A/N: Hello again, all!

It's been ages since I last wrote anything, due to a very scary mental crisis. I'm recovering from a very difficult time, and in celebration of this re-entering of the world, I decided to bust my butt and put out another chapter of Repentance. WhoooHoo! I apologise, however, that this one is very short, nor do I feel it's as good as the first two. But Hell, I wrote it and I'm posting it, dammit! Thanks again to those of you who have reviewed, certainly more than I had expected, especially because of the rating. Thanks! It's good to be back...

Disclaimer: You guys know the drill.

-Yumiko, stop it. This is best. -

"No. Never again."

-It'll make you feel better… you can sleep… Yum-

"Never. Again. Not for you, not for me, not for Maxwell… not… n-not…"

-Don't say it, Yumiko. -

"… not for God."

-Yumiko…-

The nun clasped trembling hands, pressing until her knuckles had drained to white. Her nails, clean from a recent washing, dug into the backs of her hands, vermillion droplets welling around her fingers. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. I deserve this. I'm such a monster… all those people… my hands…

-You don't deserve this, you stupid girl. I am the monster, those were my hands. You're just the vessel. It was God's judgment. Now stop thinking so hard and let me OUT. Sleep for a while. You need it. -

"I'm not tired, Yumie. I just woke up."

-You disgust me, some days. You need real rest, with no dreams, no worries, to heal. -

Yumiko let out a whimper as the nails dug deeper, and tears rolled down her face. A crimson trail ran down her wrist, the barest stream of blood. Blood…


Black. Just black.

She was rocking, slowly, and her head was resting on a tortuously hard surface. Her mind rolled around in her skull, sending waves of nausea down her body to the pit of her stomach. Everything was quiet, but a deep rumbling shook the floor and pounded in her ears. Where am I? Where is everything? Where's Heinkel? What happened?

She dragged her eyelids back, fighting the velvet unconsciousness. Images wrapped her muddy brain, and it struggled to make sense of them. Green metal… a rolling sensation… that rumbling… Heinkel!

Indeed, the woman was propped against a metal wall, hunched over and seemingly asleep. Certainly not dead, as the smoke from her cigarette blew out of her mouth with reassuring force. Yellow straps hung from a low, curved ceiling, metal buckles swaying to and fro. One of these bumped softly against Heinkel's lowered head, and she batted it away in agitation. The woman took a quick look around, and spotted Yumiko staring at her in confusion.

Heinkel's mouth moved, and she smiled ever-so-slightly. Then her lips continued to dance, and several seconds passed before Yumiko realized why there was no sound. Heinkel was being drowned out, but by what?

It all hit her at once. The fragments her senses had provided were finally fitted together by her tired mind, and Yumiko blinked, amazed at her own confusion. A helicopter. She was lying down in a helicopter.

The noise of air and rotating blades combined crashed into her eardrums with the force of an avalanche, bashing her brain into even more disarray. Yumiko's hands flew to her ears, and she rolled around on the floor in sudden agony. A quick hand darted out and pressed her to the floor, ceasing her thrashing. Slowly, the noise became less, and Yumiko opened her eyes once more.

Heinkel crouched over her, an annoyed and worried frown drawn on her face. She removed the hand on Yumiko's chest, and yelled over the roar, "Are you okay?" The nun nodded, and opened her mouth to ask where they might possibly be, and why she was here. Her eye caught on Heinkel's right shoulder, and the bloody bandage wrapped there. The question died on her lips, as the memories rushed back, visions of frozen faces and walls painted burgundy. Men and women, butchered with her own hands. She looked down at herself, and quickly closed her eyes, the scarlet regalia confirming her nightmare. The midnight sleep claimed her again, drowning out Heinkel, the helicopter, her headache… but this time, the velvet was stained red.

Her own cry of anguish woke her from the memory, and she wept from pain and guilt. Her hands throbbed, calling forth tears from her chest, and spilling blood over her wrists. NO! NEVER AGAIN!

-Yumiko… you can't stop it. This is our purpose. You were born to carry me, and when I was born, it was to destroy His enemies, and protect you, with our hands. There is no shame in that. What higher calling and honor is there? -

How can there be honor in murder?

-Destroying His detractors is not murder. -

The ache started again, lines of pain winding up her arms. She opened her eyes, staring at a blurry world. Her eyes widened in shock and despair as she felt the distinct absence of her glasses upon her nose. NO!

She screamed again as the fingers of darkness grasped at her consciousness, pulling her deep inside, and releasing something else. NO!


The black curtain fell away, and Yumie ripped at the gauze barrier with the force of a tiger. This is for your own good, Yumiko. Sleep now.

-NO! Yumie, don't do this! Please! - Yumiko screamed out from the depths of their head, beating at walls no fist could break. She was powerless now. Yumie stood, slowly, rivers of blood running down her hands to drip on the floor. A frantic knocking sounded on her door, likely the good sister stationed outside to prevent exactly this. The berserker stretched, extending hands up to the ceiling, and staining her cuffs crimson. A clumsy scratching and clicking emanated from the lock, the door slowly cracked open, and a breathless nun whispered, "Sister Yumiko?"

Yumie grinned, the perfect expression of the benevolent predator. This poor sister had probably been warned of Yumiko's special… 'gift'… and was most likely scared out of her wits. Maxwell needn't worry; there was no reason to punish the faithful. The woman would not be hurt. Yumie called out softly, "Come in, I'm fine."

The door swung open the rest of the way, and a plump woman clutching her pounding heart stepped in the door. "My goodness, I was quite frightened! I heard you scream, are you- Sister Yumiko! You're hurt!" She rushed toward Yumie, who simply reached up and tore the wimple from her head, discarding the infernal thing on the bed.

The nun stopped dead in her tracks, and then took a step back. "Yo-you're not Sister Yumiko… y-you're Y-Y…"

"Yumie."

The petrified nun froze. Like a rabbit…

"I'm going for a walk, sister. Excuse me." Yumie stepped towards the door, curling cherry-stained fingers.

The brave sister shook her head, even as she began to tremble. "No. You have to stay here. Let me see your hands…"

Yumie closed her eyes and shook her head, then threw herself forward, seizing the unfortunate woman by the arm and flinging her onto the cot, then sliding out of the door. The berserker slammed the door shut with a shoulder, and then took ahold of the handle. First, she gently clicked it shut, then drove her arm down with sudden violence, bending the handle out of shape as to make it unusable.

Screams ripped out from the improvised jail, and Yumie smiled, silently congratulating herself on a job well done. She started down the corridor, soft shoes padding on the slick marble. Now to find Heinkel, then get some air. We need to talk.


Heinkel shuffled the cards, laminated paper sliding swiftly through her fingers. They pooled into a haphazard pile on the old, beaten table, but were then gathered into a deck with the swipe of a hand. She leaned forward and placed them with a soft thud on the middle of the surface, grunting at the strain on her shoulder.

"Somefing 'urt?" The concerned query came from a British "peasant" who'd come to Rome to find God. He said he missed betting. Kindred spirit.

"Old var vound, you could say."

"I see. Got one meself, in me leg."

Her booted feet swung up to cross on the edge of the wood, chair tipping back on two legs to accommodate the odd angle. Heinkel had already tucked her sunglasses away in a pocket; the light here was dim, and one needed to see to play Blackjack. The lit cigarette dangling from her lips released a stream of thin, blue smoke into the tobacco-thick air. "Whose deal ist it?"

"Mine." A nervous man who'd been chain-smoking the entire game leaned over and clumsily laid out the cards. Heinkel glanced down at her own, and then let out a smog-laden breath. Six oft hearts und… She lifted the other with her gloved hand, the fingers cut away and rolled back. These were her spare pair- her other ones had religious messages scrawled on the backs. Vatican issue. This pair she wore now were black cyclist's gloves, ragged and beaten from use. … Und a 2 of clubs. Acht.

"Hit me."

Her other pair was also covered in blood. Blood… Yumie. Yumiko.


His eyebrow was twitching.

That was how she knew when she'd gone too far. It was the sort of glare Maxwell gave her when he was about to cut her pay. Needless to say, she hated that look. Heinkel treated herself to a nice long blink. None of that mattered. She had to see Yumiko for herself, or she'd drive herself mad with worry… no, concern? That wasn't quite right either. She'd waited for several months, giving the girl plenty of time, in her own opinion. Now she wanted to check on Yumiko.

"Heinkel, Yumiko needs this time to speak with herself, Yumie, God, and her therapist. Are you Yumiko?" His teeth were gritted. Enrico was fighting to stay calm. Frankly, she was impressed; he usually lost it by now.

"No." Heinkel remained motionless in the hard wooden chair, resisting the urge to scoot back, away from his rabid face. They were alone in the office, which was actually one of the plainest in the building. Nobody could accuse Father Enrico Maxwell of a love of excess. Then again, no one could accuse Heinkel of earning a decent living working for him, either.

"Are you Yumie?" Behind Maxwell, Father Renaldo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the silent man obviously becoming bored with this banter. Heinkel allowed herself a smirk, mentally scolding her senses. Of course they weren't alone; Renaldo was there. He was always there. Maybe the painkillers were getting to her head. She'd have to stop taking them.

"No." Behind her sunglasses, her eyes darted around the room, plain plaster walls providing no distraction. Only the wooden cross on the wall managed to hold her attention for any amount of time. She inspected every line, tuning out Maxwell's ranting, only giving him enough thought to answer him occasionally with an expressionless "no".

"Are you God?" The delicate markings had not been painted over, but instead the wood had been stained a deep mahogany. The craftsmanship was incredibly fine; her careful scrutiny could detect no rough edges, no scratches. Maybe Maxwell really could be convicted of earthly greed.

"No." Did he think her answer might be "yes"? Heinkel found herself amused at the look that might cross the Father's face if she presumed to answer in the affirmative. His emerald eyes would fill with shock and disbelief, his body would freeze, that infernal twitching would cease. Oh, well.

"And you are not her therapist. Therefore, you have no business in Sister Yumiko's presence at this time." The leader of Section XII sank down into his own hard wooden chair, head in hands. "Is that all?" Heinkel felt a brief flash of pity. Yes, this man was a harsh employer, and a merciless fanatic, but despite it all, she felt a certain fondness for him. His heart was in what was close to the right place. Besides, she was no real judge of piety.

"Da. I vill leave you, then, Father Maxvell, Father Renaldo." She rose from her seat, giving each a respectful nod before quietly leaving the room. There was nothing else to be said. He wouldn't let her see Yumiko… and she'd just have to deal with it.

The door shut with a soft click, but not before she heard Maxwell sigh.

There was a faint slap as the jittery dealer placed the requested card in front of Heinkel, summoning her back to the present. The Jack of Hearts stared arrogantly up at her, making her face-up cards equal twelve. Achtzehn in all. Perfect. Her eyes lazily scanned the three other sets of cards. The dealer had fourteen showing, and was digging in his pocket for another cigarette. The British man was scowling in agitation at his visible twelve, flicking his thumb on the edge of his hidden card. Lastly, the fourth player in this little game was busily taking another swig out of an amber bottle, probably oblivious to the seventeen in front of him.

The assassin flicked the ash off her cigarette, studying the glowing end before replacing it between her lips. "Vell, then…"

"'It me!" The British fellow threw his unrevealed card back down, and the dealer tossed him another with shaking fingers: the eight of diamonds. The unfortunate man threw up his hands in agitation, and growled, "Bust! Dam' it awl!" His final total was twenty-three, a near miss. How frustrating. Too bad.

Heinkel flipped hers over with an index finger, and then the drunkard clumsily followed suit. His seventeen was joined by a four, twenty-one. The assassin gathered her pile up with the pass of a hand. Unless the dealer could match it, the game belonged to him.

Realizing the 'gravity' of the situation, the dealer began to shiver, and chew on his cigarette. Heinkel suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Trembling, he drew a card, and placed it next to his own. I don't know vhy he bothers. He's lost. Idiot. Her gaze wandered away to the window across from her, the velvet night studded with the few lights in the city. Cold streets.

Lost… Streets…


Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk…

Her breath trailed behind her, a mix of frost and smoke. The assassin's hands were jammed deep into two exterior pockets of her coat, which was buttoned closed against the chill. It was mid January, and about 8° C. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best night for a walk. Then again, after her 'discussion' with Maxwell, Heinkel wasn't too worried about a little cold.

The streets flashed by her unnoticed, abandoned in the face of the frigid evening. Most of the nightlife had retreated to the safe, sinful warmth of bars and clubs that sprouted in any city. They were a shameful class of weed here, in this most holy of places. In any case, only a ragged beggar remained huddled in her path. He had buried his wrinkled face in a tattered fur coat, and only a reddened nose and a pair of beady eyes braved the frosty air. "Good evening…" She scuffed to a stop, and towered over him at her full height of over 6 feet. The man stuttered for a second, unsure of the proper way to address a woman in priest's clothing.

After it became clear he was too flustered to speak, Heinkel silently moved on. Why waste time standing there while he stuttered? Besides, it was cold as death, and even the neon glow of a nearby strip club was beginning to become appealing. Maybe she could find a quiet little tavern to haunt.

She bent her head against a sudden wind, and shuddered at the icy bite. Her feet continued to move, and she trudged past the lights, past the muffled sounds of merriment, and finally to a stop in front of a little brick place, with a faded sign and peeling paint.

The air inside the place was laden with smoke and the sour hint of alcohol.

It did not take long for Heinkel to locate a running game of Blackjack, and less time to join it.

A monstrous crash made Heinkel jump, and she swung her torso around to the door, hand diving for a revolver. A sudden hush settled over the tavern, as all the inhabitants turned to look at the source of the noise; the front door.

There stood Yumie, hair and skirts still settling from her hurried entrance. She had one hand planted on the thick wooden door, slammed open as wide as it would go. The berserker stepped into the bar, her footsteps muffled on the mat inside the threshold. Fierce eyes darted around the room, searching.

Heinkel groaned quietly and rubbed her face, then swung her feet down to the floor with a deafening clunk in the silent room. Yumie's head swung around and focused on her friend's tired form, and then the berserker's lips twisted into a delighted grin.

Slowly, the conversation began again, and the noises of drunken revelry rose up to brush the roof. Yumie wove her way over to Heinkel's table, moving as a tall shadow behind the assassin. Heinkel pulled her dark glasses out of her coat pocket, and quietly excused herself to the other players. "I haf to go. Guten Nacht." She rose from her seat, sweeping after Yumie, who was already headed for the door. I vonder vat the hell this ist about.

"You two come as a pair? Got a motel room down the street." A heavy hand seized Yumie's right arm, dragging her over to a stool at the bar. The Berserker snarled at the drunken leer of some middle-aged man, until she seemed to catch his meaning. Heinkel, of course, couldn't blame him; what else could a pair of women dressed as a nun and a priest be doing here? Besides, Yumie had discarded Yumiko's wimple. Yumie's snarl vanished, and her muscles tensed. Her eyes slid into pinpoint focus, centering on the disastrous man before her. Heinkel also tensed. Shit. I know that look.

"Prostitution is a sin." The black curtain of hair swished to a stop, and Yumie's head slowly twisted to face the drunk. He stared at her blankly, his hand still clutching her navy sleeve. Heinkel threw her arm forward, breaking the contact and then encircling Yumie's waist. "Come on," she growled, and then laboriously hauled her out of the front door into the frosty January night.

The drunk, unaware of how close to death he had just come, waved his arm for another round.

"Finding you was a pain."

They retraced Heinkel's earlier steps, passing by where the bum had wished the German woman a good evening. He was gone, vanished like he had never been. Heinkel gave Yumie a sidelong glance, and caught the faint smile on the berserker's face.

"I don't vant to know how you did it, freund." Then Heinkel couldn't be blamed when the bodies were found. Maxwell, of course, would throw a fit. Not only was Yumiko out of her chamber, and Yumie was out on the streets. Worse, Yumie was with her, after Maxwell had taken the trouble of giving Heinkel such an excellent lecture on leaving Yumiko alone. Vonderbar.

"So, vhy the hell are you here?"

"I needed to get out. It's been ages, hasn't it?"

"Da. Vier Monate."

"What?"

"Four months. It's January, of 1999."

Yumie shook her head, and sighed. "I hate missing so much."

Heinkel blew out a cloud of smoke, and it slipped over her shoulder to vanish behind her. "I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

"Happy New Year, then."

"Happy New Year, mein freund."