A/N: I still don't own Repo or any recognizable elements from Repo. I do, however, own an Amber Sweet costume...

Title: Swing From My Limb
Rating: T (language, violence)
Summary: The public execution of the city's most wanted grave robber. GraveRobber/Amber Sweet. (Written for weirdlittlefamilyofrp . tumblr . com)

"What if you get caught?"

"What's life without a little danger?"

Amber Sweet sat in front of her mirror, staring into the glass with no real perception of her own reflection. Usually, she would be primping, trying to curl or straighten her hair, popping in contact lenses, picking out a shade of lipstick.

Not today.

"We're ready when you are, Miss Sweet."

"Your father's new policy is interesting."

"Scared, GraveRobber?"

"You'd like that."

She rose from her vanity and swept out the door of her bedroom. Her heels clicked on the marble floor and then she reached the elevators. Why did it have to be a public execution? In front of all those prying eyes. Some wanted to see him burn; others were praying for a Houdini escape. It was a throwback to gladiators and bear baiting.

Luigi got on the elevator. A smile on his face.

"The fucker's gonna hang," he said gleefully. "I would have preferred a beheading."

"Me too," says Amber flatly. "More humane."

"Fuck humane," says Luigi. The elevator stops again and Pavi and two GENterns get on. "There'd at least be blood."

Silence, except the GENterns cooing at Pavi. Finally, the ground floor. Amber had thought the elevator would just keep falling and falling and falling. They take the limousine to the stadium.

"Any more of that in your veins and you'll be dead."

"Maybe ish what I want."

"Don't joke. You're not allowed to die before me. Who will I argue with if you're dead?"

"Greedy bashterd."

"What's it you always say? 'Z-up responsibly'?"

"Fuck you."

"Take your own advice, Amber. Life without you would be pretty fucking boring."

The arena is crowded. It smells like beer and hot dogs and Amber sees that vendors are selling snacks to the peons. Snacks and merchandise. GeneCo posters. Z-gun replicas that shoot water. Amber's lip curls just in time for the paparazzi to snap a photo.

"Miss Sweet, is it true that you were romantically linked to the GraveRobber?"

"Miss Sweet, how are you holding up?"

"Do you think this will ease the grave robbing troubles for GeneCo?"

"Miss Sweet, a comment!"

"Miss Sweet, a statement!"

"Miss Sweet, words of encouragement for the soon to be executed!"

She holds her head like a queen and makes her way towards the Largo family box.

"Maybe if you weren't so cocky, you wouldn't have gotten shot at!"

"Maybe if you didn't insist on shooting up a block from GeneCo, nobody would have seen us!"

"Hold the fuck still. I'm gonna push the bullet out."

"Jesus, who are you? Florence Nightingale?"

On her way, she sees him, bound and gagged. Kept in a cell like an animal below the bleachers. Where rockstars usually wait before rushing the stage. A black hood is over his face and she thinks for a moment that at least they don't have to make eye contact. But it must be hell for him, hearing the cheers and jeers of the crowd, imagining the people celebrating his demise.

The guard removes GraveRobber's blindfold.

Two pairs of Zydrate blue eyes meet. His scratch hers, digging for emotion. He hits the well and tears brim up in her eyes. The gag keeps him silent.

"I love you," she mouths.

Someone once told her it will always look like "olive juice" no matter how hard you try to annunciate.

"I bet you wonder why I keep coming back."

"Nah."

"I've been clean two whole weeks."

"I know, doll."

"Then you know why I stick around, too."'

"It'd be nice to hear."

"All right. Fine. You're fantastic in the sack."

Luigi grabs her arm hard enough to bruise and drags her away. She wants nothing more than to die. He's not allowed to die before her. Life won't just be boring, it'll be unbearable.

They take their seats. She's forced between Pavi and Luigi. One of Pavi's whores sits on his other side. The other situates herself on her knees in front of him.

"Show some goddamn respect," Amber hisses.

"Sister, please!" Pavi scoffs. "The cunt'a has never shown'a ounce of respect for anyone!"

"Do it for me, then, you prick," Amber snaps. "You selfish, vulgar-"

"Hey, shitstains," Luigi cuts in. "It's starting."

"Holy shit."

"Mm."

"That was…"

"I know."

"I think I love you, Graves."

"What did you say?"

The Genetic Opera Symphony begins to play a death march and the executioner trudges out. Armed guards flank two grunt workers. The grunts drag GraveRobber to the arena. The blindfold is still on. There are cheers. And boos. And hisses. And claps.

He is led up some stairs to the platform.

The blindfold is ripped from him a second time.

The executioner reads off a list of GraveRobber's crimes. He looks more smug than Amber has ever seen him. If his hands were free, she imagines he'd be doing a royal wave. A mock bow. He looks so proud of himself that for a minute, Amber is sure he has a plan for escape.

"Jesus! What do you think you're doing?"

"Can't a guy visit his favorite customer without an ulterior motive?"

"Not at three AM. And not by sneaking through my window."

"You're beautiful when you're angry."

"Don't kiss me if you're just hiding from the GeneCops."

"You gonna report me?"

"Fuck no."

"My hero."

But as the executioner talks about the punishment for these crimes, GraveRobber's face shifts. His eyes rake the crowd and Amber wonders if he's looking for an escape or if he's looking for her. Maybe both.

She wishes she could be his escape. But she knows how tight security is, how impossible it is for her to do a thing. Helplessness slides like ice into her stomach.

The executioner steps to the side.

And then he slides the noose around Graves' neck.

GraveRobber spits in his eyes and is zapped with cattle prods by the guards. He falls to his knees and his desperate voice bellows, echoes through the arena.

People are laughing.

"You could give it up, you know."

"And go on the run with you?"

"Yeah."

"Or you could go straight and be my lover in public."

"I don't do fancy ass galas."

"I don't do sleeping in dumpsters."

"Love is about making sacrifices."

"Is that what this is?"

"I thought it was obvious."

Just as Graves struggles to his feet, the trapdoor is opened. He makes a terrible gasping sound. Amber screams. Graves twists his head towards the sound and there's a terrible crack. He stops flailing. They cut him down and Amber screams and screams and sobs and screams. Her throat goes raw and hoarse and eyes just stare at her and stare and stare.

He'll always be falling in front of her eyes. Falling forever and ever and never hitting the ground.