Ken remembered the Bible being truly boring, so he was surprised when he found it difficult to put down after the first few chapters. Sure, the lists of descendents weren't very interesting, and there was a lot of other boring crap that needed to be skipped, but most of the stories were entertaining, if confusing. He found himself already in II Chronicles after only a few days of reading, absorbed in the trials of Israel and their rulers. That was where he was when he heard a knock on his door. He set down his mug of hot chocolate and marked his place, then slid out of bed to go answer it.

Yohji looked haggard. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Ken said immediately, confused and certain that it showed on his face. He stepped aside and let Yohji into the room.

The taller man took a deep breath and smiled. "Hot chocolate?"

"More where that came from," Ken told him with a smile. "Want some?"

"Maybe later." Yohji wandered gracefully over to Ken's bed and stared down at the cover of the book. "Never pegged you as the religious type, Ken-kun. And I've never seen you read a book that thick."

Ken put on a mock-affronted face. "Hey now, are you implying that I'm stupid? You can't have any hot chocolate if you insult me," he scolded Yohji mildly.

"That's not what I meant at all," Yohji assured him. "But I thought… well. You know if you need someone to talk to, we're always here for you, right? Well, except maybe Aya, he probably wouldn't care if any of us were running around in hot pink tutus, but me and Omi, we're here for you."

Ken laughed. "Yeah, sure, I know that, Yotan. Why, is something wrong?"

"Well, that's what we're wondering." Yohji sat down on Ken's bed, hands folded and elbows on his knees. His green eyes were calculating, and suddenly Ken felt a few degrees colder. "Is something wrong, Ken? You've been acting sort of strange lately. Running off to who-knows-where and not coming back until really late, picking up habits you never had before, this sudden interest in religion just after … and the missions, the way you shake before we do them. I remember way back when you used to always shake, but you stopped that for years. And then the Sister. I thought she was something important to you, the way you protested the mission, but then you showed up and killed her, but you don't seem upset." Yohji paused, and something seemed to occur to him, and he fixed Ken with a sharp look. "Do you have a girlfriend or something?"

Ken burst into laughter. "That's what the girls at the shop asked me," he told Yohji, snickering. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. The girl I wanted to go out with, I let go to Australia without me. She's getting married in a month," he added, though he didn't seem upset about it.

Yohji blinked. "You know that?"

"Sure, I called her."

"You called her?"

"Yeah," Ken said a little dryly. "You know, on the phone? They do have those in Australia."

"What did she have to say?" Yohji wondered, curious despite himself.

Ken shrugged. "That she met someone, and she's happy, and she hopes I meet someone who'll make me happy too. She's doing well, and forgives me for standing her up at the airport, doesn't hate me or anything, and she really loves the country she's in."

"Well, how about that," Yohji observed slowly, brow furrowing. "Why did you call her?"

Ken hesitated. "Just… something I felt I had to do," he said finally. "Closure, or something like that." He wandered over to Yohji. "I feel better, having called her. It's good that she's healthy, and happy. I was sort of afraid the effects of those chemicals wouldn't… you know… fade."

Yohji appraised him quietly. "Thinking of leaving us?" he wondered bluntly.

Ken couldn't help the flash of guilt. "If she hadn't… I was considering it, yes," he said boldly, arms folding defensively across his chest. "But just considering it. I wasn't going to run off anywhere tomorrow."

"Ken," Yohji said quietly, standing and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You can't leave. You realize that, right? You can't just run off, or Kritiker would think you'd gone rogue and hunt you down. And they'd make US kill you, for a security risk. If you want to quit, just talk to Manx and get her to retire you or something. Promise never to talk about what you've done with Weiss and I'm sure everything would be okay. That is, if you really want to go. We don't want you to go. We need you."

We need you. It was the same thing Omi had said to him, but Ken just didn't see it. He nodded mutely. "Thanks, Yotan, but like I said, I was only considering it. I don't know, I'm starting to think… I mean, I've…." He trailed off and shook his head. "Look, don't worry about it. If I ever decide to retire, I'll give you guys lots of notice so you can be sure to find my replacement."

Yohji sighed. "We don't want to have to replace you," he said. "I know this life wears on you. Hell, it wears on me more every goddamned night… every night," he repeated faintly, raking a hand through his hair, then abruptly pulling himself together. "Don't let it crack you, okay? Nothing's worth that."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ken said quietly. "You sure you don't want any hot chocolate?"

Yohji stepped back, eyes going shuttered. "Nah, no thanks. I should get back home, actually. Probably. See you tomorrow, Ken-ken."

"See you," Ken replied, letting Yohji find his own way out.

When the door shut behind him, Ken flopped back down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. Yes, he was feeling better than he'd felt in a long time. Since killing Kase, in fact. What could he attribute that too? The answer was unsettling, and also caused a pang somewhere in his chest. He tilted his head.

The Problem of Pain still sat on his bedside table under the reading lamp. It wasn't for him. It never had been.

Rousing himself abruptly, he yanked on his jacket and shoes and snatched up the book. He'd told himself he wouldn't go until he actually had something to talk about, some good reason, not just delivering a present, but he felt in his gut that he WANTED to go. Yohji's visit made him feel stifled all of a sudden, and he wondered if it was because he had a sudden suspicion he was being watched. Yohji had walked right over to the books, and hadn't looked all that surprised to see them. The way he talked, it was almost as if….

Well. He'd just have to take the long route then, and lose them. He was confident in his ability to lose a tail… he just wasn't sure he could do it without provoking some very awkward questions. He had some ideas, though, and by the time he got down to the garage, he knew what he was going to do. It would involve some walking, but he had a feeling he wouldn't sleep much tonight anyway.

X-X-X

"Interesting," Farfarello said as he opened his door to admit Ken into his apartment. Ken flushed deeply and tried to pull his meager clothing tighter around himself, glaring mutinously at the Irishman.

"My teammates are TAILING me, can you believe it?" he muttered, grateful for the sound of the door closing behind him. "I figured a crowded club was the best place to lose them, but they don't let you in unless you're dressed for it. And since I don't look like sex on two legs, or jail-bait, that takes some work on my part, okay?"

"I believe it," Farfarello said simply, turning and heading back toward the couch. Relieved that he hadn't chosen to comment further, Ken followed him. The TV was on, and with some surprise, he recognized the J-League division two eliminations.

"Who's winning?" he wondered. Farfarello settled back on the couch, drawing his feet up under him, and picked up a mug he'd left on the end table.

"The score is 3-2, Nagoya," Farfarello told him. "But Kobe was just awarded a penalty kick. They may tie it."

"Who do you favor?" Ken flopped onto the couch next to him, belatedly wondering when he became so comfortable with having someone so unstable so close to him.

"Neither," Farfarello told him with an elegant shrug, stirring and rising. "But I am being a poor host. The refrigerator is full. What would you like?"

Ken blinked, then started. "Oh! Oh, no, you don't have to get me anything, really," he said with a lopsided smile. "I'm fine."

Farfarello eyed Ken's shirt. Sleeveless, royal blue, and midriff baring worn under a cropped black leather jacket he'd loved for a year then tossed in the back of his closet for being too rebellious-looking. "A sweater?"

Ken laughed, and felt some of the weight of being under his teammates' suspicions lift. "Yeah," he chuckled. "A sweater would be nice. How is it that every time I come here you wind up lending me clothes?"

"Why is it that every time you come here, your clothing is either wet or entirely insufficient? One would think that by this age you would know how to dress," Farfarello shot back dryly, retreating into his bedroom and emerging to lob a dark green bundle at Ken's head. It was a plain, knit sweater of unbelievably soft weave, and Ken gladly stripped off the jacket and pulled it on over the embarrassingly revealing blue shirt. As he pulled it over his head, it smelled of pine needles and heather. He curled up and tucked his nose into his shoulder, savoring the scent.

He heard the fridge open and close and when Farfarello sat back down, he mutely offered Ken a beer. Nothing exotic, just Kirin, and he gratefully twisted the top off and sipped it.

"Have you always liked soccer?" he wondered as the commercials ended and the player, who was identified on the bottom of the screen as Ryuji Bando, lined up to take his penalty shot. He scored, and the game went on, tied 3-3.

"When I was a small boy," Farfarello told him, drinking his tea with the mug cupped in both hands, "some of the other children and I played soccer in the small field behind the church, but that is my only previous exposure to it. I do remember enjoying it then."

Ken stared at him, oddly touched and charmed by the image of little-boy Jei laughing and chasing a battered, peeling soccer ball down a weed-ridden field with a bunch of other laughing children. "You still remember how to play?"

He shrugged. "I remember the rules. But between the death of my parents and sister and meeting you in the park, I had not touched a ball."

Remembering the way those delicate-boned, scarred hands had crept in wonderment over his soccer ball, and the dawning confidence with which Farfarello had kicked the ball back to him, Ken smiled wryly. "I haven't played against anyone else in a long time either. I've just been coaching. But lately, I haven't even been doing that," he said, taking another drink of his beer to keep the mutiny from creeping into his voice. "Too much heat. There's been talk of abandoning the permanent flower shops and setting up a mobile one, selling in different regions."

"You dislike the idea," Farfarello ascertained.

Ken sighed. "I don't know if I dislike it. More like… I can't care about it. It's another way to hide in an endless life of hiding and running, only this time, all the familiarity will be gone. And that feels… I don't know, inevitable, really. If I am spiraling into insanity, like you seem to think I am, why should anyone help me avoid it? Let's just take away all the things that keep Weiss mostly sane and hasten the process!"

"I doubt that is Kritiker's reasoning," Farfarello pointed out with the slightest of smirks. "They are more likely attempting to keep you safe by removing you from established contacts and areas in which your faces are known. Since the fall of Eszet, Tokyo is too hot for assassins of either the misguided good or unrepentant evil variety. I have it on good authority that Crawford and Schuldig will soon return to Europe."

"You're spying on them?" Ken couldn't help being amused.

Farfarello shrugged. "I have my methods, and it is difficult for either of them to detect me, being what I am."

It was an opening. Ken debated for several long moments, then took another drink of his beer and went for it. "And you are… what, exactly?"

"A biopath," Farfarello told him easily. "Albeit a very limited one."

"All right," Ken said slowly, having the distinct feeling that the world as he knew it was about to be turned on its head. "What's a biopath?"

"A kind of psychic," Farfarello told him. "A biopath has control over only his or her own body. He or she can consciously control their healing, breathing, pain and pleasure reception, hormones, and glands. As I said, my abilities are extremely limited. Certain functions, such as my breathing, heart rate, and adrenal release, I can control, but others I cannot. My healing causes a quickened metabolism that exhausts me quickly, but I cannot stop it, and I cannot bring back the ability to comprehend pain signals. That is gone. Crawford theorized that the frequency with which I was exposed to extremely high doses of mind and physiology-altering drugs, as well as my own fractured mind, contributed to the situation. And the shock treatment likely did not help."

Ken winced. "They still… do that to people? That's barbaric."

"In many cases, it works," Farfarello pointed out. "It is unpleasant, but usually violent patients become sedate in the aftermath. It produces a feeling of relaxation and mild euphoria."

"You're kidding." Ken felt mildly nauseous.

"No," Farfarello said simply, eyes still on the television, where Kobe was valiantly fending off Nagoya's attempts to score a goal.

"Do you think…." Ken swallowed. "Crawford is right? That the drugs and the… treatment… affected your… power?"

"I am hardly qualified to say, but it is not important. In this instance, my biopathy is not important either. What is important is my second ability – that of Null."

Grateful for the change of subject, Ken gamely repeated, "Null?"

"I am a psychic blank," Farfarello explained. "I scramble other powers that attempt to act upon me. Schuldig cannot read my mind without my permission, Nagi has difficulty moving me, Crawford cannot see the future in direct relation to me."

"Like a radio jammer," he said with something of an affectionate smile. Trust Farfarello, really, to be the one to throw a wrench in the works just by existing.

Farfarello nodded. "Perhaps. It enables me to keep track of them without being detected."

"Are they still looking for you?" Ken wondered.

He was rewarded with the shake of Farfarello's head. "I do not believe so. They have other things to worry about – Eszet seeks revenge for its fallen, and they are the primary targets."

"Will they come after you?" Ken couldn't help looking worried, and frowned slightly when Farfarello turned to him and chuckled.

"Perhaps. But I am officially dead, so I should have some breathing room while they concentrate on the remaining members of Schwarz. I do not think they will care to look for me – they do not see the value in it, and as far as they know, I was just a vicious dog kept on more intelligent master's leash."

"You're a lot more than that," Ken said mutinously.

Farfarello sighed. "You are always kind," he said, looking amused. "Particularly to those who don't deserve it."

Ken frowned and raked a hand through his hair. "You're kind to me too," he pointed out. "And I don't know why. Maybe it IS my nature, maybe I can't help it, but what's your excuse? Just because we're so similar? You don't spare yourself anything. You experience things, even if they're bad. So why spare me? Claiming we're alike is well and good, but you act like there's something about me you want to preserve, and I can't figure it out, because all I've ever known you to do is destroy."

For several long moments, Farfarello merely watched the television screen, and Ken wasn't sure he was going to respond at all, but finally, he leaned back, curling against the back of the couch, arms wrapping around his knees. "That is a question I cannot fully answer."

"Can't?" Ken wondered sharply.

"Won't," he amended.

The brunette sighed, slouching and folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I guess that's your right, huh? But it's driving me crazy, just so you know."

"I will tell you," Farfarello said solemnly, "when the time is right. But it will be a long time."

Ken sighed. "You promise?"

"Yes. I promise."

He considered that a moment before breaking into a smile. "Good. I know you'll keep it. Oh, um… you know, I almost totally forgot, I have something for you." He flushed as he dug in the inner pocket of his discarded jacket. "I mean, I was just… hanging around in the bookstore the other day, and I saw it, and I thought of you, so… but I don't know you really well, so if you don't like it, please don't kill me."

"I will not," Farfarello told him, eyeing him with interest, head canted to one side. "Is it a present?"

Ken flushed more. "Sort of. Here." He held out the book gingerly.

Farfarello took it and gazed at it, fingertips brushing over the glossy cover.

Ken fidgeted. "I haven't read it yet but it looks interesting. I mean, what I did read. I know it's sort of an argument for the other side, but you like thinking about things like this, and I've never heard someone reason it out the way you do, so the way this guy talks kind of reminded me of you and I thought it might be nice to have someone of your level of intelligence arguing the other side instead of … well, me…."

"I owned this book," Farfarello said quietly, putting a halt to Ken's babbling. "Before. I was not able to retrieve any of my belongings from the old safe house. I'm certain they were destroyed to help cover Schwarz's trail."

"Oh," Ken said, looking crestfallen. "I'm sorry. I guess I should have known, if it was that perfect, you'd already have it…."

"I miss my books. I am pleased to have it back," Farfarello told him, folding the book into his lap and eyeing Ken solemnly. "Thank you."

Ken shut his mouth with a snap and managed a lopsided smile. "Oh. Er… you're welcome. I mean, it was just…." He decided to quit while he was ahead and fell silent.

Farfarello gave him an oddly piercing look for a long moment, until Ken began to feel extremely uncomfortable and a little wary, and then abruptly rose and went to one of the bookshelves, putting the book carefully in place with others by the same author. His fingers trailed down the spine affectionately before he left it there and returned to the kitchen for more tea.

Ken finished off his beer and stared at the TV set for a moment, then got up and headed for the kitchen also. Farfarello was waiting quietly for the coffee pot to heat his water – he looked incredibly relaxed, lounging with one hip against the counter and his ankles crossed, in gray sweats and a white t-shirt that hung loose on his wiry frame. He wasn't wearing the eye patch again, but Ken thought the bruise-colored, stapled socket looked less repellant today. He wondered if it kept trying to heal, frustrated by the inability to regenerate an eye.

He dropped his beer bottle in the trash can. In contrast to the serene silence of the kitchen, broken only by the soft bubbling of the coffee pot, his leather pants creaked as he wandered over to the counter to join Farfarello. The Irishman looked amused, and Ken scowled. "I told you, it's a disguise," he said, self-conscious.

"A disguise as what?" Farfarello wondered simply, smirking, golden eye narrowing.

Ken floundered. "A… a club-goer. Someone who would… frequent… clubs."

"And then frequent love hotels?"

Ken gawked. "Did you just…?" He spent several moments trying not to swallow his tongue and pretending his face wasn't radiating heat as Farfarello snickered quietly to himself and turned back to watch the coffee pot with rather frightening intensity. Finally, Ken sighed and gave up. "I just hope I really lost them," he muttered, leaning his forehead against the fridge. "Bad enough to explain why I came to see you anyway, without having to explain why I came to see you dressed like THIS."

Farfarello glanced up. "Do they think that of you?"

"Think what?"

"That you are an invert," he clarified matter-of-factly.

Ken snorted. "I doubt it. I mean, I've had girlfriends… well, TRIED to have girlfriends. But so has Yohji and there's times I have to swear he's bi, just because of the way he dresses. And don't think I don't know what I look like. Walking out of the apartment like this was hard enough."

"Are you an invert?" Farfarello asked casually.

Ken blinked. "Um… not that I know of. I mean, I've never had the urge to… um… kiss a man before." He flushed again, and cursed mentally, wishing he had Farfarello's power for just a few minutes so he could stop the damned blood rising to his face. "But it doesn't bother me if other people are. I mean… it's just a matter of preference, I guess, and who am I to tell anybody who to love?" He shrugged uncomfortably.

"If you fell in love with someone and that someone happened to be male, would you accept that? Or would you fight it? I find that question to be the simplest determiner of sexuality."

"Why are we talking about my sexuality anyway?" Ken wondered, flustered. "You're not gay, are you?"

"I have no preference," Farfarello told him simply. "People are people. A soul is not defined by the body that contains it."

"So if you fell in love with someone, and that someone happened to be male, would YOU accept that?" Ken challenged.

"I would, and have," Farfarello said easily. "That is hardly the most difficult challenge I would face in a hypothetical relationship."

Ken chuckled. "Yeah. I guess that's true. Wait… what do you mean, you have?"

Farfarello eyed him. "You think I am a virgin."

"That makes it sound so pure."

"I am not."

Ken winced. "Good to know. I'm not going to ask, so please don't tell me."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Farfarello wondered innocently.

Ken glared at him. "YES."

"Why?"

Ken opened his mouth, then paused and considered his answer before resigning himself to muttering gruffly, "because, if I've got the timeline right from what you told me, you were in an asylum when adolescence came around, and with Schwarz after the asylum. And I don't think anyone who would have slept with you before you were old enough to want it, or anyone from that team, would have done it because they loved you. And if they didn't love you, they were using you, and talking about it that casually is... wrong. I don't like it."

"You are so certain there was no love lost between Schwarz?"

"I heard them talking about you, okay?" Ken snapped. "There, on the beach, I heard them. Nagi asked about you, whether they should go back and find you, but Schuldig and Crawford just DISMISSED you. The way they talked about you, it was like you weren't even a person. Maybe you guys were a twisted kind of family, the way Weiss is, but my family wouldn't just dismiss me if they thought I was lost. They don't want to lose me. I wish they wouldn't follow me around and poke into my business, but I know they're doing it because they're concerned. Your 'family' didn't even give you a second thought, and I …think I hate them for that," he said with dawning realization.

Farfarello watched him quietly, appraisingly. "Why?"

"Because…" Ken waved his hands helplessly. "Because you ARE a person. You're so much more than you look like. You're smart… you're the smartest person I've ever MET, except maybe Omi, but there are different kinds of smart. And you have this … this philosophy of inevitability and it makes you so distant, but you're not untouchable, sometimes you come back, and you laugh and you smile, and you have a sense of humor. And you wear soft fuzzy sweaters," he said helplessly, "and you can cook, and you're never afraid of anything. Sometimes you're like a little kid and sometimes you're fire and steel and sometimes you're like a dire poet, but you're not a dog on a leash, that you are NOT."

He trailed off and caught his breath, watching Farfarello, who was watching him back with an unreadable expression. He raised his hands, then let them flop uselessly to his sides.

"And I guess you're a really good actor," he murmured in resignation. "Because the only way anybody could see a vicious animal would be if that's all you wanted them to see."

"You do yourself an injustice," Farfarello told him quietly. "For all you say you are neither perceptive nor intelligent, you understand a great deal."

"I never said I wasn't intelligent," Ken huffed.

"You make what you think of yourself abundantly clear without the use of cumbersome words," he replied, brushing off Ken's protest. "But you never answered my question. If you happened to fall in love with someone…."

"And that someone happened to be a guy. Yeah, I know, I heard it the first time," Ken muttered, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms. His jaw worked thoughtfully for a moment, and then he shrugged. "It would depend on the person. I mean, if he wants to act all lovey in public, and hang all over me, and use stupid nicknames…yes, it would bother me. But I guess it'd bother me if a girl did that too, so I wouldn't fall for someone like that in the first place. I'd have to respect him a lot. We'd have to be…." He gestured vaguely. "You know, how a woman and a man are sort-of supposed to be dominant and submissive, right? Because they're different. At least, that's how they expect things to be in this country. All the girls I've ever gone out with acted like that, even the strong-willed ones. But if it was going to be a man, it'd have to be different. It'd have to be someone you could depend on, you know? Someone as strong as you. Or someone as strong as me, I guess, if we're talking about me. We'd have to be on equal footing. We'd have to be able to… work together and be friends. And act like friends, too."

"He would have to be someone like you," Farfarello reasoned. "Because you would feel differently keeping your life a secret from a man than from a woman."

"That too." Ken sighed. "The whole thing's just so complicated. Maybe Yohji was right, you know? Maybe I can't have a really good relationship and be an assassin. Because you're right, if I really loved someone, no matter who they were, I'd have to tell them, because it'd tear me up otherwise."

"You do not like keeping secrets."

Ken shook his head. "I hate it." He glanced up. "I don't mind keeping yours, though. I know it's important to you."

"Truth is important," Farfarello told him, lifting the full coffee pot off the hot plate and refilling his mug. He then gestured inquiringly with the pot. Ken nodded, and Farfarello got him a mug and teabag. "The saying that the truth will set you free is not merely a nice saying. When you can be completely truthful with a person, you are free to love them without reservation or fear. That person can truly know you, and only with true knowledge can there be real love."

"Have you been in love before?" Ken wondered, accepting the steaming mug.

"Personally, no," Farfarello told him. "I have not had much opportunity. But I have seen the many and varied forms of what people call love, and I have decided that most of them are flimsy props easily destroyed by strong emotions as changeable as the wind. In lieu of a better definition than they provided, I was forced to accept the classic one."

"The classic one?" Ken sipped his tea, pleased to find his tongue coated in the sweet tang of raspberry.

"First Corinthians chapter thirteen, verses three through five," Farfarello told him. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs."

"But that mostly tells you what love isn't, not what love is," Ken said slowly. "It only tells you how to recognize if something called love is not real."

"There is more," Farfarello told him. "Verses six through thirteen: Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see as through a glass, darkly; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Ken swallowed, still for a moment, impressed by the recitation given in Farfarello's lyrical, soothing voice and the unfaltering confidence with which it was delivered. "That's… kind of beautiful," he said finally. "Do you really believe that?"

"Paul was a wise man," Farfarello said evenly. "In this, I think he was wholly correct."

"It says a lot," Ken said quietly. "That piece, I mean. About knowing fully, and being fully known, and how we see the world the way we are, not exactly the way it really is – how we color things when we see them, so we see what we want to see."

"Like a vicious dog on a leash," Farfarello agreed, equally soft, "or a simple-minded soccer player."

Ken just nodded. "Like that."

They stood in silence for a couple minutes, before Farfarello turned and headed for the couch. Ken didn't follow until he heard the TV shut off; then he wandered back into the living room and sank onto the couch where Farfarello was already curled up again. The screen was blank and black. Ken didn't care who had won.

"I don't want to go home right now," he said simply. The time for blushing and mincing words was past. The quiet was somehow perfect, peaceful in a way that brought a sweet pang of pain to his heart. It was, Ken thought, like lying on the beach with his friends on a warm summer night, staring at the stars that stretched away into forever and listening to the waves as they confessed things about themselves they'd never tell again, and knowing that this moment, this night, would never return. A pang of savoring, of the finite existence of something precious. "I never really unpacked. It's quiet. Not the good quiet."

"Stay here," Farfarello told him simply. "You here will make it good quiet."

"I'd like to do that," Ken agreed softly, curling up himself around the warmth of his mug. The couch was short, so his feet were only a foot from Farfarello's. "Just not being alone…."

"Reminds you that the world is still there," Farfarello finished serenely.

Ken nodded. "Yeah. And that there's more to it than just me and what I'm feeling right now."

"What are you feeling?" the madman wondered in a sing-song tone, lips pressed against the rim of his mug.

Ken turned his between his hands. "That sometimes you have moments that you'll remember the rest of your life. And you don't see them coming, and you can't make them, but sometimes you recognize them when you're having them. And you think, 'this is it, right now, this will never come again'. It's like one sudden diamond in your memories, something you can keep. It's like that now. I feel like I'll never be here again, never exactly like this."

"No," Farfarello agreed, "but the beauty of the diamond moments is exactly that – they are all different, and you never WILL be here, just like this, again. But you are always welcome here, and I will always make you tea, and someday there will be another diamond just as lovely and unique."

"That's true," he said quietly, feeling better. "So I can sleep on your couch tonight?"

"You may sleep on the couch, or you may share the bed. It is more than large enough," Farfarello said easily. "And more comfortable."

"You won't mind?" He found himself wondering what Farfarello would look like asleep. Would dreams erase some of the weight from his face and make him look his age? Would they lighten the scars? Did he curl up small or sprawl, claiming his space like a cat? "I snore sometimes."

"I will not mind," Farfarello told him. "You may do as you like."

"Then I'll stay," Ken said quietly, smiling behind his mug, inhaling the rich scent. "Like sleepovers when we were kids."

"I remember," Farfarello said. "Ghost stories and flashlights."

"And pillow fights," Ken offered with a grin.

"No pillow fights," Farfarello told him. "The grown-ups would yell at us."

"We're the grown-ups now," Ken pointed out, but smiled as he took a sip of his tea. "Fortunately, some things never lose their charm."

X-X-X

(( A/N: Passages taken from New International Version, for the most part))