A/N: This story is officially a little bit AU, because I didn't realize Ashelin and Torn's age difference until someone told me, but I'm not going to go back and change it, so their ages are a little off.

The wind took Ashelin's flame-colored dreadlocks in its icy fingers and whipped them around, stinging her face. She had cried only two hot tears, and they had quickly frozen on her face. They felt like fire, although they were ice.

"The children of fire and ice." She scarcely could hear these whispered words over the howling of the wind in her ears. "That's what we were… and now all that's left is fire. No ice, no chill to calm the flames." I wish I was dead.

She was on the roof of the Palace. She wasn't sure exactly how she had gotten here. It didn't matter anyway. Hazy and far-off in her memory she saw herself, running, sometimes collapsing from exhaustion, across the city, and climbing stairs, over a mile up the flights that were icy. Once she fell, but she hardly noticed. There were things within that hurt so much more than physical bruises, things she was just now discovering.

She ran her hands over her face: her eyes, watery as they reacted to the wind, green and slightly almond-shaped, full of a haunted look; her nose, delicate yet strong; her cheeks, pale as ivory; her red lips, chapped from being bitten (pain made her strong).

There was nothing left, no soul. Only a body, an empty shell, and soon that would be gone as well. She walked to the edge of the roof. The sheet metal was slippery with dirty ice, and her feet slid. She wasn't scared. She would die now, for there was nothing left.

"The children of Fire and Ice."

Won't this free the Bahzre? But the Bahzre are gone…

"No!"

A yell, and strong arms – so warm – and blackness…

…………………………………

For days she was sick, sick to death with chills and anguish. Fever burned her body even as she shivered beneath thick fur coverlets, and her even her bones ached. Sweat poured off her body, and someone cared for her. She couldn't see who it was, and she was too sick to even try to sort out her thoughts.

She could hear a voice murmuring a name: "Natasha." It was her own voice, of course… she was too tired to even think, and everything was so cold, but still she could speak? This wasn't right, she wasn't here, there was nothing left…

…………………………………..

"Torn?"

It was Torn, sitting beside her bed. She felt better; her head was clearer now, although she felt like she had been run over by a truck.

"What…are you doing here?" she asked, confused and tired. "And… where is here?"

He smiled grimly. "'Here' is the Underground Headquarters. I'm here because I'm hiding out, you're here because you're sick and I was taking care of you." His voice was so different, harsh and grating, that she was jolted at first.

"Really," she murmured. She lay back, letting her head sink into the feather pillow. She was too tired to ask any more questions just now.

He seemed to want to tell her anyway. "I found you on the roof, and kept you from jumping. You were practically delirious with fever, and I brought you here. The Shadow kept you alive."

"Shadow?" she asked groggily. "Who?"

"He's in charge here," Torn explained. "He's the head of the Underground movement."

She remembered him. "I've met him… he was in prison once. He's Haven City's most wanted."

He nodded.

Ashelin felt restless, and vulnerable laying here talking to him. She wanted to get out of bed, to go and do something, anything! She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and gasped in shame.

She pulled the covers back over herself as fast as she could, a crimson blush spreading across her pale cheeks. She was naked underneath the scratchy wool blanket. She hadn't noticed it before because she felt so numb.

"Torn," she whispered, embarrassed and frightened, "I can't feel anything."

"Neither can I," he answered. "Neither can I."

…………………………………………

She wasn't allowed to get out of bed for several days following her conversation with Torn. She didn't see him at all during that time. She was mostly left alone, with her meals brought to her by a silent brown-haired woman with scars on her face and neck. Her muscles ached to be stretched and used; she had a rash from poor circulation. She was used to moving nearly all the time.

As soon as she was up and dressed she took it upon herself to explore her surroundings. She thought that the headquarters of an organization that caused so much trouble must be very large and busy, but she was surprised. The Underground HQ consisted of a long passageway, a tiny, cramped dorm, a sickroom (where she had been staying), and a larger room where meetings and plans were conducted.

Very few people were ever even there. The brown-haired woman, and a blonde man called Jinx, and Torn, were the only people she ever saw.

Torn was there again, she saw. "Hello," she murmured.

He jumped a foot in the air. " Ashelin! You scared the shit out of me!" He walked over to her and looked her in the eyes. "How are you?" he asked earnestly.

"I'm doing better," she answered honestly. "But I have more questions for you. Will you answer them?"

He raised his eyebrows. "That depends on what the questions are." He sat down on a bench near the wall, and motioned for her to sit near him.

She sat beside him, and tried to find a way to phrase her question. "What was… going on… with you and Natasha?" Her cheeks turned a ruddy red as she remembered the embarrassing scene she had walked in upon. Had it been only a few days before?

His face tightened visibly, and she could tell she had run into a barrier already. "We were just going out," he said. "I liked her a lot."

"Did you love her?" Ashelin asked.

He shook his head. "No, I didn't love her; I didn't know her that well. I think I could've loved her, in time, but we'd only known each other for a few weeks."

"Then… why did you try to kill yourself?" This was the question she had dreaded asking, and she saw in his eyes that he also dreaded having to answer.

"I don't know if I should tell you," he answered.

"Tell," she prompted. "I won't think any less of you for it."

He turned away, to stare at the blank wall. He was burning with shame, not sure whether he should tell her or not.

"I killed her," he finally murmured. "It was an accident… one of the Lurker prisoners had gotten loose, I shot at it, and… she got in front of the bullet. She died." He couldn't cry, he wouldn't, not here in front of her. It felt like he was choking on his thoughts.

He heard her gasp, and saw her glistening eyes. She sagged against the warm stone of the wall, and she didn't say anything else for a few moments. "I don't hate you," she finally murmured.

He was a little surprised. "You don't?"

"No, I don't," she said. "Better for her to have died doing her job than to have died at the hands of our father." She knew this sounded bitter, but she didn't care. Everything hurt.

She didn't know what she expected him to say. "Here," he muttered. He passed her a bottle of foul-smelling liquid.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Whiskey."

She shrugged. Not like she had anything better to do. She took a long drink of the liquid. It burned her throat like fire, but she forced herself to swallow before passing the bottle back to him.

They sat there like that for a long time – she didn't know how long. The headquarters was utterly silent. They passed the bottle back and forth until they had consumed all of the liquid in it.

Ashelin's head was swimming, and she couldn't see too clearly. "Don't drink much, do you?" Torn muttered. With a groan, he rose to his feet and helped her to stand.

Ashelin took a few steps, but ran into a table. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Nevermind," he snapped. He didn't know why he was irritated, but he was. He picked her up – she was so light – and carried her back to her bed.

He left her there, not wanting to linger for any longer than he had to. It reminded him of another time that seemed a lifetime ago, even though it was only a week. It had only been the first time he and Natasha had gone out together; he realized now that the two of them had been intimate too soon.

He sank back down onto the bench, only a little drunk, and immersed himself in a memory, trying to just forget how much it hurt.

His companion was beautiful, like ice (where had he heard that before? He couldn't remember…), and she laughed fetchingly at whatever he said.

Where were they? He must have taken something, he must be hallucinating. Were they at her place already? She opened the door, and led him inside. She kissed him, and her mouth tasted of beer and lots of it. He couldn't keep still, she was so beautiful…

"Torn? Torn? TORN!"

"Hm?" Had he really fallen asleep? Oh god…

"You're supposed to be on patrol!"

Oh shit… "Sorry," he muttered to Jinx.

"Yeah, really," Jinx snapped. "Get out there, dumbass!" The younger man rolled his eyes and stormed out of the room.