Notes: One more chapter to go after this. Angst, heartbreak, etc. etc.

...

He was cold.

Fushimi was dimly aware of the sensation as he walked mindlessly through the darkened streets, hands shoved in his pockets, scarf pulled close against his face.

He'd left because the room had suddenly felt too close and too hard to breathe in, but he hadn't bothered to come to a decision on where he was going. He couldn't go back to Scepter 4, not now, not when there was no guarantee of anything to go back to. He couldn't — wouldn't — go back to Homra either, not that place that was just as narrow, just as suffocating. And there was nowhere else, nowhere at all, no more small apartment for two that had been the only place that had ever, ever felt like home.

Nowhere to go, no one to go to. Fushimi shuddered and reached up to scratch at one arm. The burn on his chest ached in reminder and he scratched at that too, pain running warm within his body.

The moon hung in the sky like a sword, and all of a sudden Fushimi knew exactly where he was walking to.

It was an easy thing, to duck under the police tape that had been set up by his own subordinates, to walk straight through the decimated park towards the small curved crater that lay at the center. Fushimi sat down in front of it, pulling his knees close to his chest, collapsing in on himself to keep warm.

Captain… He didn't know what he was doing here, what he was expecting to happen. Misaki had only been kind, Awashima had refused to hate him when he'd tried so hard to be certain she would…it wasn't something he could really understand. He'd destroyed another world — no, watched it be destroyed. Let it be destroyed. Another precious thing had slipped from his hands and he hadn't even known how much he'd valued it until it hit the ground in pieces.

It hurt, and that was the worst part of it. He'd been so certain that it wouldn't hurt this time, that he'd been sure to hold nothing dear, so that when the time came it would only be another empty thing that held no sway over him. But it hurt. The moment his sword had plunged into Munakata's chest, it had hurt.

— the sky was gray and the ground was gray, and the only color in the world was the blue sword falling and the coat in front of him, red blood, silver sword, and what else was he supposed to do besides this, even if it was the last thing in the world that he wanted —

—And they sunk to the ground together as the Sword of Damocles disappeared, Munakata's blood seeping into his coat, Fushimi's sword still buried deep inside his King's body, and Munakata's hand touched his cheek gently.

"Fushimi-kun." He thought maybe the Captain might have smiled but his vision had gone blurry and he couldn't be sure. "Well done. You can let go of the sword now. You have done everything I asked of you."

And then Munakata smiled again, Fushimi was sure of it this time, and there was a final exhale of warm breath on his cheek as the Blue King's body grew limp in his arms, and the last bit of color in the world faded away—

Fushimi choked on his own breath, pitching forward into the snow. He didn't understand, didn't understand at all, and his head was pounding so hard that he clutched at it as if he could shake the images from his mind. It was cold, so cold, and he didn't understand.

"Well done."

He hadn't been hated in the end and he hadn't been pitied. He'd been praised. And for what? Doing only what he'd always been made to do. He'd destroyed his own world, and for that he'd been praised. Fushimi's body spasmed, collapsing in upon himself as he clutched at his head and tried to keep from throwing up again.

His skin felt cold, so cold, and Fushimi could barely breathe. The sky was gray and the moon was gray, everything was gray, and he couldn't find his breath.

Somewhere deep inside he felt something warm and instinctively, almost unthinkingly, he curled around it. There was a color there, maybe red, maybe blue, he couldn't tell anymore, but it was warm, and it had been so long since he'd felt properly warm.

Fushimi closed his eyes wearily, still curled up in a heap in the snow, and let the color keep him warm.

...

Yata felt tired and heavy as he walked towards the bar.

I shouldn't have let him go. He kicked at a random snow drift, sighing. I should've…gone after him, or something.

He knew it was no use beating himself up over it but it still bothered him. Even if he and Fushimi weren't friends anymore, even if they couldn't be friends, he still couldn't stop himself from wanting to know why. More and more he was beginning to feel like there was something he'd been missing about all this, about Fushimi and betrayal and never leaving him alone, and then saving his life at the end of it all. If they could just talk properly Yata felt like maybe he could finally understand but it seemed like they couldn't ever quite manage that.

Don't think about it, Yata told himself fiercely, clenching a fist. Saru's made his choice, right? It's not my job to look after him anymore.

It was so easy to tell himself that when Fushimi was in front of him, mocking him with every weakness he'd ever had, and so hard to convince himself of the truth of it in the aftermath. Yata smiled ruefully and shook his head slightly to clear it as he pushed open the door to bar Homra.

Kusanagi looked up as he stepped in. Yata started to greet him and was quieted with a wave as Kusanagi's attention turned back to the phone in his hand.

"Ah, actually, I've got the perfect person for it. I'll get it taken care of." Kusanagi motioned for Yata to sit as he stepped back around the bar. "Right. I'll see you later, then." He turned off the phone and finally turned to face Yata. "Good timing, Yata-chan. I have a mission for you."

"A mission?" Yata sat up a little straighter.

"Mmm." Kusanagi's face turned serious and Yata felt a sudden twinge of nervousness. "That was Seri-chan. Seems Fushimi's been missin' since last night."

"What?" Yata was immediately on his feet. He quickly checked himself, crossing his arms and looking away from Kusanagi. "I-I mean, who cares if that guy's disappeared? He's just a stupid traitor."

"Is that so?" Kusanagi's tone was mild but he was eyeing Yata knowingly and Yata felt his stomach twist a little.

"I mean…how would I know where he is anyway?" Yata said quietly. "Saru's…we're not really friends anymore, you know. I…I guess I don't really know anything about him."

"Misaki knows." He looked up at the sound of Anna's voice. She was walking down the stairs, staring at him with a vaguely troubled look. "Where Saruhiko is. Misaki already knows."

"I-I really don't, though-" Yata started to protest. Anna simply looked at him and suddenly he remembered the week before, when he'd run across Fushimi in the park. He raised his head to meet Anna's gaze and she nodded silently. Yata clenched his fist for a moment, considering, and then he turned and walked towards the door.

"Yata-chan?" Kusanagi's concerned voice echoed from behind him.

"I…" Yata straightened and pulled open the door. "I'm going to go find Saru!"

Kusanagi smiled at him and gestured from him to go. Yata nodded in reply and ran out the door, letting the wind slam it shut behind him.

Saruhiko… Yata set off at a run. The wind bit at his skin but he kept moving, not caring about the strange looks he was getting from other people on the street as he dashed by, moving with single-minded purpose towards the only place he could think of where Fushimi would have gone.

The park came quickly into view and Yata jumped over the police tape surrounding it. It felt strangely quiet and he slowed his pace slightly, the snow crunching under his feet and the blowing of the wind the only sounds. Yata shivered slightly. He'd noticed it when he was here before and the feeling was even stronger now. It felt….eerie, somehow, being here, as if the even the air and sky knew that this place had been a tomb of Kings.

As the center of the park came into view Yata's eyes immediately fell upon the figure he hadn't quite convinced himself he would find there. Yata couldn't deny the sudden rush of relief that flooded through him and he took only a moment to steady himself before stepping out from behind the trees.

Fushimi was in a sitting position, knees close to his chest, head down. His skin looked somehow paler than usual and Yata felt a brief spike of panic before he noticed the slight glow of color surrounding Fushimi's body. Fushimi himself didn't even seem to realize that he was emitting power and his eyes were closed. He didn't look up as Yata came forward, didn't even move. Yata stared at him awkwardly for a long moment, not sure what he should say, before finally simply plopping down into the snow next to him.

"Hey," Yata said quietly. Seeing Fushimi sitting there in the snow all he could think of was Fushimi hiding under the covers of his bed, Fushimi sitting hunched on a bench in the park, Fushimi alone at his school desk, Fushimi huddled in the corner of the bar. Always alone, always pushing away, the walls around him so thick he wouldn't lower them even for Yata.

Fushimi shifted a little, as if considering his answer before he finally turned his head to look at Yata. His eyes were flat and cold and it made Yata shudder slightly.

"Go away." Fushimi's voice was heavy and final, a voice that expected to be obeyed, but Yata had long grown out of taking Fushimi's orders.

"Not until you go inside and get a damn coat on," Yata said. He could see torn bandages peeking out from under the sleeves of Fushimi's sweater. "That Lieutenant lady of yours is worried about you, you know."

"So she sent my babysitter to come pick me up?" Fushimi laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Someone needs to take care of you," Yata replied sharply.

"No," Fushimi said curtly, fingers clenching slightly. "I don't need anyone, Misaki. I'm not as pathetic as you."

"It's not pathetic!" Yata said. "Come on, Saru. Look at yourself. You need help."

"Help?" Fushimi's lip curled in disgust as he staggered to his feet. "From you? That is amusing, Misaki. What kind of help could you possibly give me? You, who doesn't understand anything at all, who never has?"

"Because you won't fucking tell me!" Yata jumped up to face him. "C'mon, Saru. You've always been like this. How the fuck is anyone supposed to understand you if you won't ever say anything?"

"What makes you think I care about that at all?" Fushimi hissed, eyes narrowing in anger. "It's fine if none of you understand. I never asked for anyone to understand me. I never asked for anyone to save me. I don't need any of you, not you or Suoh Mikoto or the Captain."

"Then what are you even doing here, huh?" Yata challenged. "Don't tell me you wanted to be out here by yourself. You hate cold, Saru."

"I only wanted to see it," Fushimi said dismissively, turning away from Yata to look at the crater beside them. His gaze was suddenly far away and Yata felt his heart clench. "To see…what was left behind. That's all."

"It…it hurts, right?" Yata said slowly. Fushimi didn't answer him, still staring at the crater. "Come on, Saruhiko. He was your King. It matters to you, what happened here. Don't tell me it doesn't. I'm—I'm not that stupid."

Fushimi stood there quietly, not looking at him, and for a brief moment Yata thought maybe he had gotten through to Fushimi until the silence was broken by a sharp bark of laughter.

"Aren't you?" There was a smile stretching across Fushimi's face and it made a chill run up Yata's spine. "An idiot like you, saying he's not that stupid? That is amusing, Misaki. You say that and yet you still don't see it, as always. We're not the same. Nothing that happened here mattered to me."

"You always say that kind of crap," Yata said. "Like you don't care, like it doesn't mean anything. You're not even fooling yourself, Saruhiko. You're a damn mess. You've been a mess every time I've seen you since the day your King died." Yata bit his lip. "You…you can tell me the truth, Saru. You never tell me the truth and then you act like I'm an idiot because I can't understand. Okay, you're right, maybe I am. So that's why you have to tell me. I don't get you at all and I never will if you won't fucking talk to me."

"Do you even hear how pathetic you sound right now?" Fushimi drawled, stretching out the words as if Yata was suddenly boring him. "All you want to do is talk. Didn't I tell you before? If you're only going to pity me you can go running back to Homra with your tail between your legs. If you don't intend to hate me properly then get out of my sight. I don't have a need for any more of this worthless, misplaced affection. You, the Lieutenant, everyone. I'm utterly sick of it all. Unless you intend to fight me, you can just leave."

"I'm not gonna fight with you," Yata said, doing his best to keep his temper in check. "I-I didn't come all the way out here just to do that."

"Why not?" Fushimi's voice pitched high, like a child demanding to know why he couldn't have ice cream for breakfast. "This is exactly why I say you're pathetic, Misaki. We're enemies, remember? I betrayed you. You don't make friends with the person who betrayed you."

"Yeah, you say that a lot," Yata said. "And maybe I thought the same thing too, before. That we couldn't be friends anymore, that maybe we never really we and you were just—" He stopped for a moment as the memory of old pain surfaced and then forced himself to swallow it back down, to move past it. "But—but still…I don't think you're my enemy, Saruhiko. I…" He trailed off again, biting his lip. "I don't think I ever thought that, not really. I mean, you're acting like an asshole and you won't tell me anything and yeah, I was mad when you left — I'm still mad — but if you'd just tell me why then I can understand. You're still my best friend, Saruhiko. Even after all the crap you've pulled, I still think you're my best friend."

Fushimi's cool expression vanished and for just a moment he looked surprised, almost vulnerable, and then his eyes narrowed and he clicked his tongue.

"Then you really are the biggest idiot, aren't you Misaki?" Fushimi laughed scornfully. "Still your best friend? Don't be ridiculous. It's just sad, the way you cling to old words. Don't you feel ashamed of yourself, acting so weak? We're not in middle school anymore. Friendship is just a game for children. I don't want it. I don't need it."

"Saru…" Yata took a step towards him and Fushimi fell back, arms wrapping around himself again. He seemed to be trembling and Yata couldn't tell if it was from the cold air surrounding them or the bitter laughter spilling from his mouth.

"It's so amusing to hear you say it, Misaki." There was the tuneless quality to his voice again, thick with something Yata couldn't quite name that nonetheless made his whole body seize up slightly. "You talk to me like that and smile at me, you pretend that you care so much and it's absolutely ridiculous. As if I'd come crawling for that barest scrap of your worthless affection, as if I should be thankful for it. You're just the same as all the rest — no, worse, really, because even after all this time you still won't see it. I don't need this from any of you. I don't need your worry. Don't smile at me, don't apologize to me, don't praise me, any of you. Hatred is fine. I don't want such half-hearted words from people who only intend to leave in the end."

"What the hell are you talking-" The sound of steel cutting through the air was the only warning Yata had and he dived to the side just in time to avoid the knife that had come flying straight at his chest. He landed awkwardly in the snow and his head snapped up as Fushimi began to laugh again.

"You see?" Fushimi opened his arms wide, knives between his fingers, smile crooked and feral. The wind bit at the the sleeves of his sweater and Yata could see the long scratches down his arms, red streaks of blood marking where the fingers had dug in. "So, what will you do now, Misaki? Are you going to tell me again, how much you care about me? About how I'm your dear comrade, like all the other pathetic losers you show that smile to?"

"I'm not here to fight you, Saru," Yata said warningly, all his instincts suddenly tense and on alert.

"Then leave." Fushimi's hands moved faster than Yata could see and he had to scramble to avoid the knives that came flying at him. Fushimi laughed again, the sound high-pitched and not quite sane, not even giving Yata a moment to recover as he dived in for another attack. Yata raised an arm to defend, letting out some of his power, red and blue clashing together as he deflected Fushimi's attack. Fushimi landed easily on his feet, staring at Yata with wild eyes. "Well, Misaki? Still want to talk? Still want to tell me how much you care?"

"Dammit, Saru, can't you just listen to me for once?" Yata growled, frustrated. "We don't need to do this."

"Of course we do." Fushimi's smile spread like a stain across his face. "This is the way we always do things. If you're too weak to keep up with me them you shouldn't even have bothered coming here in the first place."

Despite Fushimi's words, Yata could see that his hands were trembling where they held the knives. Fushimi's face looked even paler than usual and the light in his eyes was almost feverish.

"Saruhiko-" Yata tried again and didn't even manage to get another word out before Fushimi ran at him again.

"Too slow, Misaki!" Fushimi's laugh rose with the howling wind and one of his knives sliced Yata's face, drawing blood. Yata fell back, instinctively sending off a wave of red power. Fushimi didn't even seem to feel it, twisting his body to aim at Yata again through the flames and Yata once more found himself forced to dodge, diving to the ground and rolling to one side as he sent of another blast of red to push Fushimi away. As the blow connected Yata heard Fushimi give a grunt of pain and he swore quietly as he scrambled back to his feet.

Fushimi was still standing but he was swaying dangerously, his knuckles white where he clutched the knives. His clothes were clearly singed, the ends of his sleeves burned away and the shoulders gone almost black and unraveling. His laughter had faded away into a choking cough and Yata felt a spike of worry.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to—" Yata took a step towards him. Fushimi suddenly raised his head, wide feral grin still on his face, and it was only by pure instinct that Yata managed to avoid the lightning-fast strike aimed at him. Yata grabbed for Fushimi's arm, intending to stop this once and for all, and Fushimi immediately pulled back. Blue and red powers flared and Yata felt his legs slipping out from under him as the two of them overbalanced and tumbled into the shallow crater behind them.

Yata landed flat on his back and lay there for a moment, winded, before carefully sitting up with a wince. He quickly looked around and after a moment finally saw Fushimi, sprawled on his stomach and unmoving a few feet away.

"Saruhiko!" Yata immediately got to his feet and ran towards Fushimi. As he got close Fushimi stirred, propping himself up on shaking arms. His charred clothes had torn in the fall and as he sat up Yata could see a smooth expanse of white shoulder marred by a single long red scar. Yata's eyes widened and unthinkingly he reached for Fushimi's hand.

"Don't touch me!" There was a flash of pain and Yata pulled his hand back with a curse as one of Fushimi's knives sliced a thin line on his palm. Fushimi's shoulders trembled as he stood, eyes on fire, arms wrapped around his torso as if injured. "Don't touch me, don't look at me, don't help me." His voice was manic and gasping as he stumbled backwards. "Do you think I want it, Misaki, your pity, your affection? You're always the same, all of you, all thinking you know what I want, you know how to help me. You and the Captain both, always trying to touch me with those filthy hands and looking down at me with those eyes. I don't need it. I don't need any of it. All of you are just going to throw me away in the end, so I don't need anything from you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Yata said, rubbing at the cut on his hand. Fushimi was still breathing hard, fingers clenching mechanically, and somehow Yata felt as though there was something he'd always been unable to see that was finally beginning to make itself known. "No one…no one's abandoning you, Saru! I never-"

"Of course you did." Fushimi's head was lowered and Yata couldn't make out his expression. "First you, now him. All of you, again and again. That's why it's always better if I break it myself. I should have done that from the beginning. It was all going to fall apart anyway, so it's just as well I do it myself. I don't need you to look at me kindly, I don't need you to—I don't need you to praise me, not like you care." Fushimi was looking at him now but Yata had the sudden unmistakable impression that Fushimi wasn't actually talking to him at all. "Don't act that way towards me, don't offer me such cheap affection, such cheap words, if all you're going to do in the end is break apart too."

"That's—that's not true, Saru!" Yata said forcefully. "Stuff doesn't just…fall apart like that. I know it hurts right now, okay? I know how it feels, when someone important to you is gone and you…and you find yourself feeling like maybe you didn't understand that person at all, and maybe if you had there'd be a way for them to still be here. But you can't just close yourself off because the world changed. Your King-"

"My King?" Fushimi laughed scornfully. "You keep saying that, all of you. 'My King,' 'my King.' I'm not like you Misaki. I never needed a master to serve. That person was never…was never my…" Fushimi trailed off. His body was shaking as though being blown by the wind, and Yata risked taking a step closer.

"You always lie, Saru," Yata said quietly. "It's all right, you know? You can care about him. I know it feels like if you do it'll hurt forever, but…but it's really not like that. Mikoto-san—"

"Mikoto-san?" Fushimi snorted, voice thick with disdain. "That's what it always comes back to for you, isn't it Misaki? Always about your precious Mikoto-san."

"That's not what I was talking about!" Yata said. "I just—I know what it's like to lose someone, to have it hurt so much you think nothing's ever gonna be the same. And maybe it's not, maybe it's changed, but that doesn't mean it's always a bad thing either. Your world got destroyed, I get that. You have to start building a new one or you'll never be able to get past this."

"You don't understand anything," Fushimi hissed. "Always, always. You always act like you know everything about me when you don't know anything, when you've never understood a thing. Stop pretending you know anything about me, about what I'm feeling. I don't need to rebuild anything, not when it just gets torn away again. I'm a weapon, Misaki. I don't build things. The only thing that interests me in this world is blood and flesh."

The moment the words came out of his mouth all of Yata's instincts suddenly tensed and he just barely managed to avoid Fushimi's next attack. Two knives flashed by him, slicing into his shirt, and Yata kicked out on reflex. He felt his foot hit flesh and almost immediately pulled back, trying to rein in his power. Fushimi grunted in pain but his stance remained taut, obviously prepared to continue fighting.

"Dammit Saru!" Yata raised an arm and sent a wall of flames forward to block Fushimi's next attack. One knife went flying by his face and Yata just barely avoided it, swinging his leg around to send out another burst of power as Fushimi darted by him. "Would you just stop fighting and listen to me?!"

"No more talking, Misaki!" Fushimi's laughter rose above the roar of wind and power swirling around them, another knife in his hands as he attacked. Yata cursed under his breath and ducked under the blow, kicking one of Fushimi's legs as he brought a fist down on Fushimi's wrist, dislodging the knife. Fushimi aimed at him with the other hand and Yata brought up another fist to block as he swept Fushimi's legs out form under him. Fushimi fell back onto the ground, back arching slightly in obvious pain as he landed hard with Yata kneeling on top of him, grabbing him by the wrists and pinning him down bodily. They were both breathing heavily from the cold and exertion and the wind made Yata's eyes sting.

"Go on." Fushimi's smile was wide, too wide, eyes completely empty, waiting for the next blow. He laughed deep in his throat and angled his head back into the snow, baring his neck to Yata like an offering. "Break me, Misaki."

Shock and revulsion pulsed through Yata like lighting and he jumped back, stumbling away. Fushimi slowly got back to his feet, eyes cold and almost…disappointed, somehow, and Yata's heart clenched.

"Saruhiko…" Yata swallowed. "We're not gonna do this, Saru. I'm not going to fight you."

"As always, you're really too weak to do anything at all, aren't you, Misaki?" Fushimi sighed heavily, as if Yata was a child who had just told his first lie, and two more knives slipped into his hands. "You're just going to break in the end too."

Blue power began to swirl around him and Yata raised his arms, prepared to defend.

"Break me, Misaki."

No. There was a sudden calm that seemed to descend over him and Yata took a steadying breath, letting his power dwindle down to nothing as Fushimi ran towards him with weapons drawn. No. I'm not letting that happen. Not this time.

Fushimi moved to attack and Yata stood there with his arms spread wide, and let him come.

Yata kept his gaze steady as Fushimi drew closer and closer, and as their eyes met Yata could see the warring emotions reflected in Fushimi's stare for just a moment, a flash of confusion as Fushimi realized that Yata had no intention of moving, followed by a sudden sharp glint of terror and utter despair-

—and then there was a sudden sharp pain in Yata's side as the blades met flesh and he fell backwards, for a moment only able to register the shock of pain. And then it was gone, leaving behind only a dull sting and Fushimi stumbled out of view. Looking down Yata could see that he had been cut cleanly on one side and even as he pressed a hand to it and felt the blood there he was aware that the cut wasn't anywhere near as deep as he'd expected, as it should have been. Fushimi had been aiming for his heart and had turned his blades aside the moment he'd realized that Yata wasn't going to move.

"Saruhiko…" Yata pulled himself to his feet with a grunt of pain, one hand still clutching his bloody side. He cast his gaze around the crater and in moments he spotted Fushimi, crumpled on his hands and knees in the snow, body shuddering with dry heaves and nothing coming out but saliva and choked gasps. Yata crossed the space between them in a flash, crouching beside Fushimi and rubbing slow circles on his back. "H-hey, calm down. It's all right, Saru, okay? I'm fine. You didn't hurt me. I'm all right."

Fushimi didn't answer, still gasping for air. He was staring downward fixedly at his hands and almost didn't seem to realize that Yata was there. Helplessly Yata threw his arms around him and held him close.

"C'mon, Saru," Yata said softly, pressing Fushimi's head into his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm all right."

"My King..." The words were half-choked but Yata could hear them clearly. "My King…is..."

"It's all right, Saruhiko," Yata murmured into Fushimi's ear as Fushimi rocked restlessly back and forth, and Yata's shoulder was wet. "Okay? It wasn't your fault. You only did what he wanted you to, you know? So it's okay. It'll be okay."

Yata pulled Fushimi closer, and they lay there together in the snow as Fushimi sobbed into his shoulder.