The party atmosphere that preceeded the events slowly waned. Families took their children home, the dancing and singing stopped as the drunken fell asleep, and the soldiers retired to their own quarters, usually with an A.A. in tow. The bonfire had also followed suit, dying down from its roaring flame of random objects to smoldering ashes, the golden orange tinge of flame roasting at the edges of the blackness, keeping the heat alive. The bottom of it still crackled with life, bits of the fire still spreading slowly in the underbrush and beneath the towering pile of burnt rubble, keeping warmth to the few passed out around.

The bar had closed a while ago, the soldier who ran it having gone out early that night for some rest, on accoutn of his having late shift tomorrow. He'd made arrangements for the next night, anothe guy to run it while he was gone, but there wasn't a shortage of liquor that night, as usual. The soldiers and inhabitants lived it up, every night a party, like telling Justice thay he couldn't break the tradition of humanity or the spirit, none of it. So, every night, the tradition was the same.

Ky was still on the side of the fire, near some destroyed building, rubble lying on the groud he had used as a make-shit stool, and later lying across it. He hadn't been disturbed, which was different than usual, as some drunken soldier would come up and tell him how much he loved him and his authority, or an older drunken soldier telling him about how he thought Ky was worthless compared to Kliff, and th few citizens who would want to shake his hand for the city he gave them. Either way, he was almost never at peace, but that too waned as time went on, people more accustomed to him and his actions, so he was no longer a celebrity but another guy, albeit a special guy, but another soldier amongst the masses who you could identify. He became less deified, especially because of his age, but the respectful people saw him in a more friendly light due to his own personal approach to how people approached him.

The drunken few who would have said something they would regret, he let slide, due to their drunken natures, and the sober ones saw this and were grateful, bcause who knew if Bob said something he would rergret when he was drunk. It both showed the leadership and character of this person whom they had only heard about or had been preached, ni both good or bad lights. He wasn't caring and knowing of his being judged at these times, but he was always being, and became more and more comfortable, especially in his own city.

His eyes slowly opened, his sleep breaking. He looked up slightly, returning to his sitting position, looking around the court yard through glazed and sleepy eyes. The fire dimly lit the surroundings in a bleak orange, the shuffling around of a few drunkards to their residences and a few randomly dispersed passed out soldiers and civilians, lucky that the weather was nice and warm. He got up slowly, his left hand gripped on his sword, sheathed at his side, an instinct he never stopped. Even when sleeping, his hnd was on the hilt of his sword, and if it wasn't on his hip, he slept with it next to him. Gears were relentless, always had to be ready.

He stepped forward, trying to figure out which way was forward to his small, make-shift cabin. As soon as his foot hit the groud on his next step, a low whisper of a voice trailed on the wind. He stopped in his tracks, listening. He was tired, he couldn't duobt he may have been hearing things, but he was too unsure to chance it. He held his breath, unsure to take another step, when the voice came again on the frill of the wind, but louder this time, like a laughter...a female's voice, full of evil and malice, and then a man's voice, gruff and violent, overlapping and having all of the exact same twinges in their voices at the exact same moments...

The few people in a deep sleep stayed that way, but the others who were less intoxicated herd it too, a slight rouse out of them to the faint voices laughing on the gale that blew through the vacant streets, playing the fire likea fiddle as it twisted and wrapped around the wind, carried off by it, then returning with a renewed vigor and light, to only repeat the proces of being stolen away. Ky took another hesitant step, before he took one back in shock. A slight series of thumps was heard, as if something was rolling along, from where the voice was echoing.

Then, the rolling sound found a form. It slowly lost its speed and rolled into the courtyard, turning and coming to a stop with a slight gasp from Ky.

It was a head, severed at the neck, not by blade, but by rough, blunt force. A few people aroudn him saw, including an A.A. and a civilian woman, clutching her drowsy child to her as she was sleeping near her son by the flames. Their cres alerted even the drunken ones who came to life at the sond with a few slurred words and bloodshot eyes. Ky looked at the head for a moment, the blood pooling around the bottom and mixing with the dirt inbetween the cracks of the bricks to form a slimy crimson goo, supplanting the lifeless eyes staring up with words that its motuh couldn't say.

"Seikishidan soldiers! Get up now!" Ky screamed instinctively, his sword slightly zinging as it exitted his sheath with a few trailing electric bolts jumping back to the sheath before he took it too far away. Soldiers popped out of their tents, throwing on garments, the drunk stood up, some tumbling back down, families acting like gophers and tentatively looking at the surroudnings, grabbnig their kin in their arms, wondering t the sond of the yells. "Gears!" Ky screamed, seeing the night's occupants coming to life in front of him, their fears realized, the isntant that word reached their ears, panic and confusion blooming in season and pandemonium becoming the normal. It was time for the peace to end in Lyon.

"How bad is it?" Quint asked hesitantly, squinting at the sharp throng of pain as the needle pierced his skin.

"It's bad." Bianca said monotonely, eyes trained on his hip with sterile gloves on and a needle, trailing silvery thin thread. "But, it's not that bad. Just a flesh wound."

"Those bleed the most."

"But it'll be healed in a few days. No organs, no bones, nothing. Just a flesh wound."

"Yeah...ouch." he said, his body contorting almost instantly as she pulled on the needle, closing the hole slightly as it closed the wound slightly, trailing to the opposite side of flesh, a little higher to do the same action again.

"But, this is the first gun wond I ever dealt with."

"Is it any worse than a normal stab wound?"

"Not really, it's just all the way through. A stab usually doesn't go all the way through, and when it does, one end is larger than the other, the entrance is bigger, more jagged, and bleeds more than the exit, and you start at the exit, and seal it up from there, letting it heal from back to front. Don't want the skin healing up first on either side of the wound to enclose a big space of nothing in your hip. We gotta let it heal from the inside out."

"You know your shit, Bianca."

"I'm not a real A.A., but I do my damndest when I need to be one."

"Even when not off on a mission?"

"Hey, it sticks with me."

"You're sticking this with me."

"I could be worse, y'know." She said with a smirk, pulling tight on another length in the sewing to close it further on the back end. A minute later, she was done with the sewing, biting off the end of the threading. "Speaking of worse, this part is going to hurt" she said with a slight smirk, grabbing into her bag behind her.

They were in Bianca's apartment, night coming on strong, and near about the middle of it. Earlier in the day, after the fun meeting with the bounty hunter, Jeremy Colt, Bianca had to call in a few favors. Zimmerman came over and helped reattach the door with a bit of spit and grease, so now it worked like it used to, except it had a few aesthetic damages, like the swivels were bent and cracked a little, and the framing around the door was even more cracked and rotted out, but it was back in place and all of the locks were locked, double and triple checked by Bianca.

A few words of hate from Zimmerman lingered in Bianca's head about Darton's own err, his wickedness that Zimmerman seemed intent on portraying to Bianca and that he was no good for her. She put it off, as she always did with his fatherly rhetoric, but for some reason, it lingered in her head like smoke in a closed room. She took no heed of it, but slowly, the words repeated hour after hour, and her already mounted suspicion and wavering confidence was given another hurdle.

She had used the couch and the floor next to it to tend to Darton. After his fight, he had sustained a single shot wound, and a multitude of bruises and scrapes. She didn't care about those, but the bullet wound was a real problem. She had an A.A. kit she always had with her on her salvage missions, and this was the first time she used it outside of a battlezone, but similar in that it was another Seikishidan soldier. She'd tended many civilians also, from raided or taken back cities, but she found Seikishidan soldiers took the pain and woudns better. Basically, if they weren't dead, the soldiers usually got better. The same couldn't have been said of the civilians. That's another story for another time.

She stuffed the wound from the front with biodegradeable tissue paper and healing agents, making sure it would heal from the inside out and not capping itself. Quint gritted his teeth and let out a few grunts of pain, Bianca using a foot-long, thin metallic pole to push in the objects to the hole, as per A.A. standard. He was lying backdown on the floor next to the couhc, his hands surging in pain as she slowly filled the hole. His right hand groped up into the air in pain, Bianca's hand finding his as she grabbed another tool from her bag behind her with her other hand. His eyes looked at her oddly for a second, through their glazed and squinted state of fighting the pain. She held his hand for a moment, then his pain contracted his hand over hers, but she wouldn't let go of his.

She capped off the wound when she had filled it with enough anti-bacterial junk and packing so that it would heal properly, and put a gauze patch over the top, held on by tape. He smiled slightly, the smile forced as he sat up, her work done, his right still in her left. He pivtoed slightly, putting his back against the couch, and Bianca sitting next to him. The bullet had gone right through the flesh of his hip on the right side.

"So...how do you feel?"

"Like I have a hole in my hip." he said with a smirk, wiping his eyes of their glaze.

"Always a smart ass, eh Quint?"

"It's a lifestyle."

"You know...I wasn't sure what to think this morning."

"Like I was? It just happened."

"I know, I know...but I wasn't ready. It hit me hard."

"You're an A.A., you've been aroud the bad things in this world, right?"

"Come on. I'm an A.A., not a soldier. I arrive after the bad things happen, after its over, everyone's dead and I work with the dead. Blessed are the dead, they say. But, the Gears are never alive, the men are never fighting in front of me, and I don't get to see how it plays out, I see how it ends. I don't see the game played, I see the final scores. When it happens in front of me, I don't know what to do, or anything. I get carried away, I'm not in control."

"You trying to blame yourself I got shot?"

"I dunno, maybe I am, it's..."

"Don't. He came for me, and he didn't get me. That's enough of a win. Because he should have left with my life and only left with a bit of my blood, I'm good with that. In plus, I wasted a bullet of his, and he's not too happy. Win-win."

"You could have died."

"I didn't. I could have died a hundred times in the Seikishidan, I could have died when you found me, I should have been dead. Don't be naive that the thought of me dying is something that's far from our relationship. Hell, I AM dead, if you remember the K.I.A. list."

"Yeah...I don't want to think about it though."

"...Why?" Quint asked hesitantly.

"Come on, why would I want to have to think about someone like you dying? I don't want it to happen, and that's a good enough reason."

"I ain't gonna die on you, don't worry."

"Well, even now, the stuff Zimmerman said gets to me."

"And what did he say while I was lying on the ground half past unconscious?"

"Y'know...the normal stuff. How he thinks it is bad that I'm with you and you're living here and the kind fo trouble you bring me."

"Yeah...but come on, that was a bounty hunter. Hell, why was there even a bounty on me? Just because I'm a Seikishidan? Not my fault...and, we reigstered. It's too lawless down here..."

"And you're the sheriff?"

"No, I'm the guy trying to get by day to day without mingling with the head-hunting sheriffs."

"But...Zimmerman's words kind of got to me."

"Yeah...I thought I settled this with him."

"Really?"

"Yeah...we've been talking lately when I go in during the mornings for my coffee."

"And I've not heard of this?"

"...Eh, nothing much, but I thought I at least hit middle ground with the guy. Guess not."

"...You sure?"

"What does that mean?"

"...He wasn't saying the same old same old today."

"...Is that a fact?"

"Well, don't count me wrong off the bat. He said the normal bullshit about how he doesn't like you,he's trouble, see what happens with you, the trouble I get caused,you're just living off of me, yadda yadda."

"Figures..."

"Let me continue before you interrupt." She stammered before continuing, looking over at him from her sitting position, back against the couch, as his was, sitting on his left. "As I was saying...basically, after that junk, he said some stuff I didn't think he would."

"How long was I out for all of this?"

"All day. But, he wasn't here all day, just for a few hours, to help out. Slow day at the shop anyway. Basically, he said that, while he doesn't like you too much, he can see why I was still with ya. I was cleaning the blood off the floor and all at that point, popping you up, the whole A.A. thing when he said it. He was over in the corner where your sword usually was, just watching, since he just finished doing the door."

"He said that he thinks you're trouble, you brought this here and this danger here, and that...but also that he thinks that I'll be fine with you. Granted, you don't get me killed, seeing what I took and what I told him, he was reluctant to say, but yeah, he thinks I'll be fine with you."

"...Okay, what does that mean?"

"I don't know, what am I, psychic? Can I tell the future or what people think?"

"Well, that'd be cool."

"Pff" she said, chuckling and standnig up as she did, walking over to the single bathroom in the apartment, the door on the sae wall and a foot away from the room, hers, the door closing and sounds of sinks and toilets echoing under the inch the door allowed. Darton sighed, leaning back, then trying to stand up, wincing in pain at his hip, then sitting down on the couch. He prodded the top of the wound with his finger, a bit of blood through the gauze and padding, wiping the blood on the couch.

"You keep messing with it and it won't heal" Bianca said, exitting the bathroom.

"Yeah...so, what did Zimmerman have to say?"

"Basically...he talked about when I got to Troy. When I got here, I don't remember me being too young, something like an old oprhanage lady brought me here and died. And, I got around and lived here. Zimmerman's always been there for me, even when I didn't want him, and he said that he thinks that you will be there for me if I need you to be. You know, he was like the guy I always turned to and was always there if I needed, and he thinks you'll be good for me in that way. That I'll always be able to turn to you and you will be there for me...I think the whole thing this morning had him turn his view point to that. I don't know if it was his realization I wasn't about to let you go, but now he isn't so evil against ya."

"He will if I go to his shop."

"Probably, but you've got his blessings."

"And a piercing in my hip."

"That's not his fault or anything he can give you. That's irrelevent."

"Way to bust my humorous remark."

"It's a fulltime job. In plus...it's too late for humor."

"Never too late for humor."

"How about we just cool it, Darton. You've lost a lot of blood today, and look like shit."

"Yeah..." he trailed off, looking around the apartment. His gaze wasn't all it should have been, blood loss as it was and all, kind fo woozy and that floating feeling, but the pain kept him grodned. His eyes fell upon the blood stains in the floor where he had fallen, and the specs drizzled about during the fight, memories and feelings coming back to him. "That's kind of familiar." he said, nodding at the major blood stain, rotted into the floor now with a brown, lifeless conviction that screamed "Here lie Quint Darton, dead by fall, dead by shot wound and bounty, how many more graves will he have?".

"The stain?"

"Yeah, remember my story?"

"Yeah...Newton."

"You escaped his fate. Let's see if I remember this right...both arms broken, stabbed a few times, he had been brought to your apartment by your samaritan parents who tried to save him after some muggers beat the shit out of him for having nothing to steal, and he left stains in your floor you never got out."

"Quite a memory you got."

"I remember a lot. But, you're not going to suffer that same fate."

"Well, come on. When I came to you, I had my shoulder shattered, other one was dug into deep by sword, I was useless with my arms. Had a lot of blood loss over the entire battle at the Headquarters..."

"But you're not dead, nor to be buried in an anonymous grave."

"Let's hope not." She chuckled at his sarcasm, then continued.

"In any case...that blood may be like the old blood, but you're different. That kid died after he left his blood on your floor, you're not dead."

"Funny how things always come backt o death between you and me."

"You're gonna be the death of me, kiddo..." Bianca joked, leaning onto Darton's side, sighing. "And...what now?"

"I'm gonna go die on the couch, with the help of a few of those nice pain killers in your A.A. bag."

"Go for it, Mr. Death."

"See you in Heaven." he said, reaching for the bag with his free hand, following his said actions and falling asleep soon after, but never an arms length from Bianca. Bianca stayed at his side and held his hand until his light snores told her she could let go. But, she didn't, she fell asleep right next to the couch, her hand still held in his, never leaving it.

Zeronova's Notes:
Well, this is the 200k...I've got a lot to say, but let's start with the usual. This chapter has a bit of fore-shadowing, in many ways, and we see Lyon finally falling out of the Seikishidan's hands, and the resolution of the Colt-Darton segment. And, this was shorter, to cut the 200k mark. Now...onto the big part.

I'd like to keep this short, sweet, and to the point. Thank you Samuraiter, for basically being my idea and writing trampoline, to bounce things off of. PWMA for being my most consistent reviewer, and finally coming to your potential in writing and writing a truly good story that I always knew you could TWH...a long and good (albeit sparse) reviews, and also having another great story, that finally got on track and is kicking butt. What else to say...this story is going to be probably 300k, because the end of Arc II is coming on...maybe 6 more chapters, then we have all of Arc III (The Final Arc). I'd like to thank everyone, readers who review and don't, people who will never even see this (family, friends, etc.), anyone that even remotely matters, I'd like to thank. But, I'm going to save it all for the end of this monster story...and then, you'll see an amazingly long eiplogue from me. This is a minor "Yeehaw!" in the long run, but I use it aptly.

Yeehaw!