Author's Note: Because when all is said and done, Anemone and Dominic did fight on the losing side for a majority of the time, and sometimes even happy endings don't end happily. (I apologize in advance if it turned out a bit too graphic at the end.)

Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership to Eureka Seven.

A Deal with the Devil

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It's not true what they say about solitary confinement, she thinks bitterly as she automatically recoils at the sound of approaching footsteps, curling into a protective ball on the hard floor in the vain hope that if she just makes herself small enough then maybe they won't notice she is there.

(It's not true what they say, because even in solitary confinement they don't leave you alone.)

The footsteps have stopped. She can sense them through the reinforced walls and layers of soundproofing, and she knows without knowing that they have come for her.

So she closes her eyes and grits her teeth. She will not look at them, and she will not acknowledge the pain they inflict on her at will. She will not give them the satisfaction. Her pride will not let her.

The door suddenly slides open, and harsh white light overwhelms her completely.

(Light, she has learnt, can be just as crippling as the dark.)

Then a shadow falls across her eyelids and she resigns herself to a swift kick to her side, or perhaps a sharp slap across the face. But nothing. Instead, she senses shock, hesitation and dread, and she hardly dares to breathe.

"Anemone. Oh God, Anemone."

"Dominic?" she rasps, voice barely audible while her heart soars. "Dominic."

She tries to get to her feet, but the cold and months of incarceration have taken their toll on her body and her legs buckle beneath her.

The young man in the doorway emits a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat, and before she can really react he has bridged the distance between them in two long strides. He gathers her up in his arms and cradles her like an infant, and she clings to him, blindly, for fear that he might disappear again if she lets go.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he mutters into her ear, over and over like a mantra, and she wants to tell him that it's alright. Everything is alright, because he's here now, warm and solid and real against her. He came for her, just like he promised, and that is all that matters.

"…let me look at you," she demands, pushing against him. "I want to see you."

He draws back just enough so she can see his face, and even with the light burning into her retina, the sight shocks her.

"What have they done?" she whispers, gently ghosting over the ugly splotches marring his skin with fingers trembling with fury.

"Nothing they didn't do to you first," he says quietly, slowly running his left hand over the uneven stubble on her head; and unbidden, she relives the moment they shaved her hair all over again.

(It used to be so long.)

"What happened to us?" she asks, stroking the side of his face that looks the least abused, greedily taking in the grey of his eyes. "We were supposed to be heroes."

He doesn't reply, only shakes his head before he pulls her back into his embrace. "Anemone, I need you to listen to me." His voice is thick with an emotion she can't quite place. "We don't have much time and—"

"Time's up, boy."

She slowly raises her head and squints angrily at the men now blocking the light.

But before she can say anything, Dominic replies in a harsher voice than she has ever heard him use, "Twenty minutes, undisturbed. Check with your superior. Leave."

"Your access to the prisoner has been revoked," says one man smugly.

Dominic gently detangles himself from her to face down her jailers. "…since when?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"Since now."

"On whose orders?"

The man snorts. "The General's, who else."

She struggles to her feet, her head pounding with exertion and rage, but it is so good to feel again. "What do you want from us?" she snarls in a low voice, taking a small step forward. "What do you want?"

The man takes a step back, and she can practically smell the fear on his breath as he shouts over his shoulder, "Men!"

She can't help but to smile when the barrels of four handguns are suddenly aimed directly at her head.

(They fear her. Even now, on her knees and fettered like a dog, they still fear her; it's hard not to feel at least a little bit proud about that.)

"Lower your weapons!" He quickly shields her from the men wielding the weapons with his own body. "For God's sake, she used to be a pilot! What could she possibly do now?"

The man regards him suspiciously. "She's not human!" he spits harshly. "Like the monsters that attacked. Who knows what she's capable of."

"That's wrong!" he protests. "Anemone is different. She's not a threat to you."

"I'll be the judge of that." The man calls over his shoulder for a second time, "Seize her. Visiting hour is over."

Two men rush into the cell and grab her roughly by the wrists. "What are you—" She twists and squirms and kicks, but realizes very quickly that she is no match for them. "Get your hands off of me!"

"You must go with them," he says in a quiet voice, slowly stepping aside to let them put her in cuffs.

"What?!" she shrieks, because she cannot understand why he is just letting this happen. "Why? Where are they taking me?"

"You're going to a secret location in Warsaw," he explains hurriedly as she is half-dragged, half-carried out into the empty hallway. "Only Captain Jurgens knows. They won't be able to touch you there. You'll be safe."

She nearly breaks out in hysterical laughter when she hears him say that. Safe? She hasn't ever been safe. "Dominic—"

"It will be alright, I promise!" he calls out after her, just as the heavy doors at the end of the hallway slam shut behind her. "I won't let anything happen to you!"

And that is the last she ever hears of him; she never sees him again. It is only after many, many years – when classified information finally ceases to be as classified as it once was – that she learns about the desperate deal he made with the devil, the information he exchanged in return for her life and her freedom, and how he was taken to a cell only three doors down from hers on that very same afternoon and quietly shot in the back of the head as a traitor.