Sorry for the delay, guys. I was sick and out of town and all sorts of things this past week. I will try to post another chapter on Sunday.

"How many sheep do you think we should buy?" Vincent had been busying himself at the small desk in the room, drawing numerous sketches of the ranch he fully intended to build upon his return to the States.

"I really couldn't say," Zola shrugged, looking anything but interested. He sat cross legged on the bed, nervously plucking at one of the strings on his violin. "How about two thousand?"

"Two thousand!" Vincent's eyes grew large. "Wow, I'd better reconfigure this fenceline, here!" he laughed, and he quickly began erasing and rubbing away the graphite from the smudged page. Zola offered him a weak smile, and shook his head.

"Maybe we'd better sleep on that," he offered, "before you set it in stone."

"I'm too excited to sleep!" Vincent leapt from the desk and jumped on the bed, causing Zola to bounce upwards before grabbing both of his slender hands away from his instrument. "I can't believe you're coming back with me!"

Zola blinked, and smiled again, gripping his hands, gently. "Why is it so hard to believe?" he asked with a small chuckle. If Vincent had not been quite so high on life, he may have noticed how forced it was.

"I don't know! It's because...well, it just makes me so damn happy!" he smiled his large and silly grin. "I'm so happy that you're with me. I used to be afraid that you'd go away, that one day I'd wake up, and you'd be gone or something..." he frowned, and then shook his head. "But here you are, and you're coming back to America with me! That means a lot. I wouldn't go, otherwise." Zola turned his head away, still smiling a little sadly. "Hey, are you okay? You've been awfully quiet for, well, you, tonight." Vincent let his hand fall on his shoulder with concern, and Zola took hold of it, and yanked him forward into a tight embrace.

"I'm fine..." he whispered next to the blonde man's ear, "You don't have to worry about anything."

"I worry about you, all the time," Vincent huffed, nuzzling the side of his face into the one next to it. "And you've been wandering around a lot more than usual, lately... Something's wrong, and you're not telling me..."

"So you're saying that your smart now, hm?" Zola grinned. Vincent only gripped him more tightly.

"Shut up, you stupid, sand flea!"

The smaller man sighed. "Such an attractive nick-name..."

"You're small and annoying and impossible to get rid of! Like a stupid sand flea!" Vincent nodded with conviction. Zola chuckled.

"You're so dumb..."

"Tch!" Vincent released him and drew a rolled cigarette out of his back pocket, walking to the window so the smoke would not bother his companion so much. Zola looked back down at his hands.

"What time are you leaving, tomorrow?" he asked, as he began to unwind his bow to put it away.

"I guess seven thirty ought to be early enough. They probably won't get to the check point until one or two, anyway. Don't put your violin away!" Zola startled and glanced up at him, questioningly, and Vincent grinned, sheepishly. "I dunno, it's just that, I'll be gone all day tomorrow and we're leaving, soon...I may not get to hear you play again for a long time."

"Ah..." Zola gave a resigned sigh and re-tightened his bow strings. "And what would the master have me play?" he smirked, a coyness creeping into his voice.

"You know what!" Vincent rolled his eyes. "That song! Hell, I don't know the name! The one you always play!"

Zola laughed again, and brought the violin to his chin. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then began the same tune that Vincent never grew tired of hearing. However, he couldn't help but notice that tonight, it was a little slower, perhaps a little sadder than usual. He felt the familiar feeling of tears stinging his eyes, as he let his vision wander over what he thought had to be the most angelic sight in the entire world. For the first time in his young life, Vincent felt at peace. He didn't have to wander the globe, anymore; he'd found the greatest wonder there was to behold, and he was bringing it home. Nothing could ever make him happier. With a contented sigh, Vincent flicked his finished cigarette out the window, and quickly crossed the room. No sooner had Zola tucked the violin away than he was caught up in another hug.

"Quite the sentimental thing, tonight, Vin-Vin," the dark haired man tsked.

"I love you, Zola," Vincent whispered, burying his face into his soft, black hair, completely ignoring his light teasing.

"I love you, too..."

Every time he said it, the larger man thought his heart would explode, and he knew it was more than evident how fast it began to beat. "No matter what!" he affirmed from a conversation that seemed so long ago.

"No matter what... Now get some rest. Can't have you sleep guiding the soldiers in tomorrow, can we?"

"Ugh! I can't!" Vincent frowned, making quite a display by throwing himself to the side of the bed. Zola just shook his head and rolled his eyes at the antics.

"Here," he reached into one of his pockets and removed a small pouch. "Put this in a little water. It will help you fall asleep."

"Is it poison?" Vincent quirked his eyebrows suspiciously at the white powder the pouch contained.

"Yes, I thought it'd be a swell idea to kill the man I've been living with for the past nine months and skip town, since you know ALL my secrets."

Vincent just laughed as he padded off to the bathroom and filled a cup. Emptying the pouch, he watched the tiny crystals dissolve in the liquid, and gave the glass a swirl before downing it in one gulp. With a loud sigh and a smacking of his lips, he splashed a bit of water on his face dried off with a towel. As he exited the bathroom, his vision blurred dramatically, and he fell against the side of the door frame, trying in vain to shake off the sudden dizziness. "What...the hell...?" he slurred, trying to take a step forward, and almost falling flat on his face.

"Vin-Vin was a little more tired than he thought he was, eh?" Zola laughed, but it almost sounded like he was choking back tears. Vincent tried to see his face, but his vision was quickly fading. "Don't worry. It really is just a sleep aid." The blonde man noticed that his voice was much closer to him, and he felt his arm being lifted and placed across a pair of narrow, but strong shoulders. Zola helped him shakily to his feet, and he staggered slowly towards the bed. Once they'd reached it, he gently guided Vincent's head to the pillow, and stretched his legs out across the mattress. "There we are!" he breathed, after he'd tugged both his boots off and removed his belt and pants. "All comfy?" A muffled gargle was the only reply he received. Zola chuckled, and climbed to the front of the bed, moving Vincent's head to his lap and slowly stroking his blonde hair back from his forehead. Vincent breathed, deeply, and closed his eyes. "Counting sheep?" Zola asked. Vincent grunted, quickly losing consciousness. "That's a good Vin-Vin...You sleep now." The hand on his forehead began caressing his skin, almost lovingly. "I've got a few things to do myself, tomorrow... If only..." Vincent didn't hear his last words, he was already in a deep sleep.

The next Vincent woke, it was with a pounding head ache. It throbbed so painfully, he swooned with nausea as he sat up. "God damn..." he muttered, unable to focus his eyes for almost a minute. When he did, the first thing he noticed was Zola's absence. Only after that was he dimly aware of a commotion in the street, as he shakily rose from the bed. "Oh no..." It was with a start that the groggy man saw a small pouch sitting atop his tablet he'd been using the previous night, along with two words inscribed on the corner of the page.

'Forgive me.'

With a gathering panic, he slowly reached out his hand and pinched the corner of the small pouch. lifting it, his eyes grew wide as large and glittering jewels began spilling out. 'What the...?' He raced to the window, and flung it open to behold a mass exodus taking place in the city streets. Crowds of men, women and children hurried along, carrying every possession they could possibly hold, as they led pack animals further laden with household items down the road. Vincent didn't understand as much Arabic as his partner, but he knew enough to hear the panic and confusion in their voices, and there wasn't a soldier, British or otherwise, in sight. Quickly running to the bedside table, he yanked his pocket watch out of the top drawer, popping it open with his thumb. 7:30 pm... The realizations were dawning on him so quickly, he fell backwards until he was seated on the bed.

"No...NO!" he screamed it to the ceiling, his voice barely audible above all the noise. Throwing his watch against the wall in a rage, he quickly dressed, and went back to the desk to retrieve his two loaded pistols, scattering the jewels across the floor in his haste. Once they were both holstered, he raced out the door and down the stairs. The bottom of the Inn had been stripped completely bare, and not a soul was in sight. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The Germans were finally attacking, and people were fleeing for fear that the small amount of troops in place would not be enough to stave off what was sure to be a full scale invasion. Vincent grit his teeth and pushed his way through the front door, quickly getting caught up in wave upon wave of people. Elbowing his way to a side street where he'd parked his motor bike, he leapt into the seat and sped off in the opposite direction, towards the Eastern Gate, towards where Vincent knew the fighting would be. 'I've got to find him! I've got to get him out of here!' his mind repeated the words, endlessly, and it did not allow any other thought to deter him. He knew Zola had left with no intention of ever returning, but that wasn't going to stop him. He was going to find his stupid, little sand flea, wherever the hell he was, and he was going home with him, just like he promised! Tch! As if a few, stupid jewels would change his mind!

He had ridden the sandy hills until his gas tank was almost completely empty, when he began to hear the loud pops of rifles and explosion of mortars, accompanied by the constant communications being yelled through the ranks. Throwing the bike into the sand, he dug his heels into the dunes, ducking low as he came up behind one of the British's hastily assembled barriers. A hand flew up and quickly yanked him flat on his stomach.

"Vincent!" Charlie yelled, as he reloaded his rifle directly beside him, "What the fuck are you doing 'ere, mate?"

Vincent chose to ignore the question. "What's going on?"

"Germans started their invasion in the middle of the night!" the sweat covered soldier cocked the rifle, before resuming his firing position. "We don't have nearly enough troops to stave them off, forever, but we're trying bloody damn hard!"

"I'll help you!" Vincent raised his voice over the noise, and took the extra weapon Charlie had lying next to him.

"What about Zola, eh? Did he evacuate with the locals?"

"Y...yeah..." Vincent shut his eyes, tightly, knowing it wasn't the truth, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it. When he reopened them, it was with the intent to kill, and that's exactly what he did. After catching the bare tip of another German soldier's face who dared peek over their own barriers, Charlie let out a laugh.

"Good shot, mate! With you here, maybe we can beat them after all!" The words barely had time to leave his mouth before an enemy soldier stood up and charged towards them, a metal plate shielding his body. Once he was thirty meters away, he dropped his guard long enough to fling something towards them. Vincent took him down almost immediately, but a second later, something small and sinister landed with a thud a few feet away from Charlie. "God, fuck! grenade!" Charlie screamed at the top of his lungs. Vincent immediately pressed his head into the sand and covered it with his arms. An earsplitting explosion deafened him, as he felt heat and shrapnel dig into his arms and side. Dizzy with shock, he slowly came to the realization that he was, indeed, still alive. With a groan, he lifted his head and saw the reason why. Knowing there was time for nothing else, Charlie had dove directly on top of the grenade and absorbed most of it's brutal impact, saving the lives of everyone around him. His body, however, was completely destroyed, and Vincent trembled at the sight, realizing that the blood that now covered him was not all his own. With a pained cry of rage, he took up his rifle again, and began firing. The hatred was overpowering, and he no longer felt the fear or the pain. He shot many, but they were still greatly outnumbered, and as the sun began to set, Vincent realized just how much they had slowly advanced upon them. As the inevitable orders came to lay down their weapons, the bloody and dusty blonde man shakily rose to his feet. The blood loss from the shrapnel in his side was beginning to take it's toll, and he wearily waited for the death he was sure would come. Life seemed to follow his thoughts for a moment, as once their weapons were removed, including his pistols, the German troops ordered them to turn around, and then began to mercilessly execute each and every soldier, one by one. Vincent shut his eyes and saw endless seas of his favorite blue, waiting for the sensation of a bullet through his head. Life, however, had different plans after all, and death didn't come for him, then. He startled when he felt hands land upon him, and roughly jerk his arms behind his back.

"What the-" he growled, finding his strength once more and flinging them to the ground. "Just fucking shoot me, already!" he cried, angrily. An under officer spat something at him, which he did not understand, before five more men seized him, one striking him in the face sharply with the butt of his rifle. Normally, it was not enough to take someone of his size and strength down, but Vincent was too tired from the blood loss and heart ache to fight against the darkness that quickly swept over him, and he slumped to the ground.

Shizuo watched the scene with a mixture of horror and fascination. He'd only seen wars in the movies, and somehow, it just wasn't the same. There was no dramatic music or slow motion shots. People died so quickly and easily, a paranoia he never knew began to creep upon him. The German soldiers quickly restrained the unconscious guide, and they began to drag him away, along with a few lucky, or terribly unlucky British soldiers they had also selected as captives. A small fleet of jeeps and a covered truck slowly approached. A man with much insignia adorning his jacket leapt out of the first car, and approached the under officer, and they exchanged words that sounded anything but pleasant. Apparently, the Germans were not pleased with their victory, for some reason. After shackling their hands and feet and placing bags over their heads, they practically threw their prisoners in the back of the truck, and began their trek back to their temporary place of operations. Shizuo looked down to see, with a shock, that his body moved with them, though he was standing still. He tentatively took a step forward, and was surprised when it brought him closer to the truck. Feeling extreme vertigo, he took one step at a time over the sand speeding beneath him, and reached the back of the truck, hoisting himself up right next to the guard that had been placed over the battered men. One of the British soldiers tried speaking to the guard, but that earned him a swift kick in the face, dislocating his jaw. Shizuo instinctively tried to grab the German's leg, but it was no use. His hand passed through it as if he were made of air, so he let it drop and focused instead on what the guard and the soldiers driving yelled to one another. They still sounded angry, though he didn't understand why. Vincent had regained consciousness a mere half hour later, but stayed completely still and silent, and Shizuo guessed he could only be saving his strength. He watched him slowly turn his head about, trying to become aware of his surroundings, before just lying still. There was nothing he could attempt at that point, and if Shizuo had been in his shoes, he'd probably done the same. After a few hours of driving and stopping to refuel with the large canisters another jeep carried, they came upon, what seemed to Shizuo, to be a makeshift camp. Jumping off the back of the truck before people started passing through him, which creeped him out to no end, he forced himself to follow the German soldiers and prisoners. They were immediately separated and placed in different cells, of sorts. Really, they were only large, metal shipping containers with a light wired over the top in the center, but they had a door was that able to be locked. It was cool now, because it was night, but Shizuo hated to think what it would feel like to be encased in metal in heat of the desert sun. With a violent shove, the blonde stumbled forward until he reached the far side, and slid against the wall until he was back on his unwounded side. They slammed the door shut with a padlock, but Shizuo was able to easily pass through it. He could see a fresh trail of blood, and realized that Vincent was still bleeding. Not knowing what else to do except wait for the inevitable unpleasantness, he sat down next to the wounded man and hung his head, low.

After an hour slowly passed, three men returned. They pulled Vincent into the sitting position, ripping the bag from his head, and the interpreter proceeded to ask him questions. He gave them his name, told them he was not a British soldier, but said little else. Apparently, his captors were not quite convinced. One of the men held a baton, and brought it down swiftly over his shoulders and sides and across his face every time he neglected to give them a telling answer. Eventually, after the man was almost unconscious, blood and saliva pooling beneath his slumped over form, the bag was replaced over his head and the interpreter announced that they would return in one hour and that he should rethink his answers. They left, locking the door behind them. Once again alone, or so he thought, Vincent let himself fall back to the floor, wincing a little at the new cuts and deep bruises now covering his body.

"Why..."

Shizuo barely caught the hoarse and whispered word, but he understood all too well. After everything the guide had been through, and even when he was facing his inevitable death, all his thoughts still fixated on battling to hold on to the love he'd come to know. This, however, was proving difficult, and Shizuo could feel the anger and bitterness rising and completely eclipsing all of the happiness and warmth the man had felt the previous year. How could he still love someone who brought such pain and suffering to the world? How could he love someone who chose to continue that life over him? He could ask all day long why, but the fact still remained that he did, and the weight of the conflicting emotions were tearing him apart. Feeling his throat tighten with empathy, Shizuo watched the defeated man curl into the fetal position, and quietly sob. It wasn't that he was afraid; physical pain, much like Shizuo himself, had never bothered him much. As for death, at this point, it seemed like a welcome relief. He cried for the most precious thing in his life; he cried for his mate. He cried for everything he believed his love to be, and he cried because he did not even know if Zola had been somewhere on that battlefield, and the uncertainty was killing him faster than his wounds. The men returned, as promised, to continue their interrogations, but Vincent had nothing left at that point, and passively lay there, as they continued to shout and beat him with their boots and sticks. Finally, one of the guards snarled something in German, and drew a pistol from his belt, aiming it directly at Vincent's head. Shizuo was forced to turn his head away, unable to look. At that moment, the door to the container was thrown open, allowing the morning light to flood around an imposing figure, who made the interrogation team immediately scatter and stand at attention. Shizuo squinted at the man and realized that it was Zola...an extremely pissed off, Nazi looking Zola. Shizuo almost smiled as he heaved a sigh of relief. He never thought he'd be so glad to see a Nazi, and oh, but he was in rare form. Nothing in his face betrayed the fact that he'd spent every night of the past nine months with the man they had just beaten black and blue, but the look in his stormy eyes made the men around him shrink away in fear. He immediately walked to the center of the floor, and began barking at the practically cowering men around him, staring them down each in turn. Apparently they had been naughty, or so Shizuo gathered from the way they gazed down at their boots. Finally, after a moment of chilling silence, Zola walked closer to Vincent, and stiffly knelt besides him, removing his glove and placing two fingers against the side of his neck. His face twitched, just barely, not enough for anyone one else besides Shizuo to notice. Rising back to his feet, he returned the glove to his hand.

"Verlassen Sie!" he yelled, sharply. One of the guards looked a bit incredulous and said something in reply, once again aiming his pistol at Vincent's head. This proved to be a huge mistake on his part. Shizuo only saw a brief flash, before the guard's left ear was gone. It took a few seconds for the now handicapped man to even realize what had just happened, and his eyes were wide with shock as his blood coated his uniform. Once he did, though, his shrieks pierced the heavens, as he cradled his injury. The other men paled, considerably, but Zola acted as if he had just swatted a fly, as he calmly wiped the blade off with a handkerchief and sheathed it. "Verlassen Sie jetzt." His tone sent a shiver down Shizuo's spine, and the men quickly fled. He guessed that was the cue to leave in a hurry. Once they were gone, and the door had been shut, Zola immediately dropped to Vincent's side, throwing his gloves and his hat off and taking his swollen and bloodied face into his hands. "Vincent!" he whispered, fiercely. "Vincent! You crazy fool!" Zola shook his head, as he looked over his former lover's body for other serious injuries. His hands grazed over the grenade shrapnel buried in his side, and Vincent's back arched as a pained sigh escaped his lips. Taking in the full extent of the damage, Zola exhaled, sharply. "Oh god, Vincent..." he whispered, tears beginning to gather in his eyes. "Why didn't you just leave? Why?"

Vincent coughed, more blood spilling from his mouth, and at the sound of the familiar voice, struggled to sit up. His eyes were almost completely swollen shut, but with tremendous effort, he was able to crack them open, slightly, as Zola helped him. "I came...for you..." he breathed, his lungs rattling. Zola shut his eyes, tightly, as tears streamed down his face, and he leaned his forehead against the slowly dying man's.

"I will get you out of here," he vowed with a quiet sob. "I will get you out, I just need to think of how! But Vincent, listen to me! Vin-vin, listen!" he gripped the sides of Vincent's lolling head and held it still. "You have to escape! You can't look for me, you have to go!"

"N...no..." Vincent tried to shake his head, but only managed to topple himself over.

"Yes! Vincent... we can't be together. There is nowhere we would be happy. They would find me. You must leave."

"No! Not without you!" Vincent spoke a little too loudly, and Zola hushed him, gently, gritting his teeth in frustration.

"You don't understand," he whispered sadly. "You don't know all of the things I've done. There is no life for me anywhere else, Vincent. But you, you're free. Go...Go back home." Vincent just shook his head, and Zola grew desperate. "I'm a spy," he growled. "Do you hear me? I'm the reason all those soldiers died, yesterday. I'm the reason you're hurt. I'm a fucking intelligence agent! And I lied to you! About everything! Get it? I played you like a total fool! And oh, you were easy! You told me anything I wanted to know, and it made my job quite simple!"

"Stop..."

"That was my only purpose in Cairo, to help plan the invasion! They wanted to know as much as possible about the number of troops and their movements in the area, and I told them! I told them everything!"

"Zola,...please," Vincent begged, but he went on.

"And do you know why? Because it's my fucking job! I gather information, and I'll do anything to get it! Even fuck someone like you!" Shizuo winced as Zola stood back up. That had been harsh, but he could sense that Zola was not being truthful. Vincent fell silent at those last words, as the dark haired man tried to regain his composure, replacing his hat on his head and his gloves on his hands. "I will send a medic, and then I want you gone!" he hissed, icily, before pivoting on his heels and shoving his way through the door. Shizuo saw him give the guard posted in front of the door a few words, and guessed that he was instructing the man to fetch a doctor and let no harm befall the prisoner. The guard clicked his heels together, and saluted with his right hand out, and Zola briskly walked away. Shizuo hurried after him, curious to understand his motives. He followed him into the main building and all the way into a decently furnished room. Zola bit a few words out to the guard next to the door, which, much to Shizuo's delight, he began to understand. It was a loud and clear, 'Leave me the hell alone', and with that, he slammed the door shut behind him. Walking to his desk, he angrily swept his hand across it, knocking all of its contents to the floor, and stood there, with a hand covering his face, trembling. "Verdammt!" he seethed, under his breath, before a man and two guards burst into his room. Shizuo wished he'd studied the old uniforms more in depth so that he could tell for certain, but from the row of shiny metals and the skull and crossbones on the man's hat, he guessed the man entering the room was pretty high up on the ladder. Zola's face immediately became stoic, as the officer and his two escorts approached him. He looked anything but pleased, and a sharp strike across the spy's face with the back of his hand confirmed it.

"Ve're losing dis battle, Folke!" he spat, as Zola straightened himself, wiping the blood from his lip. Thankfully, probably to help avoid eavesdropping, the man spoke in English, albeit with a thick accent. "And it's your fault!" he pointed an accusing finger at the younger man. "Your information vas flawed! There are far more soldiers here, and sie supply route you mapped vas utterly ridiculous! You've traveled dis terrain before, you should have known! Half our supplies vent missing or never made it here at all!" Zola's only response was to narrow his eyes and grin an awful smile full of teeth.

"Everyone makes mistakes, eh?" he smirked, in an extremely unpleasant tone. Shizuo looked back and forth between them, utterly confused. Zola was no fool, and it seemed he'd been primarily in charge of planning the invasion, but did that mean...?

"Oh my god!" Shizuo stared with wide eyes at the raven haired man, who stood almost cockily as the officer made threat after threat of what would happen upon their return to Germany, which included but was not limited to his death by hanging. Zola took it all in with a smile of superiority and almost amusement, an expression Shizuo was all too familiar with in his real life. His mind reeling, the blonde man began to finally grasp the truth of the situation. "You sabotaged it!" As soon as the realization hit, a thunderous explosion sounded in the direction they had come from. It was so close, Shizuo was forced to cover his ringing ears. When he opened his eyes, everyone in the room had ducked for cover, except Zola, who stood staring with wide eyes through the window. Shizuo looked as well, and his heart sank. It looked as if the rockets had hit right next to the containers where the prisoners had been taken. They lay scattered, and mangled, and the ones that also held supplies were ablaze with fire. Everything started happening so fast, Shizuo's head began to spin. The sounds of mortars exploding and gunfire filled the base, as the German's rallied their forces to retaliate against the counterattack. Shizuo watched them run past the door, yelling out warnings and orders, and heading in the direction of where the first bombs had hit. The men in the room leapt to their feet and the guards quickly tugged at the officer's arm, pleading for him to get to safety. He spun on his heels and pointed his finger in the still frozen Zola's face.

"I'll deal vit you later, treacherous snake!"

Zola drew a deep breath, and Shizuo could see all of the shock slowly fade away into an empty despair in his eyes. His face completely void of all emotion, he drew his pistol from his belt and shot the officer in the forehead, his blood splattering his guards behind him. Before the other two could even react, Zola had already put two bullets through their heads, and they slumped to the ground in a heap. Still eerily calm, the hopeless man placed the pistol on top of the desk, threw his hat on the bed, and slowly removed his gloves. Letting them drop to the floor, he slowly reached for his violin, which was lying across the pillow. As the intense noise and flashes of battle continued to wage outside, he brought his beloved instrument to his chin, and slowly and methodically tightened his bow, before resting it against the strings. Closing his eyes shut, tightly, he began to play that same beautiful song; their song. Shizuo could practically see the violin absorbing all of the man's anguish and rage as Zola played his soul bare, the strings crying for him, when he, it seemed, could not.

No doubt attracted by the sound of such beautiful music, a British squad sweeping the main building stopped at his door, filing in one by one and setting up point. Noting the dead bodies on the floor, the squad leader looked at the seemingly oblivious Nazi, playing next to the window. Shizuo could see the utter confusion on his face, and he glanced at the soldier to his side, who did a little circular motion with his finger next to his head to give his opinion on the matter. They aimed their rifles directly at Zola's back. "Hey, you there! Hands up and turn 'round where we can see you!" Zola stopped playing, and gently laid the violin, almost reverently, on the desk, fluidly picking up the pistol in its stead. Shizuo doubted the British soldiers were able to see it. "Are you deaf, bloke?" the squad leader yelled, again. "I said hands in the air! You have till three! One! Two!"

"...Three," Zola whispered, turning to face them and placing the barrel against his temple. The soldiers startled, and gripped their weapons tighter.

"Oh, bloody hell..." the squad leader muttered, immediately recognizing the man whom everyone had always assumed was nothing more than a musician who liked to clown around and who loved attention. "It's you! But Vincent... What's going on?" he demanded, angrily. Zola only smiled at him, a little sadly.

"Please forgive me," he whispered. The soldiers could not hear him over all of the noise, but Shizuo knew those words were not meant for their ears, anyway. Letting his eyes slowly close, he saw Zola's finger begin to tighten around the trigger, and quickly lunged for the hopeless man. The loud crack of a single shot filled the room right when his hand reached him, and Shizuo's vision was stormed with images both painful and terrifying. He tried to shut his eyes against the terrible scenes that paraded through his mind, but it was impossible. He saw a frail and dark haired boy, cowering in fear from the men that frequented, what looked to be, a dubious inn. He saw what he could only guess to be the poor boy's mother, beat him mercilessly and scream things that no parent should ever tell their child. Time skipped to a beautiful, but ferocious eyed teenager, who had learned long ago that the world had more than its fair share of cruelty, and who had also learned to do just about anything to survive. Zola as a teen was already fully equipped with all the cunning and resourcefulness of his adult life, but had yet to learn to bridle the raging bitterness that only comes from a life of torment and abuse. Shizuo watched him lie, cheat, steal, and eventually kill to get what he wanted from the world's tightly clenched, unrelenting fist. He didn't want to see it, the path that eventually led the by now unstoppable tsunami that was Zola Folke to the Nazi's door, but it was no use. Being incredibly gifted, the boy had moved on from Japan and, naturally, tracked down his biological father, for what original means, Shizuo could only guess, and none of the guesses were pleasant ones. Through exceptional skill and the coercion of his father into using his military connections, the slight but deadly man quickly climbed the ranks, not caring who he stepped on or how many people began to die as the Nazis rose to greater power. Watching the sad story flash across his own eyes, Shizuo could feel no emotions reaching him from the quickly dying man. He seemed to view his life just as cold and indifferently as he had anyone else's, that was until Vincent's image flitted past. A warm and tingling sensation flooded Shizuo's body, a feeling that finally overpowered the bitingly cold emptiness that pervaded so much of the falling man before him's life.

Shizuo looked up when he heard the thump of a body hitting the floor, but he could not look directly at it. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the violin on the desk, and the bright splash of red that now painted its side.

"What the fuck!" one of the soldiers yelped.

"Christ! Loony, that one!"

"Regroup!" the squad leader commanded. "We'll find out once Vincent wakes up, eh? Mission first! Drive on!"

The men quickly left the room, and Shizuo blinked at what he'd just heard. Vincent...he was still alive!

As the scene before his eyes slowly began to fade, Shizuo felt a presence next to him and turned to see Zola had appeared at his side. "You didn't betray him..." Shizuo said, looking back at the blurring scene. Everything quickly began to melt away at his words, and they were once again in darkness.

So, the question was posed, how will Izaya take to the whole otherworldly smooching bit? ^o^ Not very well, I can tell you that much. Thanks everyone who read this far! :D