Natilion Frebren returns to her flat three hours after everyone else left the HQ and throws her weapons case down on the sofa as she passes it on the way to her room. Soon she’s in baggy jeans and a baggy sweat shirt, and she chucks a careless look into the kitchen before she flops into a sagging armchair which looks horrible but is just sooo… comfortable…

Soon she’s asleep, her head fallen to the side slightly as she slumbers, lost in dreams as her whole body relaxes and she enjoys the feel of just being alone in her own home, but then in the next second she’s on her feet again and although still half in a daze, she has her hands up in front of her face, ready to fight.

“Good.” He says approvingly, and she swears sleepily. “You’re sleeping lighter, that’s good. You need to be able to snap to consciousness faster…but that can only come after practise…”

“Did you come over for any other reason other than spoil my nap?” she drops back in her armchair and yawns. “You know I have work later tonight…I’d like some sleep before it…”

“Forgot to go to the shop. There’s no chops or meat of any kind in my flat.” He shrugs and heads off into her kitchen, and she doesn’t follow him. He’s her father after all, he can look after himself. “I don’t even have any bacon!” he calls through the hallway and she rolls her eyes, trying to get comfortable in the armchair again.

“Make yourself at home.” She grumbles. “But leave me to sleep!”

He enters the room again and kicks her foot to get her attention. “You could be in a situation where you don’t get to sleep properly for a week.” He warns, pointing a pack of chops at her. “You’re getting to the stage where they’re liable to send you out on one of those bush patrols,” he was in the very same military force as she was and had been for most of his life, that was why he knew quite a bit more than she did and how she had been found by then anyway, she had been bred into it. “and if you run into trouble you could be on your toes for a month! That’s if you’re lucky. Hard to sleep with grenades falling through your tent roof at all hours of the night. Can I have these?”

She waved him away, nodding even though she knew by the time she woke up she wouldn’t have any eggs nor chops, nor bread probably thanks to him. She was used to his ramble on about how hard her job could get in the next minute, and she also didn’t really care. Not when she wanted sleep anyway.

“I heard that bloody Tenyard is relocating back here.” Seth called from the kitchen, speaking of he who had been his rival for most of his life until his wife had died and he’d moved away from everything to escape the memories. “Bloody pansy…found England to rough for him!”

Natilion, known to everyone as Nat (only her parents ever called her Natilion, and that was only when she was in trouble) grunted in reply and held a pillow over her head, bracing herself as she heard her father approach and then kick it off.

“He has kids you know.” He obsessed. “Older than you, I think.” He fixed a glare on his daughter as if it was her fault she hadn’t been born sooner. Well, …she had been a few weeks late, but she was pretty sure he was hoping for a year or two of age difference here.

“So?” Nat groaned, snatching the pillow up from the ground again. “Go do your cooking, old man, and let me relax while I can…”

“No! You have to be on edge! His kids are in the same work we are. They’ll be carrying down the rivalry a generation as well you know, you have to be on your toes.” Seth glanced from side to the side, as if to check no one else was around already. “They’ll be out to get you.” He hissed. “Just like old Liam will be after me…”

“I think work’s made you a bit paranoid there old Seth.” Nat patted his shoulder in a condescending way as she got to her feet. It was clear she wouldn’t get any peace until he left, so she may as well work. “Think we should schedule you in for a CAT scan? Might’ve taken a knock to the head last week.” She smirked at him teasingly, wrapping her hands up in ropes that hung from the grate in the roof in the corner of her flat and heaved herself upwards using her arms only, sticking her tongue out at her father as he glared at her.

“…I think you’re getting it too easy at work.” Seth replied finally, his arms folded across his chest despite the knife he held in one hand. “I might have a talk to Mitch about making things more hectic for you there…”

“Good.” Nat shrugged as she lowered herself down again, then up slowly to make her muscles strain and strengthen, “It’s getting a bit boring there anyway.” She called at her fathers back as he ventured back into the kitchen to see how his dinner was going. He had always been a fair cook, but only if he kept his head to it and didn’t let himself get distracted.

She counted to fifty more before she let herself drop to the floor and join her father in the kitchen, cracking open a stubby of beer for him as she took over the cooking, noticing he wasn’t cooking his chops evenly.

“Go sit at the dinning table old man.” She joked, although as lovingly as she’d ever let herself sound. “I’ll look after this.”

“Thanks Til,” Seth grazed her shoulder with his fist before he left her to work in the kitchen, kicking up in front of the TV at the dining table, secretly proud of how his daughter was coping with it all. Most girls her age would have broke from it all by now, but she hadn’t. Which meant she probably never would. He knocked back a long drink on the bottle before he kicked off his boots. He was proud of the killing machine he had created.

---

They stood out from the crowd even though they weren’t meaning too. Her skin was flawless, but that was aided by the makeup she wore. Her eyes were framed with long lashes, darkened and thickened with mascara. Her eyes were otherwise outlined in black eyeliner, flicked out at the edges artistically and making her blue eyes look wider and almost airbrushed. They were clear, especially compared to most other eyes around them, which were smudged with red and staring off as if blurred into nothingness.

He was flawless, and this was without makeup which he refused to wear, even though most other males in their immediate area had a bit (or a lot) of mascara and eyeliner on themselves. His eyes were green and striking, and his skin tanned, only making hers look all the more pale. They were both fully clothed in black, him in tough black corduroy jeans and an (artistically) tattered band shirt, under a leather jacket. She was in velvets and lace, ribbons in her purple and blue hair, so heavily dyed her hair looked almost black.

They seemed to be the epitome of Goth, which was probably why it wasn’t a surprising fact to know that they were the owners of this gothic club, where the elite came to drown their sorrows in loud and depressing emo music, drink until they couldn’t see and aid the process by swallowing as many pills as their money could buy. Their club was a strictly ‘No Injected Drugs’ area, and to aid this they ensured that the purest and cheapest ecstasy tablets would always be available in the alleyways and bathrooms surrounded them.

It was a strange creation they had, but it was their home. Literally, actually, since the club (which was five levels) then had a restaurant above them, and then above that there were two floors of rented out storage and then their own home. A penthouse, they called it, although it wasn’t anywhere near high enough to be regarded as such. It was their palace though, and she was finally happy they had a place to call home, which actually felt like a home.

They were both seated up in the VIP area, in the raised up corner on a lush sofa, this night they had no guests and were sitting in silence, both keeping their thoughts to themselves as the club pulsed around them, like it did every night, and had done so for almost two years now.

He was irate though, something was bothering him, as usual.

"You're looking at me as if you think this isn't going to work." his tone would have been icy if she wasn't his other half. That's how he spoke to all their workers after all, but to her he only sounded curious, as well as a little unsure of their plans. If she had doubt, that meant that he should as well.

She remained with a doubtful look in her eyes, gazing ahead off into space as the music and the noise and the crowds of people swarmed around them. She was sitting on his lap, one hand playing with his long hair, curling down over the collar of his jacket, while the other hand held a goblet filled with a sour - almost toxic tasting - drink.

He waited another moment for her to answer him, then shook her gently. "Bella?"

Still nothing. She rose the cold metal to her lips and sipped, her face not flickering in the slightest at the taste, before she rested the goblet on his knee again, still looking off into space.

"...Dona..." his eyes narrowed and he touched her chin, making her look at him finally. "Why don't you think it's going to fail?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice low, even though it would be lost in the noise around them easily, even if he had yelled it. They may be the owners of the club, but that didn't mean that anyone was paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

"...Hmm?" she finally focused her eyes on his, and blinked innocently.

He took a breath and counted to three. It was rare she made him mad anyway, and looking at those wide eyes...well...

He pulled her closer gently, and she rested her head on his shoulder, giggling quietly as he curled around her, to murmur into her ear. "You look like you doubt our chance of success kitten..."

She remained silent for a moment, as she thought his words over carefully.

"I don't think that..." she eventually replied. "...it's just a lot like the time we were 18...well, Sal and I were 18 and you were 21...but...you know? We were so damn sure of ourselves that time...and..."

"And we lost him." Kris finished for her, tightening his hold around her gently.

They sat in silence for a while, the bass pumping behind them, until they were interrupted suddenly by the head security guard.

"We have an issue." he stated plainly, using sign language at the same time, a must between them all when it was urgent and the place was too noisy.

The two rose to their booted feet in one smooth movement, and followed Tony towards the back surveillance room, swiping a card while the other keyed in the code, hidden from view. They disappeared into the darkened room and left the noise behind them, the memories wisping away along with the lyrics to the song which always haunted them, but also gave them comfort.

Kris and Daire had been together since they were 11 and 14, and now Kris was almost 24, leaving Daire at the still young age of 21. They had always been a striking pair, even when they had been in high school, gleamed up as goths even then with their mood swings and emo lyrics they swayed to, as they had met through music class and had formed a band with two others, Raych and Salvator.

Now it was ten years later, and they owned their own club, things had led from one to the other and now...well...