Girls were complete wastes of life, but they were good for one thing. One day before Toki's death, Pickles decided that he'd been alone long enough, so he went out with a girl that he'd met at a Dethklok concert. They left the Mordhaus and went to a movie, and that's when he officially decided that every single woman in the world was boring. As it turned out, she wasn't into the whole premarital sex thing, even though she clearly wasn't a virgin at all.

"I want a man who I can marry, you know?" she asked. Pickles sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. Wanna fuck?"

Needless to say, he hadn't gotten very far with that, so he went home horny and annoyed. He stomped into the living room and threw himself down on a couch. Everyone was in their rooms now, so he was free to mope around by himself, or at least that's what he thought until Toki came walking into the room. He gave Pickles a sweet, endearing sort of smile.

"Heys, Pickle. Was it a good date?"

"If it would've been good, I would be fucking her right now." he said gloomily, glaring down at the floor. Toki went over and sat next to him.

"I'm sorry. She didn't works out?" was it just him, or did the guitarist sound somewhat pleased?

"Obviously nat." he said thru gritted teeth. "Obviously she didn't wanna fuck me 'cause she's a stupid, dumb, stupid-"

"You saids that, like, three times."

"-stupid little bitch." he growled, moodily crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn't fair. Skwisgaar could get whatever girl in the world he wanted to fuck him. It didn't matter, because he was hot, he was blond, and, perhaps above all, he was foreign. Maybe if Pickles would've been born in some European place he would have as many girls as the Swede. Toki obviously sensed his annoyance, because in a moment he was trying his best to comfort the redhead.

"It ams okay, there ams other people to fuck."

"No there's nat."

"But-"

"Shut up," he insisted, glaring down at the floor. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore; I'm done with stupid girls. They're nothing but trouble."

"Ja, mes to."

There was a long moment of silence. It seemed as though for the first time in his life the drummer had found someone who actually understood him. Not only that, but Toki appeared to genuinely care about his feelings, otherwise he would've been in bed like the others by now. There was something about this that made him realize just how sympathetic and oddly caring Toki was; he was almost like a brother to him, but somehow he was something more. In the back of his mind Pickles began to imagine how lucky all of Toki's girlfriends were—was this the side of the guitarist that he saved only for those who he was going out with? Damn girls, they were too lucky.

Pickles smiled to himself, reached over for the remote, and switched on the T.V. He peered over at the Norwegian and suggested, "Movie?"

He grinned and nodded. "Ja, a movie sounds greats."

They channel surfed until coming up upon the movie The Lord of the Rings: The Return of The King. Shamefully, Pickles settled for this when Toki began swearing animatedly that he loved The Lord of the Rings series. They watched a movie marathon of Frodo's conquest to Mordor until the break of dawn.

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Pickles smiled and awoke, stretched, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He remembered the events from the day before, and immediately became depressed. Slowly he reached over to his nightstand to where his bottle of medicine was; he popped open the bottle. He took out a pill and swallowed it dry, then glanced down and read the Rx label. Lithium. He frowned then rolled out of bed. Before getting dressed, he put the full bottle of pills safely in his pocket; after taking a moment to throw on an old, dirty shirt, he dragged himself downstairs and into the dining room, where the rest of the band was. To his surprise nobody bothered to notice him. They were too busy talking and laughing, and at the end of the table there was Toki, just as happy and alive as ever.

Pickles' eyes grew wide, but just as he opened his mouth to ask a question, Ofdensen entered the room. He walked right past the astonished-looking drummer and announced, "Well, now that we've all had breakfast, can I go over the day's schedule with you?"

"What the fuck?" Pickles blurted, tugging on the manager's suit in an effort to gain his attention. "Why is Toki here? I thought he was...he was..." his eyes filled with tears at the memory of yesterday. He was still hopelessly confused, and nobody bothered to remedy this. He was left to sit alone wondering if he was still sane or not.

However, Ofdensen and everyone else ignored him. This only angered him further, and he began yelling, nearly sobbing, "What the hell is going an? I thought he was de-" he still couldn't say the word, so instead he continued with, "Am I going crazy? He's right there?"

Nothing. Nobody even gave him a second glance. Angrily, Pickles punched at Ofdensen. His fist collided with the man's shoulder, but still he did nothing. Instead he continued to address the rest of the band, sounding just as calm as ever, "No? Nobody wants to know what we've got in store today?"

"Nope," they murmured together, "not really."

"I wants to go and gets ice cream today!" Toki blurted out, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm tired of just sittings around here doing nothings but recording."

To this they all nodded in agreement and Nathan said, "Yeah, ice cream and hookers. We should all go out tonight."

"What about me? Am I even here, or what?" Pickles demanded, slamming his fists against the table. Dishes clattered, silverware clanked together, but still nobody noticed. In a display of pure, desperate rage, the drummer dug the lithium pills out of his pocket, and flung them against the wall. The top opened and the plastic of the bottle cracked, but no pills flew out. Pickles arched a pierced brow. Hadn't that bottle been full just moments ago? Something wasn't right. Why was it as though he was invisible?

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Flesh and blood, hot and filthy sex. His hands were covered in something warm, dripping with stickiness—blood. He reached into the chest, ripped thru flesh, tissue, and muscle, pried apart ribs, until he came to it and ripped it out. Such a wonderful sound, such a sweet taste as he pressed the still beating thing to his lips. Sacrifice. As screams of agonizing pain filled his head, he sank his teeth into the heart and smiled. Toki lay beneath him, sobbing and begging for the pain to stop; blood ran from his nose and his mouth, and there was now a large, gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been. Pickles just laughed and leaned in to kiss him. He tasted the blood that coated the inside of Toki's mouth and relished it.

He licked the blood from his fingers and laughed when he watched it run out of the Norwegian's chest. "Please gives me back my heart," Toki sobbed, covering his pale, sickening face with his red, sticky hands.

Pickles shook his head and leaned down to kiss him. "No," he whispered, "because I love you."

"But I don't loves you. I don't...I hates you..."

I wish you were dead.

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He awoke the next morning and, like before, went downstairs, expecting to see Toki sitting at the table in his usual spot. In his pocket he carried with him his lithium pills, but he hadn't taken a single one since yesterday morning. After finding out that his Norwegian friend was still alive, he'd went right up to his room and passed out. Now he made his way into the dining room and felt his heart sink. Everyone raised their gazes to look at him; their eyes were full of despair and pain.

"I...uh...hey, where's Toki."

Skwisgaar turned to Nathan and demanded, "Ammnest he serious? He can'ts be, not again..."

"What?" he asked, feeling a sick feeling invade his entire body. This, like before, wasn't right. This wasn't real. "He was here yesterday, alive just like always..." Wasn't he?

No, apparently not, because in a moment Nathan was yelling, "Get out of here if you're going to be like that! Just get out!"

He didn't understand. "But I—he was here, right here! Sitting in his chair, laughing and-"

"It wasn't funny to begin with, and it's sure as hell's not funny now." Nathan said, tears running down his pale cheeks. Beside him Skwisgaar and Murderface sat with their head's down, hiding the fact that they were crying as well. Pickles knew that he must be doing the same thing, but he didn't care. Now he just backed out of the room, ran out of the door, and outside.

He didn't understand anything anymore—one moment he woke up and his friend was alive, and now he was...it was impossible. Someone couldn't be living one day and dead the next, could they? In frustration, Pickles fell back against the door of the Mordhaus and collapsed onto his knees, hugging himself. He needed help, he needed to know the truth. He needed to know that he wasn't going crazy.

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Toki was sick, so very sick. Pickles worried about him every second, and whenever he could he snuck up to the guitarist's room and sat with him. Usually he would be sleeping, breathing laboriously; the doctor said it was a very bad flu, but it seemed like the plague. The drummer worried so very much during those weeks when the Norwegian was sick. He didn't know what had come over him, but the crushing concern that he felt for the other man couldn't simply go away on it's own.

He remembered the exact day that he realized that his concern was due to an unimaginably strong love he felt for the Norwegian. He had been sitting beside the guitarist's bed, watching him sleep, listening to the T.V. in the background. He watched closely as Toki inhaled and exhaled, the way his lips were slightly parted in his slumber, the way his hair was lying in gracefully straight locks around his face and on his pillow. Pickles smiled to himself and gently placed a hand on the Norwegian's incredibly warm, feverish one.

He leaned close to Toki and whispered in his ear, knowing that he was asleep and gone from the world, "You're so damn beautiful; I love you." How could anyone not?

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He remembered this as he sat outside on the steps of the Mordhaus. He'd cried all of the tears that he could, and he was shaking violently, on the edge of making himself sick with grief, but he decided then where he must go. He got to his feet and staggered all the way to the tombstone that he'd found days before. It shined with the dew of early morning and thru his teary eyes he was able to make out the words, so clearly etched in bold and engraved into the marble, Pickles the Drummer, Rest In Peace.

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**A/N**

Hope you're enjoying this story. There's only about one more chapter left. Also, a lot of people have recently been wondering if I'll write stories with them. Sorry, not to be mean, but I'm just not ready to begin collaborating with other authors—I'm busy with my own stuff and all of that, so yeah...no offense, but I've gotta say no for right now. Anyways, reviews are appreciated and thanks for reading. And in case you're wondering, I'm a total LOTR geek. Sorry about that. :P

PEACE & LOVE