This chapter was an interesting write... because I really learned where the cocktail "Greyhound" comes from. That's what it was. Read and ye shall be enlightened.

Aerith is old here. Sorry. I couldn't help it. She's probably in her late thirties. But a certain someone happens to like older women, and he's having a particularly bad night.

Well... I think they're all having a bad night, to tell the truth.

No one dies yet... I'm still pondering... (and sighing and moaning and all that stuff that goes with deep introspection. My parents think I'm NUTS trying to please you guys :D) and things don't look s'good. I have to get Demyx's nickname in here too... I keep forgetting about it. It's my sister's name for him since I thought of the concept of a gay musician and explained that to her. A few of you may be able to guess based on that. If you can, kudos to you. I'll probably end up inserting it for some bedside humor.

But until then, read, enjoy, review, repeat. I love you all so very much, you have no idea! I'm here to please!

(P.S. My latest review made me laugh so hard I started crying even though I knew I shouldn't have been laughing and it totally made me rethink killing one of the boys for a second... but I think I'll persist in my plans. I'm sorry to all of you who think it deserves a happy ending... but just because of the fact that someone dies doesn't mean it won't be a happy ending... ever listen to Painters? I mentioned it earlier with a purpose. Love y'all.)

Aerith was a lovely woman, relatively tall with rich brown curls that easily fell to her waist. Axel couldn't tell what age she may have been, but he wouldn't be surprised if someone told him she was in her late thirties. She led him quietly to the room Saïx was being held in.

"He's a little groggy because of the painkillers, but he's still pretty alert… enough to be his usual self, I think."

"Thanks… I really need this," Axel sighed, his voice shaky.

She opened the door for him and as soon as the click of the handle Saïx's golden eyes found him and the most unrestrained show of emotion spilled over his usually solemn face. He looked hopeless and before a single word could be said, a single crystalline tear slipped down a pale cheek.

"No…" he moaned.

"No! No, no… You've got the wrong idea… he's got good chances," Axel cried, trotting to the older man's side.

"Oh god… you scared me," Saïx breathed, "He'll make it…?"

"We're looking at a 70 chance he'll live through tonight," Axel confirmed, "And it only goes up after that… the doctor is Vexen."

"You're… kidding, right?"

"No… Even Horowitz. You ought to see him… I only ever got to see him when he was a wrinkly old man. He looks like he's probably thirty."

The cop in the corner quirked an eyebrow, and Saïx lavished a glance, alerting Axel to the outsider's presence.

"Does it hurt much?" Axel asked, glancing down to the hand Saïx had on his injured thigh.

"Only a little now… I can feel it throbbing though."

"Thank you. You saved my life… you probably saved Demyx too."

Saïx smiled in that way that Axel knew was a genuine expression. His face always seemed to soften, and it just made him look like the beautiful person he really was behind all the puff and strut. He made a note mentally to tell Saïx never to lose that part of his being. As soon as it happened, it disappeared, and Saïx reached up, handcuffs binding his movement somewhat, tinkling against the metal railing on the bed, but he had just enough leeway to place a hand on Axel's cheek.

"What do you think… what should we do?"

"I'm not sure," Axel replied, "Did the questioning go badly?"

"Not as bad as I thought," Saïx admitted, "But I'm still afraid… I can't serve time. Not again. It'll kill me."

"I know."

"Five people died in this bed, Axel."

"It's hard, isn't it?"

"Yes…"

Saïx shuddered visibly, squeezed his eyes shut.

"Take it easy… I know you can't keep your composure up right now. The medicine always kills it pretty quick."

"I can't go back to that cage…"

"I know…"

Axel surprised the older man when he bent and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him into an intimate embrace.

"I won't let that happen."

"Sir, please refrain…"

"Sorry," Axel mumbled, breaking away from his shocked friend. "I'm going. If anything happens, make them call me, alright? I won't let them do a damn thing. You were only protecting us."

Axel pinned the cop with a cold jade glare.

"Thanks… you really don't have to," Saïx assured, "I'm sure they'll figure it out."

"Just in case they don't," Axel grumbled, "It's not unheard of… I'm going down to the chapel… I… I wonder if God will listen to me."

"Pray. I'll be there in spirit," Saïx said softly. "Good night, Axel."

"You get some rest," Axel said in return, "Try not to think too much, alright."

"Yeah… you too."

Axel slipped out silently, wandered the halls aimlessly until he finally reached the destination he'd mentioned.

The chapel was beautiful, low light spilling down on lovely wooden pews that looked as though they were probably hand made many years past. A huge cross stood at the back of the room, illuminated dramatically from behind, and a few people sat at the steps of the alter, presumably praying for loved ones. Axel slipped into a pew in the back, fresh tears stinging in his eyes. He was so angry.

"God," he whispered bitterly, "I haven't talked to you in a long time… and sometimes I think I hate you for putting me through all this… but just this once, could you let me have what I want? I'll give anything… everything, just that he would live…"

--- ---

"Kimhari… leave the boy be, if you would."

"Father, he shouldn't be sleeping here," the blue-haired boy complained. His eyes were strikingly bright gold. Axel couldn't help but think how much he looked like Saïx in build and almost every other aspect, except that his skin was more olive colored, his hair more cobalt.

"Sorry… he's right," Axel croaked, "'Scuse my intrusion."

"No, my son," the Father said simply, his voice flat and monotone, but still carrying a slightly mirthful note, "No need to apologize. No place like a chapel for a soul-weary wanderer to rest his feet."

Axel was taken aback. This priest looked like he'd gone through hell and back again, his black hair streaking gray, his face scarred. He looked as though he'd lost an eye.

"I see you're captivated by my interesting appearance."

"No! Um…" Axel shook his head violently to clear it, "I'm sorry, father. I didn't mean to stare."

"Father Auron, if you like," he said softly. "I'm here to pray with you, if you would like, my son."

Kimhari snorted irritably and left the room.

"Yeesh," Axel breathed.

"Ignore him. He's been having a rough night," Auron explained, "Please come with me."

And Axel obeyed.

--- ---

Lying on his cold bed, alone and without a soul to comfort him, Axel found that he couldn't ease himself into sleep.

Everything felt so alien without the beautiful blond by his side.

He looked over to the clock and it was about a minute or so before the LCD display registered. Five minutes to six. There wasn't really any point in sleeping now, but he tried anyway, and all he could manage was a few five second naps that he was awakened from almost instantly. Demyx's broken soul wouldn't stop pleading, echoing in the shattered remains of his heart.

The smell of turpentine.

For the first time in almost six years Axel lurched to his feet and found the cupboard where he kept his oils and everything he needed to use them with.

He pulled out the rusting steel can, slammed it down on the table, went to the fridge and cracked open a new carton of orange juice.

Really the drink is supposed to be made with grapefruit juice, and people who broke the original recipe use vodka—though it is a bit close to the original concoction—but he doesn't have grapefruit juice right now so he uses what he has.

He poured the orange juice first, filling the tall glass a little over three quarters of the way, and then he added the poison. This was real poison. The smell of it made him gag hard, but he was able to keep from vomiting.

He placed both containers back in their respective places and tipped back the first bile-inducing sip, instantly gagged at the flavor, as much as he had tried to mask it. He waited for the burning to settle in his stomach, then took another sip, waited, took another sip, waited, took another sip until it was all gone. He placed the glass in the sink, clunking it down hard enough to crack it and lurched to his bed.

It wasn't enough to kill him, he knew, but he entertained the thought of going back for more… maybe he could be fate's fucking lamb.

His head reeled, his heart throbbed unevenly, painfully, but he couldn't seem to knock himself out and it was agony. It just seemed to go on and on and he wished it would end. He wished he could take it all back, but turpentine is unforgiving as a medium with which to attain that perfect state of death, and his soul seemed glued in its superficial shell.

He writhed in agony until the sun came up, and his phone began to ring soon thereafter, but he was in so much pain he couldn't get to it.

The phone rang and rang and rang and Axel couldn't move except for violent spasms that shook his delicate frame like a butterfly in a hurricane. There was nothing to keep him company but the incessant ringing and the violent pounding of his own heart in his ears until finally unconsciousness mercifully took him away from it all.

--- ---

When he woke again, Axel was faintly aware of the fact that he liked pain… he liked to torture himself, and he listened to his voicemail as he wretched until his throat bled.