. And it would: it's crumbled mine.

But I don't care. I am not a child. I can live with it, with anything.

Then again, neither was she, and she couldn't.

He does not deserve to be buried beside you. He does not deserve to be buried at all. I have no compassion for him after I saw you, battered and dead, covered in his blood. I hate him.

I hate you. I hate you for what you did to her, you fucker. I hate you.

There's no one here today 'cause someone took the light away…

They have taken it upon themselves to clean up your story to fit their tales of tragic heroes. The noble knight who at the sight of his beloved maiden ravaged, decides life is not worth living and dies by his own hand.

Fuck the knight. Fuck him for being weak, for being sad, for being slow, for being angry. Fuck him for thinking he has any say over you. Fuck him for losing it. Fuck him.

He turned out to be nothing more than a sad idiot (Your heart is served cold.) much too messed up to take things with any shred of sanity, much too gone to see with clear eyes (Your sights are set in perfect stone). He was the thief that robbed us, all of us, of our Redemption. Our Redemption was her, with her unshakable faith in us, in herself, in the future. She went over bridges like the river was a dream (dream). And you've slain it, thrown it so far from our reach— over bridges like the river was a dream (dream). You are the lowest scum of the earth. Not a hero. No. Never a hero.

So wrapped up in yourself to realize what you were, how badly you were hooked.

And when you go, you go alone. And when you stand, you're on your own.

You hurt her. And you just didn't stop.

Did you really think she was just yours? Did you really think she would be there, forever, to clean the salt you insist on spreading over your own wounds? Ass. Arrogant fucker. She was never yours, and we needed her. She was ours. She was what held us together. She was what kept us from falling, from settling for surviving while we had a chance to live.

She was that last drop of rainwater, the one that finally leaves you clean.

You were so bright.

Till the sun bursts from your side, with my hands I reach to you.

You were a force, a light, a river. You were fast, and you were smiling. You were the truest of families; you were the best of friends. You look warm in the night. You were everything we needed, and you knew it. You knew how much we counted on—

That's the story of my life. That's the difference between wrong and right.

The kid won't cry. That frightens me.

Both those words are dead. That's the story of my life. His hero killed his nurture, his warmth, his mother-sister. He walked back with a dead face and informed us: they're dead, stop looking. And he won't cry. And he won't cry because he's angry, and he trusts them and their comforting words. And they're lies. He shouldn't be lied to. He shouldn't be lied to. Today could be a downer. He should be here, with me, with you, watching your life seep over the ground all about us (Warm grass around you). He should be here, salting the earth above you, remembering the radiance you gave him. I know he misses you and I know he's angry, but he won't let himself be because his blame is floating over the sea, instead of tied where it belongs. On him, and his blindness, his selfishness. He took her from us, and then he left. The fucking coward left.

I hate you.

And I can imagine the cop's condescending voice from behind me, bitter, am I? and I don't understand, and I can't because I'm just an impetuous idiot.

Of course I'm bitter, I have a right to it. You killed my two best friends. (I'm not too fond of you right now) I'm as happy as I've ever been: I'm not happy at all. Of course I understand. I understand much better than that old man. Because I know what he doesn't: I know that you were weak.

Does his code forgive you, like their lies do?

Would he have killed you, if you hadn't done it yourself?

I hope he would. I hope he could have recognized the "evil" in you; I've seen enough blind men with swords. And that is what you were, not evil, just weak and angry, blind. This is all your fault.

You couldn't possibly fathom a life where you hurt her, but you couldn't fathom a life where you didn't. So you chose no life at all. You left, and you left behind all the blood, the bruises and dead bodies, all the pain, and all the loose ends for your family to tie. You left the town stunned into silence. You left the doctors to lie to the children, you left me to… to what? To hate you? To yell? To dig you out from your grave with bare, angry hands and leave you to rot like you deserve? My eyes sting. My jaw is clenched so tight I can feel the taut sinew beneath my cheeks, trembling, tense and pained, pulling on the skin until it feels like it will burst. I'm about to overflow. The ghosts of tears singe where they fell last night, and I can't stop.

I feel the sudden need to say something poetic. But I don't. I can't.

And the painful sting of dried salt carries, and goes over my cheeks and they're stiff and they're bare and they hurt, and my eyes, my eyes burn and I'm collapsing into my own chest and it hurts, gods, woman, it hurts too much to think of what we've lost, the window, the dark on the other side of the locked door, what's gone with you, and it's physical, I can feel it and it hurts, it hurts and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I miss you and I'm sorry and I hate him, and cry, the old man says from behind me, and I do.

(Rain for her. Just fountains.)

He had the sense to let me be. To let me crouch to the ground in a pain sudden like a spasm, sobs wrung from my lungs still bloody and fresh. A barren river wide, I'll pray for the flood to wash on you.

And these sounds, all these sounds of filthy cowardice and sadness, let these be your knell.


Metatext:

Meta-: more comprehensiv— nah. You read "Should…", you know what it means.

This story was actually planned out almost as soon as "Should…" was finished, but it remained planned for over six months. As it is, I finally began to write it near a particularly difficult time for me. It's been hard, and important, for me to write this, much more so than "Should...". So, I think it's important to thank the nice people who reviewed that story, who were wonderfully encouraging and surprisingly positive; to especially thank supernaturalove, Kirstian, Dragonsdaughter, and by beta, Persephone of Abydos, for giving me valuable opinions and ideas and generally stroking my ego; and to greatly thank Daniel, for existing and inspiring.

This plot is a lot less contrived than its predecesor's, hopefully it's its inevitable consequence. One thing I love about Sano, one of several, really, is that despite being far from the brightest character in RK, he's one of the most lucid. I tried, really hard, and against my own natural tendencies, to make the text as clean and aware as I could; to instill it with clarity. Whether I managed or not, is up to you and that little button to tell me.

"I'll Fall with Your Knife" follows the same Mother of All Songfics structure of "Should…" this time graced with lyrics from Underworld's Jumbo and Winjer, Meat Beat Manifesto's Acid Again, Lamb's Zero, and Badly Drawn Boy's Cause a Rockslide. You'll also find pieces of Mazzy Star's Before I Sleep and Sneaker Pimp's Waterbaby. Also quoted are The Cardigan's Deuce, Soul Coughing's Sixteen Horses, and once again the Velvet Underground, this time with That's the Story of My Life. And, again, since he has the best titles, Peter Murphy's lyrics to Girlchild Aglow and, naturally, I'll Fall with Your Knife.

All we ever wanted was Everything.