A/N: As always, big thanks to my reviewers for all the lovely comments. Reviews keep this story going. I'd told myself a few days ago that no matter when I finished this chapter, it wasn't going up until I got at least 9 reviews. Well, I come home from work, and what do I find? My 9th review. So I scribbled out the last three pages of the chapter in a couple hours, and here it is, "hot off the press."

"Come nourish me And reproduce yourself
I consume myself. Rescue me.
It worsens, I remember myself,
Bleeding internally. Rescue me.
For all the dreams That slip away from us
For all the fears That spread…"
- Oomph!, "Rette Mich" (translated from the German lyrics)

V. Path

When Vanja awoke, Nuada was fighting the air. Vanja smiled, warm and comfortable in the bed, feeling a very human resistance to wake. She wondered, in Nuada's mind, if the practice calmed him, like a meditation, or if he was imagining a legion of enemies. She closed her eyes briefly, listening to the soft whistle of the blade cutting through the damp air, listening to Nuada's breathing. Heavy and labored, it still managed to sound focused and determined.

Slowly, Vanja slid out from between the sheets and sat at the edge of the little alcove. She watched Nuada move with perpetual, infinite grace. His weapon seemed a part of him. An extension of his own body. Vanja suddenly felt sadness and guilt for how long it had been since she'd picked up a real weapon. The guns the BPRD expected them to use didn't count for her. Once, she knew how to use a weapon like Nuada did. To think of one's weapon as a part of oneself.

"I can always use a partner," Nuada suddenly offered, twirling the spear to a brief resting position at his side.

"I'm a little rusty," Vanja warned.

"I'll never complain about an easy opponent," he joked, smiling brilliantly.

Vanja shook her head, but with a smile. Nuada's seemingly high spirits were contagious. She stood and picked up a nearby blade. A longsword, a deep silver-gray in color, with intricate floral patterns covering the hilt and spilling over onto the base of the blade. Appraising the blade's weight and spinning the grip tentatively in her hand, she smiled. The feel of the weapon reminded her of her mother's sword, which she had carried in battle for many, many years.

"Do you like it?" Nuada asked, his voice jarring her out of memory.

"It's beautiful," she replied.

"I know you're good with a longsword."

"It's been a while," she reminded him, taking a step forward.

He gave her a smile before striking out, her reflexes catching her barely in time to block his blow. She knocked his blade away with hers and attacked. Nuada countered easily, twisting the spear in a way meant to disarm her. Vanja held fast to her weapon, drew back, attacked again. For long minutes they continued, almost a dance of attacks, blocks, counters. Eventually it became comfortable, easy. Truly a dance.

"So, how does this work? The life thing, I mean," Vanja asked, her breathing just as labored as his, and neither of them ceasing their attack.

"What do you want to know?" Nuada's voice was conversational, despite the way the words were punctuated with heavy breaths.

"Do I have to eat? Food? Like a normal person?"

"If you want to live," Nuada replied unhelpfully.

"What does that mean?" Vanja asked patiently, though she swung her blade a little harder to satiate her sudden annoyance at his playfulness.

"If you want to keep the life I've given you," Nuada began, blocking Vanja's attack but not offering one of his own, effectively ceasing their battle, "then you will have to sustain your health, as a mortal would. If not, then eventually you will die, or in your case, simply go back to undeath."

Finished with his explanation, Nuada raised his weapon again. Vanja had to focus on blocking his attack before she could ask her next question.

"But do I still have to drink blood? As I normally would?"

"Probably."

"You don't know?" Vanja's voice sounded more indignant than she meant it to be.

"I've never let a vampire drink from me before," he answered jovially, seeming to ignore the complaint in Vanja's tone. "You'll have to experiment. It's not like it's going to kill you."

"Experiment?"

It wasn't that strange, but it seemed like a strange answer from Nuada, who somehow seemed like he should be all-knowing.

"Sure. You like that, right? New things?"

Vanja smiled. A smile that knew he was right but also knew he'd gotten the best of her in a small way with that. New things. Yes, that's what Vanja loved. So why was this suddenly making her nervous? This 'living' thing.

"You should show me that some time," Nuada suddenly said.

Vanja assumed that if he wasn't busy blocking her newest attack that he would have gestured at whatever he meant.

"What?" she questioned.

"Your eye. Show me how it works."

"You've seen it, surely."

"Once," he told her. "Surely you can't use it that sparingly."

"Things of power must always be used sparingly," she mused confidently, while jumping back from a low sweep of Nuada's spear, meant to knock her down. "Otherwise they lose their power, or become tyranny."

"Wise words," Nuada complimented her, seeming honestly impressed.

This seemed a subject that would interest him anyway. Power.

And suddenly he stopped all together. Seeing him, Vanja let the sword, almost ready to attack, drop to her side.

"Why did you do it? I could never figure out what was in your head. You never told anyone why. And no one ever asked."

Why did she cut out her eye? For this wretched thing she never even used. She didn't know. There were plenty of things she could say, but it could never be the whole truth. She could never know the whole truth. Maybe it just seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe it was just an inexplicable compulsion. That battle…it was horrible. She was covered in the blood of friend and foe alike, crawling across a stone floor sticky with blood and riddled with corpses, just to get to that discarded gem. She didn't understand how she knew what it was. She just knew. And maybe that is why she did it. Carved out her eye then and there, with the tip of the blade of her sword, the sword that had belonged to her mother. Because somehow she knew of the gem's power. Somehow it spoke to her. Told her what it was. She barely remembered the pain. But she remembered the nervous rush she felt when she shoved the red gemstone, perfectly eye-size, into the bloody socket. The last thing she wanted was for her eye to grow back too fast and have to try again.

As Vanja told this to Nuada, he seemed to understand. Despite his question, he didn't seem to want a concrete answer, he was just curious. Just wanted to know. Wanted to know the secret behind the strangest chapter of her life. The one event she couldn't fully explain.

"I used it then, to avenge my friends. To destroy my enemies. I've only used it twice since that first battle, always for the same reason."

"Always for revenge?"

"Yes. That seems to be its sole purpose."

Nuada stepped closer, cupping her cheek in his hand. He observed her closely, looking into her eyes. She knew he was looking at the gem. The Eye of Fire. But whether he was inspecting the way it had melded with her half-grown eye, or if he was speculating of its power, she couldn't know.

"Can you see?" he asked.

"A little. I'm not sure how. Something in the way the eye grew back. My vision's not much different than before. But it took some getting used to at first."

Nuada's hands smoothed over Vanja's hair.

"Amin mela lle," he told her, kissing her forehead.

Vanja smiled and gave him an equally chaste kiss on the cheek.

"I love you, too."

Nuada sighed, but the breath seemed to catch in his throat, as if he were in pain.

"You should go now. Your friends will be expecting you," he reminded her kindly, but his words were slightly terse.

Vanja nodded. She handed Nuada the sword, but he refused to take it.

"Keep it," he told her.

Vanja put it in his hand. "Keep it for me. Give it back to me when the time is right."

Nuada's eyes somehow managed to seem sad and curious at the same time. He took the sword, giving Vanja a small nod. Understanding that her words were a promise.

Abe stared at Vanja in shock. Vanja wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to explain, though she knew she had to. Her breath and beating heart, not to mention her new, very alive complexion, wasn't going to go unnoticed by anybody. But she was certainly counting her blessings that no one else was around. That Liz was sleeping and HB was…somewhere. That made her worry suddenly, out of habit. Almost a year with the gang had taught her that if Red's not around, he's probably getting into trouble.

"How did this happen?" Abe demanded, his voice jerking her thoughts away from speculating Hellboy's probable mischief.

Vanja could feel her mouth moving, and she knew no words were coming out. Why did she suddenly feel so sheepish? Like a reprimanded child. It had to be the tone in Abe's voice. Sounding as if he thought she was irresponsible.

"Give me your hand," he said, his voice really making Vanja feel like she was in trouble now.

She held her hand up with a sigh, looking away from Abe's eyes and pouting absentmindedly. Somehow Abe was the only person who ever made her feel like this. Like he was older than her. Maybe because it was impossible to keep secrets from him. He was a born father that way, always knowing everything.

After a few seconds of silence, Abe looked at her with some mixed emotion in his eyes. Vanja wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Vanja…"

"Oh, Abe…I…" Vanja didn't quite know what to say.

She wanted to offer something, some kind of explanation, because she was afraid she'd hurt him, that he'd think she was betraying him.

"You love him," he said, more to himself, a realization.

"Guess we both have a thing for elves, huh?"

Abe's head hung a little, as if he were somehow ashamed that his feelings for Nuala were so obvious.

"Don't tell the others?"

Abe nodded. "Just don't do anything you'll regret. Or anything we'll regret," he cautioned her.

Vanja knew the we referred to the BPRD. As in, 'don't do anything that will make us have to kill you, Vanja.' That's what he really meant.

"Ugh," Vanja groaned, a strange, abrupt pain spreading through her abdomen. She sighed. "I'm going to get something to eat. I'm starving," she muttered, annoyed.

Abe still seemed grave, obviously giving more thought to the situation than Vanja was at the moment. But, Vanja was tired of giving it thought. That's all she did anymore. Think. What to do, what to do? She couldn't think anymore, especially when she wasn't reaching any conclusions.

Clutching her side, hunger pains shooting through her, she walked out of the library, leaving Abe to his contemplation. She made her way through the building, quickly realizing how little she knew about the layout and how large the HQ actually was. Almost embarrassed, she had to stop twice to ask passerby where the cafeteria was. They both looked at her strangely; obviously, her reputation proceeded her.

After finding the building's surprisingly nice communal restaurant, Vanja couldn't help herself from trying a little of everything the - again, surprisingly - large menu offered. From the cafeteria's other occupants, Vanja received looks that were only halfway attempted to be inconspicuous.

While the food was certainly not the greatest joy Vanja could imagine, she was still highly impressed, even with what others might scoff at as "cafeteria food." After all, it had been centuries since Vanja had properly tasted a meal. As a vampire, while some senses, like sight, are heightened, other senses, like taste, are dulled and most vampiri refrain from human habits like eating simply because of the discomfort.

After her sprawling exploration of the cafeteria's culinary offerings, Vanja found herself practically overwhelmed by a very human exhaustion. Confused by the link between food and tiredness, but seeing no reason to deny the impulse, Vanja trekked back to the more familiar areas of the building and found a kind of "guest room," one of the few provided for cases like Nuala's. Laying down on the bed, Vanja was startled by the level of comfort, experiencing for the first time in many, many years just how good it could feel to truly rest, in the human sense of the word. Sleep found her within moments.

"They're both dead now, Vanja. And it's your fault! You killed them!"

Even through the tears streaming ceaselessly down his cheeks, she could see that his eyes were wild, that the tears were of rage more than sadness. She had thought, that night, that he'd looked like a demon. His black hair long and messy, his brown eyes turned black by the darkness. He kept screaming at her.

"You killed my mother! You killed her and now he's dead too because of you! If you'd never been born they'd still be alive and we'd be happy! Without you!"

Usually, she thought Kalevi was the exact image of their father, the way Vanja was an exact copy of their mother. But tonight her brother no longer reminded her of her father. Her father had never been this mean, never gotten so angry. Though Kalevi was only eight, as he screamed at Vanja, she thought he had a man's voice. She thought she'd be able to forget that it as her brother yelling at her, if she could just close her eyes.

The little girl, just three years old, clamped her hands down hard over her ears. The tears fell from her eyes like waterfalls and she started screaming back at her brother.

"Stop yelling at me, Kalevi! I didn't do anything! It's not my fault! I didn't do anything! Stop it!"

With her hands over her ears, she couldn't hear her own voice any better than she could hear his. Soon she was screaming just as loud as he was. Over and over, they shouted the same words to each other, neither willing or able to hear the other. Vanja tried to close her eyes, close her ears. Make him go away. And suddenly she felt something hit hard against her head, causing her ears to ring and her vision to go blurry. Finding herself on the floor, she could do nothing but cry harder. He hit her again, and she couldn't cry hard enough to release the pain. She tried to tell herself it wasn't happening. This couldn't be her brother, who loved her and who had always protected her. Vanja covered her face with her arms, and when Kalevi couldn't pry them apart to hit her face, he kicked and punched at her stomach.

"No! Stop it! Kalevi!" she cried the words over and over until he pulled away from her.

Just as abruptly as the beating had begun, it stopped. From the floor, Vanja watched, through a filter of tears and blood, as Kalevi stood and disappeared into the darkness.

When she woke again, her lungs were aching and Kalevi was still screaming at her.

"Vanja, wake up! Wake up! Come on, stand up!"

He was pulling at her. She thought he'd pull her arm from her body. Finally, he stooped to pick her up. She was still drowsy as he carried her out of the house, losing his hold on her as soon as he got through the door and almost dropping her right into the snow. He dragged her far away from the house, into the woods.

As the cold shocked her system, she woke completely. Kalevi was pulling her along so fast and with such fear on his face that she didn't dare look back. But she could smell the fire, hear the crackling of the burning wood of their home. Standing deep in the woods, the siblings watched their family home burn. They watched a handful of Russian soldiers linger around the dying edifice and finally lose interest, moving on to the next house, probably.

They sat in the snow, in the woods, for hours. Long after the fire had died and there was nothing left of their home but ash, they sat in the snow with the sunrise breaking through the trees around them. They didn't know what else to do. Kalevi held Vanja on his lap, wrapped her tiny body up in his coat and kept her warm. He stroked her hair so feverishly that it scared her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, kultaseni. I'll never hurt you again. I promise, I promise…"

He went on and on, holding her so tightly that at times she thought she'd suffocate in the tightness of his grasp and his big coat surrounding her. His frightened whisper only served to terrify her, and she felt just as vulnerable in his arms as safe.

Vanja jerked awake, and almost before she had gasped a breath, Nuada's arms were around her.

"Shhhh," he cooed, "it was just a dream."

"It wasn't a dream," she told him, confused. "It was a memory."

"Tell me about it?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

He ran a hand through her hair affectionately, his fingertips brushing over her temple. Vanja felt something cold and sticky left on her skin in the wake of his hand. Before she reached to her forehead, she saw his hands, now hovering in the space between their bodies.

Nuada's hands were covered in blood.

He still watched her intently, ready to hear about her dream.

Vanja looked out over the room, the darkness making it seem as if its walls stretched on forever. Corpses littered the floor, their bodies dark, but their faces bright and recognizable. Blood was everywhere, too red, too discernible in the dark light. Among the faces were those of her mother, father, brother, and every other person she had ever killed. Among the faces were friends, friends she had avenged. And among the bodies carpeting the floor, there was Abe, Liz, and Red.

"No…"

Vanja turned back to Nuada, his face looking slightly pained.

"You don't want to talk about it?" he inquired innocently. "Or, you don't want to tell me?" he added threateningly, accusatory.

Vanja couldn't speak. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes wandered the sea of faces again. All dead.

All dead because of her.

Nuada growled next to her, furious. "You're just like her," he spat. "You'd choose them over me!"

Before Vanja could know what was happening, Nuada's hand was on her throat. Cold, strong, and vice-like. She clutched at his wrist, trying to push him away, trying to speak. She could do nothing. He was unstoppable, immovable. As she stared at him, already feeling her breath falter, her lungs burn, her sight slowly becoming impaired by clouds of white, she saw, her last sight, with her last breath, that Nuada's eyes were not his own. They were not the beautiful golden green of autumn leaves. They were black. Same as Kalevi's. His Demon eyes.

"No." She didn't know if she thought it or whispered it, but it was her dying word.

"No! No! No! N-" Vanja's eyes shot open and her hand flew to her neck, waving around her collarbone, trying to fend off her dream attacker.

As soon as she realized her near-death experience was just a nightmare, she allowed herself the opportunity to feel disgust. She and her bed sheets were soaked in sweat. Then, suddenly, fear was upon her. Confused, she shook her head, as if trying to shake off the fear physically. The emotion was not her own, it was transferred to her by Nuala. And not of Nuala's volition, either. Vanja could not read the Elves. Nor could she read any immortal with a particularly strong will. The stronger the mind, the harder it was to read. And Elves, being not only of strong mind, strong will, and a foreign race, were impossible save for the times when they projected. When their feelings were so strong that they could no longer hold them in their minds.

Nuala's mind was overflowing with fear and anxiety, and Vanja was picking it up so clearly that it did feel like a physical entity, clinging to her. She staggered from the bed and made her way out into the hall to check Nuala's room, just a couple doors down. The room was empty. Fully awake and alert now, having shaken all grogginess, Vanja ran to the library. As she entered, Nuada - standing so close to his sister that there was obviously some threatening going on, psychological if nothing else - turned to Vanja, and met her with a tiny but acknowledging smirk. He turned quickly back to his sister, as if Vanja had never even entered.

"It's in one of the books," he stated, backing away from his twin, "and I will find it."

Nuada grabbed a volume blindly from the bookshelf. Glancing at it in his hand, he smiled.

"Blue," he sighed. "You always look so beautiful in blue," his voice was light and slightly reminiscent, but his anger and impatience grew with each passing second.

He dropped the book to the floor, startling Nuala. Vanja could feel the elf's fear grow.

Nuada again grabbed a book from behind him. His eyes barely touched it before he gasped again, his anger escalating palpably, "blue."

"Poetry…" he murmured, flipping through the thick volume, seeming almost pensive. "Love…found, and lost."

Vanja watched the twins' interaction raptly. She felt the awkwardness of seeing someone in the flesh after one has dreamt something terrible about that person. Watching Nuada's subtle, almost deceiving abuse to his sibling, Vanja had a horrible feeling that she might still be dreaming…or that her dream wasn't a dream after all. For the first time, she was scared of him. For a few seconds, she closed her eyes. Still hearing his voice, as sweet and beautiful as ever but tinged with the ferocity of a raging impatience, she found herself slowly, oddly soothed. That voice. Three hundred years and she'd never heard anything like it.

"Only words," Nuada sneered, slamming down the second book as he had the first, "I will find it."

Vanja's eyes still closed, waiting for the next syllable from the lips of her own personal angel, waiting for that voice to knock her out of the uneasiness of her dream, waiting to love him wholly again, she was interrupted by the most annoying sound imaginable. Her eyes snapped open, colliding immediately with Nuada's gaze from across the large room. Then his eyes were back on his sister.

"Why?" he demanded, sounding to Vanja exactly the way he had on the rooftop.

His words from that day echoed in her mind. Why don't I know? Why have I lost her? Recalling the perfect sound of his voice, the pain in his soul twisting his beautiful face, the way his eyes were so confused, pleading…

Vanja wanted to run to him. To embrace him right then, right there, and tell him she'd never leave him. She may have had her doubts before, but now…

"Abraham!" Nuala shouted across the room.

And Vanja suddenly realized that half the BPRD was standing behind her.

"No, don't! He'll kill you," Nuala warned.

Vanja glanced at Abe. Her heart sank a little, but she felt like laughing, seeing him there, stunned and still holding the remnants of a six-pack of canned beer. Poor Abe. And the love Vanja had for him, for all of them, surged up again in her. She couldn't…Nuada…she couldn't betray her friends. She couldn't let it be…like this.

"Princess?!" Abe tried futilely to hide the alcohol, as if it could hide the fact that he was drunk, too.

"Abraham?" Nuada growled, his tone unable to hold any more vitriol.

He muttered something in his own tongue to his sister that he didn't bother translating for Vanja, but whatever it was, he said it as he drew a dagger and held it to Nuala's cheek.

"No!"

Poor Abe. So helpless. Vanja felt so guilty that she had to look away from the scene, cast her eyes to the floor. But his voice pulled her eyes back to him.

"I will kill you, Abraham. And anyone else if that is necessary." Nuada jerked the dagger away from Nuala's cheek, scratching a thin wound. As he did, the same injury appeared simultaneously on his own skin.

"Well,"

Oh god. Vanja rolled her eyes without even thinking about the action. Red, you're only going to make this worse...

"Then why don't you just start with me, your royal assness…"

Vanja flinched. God, this was embarrassing.

Red was doing okay with the hero-swagger entrance, but blew it when he met the stairs. Stumbling down the few steps, Red drew a round of sniggering from the BPRD agents looking on. Vanja bowed her head and held a hand over her eyes.

"And your weapon of choice?" Nuada enquired calmly, drawing Vanja's eyes to him once again.

"Five-fingered Mary," Red chuckled.

"You move, and I'll kill your Abraham first," Nuada warned his sister, not taking his gaze away from Hellboy.

Nuada took up stance in front of Red, drawing his spear and brandishing it impressively, his movements nearly too fast for the eye to catch. Vanja didn't bother to contain her smile. And for a moment, she was almost blissful. To love such a warrior.

"No," she scolded herself mentally, "you always do this. You just lose your shit when you're around him. When did you become so weak?"

"I don't know….is it weakness?" she answered herself, pondering.

"Red, you mustn't harm the prince," Abe warned.

"What?!"

"If you hurt him, you hurt the princess."

Abe had barely finished this explanation before Nuada lunged at HB. He avoided the blow, and continued to dodge and block Nuada's attacks as the elf advanced. Red occasionally gave poor tries at offense. It was only a matter of seconds before Nuada had his blade at Red's throat.

Nuada looked to his sister. "Will you give me the crown piece?"

"No."

Nuada twisted the blade, allowed Red to stand, and for mere seconds again Nuada attacked and Red blocked, reaching the same stalemate.

"The piece?" Nuada tried again.

"No."

Red knocked away Nuada's spear, but again, after a few seconds of lightning-fast combat, Nuada had the upper hand, sending HB flying into a table that broke under his weight. Nuada advanced again, following Hellboy around the library in a spar that lasted slightly longer than their previous skirmishes, but still ended with the same result.

This time, Red had his back to Nuada.

"Abe…" Red groaned, obviously tired of holding back.

The thought made Vanja snicker a bit. As if Red was really holding back. Well, maybe he was, but still, it was laughable to think that HB could kill or even hurt Nuada, especially considering his state of intoxication. Red's mind was fuzzy, laid over with a haze.

"Red, I'm so sorry, but they're linked…"

Abe's last words were nearly drowned out by the commotion of Liz working through the small crowd of agents.

"Red!"

"Liz…"

"Red, behind you!" Liz warned, altogether too late.

"Oh, no…HB…" Vanja barely whispered the words, guilt again descending upon her.

"You may have mused in the past, 'Am I mortal?'" Nuada pulled his spear from Hellboy's chest, the silver tip remaining embedded in flesh. "You are now."

Red collapsed, Liz rushing to his side.

"Abraham, many people have died for this crown. He will too. If you want to save him," Nuada jerked his sister's arm roughly, "and see her again, you will find the missing piece, and bring it to me."

And then he was gone. A strange sadness, an emptiness at his leaving, hit Vanja like the tide. She didn't know what to do.

Watching Red lose consciousness and watching agents swarm around him, Vanja realized with more than a little bitterness, Nuada had kept his word.

He didn't make her betray her friends. He had instead taken matters into his own hands.

Had she waited too long? Was this the consequence for not choosing a side? Was she going to lose them both?

Was it too late?