I greatly apologise for the wait. Viruses are nasty.

This story should go on for a few more chapters. It's flexible enough that I could have it out longer, or else end it with chance of continuation. The chance of that chance appearing is slim.

Good Evening.

It was freezing. The latex gloves hugged his sweating skin like a dying man. Dust had been thrown into a flurry, and settled softly like the snow on wooden sills. Sweat poured from him, face was badly scratched, bloody streaks running over his eyebrows; dripping from his purpled jaw. Aged scantling creaked, rusted nails jutting out from the boards daringly as he stepped over them, and the white noise of the river ran beneath his feet. But if he looked down now, it might carry him away.

The door opened, he didn't look up. Kaname's claws retracted, and he stood at the frame with an overworked expression,

"You look like Hell." He said simply.

Zero kept staring at the body, the threadbare cotton shirt and pretty nails, curled on the floor, some caught in the spaces between the boards a few inches away. Her hair, her face… The brunette kept looking at him from the doorway. He saw the fear in her eyes, and the pleas he couldn't comprehend, yet perfectly understood. Both men jumped when he dropped the gun he hadn't used.

"There is nothing we can do to help her, now. We should toss her in the river and leave." In a second, the gun was at his throat, Zero's bloodied, bruised hand mashing him into the doorway. Splinters dug into the back of his head. "Don't take it out on me. I had my own problems."

"She was twelve." The younger man hissed, pushing the gun barrel harder and harder into the pureblood's throat. Skin crackled and withdrew, so that muscle began to creep back, and blood ran down his neck. The hunter's eyes had been blazing the moment she tried to attack him, and God knew it had taken all he had in those few seconds not to bury his teeth in her delicate, childlike neck.

Kaname grabbed his shoulders, and his attacker flinched dangerously, finger precariously twitching the trigger.

"You want me to comfort you?" he pushed the man away, earning a shot to the shin. He swore and leaned back against the frame, only to have his face ground into it. The heat of the barrel sought its way through his clothes and imprinted on his skin. He remembered Ichiou and struggled again, and the splinters in his face bore deeper until they scratched his skull. His sleeves were knotted and he kept squirming unconsciously, trying to escape.

So Zero shot him in the back.

And he swore she heard his scream, because those beautiful green eyes flashed, and her lips quivered pleasantly with the reverberation of his cry.

"DO YOU THINK I SUFFER THIS INDIGNATION JUST TO PLAY WITH YOU?! GOD DAMN IT!" He huddled on the floor for a moment before springing up, hearing bullets fired blindly about him. He hammered at the hunter's body until his fists hurt, but because of those damned bullets, he couldn't heal enough to do much more damage.

"FUCK!!" He said, falling off the pitiable man, who choked on the floor, retching up blood and what looked like fur. Kaname watched the fiasco for a few seconds before he tilted his head back, winced, and laughed,

"You're so fucking pathetic. What did you eat before you came to her? A rabbit?! God, you make me sick, sometimes…" he giggled as the other man sobbed, "What did you think would happen? Did you think it would be easy? Did you think some whelp like you could control yourself?" He was irritated: he had the flesh of a bunch of sick old men stuck beneath his fingernails and a big fucking baby who wouldn't stop crying in the corner. If the idiot could just pull himself together, they could get the fuck out. Just toss her in the river and get the fuck back to the motel, then the airport, and his wife. Sirens blared about twenty blocks away. The metal rooftops made excellent amplifiers, and the sounds of their tussles had probably rung out for a few thousand feet, snow aside.

His hand fell to his side, wrist badly twisted, so he wiped his bloodied brow with the other before looking down and realising it, too was coated.

"Fuck," he whispered, trying to stand up. He hobbled for a moment, and braced himself as the bullets boiled out of his skin and impaled the water some twenty feet below them. He lurched toward his friend and clonked his head with a thin elbow. The man coughed and dropped to the floor. He limped as he dragged both bodies out, hers slung over his shoulder and his held by a coat collar. The ravine was mightier in person, roaring by with a constant, monstrous din, and the whole of the garden shook with its presence and the looming neighbouring train track. The snow had grown very deep, but stopped falling shortly, so that he could see but barely move through the thick powder to the ravine. When he arrived, he sloughed her body painfully off his shoulder, and heard it slide down the bank before catching in some weeds. He closed his eyes, demanding that the river sweep her away, but it didn't, and the bullet still lodged in his weakening shin pulsed with an evil poison throughout his body.

He climbed down the bank as cautiously as a wounded man can, nudging at her body with his foot, willing her to leave. Her blue fleece sweater had bunched around her chest, and her oddly-bent neck was smudged with mud. The sirens were nearing and he grew desperate, kicking at her as if she were some spirit trying crawl out of the river Styx. Her body finally flipped over, and the water began reaching up her legs. It grabbed her and slowly, understandingly, mechanically pulled her in. She floated for a few moments before disappearing under the bridge and shanty. Kaname panted as he watched after her in the pale light, the autumn bank glaring at him with the atrocious starkness of what he had done, its curdled black and brown masses of weeds caught near the surface. His breath turned them hazy, and he began to feel dizzy, until he realised the sirens had passed and Zero was still silent in the garden above him. He shifted, crying out again as he turned himself around to inch up the steep bank. His boots became tangled and the silt filled them so that he couldn't move, water running across his legs.

"Zero…" he called out, panicking as he saw the unmoving body some feet above him. The water soaked him and he slid further in. The reeds and grass were tough, and as he grabbed them, their spines split his skin, but he pulled all the same, struggling out of the river, or at least to stay stationary until the hunter woke up. Bracken and muck slid into his vest and his broiling skin baked them so they sizzled hotly, and then burned him in advance upon his life. He pulled harder on the brown weeds, the river reaching the bullet wound and dripping inside, the freezing water causing him to screech in pain the name of the man who couldn't hear him.

All it had to do was reach his knees, and he would be gone. The bank was too steep, at this point, and his feet pushed at the heavy silt until his boots kicked off and rushed down the ravine, so the silt pulled at his socks, instead. He called out again as the water came up his calves and he fell more quickly, its sincere desire for him crawling up his body; the mud in his mouth.

"FUCKING WAKE UP!!!" And then his body jolted as he was nearly swept away, a hand grabbing first at his mucky hands; his long wet hair; his bruised shoulders; lastly his pale waist, yanking him from the river with a clumsy desperation that caused him to blanch for a moment before his eyes nearly watered and revealed his mortal fears.

Zero's pants were riddled with horrible coughs, which wracked his body so ferociously he fell from his knees to his hands and clutched at the snow through reddened, callused skin, gloves torn off so his friend wouldn't slip away with them. He didn't bother looking up at Kaname, who was grateful for the other man's pain at the moment, and shivered without discretion, grappling blindly at his own body as if to make sure it was still with him. Silently, he tilted his head back again, and the thanked the Gods for their last-minute rescue, until Zero stopped hacking, and he had to try to act like a man. But his body would not stop shaking, and he obviously couldn't walk to save his life.

The hunter stared at him, still coughing every now and then, mouth a mess with blood and saliva,

"Are you alright to…" Kaname attempted to glare at the ground, nerves frozen and deaf to his wishes. He resigned to shaking his head, and suffered greater indignation when his friends paused, removed his upper clothing, and then wrapped him in a tawny coat. The frost bit at his now-vulnerable skin.

With that, the man picked him up with great effort, and made his way through the snow. The brunette buried his face in green wool and tried to warm himself, huddling so that he became smaller and smaller, feeling heavier and heavier even though he was light as a small girl in the hunter's shaky arms. British Columbia had not been kind to them, and for reasons dissimilar to each other's, they decided to avoid it.

-

Yuki poured a glass of iced tea for him, and compulsively checked the window for her husband. Zero glanced at her as he sipped, shoulder tweaked from when the bastard had grabbed him. He sat up and set the glass on the table, startling her. She looked down at him with pity, then he turned away, scowling. Her hand made to fall upon his back, but she sat across from him instead, smoothing out her skirts on the sofa before settling her hands in her lap and looking up at him, eyes large and commanding. He faced her with little choice, and her words were steady, powerful,

"You can tell me right now why he acted as he did, or I can tell you." Fear came to him, and she inhaled, straightening as he guiltily, submissively shrank from her. It hurt him for some reason to displease her. His voice was gravelly, so he coughed into one of the napkins, crumpling it and playing with it in his lap,

"I assume you know some of the story, already. That being the case, there shouldn't be too much to say." He bent his head in his lap: caught. Red-bloody-handed. Of course she'd known.

Her posture changed, but his eyes were closed. He only heard her shift, delicate lips opening, breath slow and light as she decided what to say to him,

"I have learned over the years that such things are common. There is not really much of a way to predict when or with whom a… spouse" she closed her eyes: this was more than difficult, "may choose to act on such desires," Zero put his head in his hands, shame and anger reeling through him. If she knew—God, she did know—then everything really was going to Hell. Not as if it needed much help from him.

"Look at me like a bloody man." She boomed. He didn't flinch, used to the outbursts and mood swings; the shaking rooms and rough, glorious sex. She had bristled, slowly removing the sword from its proverbial sheath, "I've learned that no matter who a person may be, they will always have such filthy inclinations, and I'll be damned if I'm going to take that from my own husband. I love…" she looked scattered for a moment, and her eyes faltered in their venomous gaze at him, looking around the room for a trigger for the right words, "I love both of you dearly, and I'm sickened to know something like this has happened. No, not sickened—yes, sickened, but I've been betrayed. By both of you! How could you… You're men! Proud, proud men! You've never even gotten along!" She looked like she was going to cry, now, and he felt so compelled to hold her his nails punctured the seat to restrain himself from certain death. Red cheeks, puffy, closing eyes,

"I don't expect to be forgiven,"

"Damn straight."

"I will take the blame for this. I wanted to h—" She exploded on him,

"Oh, don't be a fucking martyr, Zero! For God's sake, he's strong enough to fight for himself and you're more important than you think! I know you are! You hated him! Don't try and take the fall,"

"Listen to me." He hissed bravely and stilled her for a moment, her curious eyes narrowed and awaiting an answer, "I do hate him. Deeply. My only purpose after helping you was to hurt him. I wanted him to… suffer. More so than he ever had, vainglorious as it seems that I might think myself important enough to him to do so." He paused, pondering rewording, "I know you love him, and I know he can be a good man, but nothing could have compensated for those ten years of absolute Hell." He stared into her desperately, excitedly, the hatred inside of him flushing him and making him giddy. She grew uncomfortable and defensive: his greatest sexual fantasies probably involved maiming her brother.

"I wanted to hurt him the entire time, so I do deserve the blame. I know he's strong, cunning; those don't matter anymore." He smiled like a snake, eyes bright with sickening joy, "Every step I've taken since he walked into my life has been toward cutting him down. Cutting him down and, until you married, winning you. I love you very much, Yuki, and I would never, ever want to hurt you, but I'm sure you understand what I mean when I say I will probably never forgive him and detach myself from him, no matter what I, or you, do." He grew sombre, serious again, realising the impact of what he'd said and how uneasy she was. He licked his lips, "I owe you my life. Indubitably. I didn't want to lie to you, even if it meant protecting you." He smiled with a desolate expression that cooled her somewhat, "But I guess he rubbed off on me."

She stared at him, eyes not as wide or furious, but calculating. She had never seen him like this, this shiftiness and obsession, which might as well have rotted him to the core. Should she have attempted to look inside of him and understand on a deeper level what he felt and why he toiled over a goal so vile, she might have rotted, too. He shifted again, and she watched him carefully. Did blood still flow through his veins, or had time etched into his cells the contaminations of his hatred? Had the boy, once turned against her brother, allowed that barbarity to permeate his very marrow? Did wrath become him so? She pitied him, wary as she was, and took it upon herself in her way of martyrdom to try to lubricate the situation as much as possible. Perhaps she wished that he might slide right out of her life. Because at the moment, she would not grant him the kindness she had wanted to give before.

She inhaled, held her breath, and spoke quietly, determinedly, eyes overwhelmingly forceful,

"I can't offer forgiveness to either of you, right now." His eyes were downcast, deep and nearly blue with concentration. The guilt—oh, God, the guilt! He rivalled every Catholic out there with his guilt. She surveyed him, sympathy dried up, "I need to speak with him and then you'll go to Arizona—with help, mind you, and I will receive reports on the operations for once. No more freelancing, no more playing around, no more assuming I'll just sit here, gnawing my nails until your return." She turned her chin up with imperial pride, "I'm not some innocent princess you need to protect, Zero," She looked him dead on, brown eyes encompassing, "and I sorely hope that you may learn to cope with my lack of need for you, now that "Mrs. Smith" is all grown up."

He looked up at her, horrified, and they stared at each other for a minute or two. She was cool, immoveable, and there he was, switched to the sobbing, pervious place of her childhood. He suddenly got the feeling that he'd been left behind, maybe emotionally, maybe mentally. But no matter what, he knew they had lost their comfortable distance from each other; gained a new understanding of each other. Perhaps he wasn't mature enough for her anymore; perhaps her knight's shining armour had tarnished.

He slowly took his coat from the closet and put it on, smoothing the collar and buttoning it military-style so it dug into his muscular neck. She watched him, arms crossed from the doorway in a pose so similar to her husband's he felt nauseous, and had to face the stairs, instead.

"Don't you dare look away from me." He smiled, checking his pockets for his keys,

"I don't have the ego or the audacity to face you, right now," he dropped off, and turned to her, bowing respectfully, shielding his eyes with a firm brow and the cropped sheath of his fringe, "I don't think I'll ever be able to repent for what I've done to you, now and then." She was yet unimpressed,

"Neither shall he." The distant way with which she addressed her brother chilled him, and he stiffened, pulling on some driving gloves and fiddling with his keys. He looked to the front entrance, and at her feet, sombrely lifting his gaze to drift just past her own, stony and trapping. He smiled, cheeks pale, eyes like cave water, they were so deep,

"I'll come back if you call me. Everything in my room belongs to you in some way or another." She weakened a bit, and her arms slackened, staying across her chest uncertainly. She rubbed them, but his search for compassion ended bitterly, and he had turned away before she could answer. "Stay in good health." He said, opening the door and walking out to the garage. She had it close, and went back into the parlour. Sitting down, legs crossed, she looked out the window for witnesses, then hunched her shoulders, buried her head in her hands, and cried.