Edelweiss

Warnings

- Intense Mashiro bastardization (cause that's the way he really is in the beginning) - Suicide and death - Character emotional abuse (namely Makkura) - shonen ai hints (basically, just Makkura saying I love you) - Makkura love (not a bad thing, but can be boggling, and/or confusing at times) - This is a badly written poemy songfic (the biggest warning of all)

Summary

The story is about how poor Makkura feels about Mashiro and how he constantly gets verbally and physically beat into the dirt by him. This may be a mite difficult to read, mostly because I'm a really random and insane person and not all of my writing makes sense. It may get boring at times, as there isn't really too much on the edge of your seat action here, but please bear with me because it all has a little bit of importance. So here's my first attempt at a cheesy songfic. It may make you laugh, or cry (god forbid you have tearducts), or stare at the author like she's some freakish silver haired cat-girl with angel wings (which she is) But please enjoy. The song is one that I wrote myself, and so it doesn't rhyme, or go together at all. Really it's more of a poem, but we'll just consider it a song for the purposes. Sing along if you want, even though there isn't really any music that goes to it *blushes* Yet . . . .

Actually, the song I was listening to when I wrote this is called Edelweiss, so that's what I called it. For the longest time, this was just called "songfic" Edelweiss is a mournful, but beautiful classical piece. I've only ever heard the piano and violin instrumental. In some parts of this, I started bawling all over my keyboard and ended up having to shake it dry.

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Makkura sat down on the floor, feeling the coldness of it right through his pants like a familiar friend, who was more of an enemy than one would think. He had no money left anymore to pay for heating in his tiny apartment and what wood he had left for the small fireplace was sparse and mostly wet. He anticipated having a great deal of black smoke in his home should he try to burn it now. Chopping a few old branches from City park would not be above him, but if he left now, he would only get more of a chill.

In the coolness of the room, he felt the undeniable urge to start shivering. He knew that if he should ever get that cold, he would never make it till morning. It was only ten o clock, and if he thought it was cold now, then he would be an icecube by midnight, for the winters in Salvation were murderous. Only the strong, the wealthy, and those possessed of blankets survived. At the moment, he felt like none of those. He was weak, broke, and had only a single black silk sheet to his name. Silk was not the most cozy of fabric, though it felt wonderful on the bare skin. In summer it was a blessing. In winter it would be his curse. Sometimes he contemplated going on a hunt, then just ' borrowing ' a bit of cash or something. His victim wouldn't need it anymore, right? However, no matter how bad things got, he would never resort to theft. Never.

There was the sound of squealing tires and honking horns and Makkura immediately knew that yet another life had been snuffed out by the cold merciless season. It would be close to Christmas soon, a time of year that he usually enjoyed with no lack of zeal. He liked to go downtown with whatever money he actually had at the time and pass it out to the children of the streets. He knew it was crazy for him to give the last of what he had to meer roadbrats, but to him, it seemed logical. They were young, joyful little things. They needed food, water, and shelter. He could go without food, and water for quite a while and not feel the pain of hunger or thirst. He could spend a night in the outdoors and survive with nothing more than a bit of frostbite. But the children could not, and that's why they needed a dollar or two much more than he did. All he needed . . . was his sword, his life, and his twin. Sometimes he thought he had lost the latter though.

He got to his feet, ignoring the squeaking of cold joints, and went to the window, looking out into the snowswept streets. There were no people happily rejoicing and shopping in this part of town. That was mostly because there were no stores in his neighborhood. His area was pretty much considered the most desolate place in Salvation. The most he had ever had in his pocket was nine hundred credits, and with that, he had taken out five months of rent on this tiny place. It had taken every last cent. And now, he remembered that he maybe had a week or so before that term was over. Just another misfortune to add to his list.

" Cold, hungry, miserable, and broke. I could say that at least I was happy, but I don't even have that anymore. " he murmured to himself, pressing his forehead against the frosty glass of the window, " I can't even get a job in this f***ing city anymore. "

Salvation was supposed to be the city of dreams, laying its urban sprawl over about seven hundred kilometres of flat wasted land. There had been opportunities here, things to be done, things to be had, jobs to be filled and a great deal of freedom and happiness. Bullshit was what that had ended up to be. The government had all but abandoned the massive city long ago, leaving the Angels in charge of the safety of the people. Well, those self-absorbed arseholes had nobody but themselves in mind. To them, people were only warfodder. If they wanted, they could draft every man, woman, and child into the military. The power to do so had been placed at their discretion. The problem with that was, they didn't have any discretion. The sole concern of the Angels was to shut the people up while they attempted to dominate the parts of the globe that they had yet to badger into swearing allegiance to them. Well what was he supposed to do? Screw them and the horse they rode in on? Makkura had been trying to do that for the longest time.

" I need some coffee. " he muttered darkly as he slid down the wall and just sat where he landed, totally worked over by the cold.

To be honest, it had to be extremely frigid to make Makkura bat an eye to the weather. He was used to freezing conditions. It was his twin Mashiro who couldn't stand the snow. That man, he swore, had reptile's blood in him. And that didn't just apply to his hatred of low temperatures. Mashiro was far colder on the inside than any winter flurry could ever by. He fancied his twin could breath on someone and turn them into a glacier. He knew how it felt to be pierced through by Mashiro's glares, and his heart never really recovered from the wounds. If that pale haired cop had even a speck of compassion in his body, then Makkura would do fifty backflips and scream, " Ay Caramba! "

There was a knock at the door, and the assassin instantly knew that it was the landlord. He slowly climbed to his feet, using the wall as support. The door was only a few feet away, but he felt as though he had walked a mile in lead shoes by the time he reached it and opened it. Sure enough, the rotund fellow, who called himself merciful for even considering letting Makkura stay in his rent home, was standing at the door with a piece of grubby paper clutched in one pudgy hand. Makkura glanced at it, then up at the man's overly round face, raising a brow. The landlord paused for a moment, then his lips cracked into a hideous, toothless sneer that make Makkura want to run to the washroom and attempt to relieve a ghost meal that he'd never gotten to eat.

" Hey Fella . . . . " the man began.

Makkura's face darkened. He hated the way the bastard's voice sounded, all patronizing and dripping with mock sympathy as though he actually had a heart. In reality, Makkura knew that the only thing he cared about was whether he got his rent money. If the tenant died a second after handing him the envelope, the jerk wouldn't have cared less. It was a wonder that with the money he got, he couldn't afford to get some quality dental work. It looked like he'd pulled his own rotting molars with a pair of needle- nose pliers.

" How ya been brotha? " that sneer broadened, revealing that the landlord did actually have teeth, if one could consider them teeth at all.

Makkura's eyes narrowed, shifting from a dark forest freen to a lighter almost lime color, " I'm cold. But that is no concern of yours, is it Mr. Brechston? "

Brechston's expression faded a little at the weary, slightly sarcastic tone in Makkura's voice. But it came back full force as his next words spilled obscenely from his crooked lisping lips.

" Ah well yer right brotha. I jest came by ta serve ya with thish lovely evecshon notice. "

The man held out the dirty paper and Makkura gingerly accepted it, not wanting to know what sort of filth the document had been dragged through. He read it over and sighed. Sure enough, his term was over, but not in a week. He had to be out by tomorrow apparently. It seemed that Brechston had some new tenants lined up, and he was in a hurry to get Makkura out of the way. Well, his list of gripe-worthy subjects just grew one more. Losing one's house on a freezing winter night and having no cash to even stay in a hotel until a new one could be found. This was lovely, just bloody lovely.

" Do I owe you anything ? Or do you just want me out now? " Makkura asked, not bothering to conceal the slight hint of mockery in his even tenor.

The landlord laughed, a grotesque sound like that which a plunger would make when unplugging an extremely clogged toilet. It made Makkura's skin crawl and his lip curled a little in disgust. Brechston however didn't seem to notice. His small, rather beady eyes just glinted with devilish malice, as a sewer rat's might.

" Oh well. " the chubby man began, gazing slyly sidelong at his dark haired tenant, " I shuppose we could work out a deal fer anotha month er two, if ya like. Ya shee, I been lonely lately . . . . and yer a pretty thing, tho a wee bit ruff 'round the edges. Whaddya shay? "

Makkura had a sudden urge to laugh at the very obscenity of the notion. And actually, he did smile a little, though it was a smile of cold hard amusement. Imagine the contempt in Mashiro's eyes if he went up to him one day and said, ' Ya know, I played the desperate little uke to a fat, ugly, rat-man for rent money. ' His twin would probably laugh and say that it figured, that Makkura was such a slut that he couldn't even keep his hands off hideous pigs. Ludicrous! Absurd! What was this damn city coming to? A suppressed chuckle echoed in his chest.

" . I understand completely what kind of man you are, and how lonely it can be. " he began earnestly, noting the hopeful gleam in the landlord's round little orbs, " But you know, I would rather sleep naked in the snow a million times over, than get down on my knees and let you screw me. Call your new tenants and tell them they're welcome to the place. Oh yeah, and thanks for the eviction notice, it'll make great kindling tonight. Got any more paper on you by the way? I burned my last shirt the other day. "

Brechston's empty grin morphed instantly into an angry snarl at the rejection. His eyes glinted like miniature, but useless little daggers as he glared contemptuously at Makkura. Apparently the rotund man had been counting on his willing acceptance. Makkura returned his gaze with calm bemusement. Then, he shook his head and closed the door, locking and bolting it to protect against the pounding fists of the man on the other side. Brechston was shrieking futily at him now, voice shrill and piercing. Makkura just smiled out the small window, waved, and went to go and use the paper to start the wet wood on fire. Who cared if he got a little bit of inky black smoke. It was better than having his arse frozen on an atomic level to the floor.

Just as he was kneeling down by the fireplace, he heard the jingling of some metallic object, then the clicking of the multi-tumbler lock opening. He had forgotten that Brechston had the appropriate keys to all the houses he owned. Makkura sighed wearily as he heard the heavy footfalls tromping across the wooden floor, making the boards squeal thinly. He didn't bother to glance up, just bent his head down a little as the swish of an approaching fist became audible. There was an angry shout and a few droplets of blood fell down into the thick black hair of his long bangs, running down his forehead. He got to his feet and stepped to the side to avoid an ill-placed kick. It was only then that he met gazes with the furious, pain-blinded pig of a man. Brechston halted immediately upon sight of the icy malevolence in his eyes. It was a warning, and the man knew it.

" Don't try that again. " Makkura said, reaching up to wipe some of the landlord's blood of his face, " I'm not in the mood to kill you, but that could change. "

Brechston made a sort of frightened snorting squeal and fled from the house just as quickly as he had broken in, leaving bloody spots behind in the muddied snow. Makkura went to the door and watched him go, then glanced down into the slush. What a surprise, that perverted son of a female dog had dropped his keys on the ground during his flight. Hmm, well for a man like that, who was so filthy and brainless, it was easy to expect that he only had one set of keys. Maybe this was his lucky day afterall, but that didn't fix his wood problem, or his food problem. He had his house back, but he still needed some damn coffee. And it just dawned on him that he was down to his last pack of cigarettes as well. He thought maybe he'd need one of those too.

" I might as well light you, " he stated conversationally to the blackened logs in the fireplace, " I figure I should enjoy myself while I can. Live for the moment, ne? "

He pulled out his lighter and placed the paper between two of the moist green sticks. He huffed an exasperated sigh as he tried to get the stupid thing to light up. It just wouldn't do for it to be out of fluid now. If it was . . . . To his pleasant surprise, it burst into life, offering only a short flame, but enough for him to get the paper lit and flaming. Eviction notices were good for something after all. He tried to be an optimist most of the time, and now things were going a little bit better.

Chuckling, he sat back and pulled his crumpled pack of smokes from one pocket, plucking one of the ten remaining ones out and poking it into the growing flame to light. He took a reverent puff of it and breathed a small ghostly smoke ring, feeling very pleased with himself. Sometimes he could forget the loneliness if things went alright. He could enjoy life for a while longer.

Later on, after all the streetlights he been turned onto low for energy conservation, Makkura finally managed to get the room warm enough for a comfortable sleep. It helped that he had done a hundred or so pushups and situps to warm his body as well. The logs were blazing cheerily, though the crack in the chimney leaked a thin trail of dark smoke. Well, he had suspected that would happen. But the smell of warm burning wood was much preferrable to the sterile nipping scent of chilly floors and icy silence. Everything about fire made Makkura feel at home, from the pleasant glow, to the brisk crackle, to the waves of welcomed heat that flowed from it. As he lay silent with his eyes closed, wrapped securely in his black sheet, a song came to his mind.

I can only imagine in the depths of some dream
what you might feel like joined with me . . .
Loving me, filling and completing me

Taking what you are and stopping the holes
In my half a heart and the shell of my soul
Use me if you must, abuse me, hurt me,

Just look at me when you beat me down,
So I can see the truth with no lies,
Hidden deep behind your multi-hued eyes,

And maybe if you look at me long enough,
You'll see the truth and the pain in mine,
Aishiteru.

Makkura turned onto his left side, feeling a chill shiver skitter up his back despite the warmth of the fire. When that proved to be rather uncomfortable, he lay on his stomach instead, reaching up one hand to tangle in the midnight fabric of the only protection he had between his dusky skin and the air. It was all he'd ever have, and always taken up only by himself. He could never bring a woman home here, even if he ventured to woo one. He couldn't bring anyone home to the empty echoes of this house where the only things he owned were the sheet he slept in, his damnable lighter, his only leather clothing, and his sword.

Tomorrow, if he didn't get hell from the landlord's bints, then he considered going to the Devil's Mile and visiting a few old friends. Maybe he'd sing again on that bustling strip of clubs and bars and brothels. He hadn't sung in a long time and that was part of the reason he was broke. After a multitude of incidents involving his twin, he had lost the drive to sing. He wasn't very popular, but it was understandable. Getting noticed by anyone important in Salvation nowadays was next to impossible. You had to be big. And no one considered a guy who was as emotionally unstable as he was to be big. All he could do was sing, or work odd jobs here and there, or maybe offer his service as an assassin again for money. It had tided him over before. It could tide him over again if need be.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep with those thoughts in his head.

~*~

In the middle of the night, the unexpected sometimes happens. The sudden sound of terrified wailing brought Makkura stumbling out of his makeshift bed and grabbing for his sword. However, it was way out of arm's reach, for he had rolled halfway across the room in his sleep. The wails turned into panicked screams and he staggered for the door, throwing it open and calling into the blackness.

" What the f*** is going on!? "

Time froze and to Makkura's intense displeasure, a bright lamp flashed and fixed on his face. It went without saying that he was very sensitive to bright light on a normal day, and being tired did not help matters. The shrieking faded momentarily to a low whimpering sound. He cursed and groped around the door sill for something he could use as a weapon as he shielded his eyes with one hand. From the darkness there came a returning bellow, caustic and furious.

" What you tink you doin. Git back in yo pad befo I cap yo ass mutha! "

Makkura scowled and spat some of that horrid stuff that one sometimes get after sleeping with one's mouth open. He backed into the house a little ways and waited for the lamp to move elsewhere so he could see. However, even when it was removed, he found that his vision was blotted by a rather large black spot in which there was no sight at all. He voiced an angry growl and bent to pick up his katana, which he had managed to find after almost tripping over it. He nearly ripped the sheath off and darted back out the door, fast enough to avoid the returning beam of the light.

Those poor sadistic bastards fell bleeding to the earth like cloven matchsticks. Through it all he could hear a noise like a low groaning sound. He had a feeling that this group of thugs had been brutally victimizing someone, but with the absense of light, he couldn't see where the person was. He paused, listening for the sound of breathing in the area. There was none. The men were all dead, or gone. He got down on his knees and brushed his hand over the ground, inching forward in an attempt to find the person who was still making pained noises in the dark. His fingers touched something that immediately pulled away.

" Hey hey. It's ok. They're all gone now. " he said quietly, trying to calm and sooth the individual so he wouldn't end up with a live and kicking creature to drag inside.

" Please . . . don't let them hurt me. " came the returning voice, a broken plea as whomever lay there edged towards Makkura and held out two shaking arms to touch his shoulders.

" I won't. " Makkura assured the person, suspecting that it was probably a young boy from the tone of the voice, though it was pretty androgynous.

Carefully, he held the child against him and got to his feet. It was a very long walk to his house, and he realized to his chagrin that he had forgot to close the door. So much for his nice warm room. He swore a little under his breath and was still muttering about this and that as he slammed the portal and searched through a small bag in one corner for a candle. It was his last one, and was very difficult to light with one hand and a kid over his other shoulder. Eventually, he just took it to the fireplace and lit it off the glowing coals. Once he had some light, he lay his burden down on the rumpled black sheets and took a good look.

" Oh, you are a boy. I thought so. " Makkura observed as he brushed some of the child's blood streaked blond hair away from his face, not knowing who the blood belonged to, " They were hurting you right? "

The boy nodded weakly and Makkura made a concerned humming noise as he looked around for something that could serve as a bandage for the many little wounds that the kid had sustained. He could find nothing but the very sheet beneath them, so reluctantly, he reached down and used both hands to tear a long strip off. The ripping noise made a pang of regret hit him. / There goes my bed. / he mused with a frown. It was going to good use though, so he didn't mind so much.

" How did you get into the fight? Do you live near here? " he asked softly as he started to wrap the abrasions with tender care.

The boy averted his eyes, " No. I live in Fourth sector. "

" Fourth sector?! That's two hundred kilometers from here. How did you manage to get all the way out here? " Makkura exclaimed with a great deal of astonishment.

The boy didn't answer, just gazed with large glossy eyes at the man who was so gently tending to his hurting spots. His fingers were a little bit rough, but they never caused any pain as the fabric was wrapped around and around his arms and legs. He was a little bit embarrassed that most of his clothing had been torn off by those nasty men. However, it seemed that this person didn't mind that at all. As he gazed intently at the man's face, he could see something resembling wistful sadness there. His eyes were colored like a kaleidascope, with colors shifting and gyrating, twisting from blue with green slivers to green with blue slivers and back. He didn't mention why they had taken him and beat him. He didn't want anyone to know that. But something about this person was really familiar. He remembered one of his friends saying something about a guy like this who helped kids in the slums.

" Do you know about the man who comes every Christmas? " the boy suddenly inquiered, accepting the treatment without complaint.

Makkura smiled, " Santa Claus? "

" No, Santa only comes to good boys and girls. I mean the man who comes to give things to all of us, even the ones who have to steal. Do you know him? " the boy persisted, sitting up a little.

" I don't know. " Makkura replied, a little bit rueful, " Have you seen him? "

" No, but my friend has. His name is Rikki. He said the man always came at Christmas time to help them. " The boy's soft brown eyes glowed with the candlelight.

" Oh? Well, I don't think I've seen him. But if you see Rikki again, then tell him to say hello from me next time he sees this man ok? " The assassin's smile faded a little as he sat back and folded his arms over his crossed legs.

" Ok. " The boy replied brightly.

It occured to Makkura that he didn't know where the boy lived in fourth district. It would take him a very long time to drive all the way down there on his sportbike, and even longer to run there on the rooftops. He wasn't sure if he had enough gas to go that far. Certainly he had no money to buy any more. So really, he didn't know how to get the boy home. It would be a crime to leave the child out in the streets to fend for himself. Perhaps . . . no, Mashiro would never agree to do something like this. Not for him. Mashiro never did favors.

" Do you know someone who can come here to pick you up? " He asked, beginning to feel the coolness settle in again from the opening of the door.

" I don't know anyone who has a car, but I can take the subway. I have a dollar. " the boy chirped, feeling much better now that he was safe and bandaged.

" Do you want to do that? " It seemed like a good idea.

" Ok. I can walk to the station I think. I saw one on my way here. " The child hopped to his feet and ran to the door.

Makkura climbed lazily to his own feet and hastily caught the boy by the arm, " I'm not letting you go out into that weather without a coat. It's way too cold for a boy to be running around shirtless. Here, take this. It's already ruined now. "

The boy found the rest of the black silk sheet pressed into his arms, the tail of it wrapped around his shoulders for warmth. It was meager and thin, but it was all that Makkura could possibly give the child.

" Will you be ok? "

" I'll be ok, don't worry. "

The boy opened the door and went through, closing it behind him. Makkura couldn't help but feel a strange sense of sadness as the kid ran out into the streets to find his way to the subway. He had a feeling that tomorrow there might be news of a young boy's murder. Salvation was that kind of city. Nobody was safe.

~*~

" Oh holy shit! " Makkura exclaimed as he hopped around the room, trying vainly to warm himself up.

The floor had never been so cold before. And with his one and only sheet gone, he had slept directly on the frigid surface all night long. His back was practically blue and so numb that even a slap would have registered as zero pain. So now he was bouncing around the room, praying that he would have no more trouble with the Brechston, or those idiots whose behinds he had soundly kicked the night before. It was time to warm up so he could get to work today. He planned on driving as far as he could get on his black sportsbike, then walk the rest of the way and do a little business to buy gas for the trip home. Once he had a full tank, he would be able to get around a little easier. Gasoline had gotten much cheaper since Salvation had discovered that in the north of the city there was huge expanse of land which was soaked with oil beneath the surface.

Giving up on his hopping technique, Makkura just pulled on his coat, grabbed his sword and walked out the door. Today was going to be an interesting day. However, in his single-minded pursuit of some quick cash, Makkura didn't stop to consider how interesting it might get.

The light was red again. He'd hit nothing but red lights all day. Mashiro glared derisively at the man who was flipping the middle finger at him in his rear view mirror. A small cruel smile lit his face as he leaned sideways on his seat and swiftly shifted into reverse, flooring the gas. His spiked rear bumper cleaved through the expensive red paint of the man's fresh little porsche, causing the poor idiot to scream in sorrowful terror. Some days he just loved being a cop.

When the light turned from red to green, he waved absently at the whimpering driver and drove off down the street. His jeep was never the worse for wear. The beast was made for ramming, flipping, and even being hit by high speed projectiles without being harmed in the slightest. The wheels were studded, the bumpers were armed with five inch spikes, which had just demonstrated their usefulness, and nitrous oxide injection made sure that nobody on the road could ever outrun him in a chase. Well, there was one person who had a vehicle faster than his, but in road combat, only a tank was better. Makkura's bike, Horus, was the fastest pair of wheels on the road. They were selling for about three hundred grand now. How that cheap bastard had managed to get the thing, was beyond him. He didn't really want to know. He was just about to turn in to a cafe for breakfast when his cellphone started vibrating against his thigh. Perturbed at being interrupted, he picked it up and flipped the tongue down.

" Yeah what is it? " he demanded hotly.

" We got a suspect for the new case headed into your district. He's wanted for the murder, and suspected rape of Jordan Blank. We sent a unit after him already, but by the time they got an eye on him, he had already put too much distance on them and was right out of sight. Can you deal with it? " the grating voice of his commanding officer was not a welcome thing in the morning and especially annoying since he hadn't had his breakfast yet.

Mashiro sighed, took his blue sunglasses from the visor and donned them, " Forget it. I'm hungry. "

He was forced to take the phone away from his ear as the man on the line bellowed furiously at him, " What do you mean you're f***ing hungry?!! You listen to ME, not the other way around you dumb punk!! "

The white haired cop yawned as he was caught behind a line of traffic waiting for yet another red light, then replied with an air of maddening calm, " Maa, you asked me whether I could deal with it. You never said I had to. I'm going to get some breakfast. Can't it wait? I can catch up in half an hour if you keep your guys on his tail. "

" Damn you little bastard! Doesn't it get you riled at all?! Murder AND Rape! A child for God's sake! When I said deal with it, it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order, now get your ass moving! "

Mashiro rolled his eyes and switched lanes to hit a turn off, " Commander, there IS no God. That's why these things happen. If you're going to be a bitch, then I'll try my hardest. So kindly go get laid like a good doggy and get off my ass. "

" What?! Why you---"

Mashiro hung up and tossed the phone haphazardly into the console, leaning one hand out the open window. He was glad that it was a warmer day today. The previous one had been unbearable. Even with the heat on high, he was still shivering under two blankets. It hadn't helped that he was put on a mission halfway through dinner. The pasta had been cold by the time he got back. Besides that, he'd had to take a shower to wash all the blood off his body. His clothing had been ruined, and his hair stained pink even after multiple washes. Sometimes he was disgusted by how far blood spurted when a mutant's head was chopped off. It was alarming that he had been soaked with it from a meter and a half away.

Suddenly out of nowhere something fast and black streaked through the intersection ahead of him in a flurry of old snow, followed by two other cop cars with their sirens wailing like banshees. The people on the sidewalk were cringing at the sound of their passing. He raised both brows and made up his mind to follow. His jeep made quick work of the two hundred meters that had been put between the chase and himself while he turned and was up behind them in no time at all. Not surprisingly, once the other two cars saw him coming, they swerved off, knowing better than to get in Mashiro's way. He had squashed other cops before in the heat of a pursuit, and although he knew he should have been more careful, he had gotten the mutants he'd been after, and that was all that mattered.

Makkura glanced in his side mirror and his eyes went wide. What the hell was everyone doing chasing him today? What had he done wrong? And he recognized that monster truck of a jeep too. He had Mashiro on his tail, of all people. Well there went his bloody day. He could have easily lost the other two cops in the wasteland outskirts of the city, but Mashiro was worse than a bulldog. And the jerk probably knew it was him too. He had to have done something really bad, besides just killing, to deserve his twin's attention. Sighing in exasperation and struggling to calm the adrenalin racing through his veins, he swerved into an adjoining street and sped up, cutting easily up the median between cars.

Mashiro followed, though without the same grace and ease as Makkura. That bike could fit through very small holes, but Mashiro's jeep could make very large holes. He didn't hesitate to do this and as he passed the wreckages, he mused idly at the amount of property damages that would come out of his paycheck this week. Oh well, considering the amount he received for exemplary efficiency, a few cars, trucks, and buildings were nothing.

" Damnit, he's still after me! " Makkura muttered peevishly as he streaked through the next intersection with only an inch to spare.

This was bad, very very bad. His twin, as far as he knew, had never let anyone get away from him before. From what he heard around town, Mashiro was the only cop who had a perfect arrest record. Every criminal and beast that the man set his teeth into eventually got the iron whip of justice, death, or both. Frankly, if it were any other criminal that Mashiro was chasing, he would be proud of that reputation. But considering that he had the city's best cop on HIS tail, well he was understandably uneasy.

The bridge was coming up, and Makkura was confident that if he had any chance to lose Mashiro, this would be the only one. Lo and behold, as he neared the exit, he could see that there was traffic lineup a mile long. He grinned inside the reflective shield of his helmet and changed gears. He was going to go right up the middle.

Mashiro, who was only about twenty meters off the biker's tail snarled angrily. How dare that bastard think he could go somewhere where his jeep couldn't. There was no place safe for a child killer to hide. However, the moterbike, and the handler's skill seemed hauntingly familiar. Could it have been? Nah, never. He floored the gas and tightened his seat belt. This was going to be a very rough ride, even by his standards.

People on the the other side of bridge turned their heads as they heard the rumble of approaching doom. There was black figure racing at an insane pace, at least 320 kilometers an hour, and a massive cloud of explosion behind it, complete with flying cars, and car parts. Here and there a tire would bounce, or a muffler would smash someone's rear window. The people began to vacate their cars, running right into opposing traffic in an attempt to escape certain death.

Mashiro was quite pissed off by now. His damn windshield was cracked, forcing him to actually stick his head out the side window to drive straight, which was very dangerous considering that there was fire and pieces of twisted scrap metal ahead just waiting to decapitate him. However, he could still see the black bike, and as long as he could see the target, then he knew he could catch them eventually. Besides, he was making pretty good time by bulldozing all the cars into the runaway lane.

Makkura glanced back over his shoulder, still very worried that he wouldn't make it. He hadn't anticipated Mashiro being foolhardy enough to take his bloody one ton jeep through a sea of cars just to catch him for something he wasn't aware he had done. Somehow he doubted that he would escape from this one. If Mashiro was being this tenacious, then it was a slim chance indeed. His ass was going to fry, whether he liked it or not. It was a pity though.

The assassin slowed down a little bit, taking more time to drive carefully around a few cock-eyed cars. He didn't want Mashiro to continue in this destruction, despite finding it rather amusing in a strange way. There were children and their families in those cars. He stopped entirely and parked Horus, getting off the bike to run on foot instead. He knew that Mashiro wouldn't follow him in the Beast if he had abandoned ship. It wasn't his twin's style to do that. Mashiro liked to match people eye for eye.

Mashiro let out an irritated snarl as he ripped the keys out of the ignition and leapt out the bashed in door of his vehicle, hopping over the tangled twisted metal remains of some random car. By now all the cars and trucks were abandoned, or parked way over on one side to make way for the insane cop on a rampage. He didn't mind being considered insane. He knew that he was the best at what he did and that he always caught his man. This time though, this child raping pervert seemed a little bit familiar. He realized that he'd had that pins and needles feeling for a while now. There was no other man that he knew who drove a racing bike with that kind of skill, and who ran this fast. It had to be Makkura. And he wasn't really surprised. In a way, Mashiro was looking forward to a nice long explanation on his twin's part.

It wasn't long before the two of them reached the end of the bridge and Makkura darted off up into the suburbs, into the rich house district where seven or eight families could live in one place, such were the size of the pads. Mashiro was hot on his heels and and he realized that he had to do one of two things. He could stop and let Mashiro arrest him so he could explain, which would end up pretty ugly, for Mashiro rarely listened to anything anyone had to say. He could also keep running, which would drag the chase on until either or both of them could not take another step. His twin would never lose ground, and it would take a very long time to wear either of them out. So it was choosing the lesser of two evils. Well the trees were slowing him down anyway. He sprinted on for a ways, then reached up and removed his helmet, slowing to a fast jog. Out of nowhere, he was blindsided by his twin and went flying to the ground.

" Why the hell did you stop?! You could have kept going forever you idiot! " Mashiro, who was perched on Makkura's waist, grabbed the dark haired man and shook him violently.

Makkura let himself be rattled for a moment, then reached up and tugged Mashiro's hands away and demanded his own answer in return, " Why the hell are you chasing me?! What did I ever do to you? "

The cop paused, staring in disbelief, " What do you mean ' why '? You mean you don't remember that little blond boy last night? How stupid. You really are a bastard. "

Makkura narrowed his eyes, " What happened to him? Is he alright? "

Mashiro just growled and drew back his fist, punching his supine twin right in the jaw. Makkura's head was jolted roughly to the side and there was an audible cracking sound. The furious angel hit him again for good measure. Makkura just lay there with a stunned expression on his face and a thread of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

" How dare you say that. " Mashiro's voice held a deadly tone that sent a shiver up the assassin's spine. " He's dead, you asshole. Raped and beaten to death and found in a black silk sheet on North Avoral St. You're the last person he was seen with according to your very cooperative neighbors. Said you brought him into your place at midnight. If I send a unit to your flat, what will they find Makkura? Blood? "

Makkura turned to face Mashiro, licked the crimson smudges off his lips, then brought up one leg, clocking Mashiro in the back of the head with the metal toe of his boot. His twin made a groaning noise and collapsed forward, becoming nothing more than a heavy weight on Makkura's chest. The dark haired man sighed and flipped Mashiro onto the ground instead and sat on his twin's thighs, securing his wrists with his hands.

" How dare ' you ' say that. I gave the kid that black sheet to wear on the subway on his way home. I woke up in the night to the sound of the boy screaming as he was attacked by a gang on my front lawn. Of course if you send a unit over they'll find blood there. I killed every man who touched him. There's a few drops of my landlord's as well. That jerk tried to kill me only a few hours before that because I wouldn't let him have my tail for rent cash. I swear before God Himself that I never harmed a hair on the kid's head. I wrapped his wounds and talked to him about Santa Claus, but I never hurt him, or had any intention to. He said he'd be fine, so I let him go. What happened after that was an unfortunate tragedy. "

Mashiro glared up at him, looking a little dizzied after the strike to the skull as he repeated what he'd said to his commander earlier, " There is no God Makkura, that's why these things happen. Besides, why should I believe you? "

Makkura's eyes flashed brilliant orange as he leaned down nose to nose with Mashiro, which took his twin off guard, " You'll believe me because I know you have truth serum in your pocket, and I volunteer to take some and maintain my innocence. I never hurt children Mashiro. I hate liers and thieves and murderers, but I never lie or steal, and I never ' rape ' children. "

Mashiro's breath came in with a stutter as he felt a growing sense of unease worm its way into the back of his mind. Could he have been wrong? Those eyes were full of things sometimes, anger, frustration, lust, but as far as he knew, and though he hated to admit it, Makkura never lied like he did. Abruptly, he found himself able to breath clearly again and Makkura was sitting a few feet away on crossed legs, staring at him with wariness in his earnest gaze. There was no cheerfulness on that face. He sat up and stretched out his arms and legs. He glared over at his twin for a moment, but after that moment passed, his glare softened.

" You really didn't do it. " It was a statement, not a question.

" I really didn't. " A statement, not an answer.

They sat in silence for a while as Mashiro carefully pondered on Makkura's integrity, and Makkura watched the emotions and thoughts flicker across the man's face, reading him like an open book. Fading from the back of his mind, that song came back to him, and a melody with it, haunting, mournful.

I can only imagine in the depths of some dream
what you might feel like joined with me . . .
Loving me, filling and completing me

Taking what you are and stopping the holes
In my half a heart and the shell of my soul
Use me if you must, abuse me, hurt me,

Just look at me when you beat me down,
So I can see the truth with no lies,
Hidden deep behind your multi-hued eyes,

And maybe if you look at me long enough,
You'll see the truth and the pain in mine,
Aishiteru.

For some reason he found tears coming to his eyes that he had to blink to keep away. Why did Mashiro always have to do this to him. If that cold son of a bint really cared he wouldn't have even chased him to begin with. If they shared any trust at all, which they did, but it was a one way trust, then Mashiro would have known ahead of time and would have called off the other cops. But that wasn't the way it was.

" Shit . . . " he swore quietly, causing Mashiro to raise one brow and stare quizzically at him.

" What? " the cop asked, wondering what in the world was wrong now.

Makkura smiled bitterly, " I'm flat broke, Horus is almost out of gas, my rent is over, I gave my only bedding away, I have no more firewood, my lighter is broken, and it's supposed to be thirty five below tonight. I am more screwed than a turtle on its back in the desert. "

Mashiro made a sour face as his twin began to chuckle, falling back on the grass and folding his arms over his chest. Those chuckles turned into full out laughter as Makkura vented all the pent up frustration that had been aching and gnawing at him since the day before. The pale haired angel quirked a brow, wondering whether the man had any sanity left in his body. That sure was a tough break even for an idiot like Makkura. But tough breaks were what gave people character. Did it matter that Mashiro had never had one? No, it didn't. As those thoughts were running through his head, he realized that Makkura had started humming and was staring up through the trees with a really rediculous grin. Expressing his disgust with a small snort, Mashiro glanced up as well, wondering what his twin was looking at.

Up in the sky the stars were blotted out by massive grey stormclouds. The vapor was whirling viciously and already there was a white fog that signaled that the chilling soul biting snow would be arriving any moment. The air was starting to grow sharp with the smell of the caustic flakes, strong enough to make the sensitive nose tingle with an almost electrical quality. As Mashiro inched a little closer, he could see a few tears freezing on Makkura's cheeks and see words forming on those soft lips, becoming sound and melody in his mind.

I stand in the dark, waiting for light
waiting for your salvation
trudging through the cold fog

If I should make it, would I stand
tall and proud with praise raining
or bow my head in weariness

If I made it would you be there
waiting with bated breath
to strike me down again

And would I start climbing anew
just to see your face
Aishiteru

Makkura glanced to the side, frowning at the mixed emotions on his twin's face, " What, did I do something wrong? "

Mashiro held up his hand, silencing any further words as he averted his eyes to the ground, feeling an alien sense of guilt creeping maddeningly up on him, " Shut up. "

The other man shut up, as directed and just sat with concern written plainly on his face, something that only served to irritated Mashiro even more.

" Where in the world did you come up with that shit? " he demanded petulantly, getting smoothly to his feet.

Makkura blinked, " I made up my mind to start singing again. The words have come back to me, just like before. "

Mashiro's face darkened suddenly and was lit by a rather contemptuous smirk, " Well, they were never any good back then either. Find your own damn way home. "

He was gone in a swirl of white silk and Makkura was left sitting on the moist grass alone. He stared at the empty space where his twin had just been standing, a look of stunned shock on his dusky face.

It started to snow.

~*~

A few days later on Christmas Eve, Mashiro was just getting dinner ready when he heard a knock at the door. Scowling peevishly, he went to answer it, opening the door in one swift movement. The moment he saw who stood there, he had the urge to slam it shut again.

Makkura was on his doorstep, dressed in his usual leather belly shirt and tight leather pants. His hair was done up in a loose braid, tied off and secured at half its length by the same glittering winged skull that stared balefully at him from amongst the bundle of ebony tail. In his twin's hand was a small wrapped box. When he finally raised his eyes to meet Makkura's, he was surprised by how dull and tired they looked. There wasn't a hint of that vibrant sparkle that usually glowed there. There was disappointment, pain, hopelessness. / Pathetic / was the first thought that came to his mind, but it was also accompanied by a small insignificant feeling that might resemble guilt. When the man spoke, his voice was nothing but a choked whisper.

" Merry Christmas Mashiro. "

The box was offered with both hands and Makkura stood with outstretched arms waiting for Mashiro to accept the present. There was an impossibly long pause where Mashiro just stared at him with a blank expression on his face, half inside, half outside. Then, like the gates of heaven closing on him, his twin shook his head and shut the door. Makkura broke down at that moment.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't sorrow. It wasn't confusion really either, although Makkura really did not know what was going on. He'd found his own way home as Mashiro had told him. He had been forced to walk his bike all the way there because some asshole had stripped it of parts and left it as nothing but a frame with a useless engine, only to find that his home was no longer there. The whole lot had been flattened so utterly that he couldn't tell that there was ever anything there. He stood there, in his driveway, for a long time, just staring at the bare ground as the snow fell like cyanide all around, stinging his bare skin wherever it landed. He had seriously considered adopting Mashiro's astheism at that point and cursing God to Hell or whatever evil place there was for planting this on him. The second thing that he considered was killing himself. He honestly wanted to die. All cheery optimism was gone at that point and his heart lay empty and freezerburnt. Was he really such a demon? Did he really deserve this fate? Would it all go away if he just took his sword and ran himself through?

He had wondered about that then, if death would make this any easier. He had decided that, no, it would not. That life was important, no matter how horrible and tortured it was. So he had set out to make a few meager credits in hopes that he could eventually gather enough to get himself a new place. It had been such hard work, constant labor, even in the night. But at least, if he worked in the dark, there would be no need for him to sleep, and then, no need for a house. At the end of that week, he'd put together all his money and gone shopping. He had no idea why, but he had gone Christmas shopping, and once again, had given all his remaining cash to the children around the city. He thought now that he'd done it because that was what he had always done, and there was no sense in changing that. Now here he was, totally helpless, totally frozen, totally pathetic and useless and pouring his heart out in three little words to his twin. And what did Mashiro do? Mashiro slammed the f***ing door on him.

You rip me apart with your tongue
But still I long for the burn
For the feeling that is you

Lift me up I pray, my love
I need nothing more
Even with barbs, lift me to you

For now your scorn is as sweet
As the taste of your mouth
And all I want is you

If the truth is you hate me
Then at least it is the truth
Demo Aishiteru

The stairs of the front porch were cold and unforgiving, but certainly warmer than Makkura's heart at that moment. He fell to them and laid there, sighing a heavy breath with everything he had. From his hand, the small box dropped, sitting like a diamond in the ice. He was feeling so lightheaded. And even though the bite of the frost was right on his skin, he felt a mile away from it, floating high above the horrid streets of the city, above the wood of the stairs he was spread over. He couldn't feel anything below his legs, but somehow that didn't bother him. Who needed to feel anyway? Legs were unimportant. He felt his breath coming in sobs so quiet that they could barely be heard. He reached back, numb fingers touching the handle of one throwing knife, grasping it shakily, drawing it free. A single tear rolling down his cheek, turning to ice before it could finish the trip as he raised his left wrist and the knife in the other hand.

Inside the house, Mashiro was just about to place the pot of boiling water back on the stove when suddenly his whole left arm erupted into brilliant pain. The steel pot clattered to the ground, spilling hot water everywhere as Mashiro gasped soundlessly and cradled his forearm. What the hell was going on? It felt as though someone had just slashed his wrist, like there was blood pouring all down his hand and onto his leg. He stared at his skin, pure and unbroken, but flaming with agony. In his ears a soft plaintive voice whispered, though there was nobody in the house.

" Mashiro. "

His eyes took on a panicked look as he heard the clatter of something metallic falling as clear as a bell from outside. His mind only registered one thing. What has Makkura done to himself? The claws of silent horror ripped through his gut, twisting and wringing his insides, dragging him towards the door as though he were impaled on a huge hook. His right hand clutched at the door handle and wrenched at it, flinging the door wide open and revealing something that made his heart stop cold. His whole body was enveloped in complete nausea for a brief moment and it made him stagger against the doorframe, still holding his untouched wrist to his stomach. Then even that support seemed to drop away and he was on his knees next to his twin on the ice covered stairs.

Makkura gazed calmly up at him, wondering why there was so much fear in his twin's eyes. Wasn't he happy? Wouldn't he be glad that Makkura was dieing now? Wasn't it grand that Makkura would never screw up his life again? Surely it be better this way, for both of them, if Makkura was out of Mashiro's life for good. He had always wanted to see Mashiro smile. So if Mashiro was supposed to be happy, then why wasn't he smiling?

The wounded assassin dragged himself to a sitting position and reached out his good hand, gently laying it on Mashiro's pale cheek. Mashiro stared back, motionless, powerless, in complete shock from both the sight of dark garnet blood flooding from the gaping slash in Makkura's left wrist, and from the mirror pain in his own. It was only when Makkura finally collapsed to the stairs in a cold faint that he finally regained the ability to move again.

~*~

The wind was whistling in the trees, turning into frenzied howls every now and then as the storm that had whirled up took out its fury. Those on the streets were all cowered into the homes shivering in fright. The lights were swinging, poles were screeching, and wires whined as though they were being strummed by the hand of the winds. Everywhere there were tree branches and bushes and pieces of newpaper flying sporadically, whirling and dancing on the pavement of the empty sidewalks. There was nobody daring enough to drive, for even vehicles were being blown all over the roads. Through all this, Mashiro ran, holding Makkura in his arms.

The district hospital was not very far away, only about ten minutes worth of solid running. Mashiro was pretty fast, fast enough to make a swirl of snow in his wake as he raced through the streets. There weren't any people out to get in his way, and that suited him fine, but when a massive gust nearly lifted him off his feet, he ducked briefly into an alleyway for shelter. On any normal day, he would taken his jeep, but his jeep was in for repairs stemming from recent bridge clearing events, and so had been unavailable at the critical time. Considering this, he would have even opted for Makkura's usual mode of travel, the rooftops, although he feared heights. However, while the winds were tearing through the alleys and around buildings, causing him a minor amount of trouble, they would have swept him right off the tar had he climbed a fire escape.

" I hope you appreciate this you dumb f***! " Mashiro growled at his unconscious twin as he darted back out into the raging snow and sleet.

He rounded a corner and was greeted by a huge wet splash of slush which soaked him down to the core. Snarling in pure unbridled fury, he charged forward against the rush of cold wetness, knowing that the haven of the hospital was only half a block away. Once he reached those doors, he found that any remainding strength he had just leaked away in the face of his intense relief. He bashed the doors open with his bare foot and marched in, leaving slushy puddles in his wake as he approached the front desk.

" Do something about this, damnit! " he demanded of the nervous woman, glancing urgently at his, still bleeding twin.

The poor girl cringed and became quite flustered as she rushed about the room trying to call up a nurse, or a doctor or someone to take a new patient. There were already people in the waiting room, but they were hardly as injured as Makkura. Besides, almost everyone knew of Mashiro, recognizing him by the alarmingly large handgun hanging from a silver belt around his waist and his flowing ivory hair. Nobody was brave enough to challenge him when he was so upset. There were people however, who thought that this spectacle was a bit odd. Seeing Salvations's most sucessful cop dragging an unconscious dark haired man, who happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to him, into a hospital, was unusual to say the least. There was a sour looking fellow there who just looked on cynically, then picked up his cellphone.

Eventually, a small team of doctors arrived in a big hurry, bustling about with a gurney. They immediately recognized Mashiro as well and groaned. The man had quite the reputation in hospitals, and it wasn't a very good one. Makkura was carefully lifted from Mashiro's arms and laid on the stretcher, his hastily wrapped hand elevated with much care. However, when they started to roll him off, Mashiro followed, ignoring the protests of nurses and doctors. They wheeled Makkura all the way down the hallway and into emergency, then attempted to halt the pale haired cop at the door, with much difficulty of course.

" What the . . .? Hey! Let me go! " Mashiro protested, trying to throw off the attendants who were trying to reason with him in a nice manner.

Suddenly someone firmly grabbed his shoulder. Mashiro made a furious snarling noise and whirled, decking the unfortunate man right in the middle of the face. In the same instant, upon instinct alone, his hand went to the weapon in its holster at his waist and drew it out, aiming it menacingly at the man who was writhing in pain on the tile floor. He was breathing hard, obviously traumatized and completely out of patience. It appeared that he had been accosted by a group of reporters. He hated reporters, even on good days.

" Nibuki-san . . . " one man began, hesitantly approaching the volatile angel, " Who is that man you brought in? Can you tell us what hap-- --

" F*** OFF! "

Mashiro scowled and raised the gun, systematically putting two large bullet holes in each of the three video cameras, and one in each of the handheld ones. All the journalists scattered like frightened mice, retreating to the far corners of the room, away from the homicidal man. Once he was satisfied that the stupid reporters were suitably cowed, Mashiro returned the gun to its place, angrily punched out an innocent male nurse for no particular reason, then sat against a white stucco column, an expression of complete and utter chagrin on his pale face.

He'd driven men to kill themselves before. He'd backed criminals onto the edge of buildings, cliffs, and bridges, badgered and threatened them, then watched with a small amount of glee as they jumped to their deaths. It was his right as a cop, his hobby and pastime, and his entertainment as well. If there was any room in prisons, he might consider being more diplomatic in his arrests. But there wasn't any room, so he figured screw the bastards. They didn't deserve a trial. However, Makkura . . . well, he'd thought differently about his twin before. He'd subconsciously filed Makkura into that area of annoying nonimportant slobs where he put all of the other criminals. He had thought that his dislike of the man had been caused by any number of small quirks. However, when he felt the stab of pain lance up his forearm, the first thing that came to his mind was his twin. And when he'd opened that door, after being drawn there by some force, his heart had stopped at the sight of Makkura laying prone on his steps with dark precious blood pouring from that critical gash. Those eyes had been so dull, so lifeless, so devoid of hope. And that burnished caramel skin had turned so pale . . . that for a second, he almost saw himself.

" Don't even think about it. " he warned a daring young reporter who was creeping up on him with a borrowed camera.

The man froze, confused as to how he had been noticed. Out of nowhere, the muzzle of a gun poked around the edge of the pillar and a shot fired off blindly, striking the small digital device and sending it exploding out of his hands. He shrieked and ran back to his cohorts, appropriately punished. All Mashiro was worried about was Makkura, and he didn't want any stupid new articles linking the two of them together. That would be bad news for the freelance assassin, and horrible news for Mashiro. If the press found out about this event, or were able to get pictures, then he knew that trouble would arise.

An hour later, the tenacious journalists had called in about a dozen more men for backup and were armed briefly with new cameras for a moment before Mashiro noticed and shot them out as well, littering the ground with broken pieces of plastic and small gears. They quickly learned that getting pictures was out of the question, and so resorted to getting a simple story. However, that failed as well when Mashiro caught two of them trying to sneak into the emergency ward and took out their legs with a single well placed bullet. He knew that he wouldn't get in trouble. There wasn't a man in his line of work who didn't despise the press. Frankly it didn't bother him either. He wasn't a very moral man.

Another hour later, and two coffees and bullet reloads for Mashiro, the doctor finally came out of the emergency room and asked for him. Mashiro leapt to his feet and so did all of the reporters who streamed forward for a piece of dialogue, only to be frightened away by the irritated cop who wielded his sword instead and sliced up a few garments as a warning. By this time, the waiting room had pretty much emptied of all the sane casualties and only consisted of the cruising news sharks and the pale haired man they hunted. The doctor had a reassuring smile on his face though and calmly patted Mashiro on the shoulder.

" He's going to be alright. The bleeding has been stopped and the wound bandaged. However, I find it strange. He exhibits miraculous healing capabilities. By the time we got around to sewing up the wound, it had already started to pull itself together. Do you have any knowledge of why this is? "

Mashiro rolled his eyes, " Um, no I have no idea why that is. You know Makkura, he's just a really astounding guy. "

" That's too bad. You can come with me to see him now if you like. I am sure you are very worried. People seldom believe a doctor when they say a patient will be alright. Please . . . it's this way. " the doctor motioned to the left where the door to the elevators stood open.

Mashiro sent a backwards glare at the group of camera deprived homewreckers mulling about like lost lambs in the forum, then bluntly told the doctor to lead the way, and followed placidly behind into the elevator. On their way up, he stared intently at the brushed steel plates of the elevator box and sighed wearily.

" If you see any of those goons daring to come up to bother Makkura, you make sure you stop them like you stopped me. Do you understand Doctor? I want someone to watch over him if I have to leave. " The look in the cop's eyes made it obvious that there would be no negotiating.

The doctor nodded, understanding completely. He knew what kind of damage had been sustained, physically and emotionally, and he knew that the patient would not want to be bombarded by anyone asking a million questions. Suicide attempts were very serious. He led Mashiro to a lonely room at the very end of the hall and allowed him to enter. He figured that he'd leave them alone for a while. Besides, he had to go and take the necessary precautions and call in a few more angels to rid the hospital of the obsessive little press junkies that were blocking the entrances and waylaying the nurses and doctors from their duties. The room would be kept a secret, allowed to be recorded only on his personal file.

Mashiro waited until the kind doctor was gone, then closed and locked the door behind him, drawing the small window shade. When he turned, he allowed his breath to rush out in a very heavy huff of relief. Makkura was there, all draped in white and looking terribly out of place. His color seemed to have returned and his breathing was deep and even again. Mashiro searched for, and pulled up, a chair and sat down beside the bed, reaching out a hand to lay on his twin's forehead. It was still a little cool, but not half as deathly chill and pale as before. He brushed a few strands of wet bangs out of the man's face and in doing so, unwittingly found himself feeling rather warm and content. He couldn't believe that he was actually glad of Makkura's escape. The blame was his, he had accepted that, and the fact that he would have a great deal of apologizing to do once the other man awoke, had not escaped him.

Gently, Mashiro eased the blankets down a ways, checking on the bandaging of Makkura's left wrist. There was not a spot of blood there, evidence that the doctors had done a stand up job. His hand drifted downward, gingerly brushing across the smooth leather that hid Makkura's chest. The light contact made the man's brows crease a little and a bleeping machine in the background increased its noise, lines zig zagging across its screen. Mashiro blinked and leaned forward a little bit in his seat, running his fingers feather-light over to the other side and tracing a small pattern on the taut muscle that lay under that tight shirt. He smiled a little as that muscle jumped in response, seeming to bite back or something. Once again the heart meter increased its pace.

" You always were sensitive Makkura. " Mashiro commented softly, not without the smallest hint of bitterness in his voice.

The sound seemed to rouse the unconscious assassin and Makkura stirred a little, then blinked open his eyes, glancing around with wonderment. Mashiro jerked back his hands instantly, blushing. The other man caught sight of him that instant and an expression of perturbed bewilderment washed across his tawny face.

" What are you doing in Hell Mashiro? " Makkura asked, looking around the room with great puzzlement as though he had no idea what was going on.

Mashiro just stared cooly at his twin, " Hell is it now? I thought it was a hospital. "

" Well it's certainly not Heaven. " Makkura's sea blue eyes saddened, turning to woeful indigo, " I don't deserve Heaven. "

That struck a chord with the cop, " What makes you think that? "

Makkura's face saddened even more, but he ignored that comment and just stared at the ceiling. There was silence for the longest time. He felt light and fragile, like the smallest impact might shatter him into a million pieces. Strangely, he wanted to be hit. He had wanted to die. He had wanted it to be over, the pain, the torture, the loneliness of every day, and the killing. Makkura never told anyone what it was like to look into the eyes of a doomed man. Telling Mashiro would have just rewarded him with a derisive sneer as always. Why was he alive? Why was he not dead in cool painless solitude wherever he was destined?

" You brought me here . . . why? "

" You were bleeding to death, maybe? That's a good reason. " Mashiro shot back, caustically glaring.

Makkura's expression did not change, but he seemed to wilt before Mashiro's eyes, " I wanted to die, Mashiro. Why did you stop it? "

The cop opened his mouth to say something, but found that no words came to his lips. He wanted to have a reason. He knew he had one, but he had no idea what that was. Why had he brought Makkura here? Thinking logically, he supposed that it had been just instinct. If it had been any other man commiting suicide, Mashiro would have just ignored him and let him die, being the uncaring and cold-hearted bastard that he knew he was. Maybe it had been the pain he felt, or the look in his twin's eyes that had made him pick the man up and drag him through the storm. Whatever it was, it was done and there was no sense in trying to analyze it.

" Suicide is the coward's way out. Is that what you wanted Makkura? " Mashiro said finally, " You're not the only one who was hurt by that. I felt it you know. "

Makkura glanced over at his twin, wide-eyed, " What? "

Frowning, Mashiro held up his left arm and pointed to his wrist, dragging his fingers across the vital veins, " You cut right here, I felt it. How do you think I knew? I wasn't looking out the window. It hurt me too, you selfish jerk. "

Makkura winced and averted his eyes. He had caused his twin pain? He had actually hurt him with his actions? His eyes suddenly burned with tears and he squeezed them tight to block them away, not wanting to be seen crying like a small scolded child. However, the more he thought about it, the more tears came and eventually he just brought up one hand to cover his face in shame. How could he? He had only wanted to make Mashiro happy by getting out of his way for good. He'd only wanted him to be happy again, and he had wanted to be happy too. He wasn't happy when he upset Mashiro, and he always managed to do so no matter how hard he tried not to. Makkura had to admit, that he hadn't really had that sort of clear reasoning at the time, but his reasons had been obvious enough to give him the notion. Across the bed, he could feel Mashiro's gaze fixed on him, and could almost see the frown on his fair lips.

Mashiro stared at his twin's shaking form with a small amount of concern. What was the matter with him? Why in the world was he sobbing like that? What did Makkura honestly have to be sad about? Then he remembered. Yeah, Makkura had had tough breaks lately. Maybe something else had happened between the time he had last seen his twin and the moment Makkura had arrived on his doorstep. Maybe there were things he didn't know. That made him wonder, just what could have been so horrible that it had made that cheerful, bouyant man so depressed that he attempted to end his life? Well, a hospital room was no place for any discussion. He rose to his feet, standing as stately as possible, though in reality, his stoic soul was slowly being crushed into doubt.

" Get up, we're going home. " he stated in such a way that any incoming protests were instantly squashed.

Makkura sniffled a little, wiped his tears briskly away with his good hand and wordlessly sat up, shoulders slouched as an indication of just how much strength he really had left. He disconnected all the little nodes and the IV, calmly slid to the ground and attempted to stand, only to feel the rush of dizziness accompanying loss of blood overwhelm him. He made a sighing sort of noise as he went down, expecting to hit the floor with bruising impact. He was puzzled when that impact did not happen. Actually, he felt as though he was being held. Weakly, he opened one eye, staring into the expressive gaze of his twin, who seemed to be very irritated with him. Well, that was nothing new, but it still made his heart twist, wringing out what was left of his happy charitable nature. He was left cold, empty, and in every way save physical, Dead.

Mashiro said nothing more as he gathered his twin's weight into his arms, noting that Makkura made no move to acknowledge the fact that he was being forcibly removed from his hospital bed. It seemed that the man didn't notice anything at all. He ferried Makkura down the hall and to the farthest set of elevators. He hardly wanted to risk running into those stupid reporters again. When they got home, they could have a nice heated discussion about this incident. When they got home.

It was a very long jog back to Mashiro's house, seeming much harder now that Mashiro's adrenalin had run itself out. The storm had worsened and now threatened to tear him right off his feet when he was in the open. Intersections were Hell, and he didn't even dare to cross the park. Mashiro stuck to the alleys and sideroads, ignoring the curious gazes of the destitute who were struggling to hold on to their refridgerator box homes. He finally reached the drive way and as he was ascending the front steps, he stopped cold again at the sight of the black stains frozen into the snow and ice. It formed a sort of waterfall down from the top step to the bottom, dark and scintilating. For a moment, that was all he could see, then he tore his gaze away, shook his head, and vowed to melt it away with some nice hot water the next day. He noticed as he continued in, that the wrapped gift was still a glittering jewel against the snow, sitting all alone on the stoop. He bent awkwardly to pick it up.

Mashiro pushed open the unlocked door with one foot and trudged in with his burden, automatically kicked his sandles off and pulling the door back shut after him, this time locking it. Makkura was perfectly still and silent in his arms as he carried the man through the various rooms of the house and up the stairs. When he glanced down at his twin, he found that Makkura was leaning on his arm and gazing up at him with alarmingly lifeless eyes. He'd never seen a man with so inexpressive a face before. Strangely, it made a wedge of something vaguely resembling sorrow worm into his heart.

He stalked into his room and laid Makkura down on his bed with a gentleness that surprised him, and deposited the box on the bedside table. His twin lay motionless where he was placed, still observing Mashiro with those unnervingly empty slate blue eyes. Mashiro found that he could no longer tolerate that gaze and turned his back with a huff. It was too honest, too painful to look upon. From behind him, he could hear Makkura's soft steady breathing, and even that served to enhance the frown on his face.

" Alright, now there are no doctors to walk in on us. You tell me straight, why the hell did you choose my damn front steps to kill yourself on? Why couldn't you just run off somewhere else and do it? " Mashiro demanded, glaring caustically over his shoulder.

Makkura blinked once, a movement that seemed rediculously slow, " I couldn't go anywhere else. I was too weak. "

Mashiro whirled and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and rethought his reply, " Fine fine, so you decided to slit your wrists on my front step. Why in the world did you want to do that? "

The other man shifted his gaze to regard the brushed steel panels of the ceiling, " I wanted you to be happy. I thought I could make you smile by getting out of your way forever. If you hate me so much, I am better off dead where I can't make you angry anymore. I don't understand why you didn't just let me go. Why did you bring me back, just so you can torture me again? "

" What do you mean torture? What the hell is wrong with you? You think I would be happy if you died? You really are a selfish ass. I can't believe you . . . Don't you dare make me responsible for your suicide. " Mashiro's glare was audible in his voice as well as visible, " I brought you back because I didn't want your death to be my fault. Believe me, that last thing I want to do is sit here and look after you, but if I don't, you'll probably go and try again. I'm starting to regret saving your ass actually. "

The assassin's face darkened and his eyes misted over slightly as tears leapt to them again, unbidden. He let out a shaky breath and swiflty banished the tremble from his hands. It would do no good to be weak and pathetic now. But honestly, after all this, did it matter what Mashiro thought of him? He was already despised. How much worse could it get? Not much, and if it did, then perhaps his twin would just put him out of his misery. In a way, he had wished that was the way it could be. He'd always wanted to die in someone's arms.

" Please . . . " Makkura's voice was a sob now, " Just put me outside and leave me like some unwanted animal. Tell me the truth and I'll freeze to death happily. "

The skin of Makkura's left cheek flashed in brilliant pain as Mashiro slapped him roughly across the face, " You are fucked up, you know that?! Why are you so fixed on me, damnit?! "

The dark haired twin's breath fluttered out in a rueful chuckle as he rubbed at his stinging cheek, " I don't know, Mashiro. You certainly don't deserve it. "

This time Mashiro latched onto Makkura's collar and hauled him to his feet completely. There was a few moments of blinding pain and Makkura came back to reality on the floor, suffering a dizzying headache with his furiously snarling twin perched on his waist. He wasn't surprised to see a gun barrel pressed to his forehead. He crossed his eyes to stare at it for a moment, then down its length at the very volatile man wielding it. A wistful smile crept back onto his face, as though the concept was somehow amusing in a far off way.

" Want to blow my brains out, huh? Well I don't blame you. " Makkura raised his useable hand and took hold of the barrel of Mashiro's pistol, easing it downwards to rest on his gently heaving chest, " But I'd rather you shoot me here. You'd probably prefer to mop up blood, than get down on your knees and scrape away grey matter, I bet. "

Mashiro just stared at Makkura as the man awkwardly utilized his bandaged hand to unzip the front of his leather shirt, revealing a scarred expanse of dusky chest to contrast the stark silver of the gun's muzzle. He seriously considered the idea, but found that his desire to do so rapidly faded in the face of his twin's calm acceptance. He knew that it was exactly what Makkura wanted. It angered him, pissed him right off. It made him want to pick that bastard up and knock his ass around the room until the walls were splattered in crimson. Normally he would have no qualms about doing that, but for some reason knowing that Makkura would just bounce back and ask him to finish it, made him reluctant. Did he really want Makkura to die? Would it hurt to tell him he didn't?

" What are you waiting for Mashiro? Do it . . . just kill me and get it over with, before I do it myself. I won't fail a second time. " Makkura said quietly, reaching up to loop his finger through the trigger guard next to Mashiro's, " Don't you want this as much as I do? "

" No . . . " Mashiro was surprised by now bitter he sounded, " I obviously don't want it as much as you do. Tell me again. Why do you want it Makkura? "

The other man gazed softly up from the floor, a perfect picture of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, what he loved, hated, and wished for. Mashiro felt an edge of fright just looking into those eyes and seeing the sincerity. He knew that Makkura didn't lie, and that meant that whatever his twin said, would be utterly true. If he didn't pull the trigger, then Makkura would. He knew he couldn't keep an eye on him forever. Someday he would leave for only a moment, and return to find Makkura laying dead with that honest smile on his face. The thought of it all made him sick, but he prepared himself for the words to come anyway.

" I want it because I am completely useless, worthless, and pathetic. To you, to everyone. There isn't a person in this world who wants or needs me. All I ever do is make you angry. All you ever do is hurt me because of that. I tried in the beginning to get close to you, only to be pushed away ruthlessly. I didn't understand then, why you did it. I thought that with time, I could convince you that I wasn't the jerk you thought I was. I worked hard at any job I could find to get enough money for your Christmas gift, even though my house got trashed, and my bike was stripped. When you shut the door on me, I guess it finally occured that even if I tried my hardest, you would still hate me. There is nothing in the world I need except for you. Without that, there is no point to living. I truly have nothing else. That's why I just want to go. Wherever my soul ends up, I only hope that I'm not lonely there anymore. " Makkura's voice was a choked whisper by the time he finished and he went totally limp, as though he had poured every last ounce of himself into that confession.

The pale haired cop looked on, stunned. It took many minutes before the impact of his twin's words finally hit him, and then it was like a tangible blow. The gun dropped from his numbed fingers, clattering to the floor noisily. He found his chest hitching in sobs of his own as he collapsed to the side and leaned on the soft sheets of the bed for support. For the first time since he could remember, he felt completely and utterly sinful to the core. For as long as he had lived, he had committed hundreds of crimes in the name of he law without feeling the slightest hint of guilt. Now he was so overrun by it, he felt that he was drowning. Dimly, he felt Makkura slip from under him and gather him into the warm comforting embrace of his arms.

" Don't cry . . . please don't. You don't know how much it hurts to watch you. "

Mashiro's hands knotted into the soft leather of Makkura's open shirt and he just clung, tears running in crystal trickles down his pale cheeks. He couldn't stop them, no matter how he blinked them away. Strangely, he didn't care. Normally he would have been disgusted with himself for crying in front of anyone, especially Makkura, but now he knew that he had to. The warmth and closeness of his twin's body was a physical thing, curling close to him, right against his skin like a blanket of comfort. Soon he realized that his eyes had dried and that he was snugly nestled against Makkura's chest.

" Are you ok now? " Makkura's voice was actually a soft, welcome sound, something that caused Mashiro to blink uncertainly.

" I think so . . . " the other man replied, looking astonished as he wiped his face on his silky sleeves.

Makkura just observed him warily, wondering what had sparked this very sudden, very unusual change. He was still stunned himself, from recent events, and was having a hard time believing in reality when he was trapped in a situation full on the unreal. On impulse, he lightly dragged one hand up Mashiro's back and gently rubbed the rough pad of his thumb across his twin's fair cheek. He felt the pain in his wrist suddenly dull, along with his headache and the pain from being slapped and hit one too many times. Mashiro's eyes never left his, and for once, they were full of bright awareness, completely pure and honest. This was too good to be true, but strangely, he wanted to believe in it. He desperately yearned for the reality that he pictured in his mind, where the only thing he loved more than life itself was finally his. There was doubt gnawing at his mind, and yet all he wanted to do was make the best of this moment before it shattered like brittle glass.

" You made me cry . . . " Mashiro said softly, finally able to drag his gaze away as his face reflected an expression of awe and mild chagrin.

" I"m sorry. " the dark haired twin withdrew his touch and just sat miserably again, disappointed that his moment had ended so quickly.

" Don't be . . . "

Makkura glanced at the other man, perplexed, " What? "

Mashiro gingerly picked up Makkura's bandaged hand and cradled it close in nervous parody of caring concern, " Don't be sorry. It's nothing to apologize for. I've made you cry so many times . . . we won't ever be even. I practically killed you, so I'm the one who will have to make it up to you. "

His twin instantly jerked his hand back, mortified, " You don't have to feel obligated to me. It was my own fault, and my own choice. I don't blame you for this, I blame myself. "

Frowning, Mashiro curled his fingers into a fist, reconsidered, then raised his hand and poked his twin in the forehead with one index finger, " I don't care what you think. If I want to apologize, I will and there's nothing you can do about it. "

That took Makkura aback and he just sat in ruffled silence, unable to come up with a suitable protest. It was true, Mashiro did what he wanted regardless of what anyone else thought. That included him. Although, even though he was likely to be verbally torn apart, beaten down, and psychologically flattened, he didn't mind as long as Mashiro considered him at least worthy of the attention. It was sad, he knew it. He knew he had serious issues, but he hardly cared. He regarded his twin as a cure for all issues. As long as he had that, then he would be alright. At the moment, he wasn't sure what was going on. He had been sure that he had lost all hope for living, that the other man had totally and completely rejected him, but now things had changed somehow. The way Mashiro was looking at him, with all that undiminished boldness, was different than before. All that he ever saw on Mashiro's sweet lips was a derisive frown. And even though he was still frowning, it was an expression of challenge.

" Fine . . . " Makkura sighed, drawing his pale twin close enough to feel the warm breeze of his breath, " You do whatever you want, but don't expect an apology to fix things. Words can't change the way I feel. No matter what you say to me, I will always know that you have a tendency to insincerity. "

Mashiro blinked, then scowled venomously, feeling quite nettled. Makkura might as well have just said, ' don't bother saying sorry you lieing bastard. ' He noted the uneasiness that washed over his twin's features and almost immediately, his anger paled and he relaxed. No, intolerance on his part would only make things worse. He had to understand before he went and opened his mouth, for fear that something poisonous might come out and harm his fragile twin even further. Looking at the situation from a far off perspective, he noticed that he was unpleasantly close to making Makkura's welfare his personal concern.

" Ok . . . " Mashiro took a deep breath and slowly worked out his words, " Ok I realize I wasn't always ' truthful ' with you, considering your view as to what ' truthful ' is, but I can't think of any other way to rectify this. What the hell am I supposed to do? "

Makkura observed the confusion in the cop's bright amber eyes and he too stood back and took a look at the moment. He was seeing two roads. The first, on which he continued down his current path and persued his own death in hopes that it would better Mashiro's life, and end his own tortured lonliness. Then there was the second, dark and shrouded with uncertain shadows. To take the one in which the goal was clear and concise, or to turn down the darker one and see if there really was a light at the end of the tunnel. It was obvious that there was only one chance to make this decision. His brow creased a little with the effort involved in making such a choice, then his face softened as he pointed to the glittery box laying alone on the table, the box that represented everything that he owned, was, and wanted to be.

" Open it. If you open that box . . . I'll swear that I will never try to kill myself again. It's much more than just lifting off the lid . . . or you could shut the door on me again. Then I can't guarantee what I'll do. "

Mashiro's eyes flitted from Makkura's face, to the box, and back. There was more meaning in those words than he cared to think about. And once again, he was reminded that his twin never lied. God knew how he had gotten to this point. For the longest time, he had been steady and consistant in his dislike of Makkura, now suddenly, he was trapped in the crosshairs of guilt and conviction. Makkura's life, his future, hung in the balance, as as much as he had convinced himself that he didn't care, he couldn't allow himself to be disillusioned any more. In one smooth movement, he got to his feet and went to the bedside, pulled back the sheets, then went to lift a startled, yet still expectant Makkura up and into the bed like a child. His twin's calm cerulean eyes were fixed on him, and it seemed that for once, Makkura was not sure what he would do.

Mashiro set his face into an impassive expression, reached down to pick up the box, then threw himself gracelessly on the bed. He landed on his stomach and went about dismembering the packaging of the gift. Makkura's eyes grew wider and wider as each fold was removed and filled with anticipation as his twin's delicate fingers lifted the top from the box, revealing what was inside. Laying on a bed of purple cotton fluff was a silver pendant, about the size of the pad of one thumb and round in shape. It was strung on a long silver chain made up of strong, thick oval loops. Mashiro's mouth fell open at the sight of the glowing trinket and he was almost afraid he would somehow harm it as he gently picked it up and laid it in his palm. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the pendant's surface, the thing popped open, revealing its true nature as a locket. The pale twin felt a sense of something genuinely warm and fuzzy growing inside as he stared at the pictures inside, one of himself, and one of Makkura. Caught on camera, his twin's calm gentle smile was beautiful, and his eyes almost as captivating as in real life. Tears once again threatened his eyes, but he blinked them back, stubbornly refusing to allow them freedom.

" May I put it on you? "

Mashiro glanced up, almost startled by Makkura's voice, then to his shock, felt a twinge of embarrassment, " I . . . I can't wear it . . . I didn't get anything for you . . . . "

Makkura chuckled ruefully and shuffled closer, rumpling the sheets as he carefully took the pendant from his twin's fingers and strung it between his hands, " Don't worry about that. "

The chain's length was a welcome coolness around Mashiro's throat as Makkura attempted clumsily with his wrapped hand to work the clasp of the necklace. Eventually, after several tries, he got the chain to mind him and he pulled away and regarded the glittering bauble with a smile of satisfaction, a smile that he had not worn for a long time. Mashiro's eyes were fixed on the bedsheets, glowing with repressed emotion. That was no good.

" Don't feel bad. The only thing I wanted this Christmas, was to see you wear it. Even after everything that has happened, that's still the only thing I want. " Makkura's voice was subdued, but sounded just as sweet and endearing as always.

Damn Makkura for being such a romantic. Mashiro's eyes lifted from the material of the sheet to meet the other man's gaze. At that instant, his whole outlook underwent a complete overhaul and he almost trembled with the shock of it. The urge to do something, to laugh, to cry, to shout, or to spend the rest of the night in blank silence, just contemplating, assailed him. He realized that the only thing he really wanted to do, was reach out and hold Makkura close, and he did. Although instead of pulling his twin to him, he crept forward and slid his arms around the assassin's waist, sighing contendedly. Makkura, knowing better, did not question this.

" I feel like singing . . . . " Makkura commented with a notably sad smile as he leaned back and laid his head on the plush softness of the pillows, " You make me want to, you know. You make me want to do a lot of things. "

Mashiro raised his head and regarded the dark haired man with a hint of puzzlement, " Oh? like what? Hopefully not suicide. "

Surprisingly, Makkura just chuckled good-heartedly, " I promised I wouldn't . . . I . . . just feel like loving you. "

A contemptuous snort, " I don't know why you'd want to. You said before . . . I don't deserve it. "

" Whatever happened before, whatever I said and did, it was stupid. If you can try to forget, than so can I, but I can't do it on my own. "

Mashiro rolled his eyes and snorted, " Whatever . . . . "

" Just like you always are. " Makkura chuckled and reached down his injured hand to thread the fingers through his twin's silky hair.

Mashiro became quiet as he closed his eyes and laid still, getting used to the feeling of having someone so close, which had never been a welcome sensation until now. Usually he had a three foot rule, and anyone who violated it was diced or shot. But here, stretched out on his belly across the fine silks of the bed, getting a nice bit of petting was nice. The notion that really Makkura wasn't that bad, crept into his head. Actually, he wasn't, and hadn't, ever been sure of why he disliked him. His twin was kind, honest, and compassionate to almost everyone. Although Makkura swore, smoked, and was occasionally a little bit of a romeo, Mashiro could not find any truly bad qualities there. If anything, he himself was the horrid one. He was merciless, cruel, and a downright bitch. He killed innocent people without batting an eye, disregarded his coworkers, disregarded his poor twin, and generally acted like your average jerk. Maybe he had detested Makkura for the longest time, because he wished he could be like that. Maybe he had only been a little green around the edges.

The storm was still raging outside when Mashiro finally nodded off to sleep, too lazy to move from his place to do his usual night-time things. Makkura propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at the other man. In the cold light of the room, his twin's milky skin glowed with a dim gentle light, softening the hard look of the cop's face and making them seem more alike than ever. Those thick dark lashes rested lightly on Mashiro's cheeks, seeming as delicate as a butterfly wing. Every now and then, Mashiro would make a quiet sleeping sound and fidget in his sleep. It made Makkura smile. He'd never seen his twin sleeping before.

" You think your such a badass . . . " Makkura began in a whisper, smoothing a glossy length of pale silver hair out of Mashiro's face, " . . . but when you sleep, you look peaceful. "

The dark haired assassin, snuggled closer to the warm creature spread languidly over the sheets like a lounging feline and stared out the window at the clouds roiling angrily. If it hadn't been for his twin saving his foolish life, then he would have died out there and never lived to see the sun rise above the clouds in the morning. He admitted that he liked storms, found them very fascinating actually, but he preferred to look at them from the safety of home, and not be out in them. For the first time in a month or even two, he felt warm, almost too warm. However, the sweat that was breaking out on his tanned skin was much better, in his opinion, than being trapped outside in the bone gnawing cold. He never wanted to leave this place, so he could just gaze forever at his twin's calm placid face.

Mashiro grumbled something and shifted as Makkura gently laid his arm around the man's silk clad shoulders and settled into the softness of the bed again. Across the bed covers, their hair became twined together in a loose black and white whirl. Sighing heavily and cradling his wrist between himself and his twin, Makkura let his eyes slip closed and prayed that he would never awaken from this dream.