A/N: Man, this chapter got so long it's insane. And it was supposed to get even longer, but I decided to let a scene slide at the beginning of the next one. It would have been just too long if I didn't. I have so little control over my own writing it's ridiculous.

"You're joking, right?"

The Yatagarasu's exclamation – it's not easy to catch her by surprise, but what the Phantom just told her did catch her by surprise – is met with a scoff.

"Very much unlike you, I'm no jester," he says, his voice flat. "Blackquill knows I'm alive, or at the very least that the grave bearing my- LaRoche's name is empty. This Outis has seen to it," he adds, and some bitterness makes it in his otherwise flat tone. It's not surprising: the Yatagarasu knows this is exactly what the Phantom hoped to avoid by faking his death. He had hoped to give Blackquill a chance to move on, and to keep him from getting himself in danger by pursuing him. Well, didn't that just fail spectacularly: Blackquill will be back on his trail like a hound, and will likely put himself in danger in the process.

"So Outis wasn't wrong. It's really you he's after," she says, biting her lower lip. That's not too bad yet, not as far as he doesn't know who the Phantom is exactly impersonating right now... but right now, the main worry is another. "There is no way they won't know your grave was searched and found empty," she finally says.

"... I know," is all the Phantom says. There are a few moments of silence, no other sound coming from her watch, and she finally speaks again.

"It will probably not be enough for them to decide you're compromised," she says. "They were ready to break you out of prison if you didn't insist on staging your death first. They don't care if people know you're alive – what matters is that they never know who you work for. And, well, that they never catch you. But it's not like they have to know someone from within YggdraCorp knows you're involved, right?" she adds. Unless Outis is a complete idiot – and so far he really doesn't seem to be one – he surely didn't let Blackquill know who it was he was talking with. A good old anonymous call, most likely; they never fall out of fashion.

"True enough," the Phantom says, his voice still flat, then, "I'll get going. The meeting is in a few minutes; I should know more of what's going on after it."

Oh, she thinks, right. The meeting with the executives. "Send out a signal if anything goes wrong," she says.

The Phantom doesn't bother to reply before ending the communication, leaving her to stare down at her watch, her brow furrowed in thought. The Yatagarasu highly doubts the Phantom was as calm as he sounds now when he knew what was up with Blackquill – it's more than likely that he internally freaked out, really – but it looks like he's still got it when it comes to entirely shutting down his emotions. That's good: it will keep him from going insane and blowing his cover in one go.

Just a little longer, she thinks, he needs to hold himself together just a while longer. She knows he's threading on thin ice, with Blackquill now back on his trail and Outis clearly knowing he must be involved, but she's rather confident he can pull this off at least as long as it takes for them to know what YggdraCorp is precisely fiddling with. Once they know, they'll report about it and, most likely, will be assigned to another mission. The problem with Outis will be solved, then.

But not the problem with Blackquill.

Even though it's not her Blackquill is after, the thought is enough to make her frown. If Blackquill is anything like she thinks he is, he will not give up easily – no more easily than Lang would. He'll keep looking for the Phantom even after the matter with YggdraCorp is over with, she's sure, snooping around where he shouldn't and generally being a nuisance... a nuisance some may want to be rid of at some point.

And she knows by now that there is nothing the Phantom wouldn't do to keep a such thing from happening.

He'll walk back in prison with his own two legs before he lets Blackquill get himself killed to pursue him.

That's not something she has to worry about too much: as a high-ranking Interpol agent, Lang is far more protected than a prosecutor could ever be. Not impossible to kill, of course, but less likely to be downright murdered... and in any case, the threat of death is something he's never quite rid of regardless whether or not he's pursuing her specifically. It's something she knows, and she can live with. The Phantom... not so much.

But then again, she thinks, there is nothing she can do about that. Blackquill pursuing the Phantom is likely to become an issue, but they'll deal with it at a later time. YggdraCorp's business is what they must focus on... namely on this toxin the Phantom mentioned, what it does and what they're planning to do with it.

The Yatagarasu looks up to take a look around. The lab is almost empty, for most people are currently on a break and Mary Goround hardly ever takes any. It's fine with her, though – it allowed her to rig several phones just in case, and to use one of their computer to hack into their database. Sadly, neither accomplished much: nothing relevant was revealed through any communication between the management and the lab, and it's clear that the high-ups in there use a completely different system.

All in all this assignment has been rather boring so far, with the Phantom getting most of the excitement. Too bad he cannot appreciate it, she thinks, glancing at the computer again. She stares at it for a few moments before a sly smile curls her lips.

She's kind of bored and, come to think of it, she hasn't hacked into the Interpol's network in a while.

Ten minutes left before the meeting. Just enough time for a cigarette, Outis is pleased to note. He quite likes it when everything fits in place like that; a man can't work without a few small breaks to enjoy every now and then, after all.

Johan – the Phantom – could, but then again he could hardly be considered a man. Monsters don't have the same requirements people have, after all. Or at least, that's what Outis used to think. But he was wrong, so very wrong. Johan never was anything more than a man, no matter how unique. A man in a monster's hide rather than a monster in a man's skin.

There was humanity buried deep within, and he failed to see it. He failed to see the boy he shot, failed to realize he still lived. He failed to kill him more than just once, it seems, and he's got himself to blame for it.

Outis tilts back his head and releases some smoke. "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," he mutters. And he is ashamed alright... but at least he can make sure there won't be a third time.

He's there, he knows he's there; he wouldn't be surprised to know he's hiding behind the mask of one of the people he already spoke with. That would be his style, after all: replacing a high ranking member of whatever company he's targeting in order to gain all the information more easily. Why, he may even be one of the people who'll attend the meeting. None of them showed any sign of suspicious behavior, but that means little: damaged as he may be, good old Robb is still highly trained. He wouldn't slip easily.

Of course, Outis could easily find out during the meeting: he'd only need to try taking off each and every of their faces, after all. But he won't do it; it would be no fun. There are other ways to unmask him without him even realizing he's been found. This game of cat and mouse is quite amusing: if he is among them, then he knows that Outis knows of him and that he was the one to set Blackquill after him. But – Outis is certain – he cannot tell who he is either: his name, face and voice are no longer the same.

When the time comes to end him, though, he'll make sure that he knows exactly who is... and what he did.

'Johan' knows what Umber is going to do several moments before the back of his hand hits the side of his face. Still, he doesn't move, doesn't try to avoid it, doesn't even flinch. He knows he would be expected to under normal circumstances – that tensing up or moving out of harm's way is everyone's natural reaction – but he's not everyone. He's no one at all. He was ordered not move, and he doesn't. It's simple as that.

There is some pain, obviously, but not much; the blow isn't strong enough to break his lip. His head whips backwards, but that's it. When he looks back at Umber in silence, his expression is still as flat as before.

Umber smiles and reaches to grasp his hair, tilting his head back. The grip is tight and there is discomfort, but he lets nothing show. "Who are you?" Umber asks.

No one, 'Johan' thinks. "I am not," he drones , eyes fixed on the ceiling. There is a laugh, and Umber lets go of his hair. 'Johan' looks back at him, and the next moment Umber's hand shoots out again to hit him. His head whips backwards again and this time there is the taste of blood in his mouth, but he doesn't flinch nor does he say anything. Umber smiles at him and reaches for him again, but this time he just cups his cheek.

"See, this is what sets you apart from everyone else," he says, his thumb brushing over a cheek that, 'Johan' assumes, must be starting to bruise. "Mind over matter. This," he adds, giving another light smack at his face, "this is nothing. You face is worth nothing. Your body is a tool. All that matters, all that will ever matter, is your mind." He reaches for his head, holds it in both his hands. Their foreheads almost touch, and he's still smiling. "A clear mind. No emotions, no mindless impulses. Logic and control. You are nothing – nothing but this. There is nothing else, nothing to conceal as we have do. A clean slate. You'll be perfect."

'Johan' looks back at him and nods as much as his grip allows him, faintly wondering how come he insists on calling him 'boy'. He doesn't know exactly how old he is, but he assumes he's in his mid-twenties and thus well past the age to be called a boy. "Does that mean you're not, as you put it, perfect, sir?" 'Johan' asks.

If the question angers him, Umber conceals it perfectly. He lets go of his head with an amused chuckle. "Ah, you've got me there," he says. "No, I'm not like you, my boy. Will never be," he adds, and his eyes linger on the bullet scar on his forehead. "But nothing keeps far from perfect people from creating a masterpiece. I highly doubt Michelangelo looked much like his David, after all."

'Johan' has no clue what the long-dead sculptor looked like, nor does he care to ask. "I guess not," he says, because he can tell it's the answer Umber expects. The answer seems to satisfy him, for he nods and smiles at him again before reaching to tilt up his chin and lightly run a thumb over his swollen lower lip.

"Put some ice on that. It should be fine tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," 'Johan' says, and he thinks that's it. Still, Umber stares at his lip and then at his forehead for a few more moments before pulling back his hand.

"We're done for today," is all he says before he turns to leave.

'Johan' stares at his retreating back for a few moments, expressionless, thinking of nothing.

While ripe of information the Phantom listens to intently – and records every word of, as his watch has that function as well – the first half of the meeting is rather uneventful. Outis sits at the same table as all of them, executives and high-ranking employees alike, but he doesn't speak at all for a time: he just observes everyone. It would be unnerving, if the Phantom was allowing himself to be unnerved in the first place. But Harrison Fire would have no reason to worry about him, and therefore he can't show worry, either.

So he pretends he's not even there and listens to every word with rapt attention.

What YggdraCorp has been illegally developing and testing is, indeed, a toxin – and a powerful one to boot.

"Erysichthon can be absorbed by the body in several ways," the company's chief systems designer is explaining. "It can be drank as a liquid or breathed in as a gas; it can be injected for faster effects. Either way, the toxin will find its way to the bloodstream. Once there, it will start the autolytic cell destruction by prompting the body's enzymes into breaking down the affected cells. The body will eat itself. Putrefaction follows soon after. In other words," the man adds with a pleased smile, "the subject will rot alive. Depending on the amount of toxin involved and the means of administration, death can occur within minutes or hours. The fast rate of putrefaction that keeps going after death would make it extremely difficult for a time of death to be estimated."

There, the Phantom thinks, there it is – the reason why the bodies of the politician in Reijam and Stan Doff were in such a state to make everyone assume their death happened much earlier than it actually did. But of course, they cannot have created the toxin simply to kill a few people. There must be more to it, much more... and, while the CEO doesn't say much over the toxin's potential as a mass weapon, she does say something rather worrying. Apparently, YggdraCorp is up to sell it to the highest bidder... and several organizations are interested.

When Dr. Dote names a few of them, the Phantom isn't at all surprised to recognize the names: it's all terrorist organizations he knows of or ran into before. He actually infiltrated a couple of them once, something that didn't make them happy at all and put him on their black list pretty quickly. Knowing those people as he does, he has no doubt they're all drooling after the toxin like mutts.

However unsurprising to hear, their names make him feel cold. If those people are involved, then the danger for Blackquill is even higher than he thought.

The thought of Blackquill – Blackquill, knowing he's alive and cursing him as he resumes his hunt, whatever peace of mind he gained in these two years shattered – causes something in his chest to ache, and he's quick to shut down all emotion and keep his attention focused on what the CEO is now saying.

Which is more information than he could possibly hope for. An auction on a cruise ship, a week from now, and everyone in the room will attend; the upper three passenger decks will be entirely reserved to them and to potential buyers. It looks like the Phantom won't have to take another identity to keep looking into this; the Yatagarasu will probably need to, however.

The choice of a cruise ship is peculiar, but it does make sense: it would allow them to carry on the auction with a low risk of being interrupted, and they would be able to know beforehand who exactly will be on board... unless, of course, someone unexpected weaseled their way in.

Which is, obviously enough, what Outis was hired to deal with.

"... This is about all. I do apologize for keeping the details from some of you until now. I wished to make sure everything was settled before I did," Dr. Dote is saying. Her words are met with nods from everyone else in the room – except Outis, the Phantom notices – and one of them, the chief of security, speaks up.

"What of the spies from Reijam? What if they try to get on board? How will we know?"

There is a chortle, and everyone's attention turns to Outis for the first time. Outis – who was leaning back on his seat with his head tilted backwards, balancing a pen on the bridge of his nose – straightens himself and clears his throat. "My apologies. It's not my intention to be rude, but you appear to be unaware of how this game is played. If they try to get on board? They will be on board if so they wish; they seem skilled enough to do that. And at least one of them," he adds with a smile, his eyes slowly moving from person to person, "is a true master of disguise. How will you know? You will not. But I will. That's why you hired me, isn't it?"

"You claim you know who one of them is, and yet you won't tell us," the chief of security says with a scowl. He doesn't seem to like Outis much; the Phantom suspect he sees the act of hiring a spy for added security a slight against him. "He could have infiltrated the company alre-"

"It's not a matter of could have," Outis cuts him off. "If he wanted to, he did. Chances are that he's already within these walls," he adds with a half-smile, and once again his eyes move from one person to the other. "It's only a matter of finding out whose identity he has taken. And I will, soon. Don't worry."

"But who is this spy?" the CEO asks, frowning. "You have yet to tell me as much."

Outis bows his head. "True enough. Do tell me – has any of you heard of a spy known as the Phantom?"

"The Phantom?" one of the executives repeats, looking rather incredulous. "The one involved with the incident at the GYAXA space station? You must be mistaken, he was executed two years-"

"His death was faked," Outis cuts him off. "I inspected his grave personally, and... had someone else inspect it," he adds with a smirk. Something in the Phantom's chest tightens. "It's empty. No body was ever there at all. I'm certain the police will keep quiet about this for a time, but at this point they know it as well. The police, likely the Interpol, and a certain prosecutor who doesn't seem to be able to let his phantom go."

There is a twinge of something in the Phantom's chest, something he identifies as anger before he forces himself to smother it. "The Interpol was here as well, along with Prosecutor Blackquill," he says instead, Harrison's voice perfectly calm. "From what you told me earlier, I seem to understand that you made sure they would know the Phantom is still alive so that they'd chase after him on your – our – behalf. Is that so?"

Outis nods. "Yes. The Phantom has one great weakness, and that weakness is Prosecutor Blackquill. Having to be on the lookout for him is certain to put him under pressure. As you perhaps will recall me mentioning, the Phantom already cracked once. Pressure – the right kind of pressure – might just break him again."

He may not be too far off, the Phantom thinks. It's not a pleasant thought.

"But if the police and the Interpol know, won't they be after him as well?" Dr. Dote speaks up. "Their hunt for this spy may just bring them straight to YggdraCorp, again."

It's a more than valid point, but Outis waves his hand as though it's a silly concern. "That might happen, yes. But you don't need to worry: should that happen, I'll know in advance. Focus on the auction and let me handle the rest. After all, that's what I'm paid for," he adds with a smile.

But there is something about that smile that makes the Phantom's stomach clench.

He doesn't care, he realizes. He doesn't care whether or not the police or the Interpol become a problem for the company, just as Blackquill wouldn't care for his own safety while chasing me. He doesn't care if the company is taken down. He doesn't care about the money. Catching me is his only goal.

The realization makes him feel as though his insides have knotted. Why is he so fixated with him? How have they met? Has he crossed him? He must have. But he's crossed so many people, so many he can hardly remember most of them. And he certainly doesn't remember this man, regardless how well he seems to remember him. Who is he?

No one, a voice whispers in the back of his mind, but it's not one he can place, and the next moment he's forced to turn his attention back to the meeting. They're discussing the security measures, they're to take on the ship during the auction, and it's something he'd do well to listen very, very carefully.

It isn't often that the Yatagarasu doesn't know what to say; it's even rarer for her not to know what to think. But for a few moments, as she stares at the screen of the computer she used to hack into the Interpol's network and take a look at the status of their investigation on YggdraCorp, her brain seems to freeze.

Most of what she found is no surprise: the Interpol knows of human experiments going on, they raided the facility in Reijam and linked YggdraCorp to it after finding out that Stan Doff was there. Now, of course, they also suspect that the spy known as the Phantom may be involved as well – on the basis of one anonymous call Prosecutor Blackquill received. No, none of it is unexpected.

But then there is something else, the result of DNA testing on some traces of blood found in the facility in Reijam – and that is what leaves her speechless for several moments.

Name: Unknown.
Known Aliases: Calisto Yew; Shih-na
Last known location...

He knows, she realizes after a few moments spent staring at the words on the screen, unable to process them. Lang knows. He knows she was in Raijam; he knows she's involved, he's known it well before he showed at YggdraCorp. And she... she gave him a message.

No need to worry, she told the Phantom. He wouldn't link that to me. It's not like he knows I'm involved.

Except that he does. Whoops.

"Pfff-!"

There are other people in the lab, and the Yatagarasu is quick to slap a hand over her mouth and turn her laugh into a coughing fit. She waves off the startled – and slightly worried gazes – of her coworkers in the lab and, after getting the computer on standby mode, quickly leaves the lab to make her way to the toilet.

And, once she's there, she laughs until her sides hurt. Lang is after her, and he didn't even realize it was her he was speaking with days ago, when she slipped the message in his pocket.

This is just too rich, and it doesn't even matter that he may actually catch her, that this may be the end of her: she hasn't felt this excited for a long while, and she's sure that, as long as that idiot doesn't get himself killed, she won't mind whatever outcome there may be.

"... Athena?"

Athena lifts her gaze when Trucy's voice reaches her, along with the sound of a door opening. She smiles weakly, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "Hey, Trucy. Pearl," she greets them, straightening herself. Apollo's hand, which has been resting on her back for the last several minutes, retreats.

Trucy smiles back, but her smile is a bit weak, too – at least until her attention turns on Apollo. "Taking advantage of a sad moment, Polly? That's not nice," she says. Her words' effect is immediate as it is predictable: Apollo immediately starts sputtering and saying that no, wait, she got it all wrong.

That gets a chuckle out of Athena, though she feels kind of bad for poor Apollo. He's been comforting her since after Maya and Mr. Wright left the office, and she's grateful for that. She never wanted LaRoche to die, but now she feels so stupid for trusting him as much as she did. Maybe she was wrong about him, after all.

And Apollo – the one who lost his best friend to the Phantom, the one who was so opposed to her defending him in court, the one who'd have more reasons than anyone else to tell her that he told her so – hasn't been anything but supportive despite his own anger at the news Robert LaRoche faked his death and escaped. His best friend's murderer escaped punishment and is on the loose, but his first concern was supporting her. She can't thank him enough for this.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't know. He lied to you, lying is what he does – you only wanted to help.

"How are you feeling?" Pearl asks while Trucy and Apollo's banter keeps going. Athena sighs.

"Kind of stupid," she admits. "But... I'll be alright, I think. I'm worried for Simon," she adds. She knows very little of the case he's involved with and next to nothing about how the call he received about LaRoche's grave relates to it all, but she knows that more than one person died and that the Interpol is involved. It's a messy case, and it can turn out to be dangerous – as everything involving LaRoche seems to be.

He won't rest until he finds him. What if he never does? Will he keep chasing a phantom all his life?

Pearl bites her thumbnail, a worried frown on her face. "Do you think the Phantom could harm him?"

Athena shakes her head. "No. No, it's not that," she says, and she means it. She doesn't think LaRoche would harm Simon, she knows he won't: that is one certainty about him that hasn't left her yet... but it doesn't mean Simon is safe. "It's just... he could get himself in some sticky situation to look for him. It happened before."

"But he's more prepared than he was before," Trucy points out, apparently having grown bored with teasing Apollo – who is now more than slightly red in the face. "I'm sure he'll be able to handle it just fine. It's the two of you who need who need some vacation. And here you go, just a moment..." Before anyone can say anything else, Trucy pulls out her magic panties and produces something out of them – two slips of paper that look like... are those tickets? "Ta-daa! Here are your cruise tickets! One for you and one for Polly!"

"Cruise tickets?" Athena repeats, taken aback. She knows Trucy is going to have her own magic show on a cruise ship next week – a big hit for her, and she's been working hard to get her number ready – and Pearl is going to be there as her assistant and support... but until now Athena thought the extra tickets Trucy got were supposed to be for Mr. Wright and Maya. For a 'romantic cruise' while Trucy had her show, as Pearl put it.

"But... aren't those for Mr. Wright and Miss Fey?" Apollo asks, just as taken aback as Athena is.

Trucy shrugs. "That was the plan, yeah. But, well, after what happened we figured out you two may need a break. Daddy and Maya agreed, too. So take the tickets!" she adds, pushing them in Apollo's hand. "You'll be coming with me and Pearl and enjoy the cruise while we put up the greatest magic show ever!" she adds, reaching to put an arm around Pearl's shoulder and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Pearl blushes a bit, and leans her head on Trucy's shoulder.

Apollo frowns a bit. "Trucy, are you sure? I know this is important to you – it's a big thing for your career, and I know you really wanted Mr. Wright to be there..."

Trucy shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Daddy already said it's okay and hey, he's been there for all my magic shows so far. I think you should come. Really. It will be fun and... aww, Athena, don't cry!"

Athena sniffles a couple of times before smiling. "Thank you so much, both of you," she says, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. This is yet another reminder of why this office is the best place she could possibly end up: the sheer amount of support they give each other. "But... what about your plans for Mr. Wright and Maya?"

That causes Trucy and Pearl to exchange a quick look and smirk.

"No worries, got that covered, too," Trucy says. "With all of us out of the office, daddy will need an assistant for his next case, right? And now she has one! I'm sure it will be just like old times. It will do the trick!"

Pearl sighs dreamily. "Mystic Maya will be his assistant one more time! Just how it's meant to be – Mystic Maya and her special someone! Isn't that romantic?"

Apollo opens his mouth to say something – likely that investigating murders doesn't scream 'romance' to him – but he eventually closes it without saying anything, clearly aware that there would be absolutely no point in arguing over it with Trucy and Pearl over their questionable idea of what's romantic and what isn't.

"You have a questionable idea of what's amusing and what isn't."

The Yatagarasu laughs again, something the Phantom doesn't find amusing at all. For a moment, he wishes he didn't come over at Mary Goround's apartment – but he had to, no matter what. He and the Yatagarasu were to report about their findings, after all... and before that, they had to agree on what they would say and what they'd keep quiet about.

They told them all that they had found out about the YggdraCorp, Erysichthon and the auction that would take place next week, of course. They seemed to be pleased with what they had gathered, and – predictably enough – expected them to be there for the auction and see what the toxin's potential as a weapon was.

"We don't yet know where the toxin is stored, nor how much of it has been produced, nor what the potential precisely is," their contact had said. Neither of them had any idea what they looked like – there was no image showing on the computer's screen, and the voice speaking sounded neither masculine nor feminine. It was always the same, though, ever since the Phantom's first assignment for the government of the United States. "We'll make our move after you find out as much. We cannot take risks. We must make sure we'll be able to seize the whole supply, or this may have been for nothing."

When told about the fact the police and Interpol now knew the Phantom was not dead, their contact hadn't seemed to care much. "As long as it isn't known who you work for, whether or not you're believed to be dead is irrelevant enough," they had said. "We'll work to find out who searched the grave and why, but for now that's it. You're a valuable asset. No measures will be taken unless you're compromised. And, Yatagarasu?"

"Yes?"

"... It appears I have just beaten your Fruit Ninja score. I'm sending you my new top score. I'd like to see you beat that."

The Yatagarasu had grinned. "Hah! Beating it is gonna be a pleasure, Deep Throat."

"I'd like to remind you once again that my code name is not Deep Throat. And, unless you're implying I'm leaking out classified information, it would be a rather unfitting one."

"Hey, I could be implying something else entirely."

"... I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Phantom, how do you precisely deal with her on a daily basis?"

"I pretend I didn't hear half of what she says," the Phantom had said flatly.

"You two are no fun."

"Duly noted," their contact had said. "Is there anything else to report?"

There was, really – they were supposed to report the fact Outis knew the Phantom was involved... and the fact Lang was apparently all too aware of the Yatagarasu's involvement, too. The Yatagarasu was supposed to tell them that the Phantom was dealing with hallucinations that made him unfit for the assignment... but neither of them said anything of the sort. It would result with both of them being removed from the assignment – something the Yatagarasu wanted to avoid – and the Phantom possibly being deemed unable to continue being a spy at all – which might result with his death, regardless what their contact had said.

Of course, keeping quiet with the government doesn't keep them from arguing over it as soon as the communication is over. Not that she's taking the argument seriously.

"Hahaha! You should loosen up. I put a message in his pocket thinking he had no idea I was involved and hey, guess what? He knew! Just like Blackquill knows about you. Don't you love the irony?"

The Phantom stares at her in silence. He knows that, in her own way, she's glad that Lang is after her once again, and so very close. He, on the other hand, doesn't share her excitement. She should know it by now.

"... Okay, right. You don't. Dumb question," she says, but a grin lingers on her lips for a few moments longer before fading. "Look, I've seen what the Interpol's got, and it's not much. It's not enough for Blackquill to get close enough to be deemed a threat and, well... dealt with.

The Phantom scoffs. "Outis chose to involve him solely to put pressure on me. Hell knows what else he could let him know with the sole purpose of making me come out in the open," he says. "He doesn't care about YggdraCorp at all. It's me he wants. Blackquill already is in danger."

"But why? Who is he?"

That's the million dollars question, isn't it?

"... I wish I knew," is all the Phantom can say. And he does, he truly does, and he will find out – so that when the moment comes he'll know whose life he's ending.

"Birdbrain? Hey, birdbrain!"

Seymour recoils a bit, almost dropping the wooden board in his hands. It's a loose board they store most of their stuff under – Seymour's books and the crystal bird Robb got him, Robb's slingshot, some sweets and canned food just in case – because once jammed back in place it's really hard to tell it's loose to begin with. Should anyone get inside, at least they wouldn't be able to get to their stuff.

"What is it?" Seymour asks, busying himself by putting the board back in place. He's been doing that a lot these past few days, just turning his attention to everything but him unless Robb does or says something to make him give him his full attention. It's like he's embarrassed and that's weird and Robb doesn't like it, because Seymour was never embarrassed around him... until that hug Robb is still not sure what to think of.

But now he thinks he has just the right thing to make the awkwardness go away, so he grins a bit and stands closer to Seymour, his hands behind his back. With the board jammed back in place and nothing else to turn his eyes to, Seymour finally stands turns to face him – though he still pretends to focus on rolling up the sleeves of the way too big shirt he's wearing.

That alone is enough to make Robb's grin falter a bit. He clears his throat. "I, uh… got you a thing," Robb says, his hands still behind his back. That's enough to finally makes him look up at him, clearly surprised, and he blinks when he notices how Robb is keeping his hands behind his back.

"A thing?"

"Yeah. I kinda found it, and… well. Found it," he repeats. Seymour doesn't need to know that its mother and siblings were flattened by a car, after all.

Seymour frowns, clearly curious, and tilts his head on one side. And that's good, Robb thinks, a lot better than the odd awkwardness he's showed in the past week.

"What is it?" he asks, squinting as though that can help him look through Robb and to what he's holding behind his back.

Robb grins, his confidence finally back. "A surprise. Now close your eyes and hold out your—"

"Peep! Peep!"

… Stupid duck.

Seymour recoils, eyes going wide. "Is that...?"

Ah well, looks like the surprise element is gone. Robb grins again and holds his hands out before him, to show Seymour the small, bright yellow duckling cradled in his hands. "Yup! I found it-"

"Peep!"

"Shut up. I found-"

"Peep! Peep!"

"C'mon!" Robb protests. Won't this thing let him speak? "I found it – shut it – while it was trying to cross the street. It was alone, so I thought I could as well take it- are you listening to me?"

No, Seymour is not listening to him at all: he's too busy cooing at the duck, apparently. Robb snorts when Seymour just takes the duckling out of his hands and cradles it in his own before sitting on the mattress they sleep on and proceeds to coo at it some more.

… Well. At least he likes the duck. Great. Awesome. "I'm still here, you kno-"

"Hush! Look, it's sleepy!" Seymour cuts him off, causing Robb to roll his eyes. Oh, now it's sleepy, right after ruining the surprise and peeping like it was dying while he tried to speak.

Great pick, Robb. A stupid duck with a stupid timing.

Still, Seymour looks really fascinated with it and he wants him to look, so he may as well do so. Robb goes to sit next to him on the mattress and looks down at the duckling in Seymour's hands: it's resting its head on one of Seymour's thumbs and it looks like it's struggling and failing to keep its eyes open and yeah, Robb guesses that's actually kinda cute. "Congrats, mom. It's a duck," he says, and Seymour chuckles.

"Where did you find it?"

"Near the flea market, the one by the pond. It was trying to cross the street. Its mother was nowhere to be seen," he adds. It's a lie, but he doesn't want to upset Seymour. "Figured it had no chance on its own, so... yeah. We can keep and feed it until it's older. So, how are you gonna call it?"

Seymour frowns in thought for just a moment before smiling. "Alphonse," he says, lightly rubbing the duckling's head with a thumb.

Robb blinks. "... Why Alphonse?" he asks. That sure wouldn't be a name he'd think up for a pet duck.

"It's for Alphonse Milne-Edwards," Seymour says, and Robb supposes that should mean something to him. It doesn't, but he doesn't mention it. It's actually very likely Seymour mentioned this guy at some point, but Robb just wasn't listening and missed it. He's not going to let him know that.

"Oh. Right. Sure. Fits just right," he says instead, and reaches to lightly scratch the duckling's head with a finger. It's definitely asleep now, he notices, and again he has to admit it's kind of cute. "... Okay, here's the deal – if it starts peeping at night then it's gonna have to sleep in some other-" he starts, turning to Seymour, and he trails off when he realizes that he's not looking at the duckling anymore: he's looking right at him, it occurs to Robb that they're actually really, really close.

And Seymour is just looking at him, biting his lower lip and saying nothing.

"Er," Robb says, and suddenly he's feeling a lot more awkward than before and maybe he's supposed to move away and say something, but he's kinda glued to the spot and he has no idea what to say and... and...

And then Seymour scowls as though he just made up his mind over something really important, and leans over just a bit, just enough to press slightly chapped lips on Robb's and wait a moment, is he kissing him?

… Well. Damn. Robb is still trying to process the situation when Seymour pulls back, his face crimson. Robb knows he's supposed to say something, but for a few moments he can only gape, and Seymour bites his lower lip again before looking down.

"Sorry, I though... I should... never mind. I'll go get a basin or something for Alphonse," he mumbles, looking down at the duckling before standing.

He's already taken a few steps away when Robb snaps out of his confusion and realizes he's got to say something. He doesn't know what exactly, but he doesn't want to let Seymour leave looking that miserable, so he jumps to his feet and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

"I liked it!"

That causes Seymour to stop in his track and turn to look back at him, blinking quickly in surprise, and in a moment Robb is absolutely certain that his face is going to catch fire.

"I-I mean..." he stammers, thinking quickly for something else to say, but his brain just doesn't seem to work properly, or his mouth is spewing out stuff without notifying his brain, or both. "I didn't mind! Like, it was okay. I mean, it's not that... I kinda... I mean, it was quick, so... I, uh... can I..."

Can I start over? "... Can I have another one?"

Seymour stares at him for a few more moments before the look of surprise fades into incredulity first and then in what's the biggest smile Robb can recall ever seeing on his face. He looks kind of goofy, really, in a way he rarely does, and his blush seems to deepen a moment before he puts the sleeping duckling down on a bunch of clothes Robb left on the floor and then walks back up to him.

Robb tilts up his head just a bit, because even though he's still thinner than him Seymour is starting to get taller. Still, when they're face to face, Seymour hesitates. "Uh... you should close your eyes," he says.

Robb blinks. "... Why?" he asks. He didn't have his eyes closed a minute ago, anyway.

"I don't know. But I think that's how it works. People always do in books and movies," Seymour says, and Robb has to admit he has a point. It's not like either of them knows anything at all about kissing anyway, so at least books and movies are something to go by.

Or maybe Seymour just wants him to close his eyes because then he'll feel less awkward, but it's not like Robb feels like objecting to that, either: he's feeling really awkward himself, but he still wants another kiss.

"Okay, okay," he mutters before closing his eyes and pursing his lips a bit because he guesses how it's done and he probably looks kinda stupid and he really hopes Seymour closed his eyes as well. But the fact he can't see him helps a bit with the awkwardness, so he squeezes his eyes more tightly shut and waits.

He doesn't have to wait much, because a moment later Seymour his giving him another kiss on the lips. Robb heard that a proper kiss is more complicated than just a meeting of lips, but to be honest he doesn't know what else he could do and apparently neither does Seymour, so for now they can just settle for this. It doesn't feel bad at all anyway, and lasts longer than the first one – that was just a peck – but it's not long enough. So when Seymour pulls back Robb abruptly moves to give him a kiss of his own.

Too abruptly. And he misses.

"Ow!" Seymour yelps, rearing back and reaching to cup his hands over his nose.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Robb says quickly, mentally kicking himself for being so rash. "Is it broken? Are you hurt?"

Seymour grimaces, hands still on his nose, but he shakes his head. "No, don't think so. It just kinda hurts," he says, and that's a relief, because getting a doctor to take a look at a broken nose wouldn't be easy for them.

"I can kiss it better," Robb blurts out, and while part of him wonders where that came from he can't help but feel a bit smug when Seymour blushes a deeper red. Robb doesn't really think that kissing it would make it any less sore – that's just what you say to little children – and neither does Seymour, he's sure. But he just gives that goofy smile again and keeps still when Robb kisses his nose, as promised.

Plenty of times.

"You ran away. You left me to die."

Face burrowed in his hands, the Phantom lets out a low keening noise. His nails sink into fake skin, for he doesn't allow himself to take off the mask even at night now that he knows Outis and Blackquill are both after him. It's clearly doing his mental state no good, because he's hallucinating again.

How long must he stay without dream suppressants before the side effect wears off?

"Leave me," he says, fully knowing that there is no one there and that his own mind is to blame. His mind, the dream suppressants he's taken for too long. His voice comes off as a weak plea.

"You want to forget all about me again, don't you?" Seymour's voice asks again.

The Phantom shuts his eyes tighter. "No," he chokes out. "Never."

Don't forget me. Please, please, don't forget me.

"... Good. See that you don't. I won't let you forget. You killed me, Robb."

The Phantom keeps his eyes shut and keeps breathing in and out, slowly, as he was trained to do. In and out. In and out. Mind over matter. There is no one in there. Mind over matter. Breathe. In and-

"You killed me, Fool Bright." Blackquill's voice is like a spear of ice through his chest, and for several moments the Phantom cannot breathe – no matter how aware he is of the fact this is not real, this is all in his mind, Blackquill is not there at all and he was never killed.

Not yet. He was not killed yet. He may be if he keeps pursuing you, and you know he will.

"No," he rasps. "This was never... you were never supposed to know. You were supposed to be safe."

"I would be if you faced death as you promised you would. Now face me. Look what you have done."

He shouldn't look, the Phantom knows it. He shouldn't because there is nothing there, because whatever he'll see is pure hallucination, because looking will do him no good. But then Blackquill's voice barks that order again – "Look at me!" – and he can't keep himself from tearing his hands off his face—
not his face this is not his face and neither is the one beneath the mask, his true face is gone for good
—and glancing across the room, to see what his mind is going to show him.

He expects to see Blackquill, but he does not; at the foot of the bed, pale as death and with a bleeding hole in his forehead, sits Seymour. There is no expression on his face. Blackquill is nowhere to be seen.

"You'd rather see him, wouldn't you?" Seymour says. Blood comes out of the corner of his mouth, so dark it seems almost black. His lips are blue with death. It's too much for the Phantom. He shuts his eyes again.

"Leave," he almost begs. It can't be too long, he thinks, the hallucination will be over soon, it must, please-

"Fool. Fool... Bright."

Blackquill's voice startles him, and causes him to open his eyes without thinking – something he regrets a moment later, as he stares at Blackquill's pale face staring at him from where Seymour sat moments ago... and at the bleeding hole on his forehead. The sight makes the Phantom's stomach clench and his mind reel, no matter how well he knows that this is all in his mind, all in his mind, none of it is real, none of it.

"You're not real," the Phantom chokes out, but this time he's unable to close his eyes or turn away. He can't keep himself from staring at Blackquill's pale face, at his empty eyes, at the blood matting his hair and running down his face. "This is not happening."

Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over-

"It will. You know this will happen," Blackquill says, and lifts his hands. He's wearing shackles again, only that now they're dripping with blood. "I'll never stop chasing you until I have you – or until this happens. You didn't keep your promise. I was wrong to believe you a man. You ran away like the phantom your are."

You ran away. You left me to die.

The Phantom reaches up to clamp his hands on his ears. Uselessly so, for the voices he believes he's hearing are coming from his own head. He desperately wishes he could truly talk to him, make him understand why he couldn't bring himself to stay, why he lacked the courage to face death as Blackquill wished him to.

The one reason – the only reason – why he ever believed himself capable of facing death as a man was that Blackquill believe he could. He believed in him, in his humanity, believed him capable of paying for his crimes with his head held high. As long as Blackquill did, then... the he could believe it, too.

But then he had kissed him, and it had been a mistake, or at least so it seemed back then. Blackquill's disgust and hatred had cut deeper than any blade could, and as Blackquill's belief in him crumbled, so did his.

I'm done with the Phantom. He's of no use anymore. Bring him back to his cell.

He had accepted the offer, then, he had wanted to keep existing because he couldn't face death on his own. Without Blackquill's support, he simply couldn't do it. He didn't have that kind of courage, not on his own. By the time Blackquill paid a visit to his cell, the day before execution, it was too late for him to even rethink his choice: he had grown too attached to his only chance at living. "You were never supposed to know!"

"But I do now. You sentenced me to death."

Why did you let me die?

And suddenly the Phantom cannot think, cannot breathe, cannot see, cannot tell what is real and what isn't. There is a horrible noise like that of a suffering animal, one he doesn't realize is coming from his own mouth. He tries to turn, blindly groping for something he knows should be on the nightstand; he can't even remember what it is, but he knows he must take it, he must use it, he must. Then his hand closes on something small and a button is pressed and that's it, what's what he was supposed to do to call for help.

Help I need help someone help me please please someone help me make it stop MAKE IT STOP!

A sob wrecks his chest, and the his own plea is the last thing he's aware of before his mind shuts down.