"I'm sure she'll be fine," Vanessa sighed, propping herself against the side of the cart's cabin to study him. He was hunched over the reins, head turned out the side window. She couldn't see his face but for the edge of it, and he looked unhappy. "You're not hiding it very well," she grumbled. "With a little stealth, we can sneak out there whenever we want to check on her. Otherwise, you have to trust that she's a smart girl. She'll be fine."

At that, he felt like roaring in anger. Vanessa's a smart girl, and SHE wasn't fine. He hadn't actually given a second thought to Callisto after speaking with her at the barn, not until Vanessa mentioned it in the desert. But he didn't care to think much about Callisto. His thoughts were fixed on Vanessa. And he didn't want her to know. So he gripped the reins until his knuckles went white, kept his eyes trained on the dunes to his left, and grunted out a calm reply. "You're probably right."

He agreed with her FAR too easily. She folded her arms tighter upon her chest and huffed audibly. They were near-halfway to Glaston and she wasn't sure if she'd see him again after that. Heck, even if she tried to follow him he'd probably notice. 'After we get to Glaston,' she thought bitterly, 'the only chance I'll ever get to speak with him would probably happen during battle.' Best to try to speak with him presently.

Every muscle she could see on him was tensed and he twitched slightly once in a while. Besides that brief sentence of agreement and the hushed question, "Are you ready to leave?" he'd said nothing to her.

The moons were coming out, and she felt a sense of urgency. "This is very difficult for you," she stated slowly, leaning against the dashboard to try to see more of his face. "There are humans in your garden. Right now. A part of you must be dying inside. And I really want to believe that you've accepted it; that you intend to give up the garden for good, peacefully. So, um, if you TALK to me maybe I'll know that this anger you're hiding poorly won't result in…bad things." He didn't respond for a moment, and the seating squeaked when she leaned forward to place a hand on his shoulder. She meant to try to turn him towards her some, but instead he remained turned away. Actually, he seemed to shudder when she touched him. Instinctively, she drew her hand away.

Knives closed his eyes tightly, attempting to swallow with his very sore, dry throat. His chest heaved for a moment, but he wouldn't let himself cry, wouldn't let out the rage, wouldn't let himself vomit.

"Stop the toma," Vanessa demanded, her voice surprisingly gentle.

Perhaps this was the place to do it. They were far enough from the garden, far enough from the Glaston complex and anything else he worried about destroying. Pulling on the reins, he led the beasts to a halt. He rested his elbows on the dash and closed his hands around his face. Was he ready for this?

His emotional conflict was interrupted by the metallic whine of her opening her side door. Glancing up only for a moment to see her in the back, grabbing a backpack, he hid his face in his palms once more, digging his fingertips into his scalp. He breathed as slowly as he could force himself to, hot, wet breath into his hands from his nose. His throat tightened even more, if that was even possible. He didn't WANT to do it, but he felt he had to.

"I'm going back," she announced, voice seeming so far, echoing in his throbbing mind. "They won't even know I'm there. Looks like, if we ever see each other again, it'll be the death of one of us, huh?"

He could hear her breathing; the sand granules crunching at her feet as she shifted her weight to her other leg. She was waiting for a response, and he had to give her one. He rubbed his itchy eyes. Uncurling himself, he straightened his back enough to meet her gaze. She looked very serious, yet more sad than angry. That's the way he was certain he looked as well. As he opened his cabin door, she backed up quickly.

"…Unless you want to end this now," she added, dropping her backpack to the ground behind her. At this distance, her angel arm would probably destroy the cart and toma, let alone what it'd do to Knives. But if what she sensed from him was right, she needed to end it quickly, efficiently. She could try to cripple him, maybe then the plants would still have a chance, since she doubted her own abilities to regulate the bulbs. Callisto probably knew how to take care of them, maybe the girl would have the sense to do it before the plants started dying off, without their usual caretaker around. Vanessa would probably be killed in this, too, so what did it matter what supplies and transportation would survive?

Knives stood, slowly, and drug his feet towards her, arms clasped behind his back. He couldn't meet her face as she slumped to her knees, readying an attack. How many times had she believed that he would kill her? How could she still think it? How easy would it be for her to wipe him out? If winning meant killing her, he'd probably rather lose. But, to kill her to put her out of her misery? That one he wasn't sure of yet.

Vanessa had let her hands dangle between her knees. "Don't come any closer!" she shouted. The closer he came, the less chance to dodge her attack; if she wanted to beat him, there was no harm in his approach. "Stop where you are," she shouted, nonetheless. "I don't want to do this!" But she knew she would do it. Otherwise there were too many doubts…

He'd finally brought his eyes to hers, and she stared into the face of the murderer. That is who he was, a murderer, who hated all things human and who caused most of the bad things that had happened to everyone on SEEDs, on Gunsmoke…This was the angelic face of death. Knives. Cold, blue eyes were narrowed, were growing nearer. Her chin tilted up as he approached. She drew out her angel weapon just a bit, just enough to tickle her neck, just enough to let its glow illuminate his face. A warning.

Eyes not leaving hers – hers like twin pools of shallow ocean water, if one pool were partly made of milk – Knives walked to where she sat and settled himself onto his knees. He was careful not to touch her, careful to keep eye contact as her angel whips writhed up her back and glowed upon her shoulders like neon white snakes. The eerie light reflected off the tear rolling down her cheek. His hands remained safely behind his back. There was no easy answer, nothing to take the pain away.

"This is the hardest thing I'll ever do."

Knives nodded. "The ignorance was nice while it lasted."

"I wanted to be with you," she whispered, keeping her weapon steady. Smiling slightly, she winced as her weapon fluctuated a bit, crackling with energy. "Love you, Knives," she choked out in parting.

"There's two ways this can end – either way I can accept. But, if possible, don't kill me yet," he demanded, almost emotionlessly, as he suddenly darted forward and embraced her. Before she could shove him back, if she'd wanted to, his chin was over her shoulder, his right arm still tucked away, his left arm wrapped around her such that the core in his forearm was pressed against her back and his hand firmly held the back of her neck to keep her still.

Before Vanessa could react otherwise, Knives drew out a burst of her weapon.