The Past is Catching up. [Mission Lead out]

It was a mess of orders Elastor couldn't even decode through the slur of radio static. His teammates were no where in sight, but he had heard multiple reports concerning an extreme lack of supplies. One carrier he knew of had landed near to his current position and he decided that was his best bet. As a tornado plowed through tents in the distance, he blinked away the wind and dashed in front of the looming metal giant. Now how could he move this? He studied the hinges and confirmed with mild disappointment that it was in fact placed there via aircraft. Curses exited his dry lips into the smokey air and he slammed his fist into the wall of steel. It hurt, but he didn't notice. It was hopeless to drag this thing an inch let alone the half a mile to his fellow Cretan soldiers. It was an impossible mission, and Ela hated impossible missions.

Just then a beeping sound entered into his starved ears. Bewildered eyes surveyed the entire area around him and found nothing. He climbed up the side of the rusty crate, the bottom of his sheath echoing long strokes against the wall. Just as he looking inside the mess of ammunition, grenades, and various weaponry, a loud blast festered against him. Silence. He was flung backwards, falling. He felt the cracking, but couldn't hear it--he couldn't hear anything at all. A burst of flames filed around the supplies and he continued to fall out of the heat that singed the tips of red hair. He felt his eyes slide shut and his body collide with the ground that collapsed under his weight. He fell again, feeling sharp spears scrape against pale skin. He opened unfocused eyes and saw that he had plunged into a trap. Not one, but two.

He lay there, letting the pain in his chest sing him into unconsciousness. They were broken--his ribs. His arms were sliced and bleeding. From his hip across the front of his uniform was torn and stained a garish shade of his hair. He felt bruises forming and throb like the ringing in his ears, briefly wondering if he would ever regain full capacity again. Would he be thrown away--useless to the royal guards? He hissed, forcing his broken body to sit up despite the pain taking residence. But he was human, trapped in a frail and weak body that went against the harsh orders of his mind, thus he entered darkness fighting.

Csilla decided very quickly that she didn't like war. It was... horrible. But unfortunately, being in the military meant one had to deal with war from time to time. But Csilla always secretly hoped that it would never be against Creta. And look, her she was. Trekking along followed by a small contingent of troops, heading off to destroy Cretan supplies. But when Spade gave an order, Csilla followed it. Csilla shoved down the side of her that protested attacking her own people and kept going. Spade had given her several locations to check out regarding supply locations for the Cretan army. She was to “put out the lights” for the Cretan guards and allow her own troops to do the rest. And that was fine by her. She carried a small medikit and a pistol, stealing quietly across the ground. So far the previous locations had been busts, but Csilla couldn't help but smile a little. Jackpot. They had found a large carrier and better yet, it appeared unguarded.

Csilla quietly signaled that her troops should spread out around the carrier. To ensure a lack of cross interference, her troops had only one radio between them, which she left with the troop's medic. She listened as they moved and waited to hear the familiar calls that they had all practiced painstakingly for just such occasions. Finally, she heard the last bird call. Csilla moved as close to the carrier as she dared and withdrew her gloves. She raised her hands, palm upwards, towards the glaring sun and began to concentrate. But a beeping noise broke into her thoughts and she whirled around, wondering what it could be. And then she watched in horror as the land around her erupted. She barely had anytime to react before the carrier also seemed to burst. She screamed as the ground beneath her collapsed and she slid downwards into... a ditch? She bit back another scream as she felt something scrape her arm and she almost breathed a sigh of relief as she hit the bottom of the ditch. The blasts were over just as quickly as they had come and when she finally felt safe to move... she panicked. It was... dark. So dark. She felt herself begin to hyperventilate as her brown eyes roamed for any hint of light. She cried out when she saw across the gaping darkness, a sliver of sunlight. Carefully she crawled on her hands and knees, occasionally stumbling across what she could only assume were stakes in the ground. As she crawled, she wondered what had happened to her troops but decided for the time being that it was best she not think about it. She had herself to worry about first. She was almost at the light when she hit something that was definitely not rock or spear. It felt... soft. And yet hard at the same time. She gently reached out and gasped when she felt something warm and sticky on her fingers. Ooooh, that was blood. Which meant that someone was in there with her. And they were bleeding. “By Zeus,” she muttered (her favorite particular curse). She didn't think it was one of her soldiers, because none had been near her. Well, there was only one way to find out for sure. She carefully picked her way over whoever it was and finally reached the light. It seemed that the carrier and some rubble and made an immovable covering over the trap ditch she was in. But luckily, they allowed for a pocket of light. Gratefully, she stuck her hand up to the crack and let a smile cross her lips as her palm began to feel warm with the light she was gathering. When she had gathered the minimal amount she felt her way back through the ditch and let the light gather into a small ball above the body. It cast an eerie glow throughout the ditch, but at least she could see better.

Looking down, she immediately felt dismay. Whoever they are, they seemed to have had worse luck than her when falling into the ditch. Looking from his toes upwards, she surveyed the injuries. There was red forming across his chest and cuts up and down his arms. Her eyes widened in dismay as she realized that his uniform was Cretan. By all rights, she should probably leave him in there; that's what any of her troops would've done. She fought within herself as her eyes combed up the rest of him, resting on his face. He appeared.. stern. Angry, almost. Like he was angry that he was unconscious. And his hair.. short and a vivid red.

Red? Red. The color of his hair poked at something in the back of her mind. But she couldn't place the feeling or the memory associated with it. But that little jolt in her mind helped her come to her decision. She pulled out her medikit and opened it. She kept her own medikit sparsely packed; mostly bandages and ointment. One morphine shot. Sighing, she pulled off her military jacket and got to work. She used a switchblade from her boot to cut the sleeves of the man's jacket off of him. As she worked on wiping away blood and tending the wounds, she spoke to him. “You know, I'm Cretan. Half, anyway. So maybe you won't be mad when you wake up. I know we're supposed to be fighting but I feel like whatever caused us to end up in here... it wasn't Amestrian or Cretan. So for now, let's just play nice.” She paused to look at his face again, chewing the side of her lip. “I wish I could remember why you look so familiar...”

The sound of a familiar voice broke through the surface of his treading mind. He clutched at the air and held nothing, feeling as if he could no longer breathe. The oxygen was thin, his lungs working overtime to reflate and take what they could. A girl's Cretan words flowed through his ears and took residence in the hopeful part of him, which hadn't existed until now. Had he already been rescued by a team? But no one had known he was out here... He hadn't even reported his position through the fray of dying last words. So how...? He extended his mind to cover his motionless body, letting the pain wash over him like currents dragging him under. The pain kept him grounded--allowed for him to keep from drifting off again. He sucked in another breath and felt hands on him, touching him--touching him. No one touched him. He couldn't resist pulling away--trying to escape the inklings of comfort. Cut sleeves fell away from him and fluttered into darkness. Then his eyes slid open. He breathed out.

A pony tail of blond hair fell along her back while brown eyes accessed him inquisitively. He shifted uneasily under such a stare, but sent back his own. She wasn't what he had thought she was. This girl here was the enemy. He could tell by the discarded military jacket to the side of her and the navy blue pants that couldn't be missed from miles away. She was the enemy. He hissed, baring an icy blue glare. If she touched him again, he'd break her hand...with pleasure. Not even his teammates had that authority. Then he remembered her words about playing nice and scowled. What reason would she have to tend to him? Why not just leave him here to rot? He was just another Cretan solider to add to her list of fame. And not just that... He glanced down at his uniform to ensure that it hadn't fallen off. It hadn't. He was a Cretan Royal Guard--looked on as elite (although he didn't give two shits about it). He was the prime target for any Amestrian soldier. He stared listlessly at the med-kit she had laying out and then met her eyes once more. He didn't understand. Maybe she was trying to take him captive? A feeling struck his gut. They could torture him and he would never give up what he knew. That is...if they got him alive. His sight scattered the area for a weapon of any kind. His sword was missing from its sheath and nothing else was in-- He saw a gleam in the strange lighting and caught the image of his sword lying somewhere near to the abandoned Amestrian jacket. A feral expression seeped onto Elastor's face and he turned to the girl. "Give it back," he growled, motioning to the sword with his head whilst feasting on her eyes with his own. Not only did she touch him, but she touched his katana. Her death was now ensured.

Memories of near-consciousness filtered into the light bearing down on them from some magical source. “I wish I could remember why you look so familiar...” It echoed, he blinked, and the anger spilled out of him. Familiar? He scanned her along with all of his accessible memories until his eye caught on something gold, lit up by the ethereal glow. It was her. She was the one before that had witnessed one of his missions at least five years ago. His hand quivered slightly and he drew in a shaky breath. His entire chest was flapping flames of agony he could just barely stand. He opened his mouth, but soon closed it. What was he going to say? 'Oh yeah, you were the witness I was going to kill, but decided not to on a whim?' No. He let his weight fall off his arms and to the shaft of a bloodied spear. It took all of his strength just to remain sitting up and all of his focus to continuously glare at her and dare her to come nearer. He shooed the recognition from his face and built taller walls to shield his thoughts. "I am Elastor Ito of the Royal Guard. Kill me now, half-breed; I won't let you take me alive."

Csilla, as usual, was oblivious. She didn't realize that the man in front of her had woken up until he heard him growl “Give it back.” She glanced away from the cut she was bandaging and at the surrounding area. Assuming he meant his katana, she quickly replied, “I will once your arms are bandaged.” “And if you promise not to kill me,” she thought to herself wistfully. She moved to grab another bandage and noticed that when she turned around next he was just awake he was... sitting up? “You really shouldn't be doing th-,” she stopped abruptly as she looked up at his face. Blue. Ice blue. It was him. She couldn't believe her eyes and leaned backwards to give herself more space between them. Of all the Cretans she had to find and decide to save, it had to be him? Seriously? She almost thought she saw the recognition in his face as well, but it passed before she could be sure. She did hear his next works loud and clear, however. “I am Elastor Ito of the Royal Guard. Kill me now, half-breed; I won't let you take me alive.”

The sparkle of fear left her eyes, leaving them a dark chocolate brown of irritation. What did he think she was doing, after all? Heal him to kill him later? ...Oh. Maybe that was it. Torture. She grimaced a little bit. She kept her distance from him but reached for her military jacket. Taking her switchblade she made notches evenly in the jacket, then began to tear it into strips, with only a little difficulty. Her voice was quieter than usual as she spoke. “And I am Csilla Angelis, Head of Defense at Central City headquarters. As my title implies, I defend. I do not offend. I have no intention of taking you anywhere. As if I could,” motioning to the rubble above their heads. She then switched back to their native language. “Now, guessing by the way you were moving, you probably have some broken ribs. Let me bind them, then you can kill me, yeah?” She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, waiting for his answer. She knew she was making a great risk, giving him the option to kill her. She made an even greater risk as she took his katana and slid it closer to him. He trusted her once before, it was time to see if he would again. Her eyes remained dark and her face impassive. She wouldn't show fear. Not this time.

She stopped speaking...midsentence. Elastor blinked and tried to figure out what she was staring at only to find that the target was directly at him. For the first time, she was meeting his glare head-on. He would have been surprised she didn't just up and run except he had seen the small spark of recognition on her face. So she noticed too, hm? His expression softened slightly--the only indication of saying he understood why she had stopped speaking. Oh yes, he knew, but she wouldn't know he knew; he wouldn't let her. This lessened glare could very easily mean anything else besides the mutual agreement of recognition, and Ela was willing to play it to the fullest. He had already irritated her with his accusations so it was doubtful she would even notice the intent to kill her was off his face. This brought amusement into place. And needless to say that Ela was beyond highly amused with this entire situation.

He looked around him and discovered that he was definitely sitting in a trap meant for people like this girl, who called herself the Head of Defense at Central. The title in itself was laughable. The fact that she made it all the way here after the Amestrian and Aerugese battle in South City was, however, rather gratifying. He wasn't sure how to gauge her. Was she someone to suspect or someone to reject completely? He frowned in thought and let his eyes wander away from the rumble and back to the girl in question. He didn't have much of a choice in this condition. "Your name is Csilla Angelis, you say?" He paused his rhetorical question to stare again at the familiar locket that once belonged to someone with less of a chest. "It's Cretan. The name." He sounded annoyed and even bothered to add an extra aggravation into his words to really make it seem like he had no idea who she was. It was all a game to him--a sick, calculated game. He almost hoped she would hate him. That was the goal. "You dare fight your own people? Where is the honor in that?" He tilted his head away from her in disgust, barely hiding the slight quirk on his pale lips.

"...you probably have some broken ribs. Let me bind them, then you can kill me, yeah?” She had said that before and only now was the realization dawning on him full-force. His ribs were broken? He had to process that for a second. It seemed logical. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, and it felt like a molten dragon was have a blast playing the xylophone. Hmph. He crossed his arms, but didn't let them touch his chest. "I don't need your help. And who said you're even worth killing?" He untangled his arms and let them fall at his sides. Too painful to keep that up for long. He took hold of his sword and sheathed it in one fell swoop, eyeing her up like she would take advantage of him the moment his hands were full.

"Your name is Csilla Angelis, you say? It's Cretan. The name. You dare fight your own people? Where is the honor in that?"

Csilla took a deep breath and slowly released it. If he was trying to make her angry, it was working. She noticed he was looking down at her chest and glanced down to see that her locket was out. She clenched her fist around it for comfort and then lifted it to let it slide back underneath her shirt. Her voice was almost a whisper. “It's an old name. My mother's family has been living in Amestris for years. I took her maiden name when I moved. The Cretans and the Amestrians are my people. And I fight because it's my job. I don't have much of a choice.” She looked up at him, her eyes so dark they appeared bottomless. She was definitely NOT happy. “Much like you. Your job is to kill. I think I recognize your name now. A spotless record.” She moved her eyes up slowly, staring straight into his. No, she wasn't afraid anymore. As she spoke her next words, she rested her right hand palm up in her lap. “At least, it's supposed to be spotless. Missed one, didn't you?” She smiled grimly as the eerie light floating over the two of them began to dim, moving slowly into her palm. She hated darkness. Absolutely despised it. But right now, she hated that cold look in his eyes even more. She breathed out slowly and let the light return to the small crack in the rubble.

Once she knew he couldn't see her, she swiped a quick hand across her eyes. No. There would be no tears for the darkness. There would be no tears for.. Elastor. Better to think of him as he was than as the mysterious man from her dreams. She knew she had been foolish. When she remembered his eyes, all of it came back. The tortured dreams she had as she settled into Amestris so many years ago. She had felt so alone and somehow those dreams of ice blue eyes had comforted her each night. She created a dark knight, coming to save her. To tell her it was all right.. that all of the pain she had gone through was a whisper of the past, because at last he as there. Well, that was all shot down to Hades. Her dream knight was truly nothing more than a dream. Her compassion for saving another human life was quickly leaving her. No, she wouldn't help him. Not anymore. Giving the area where he sat a wide berth, she again crawled towards the light. This time she would see if she could shift the rubble to make a hole for her to squeeze out of.

"I don't need your help. And who said you're even worth killing?"

She ignored the crude statement because at last, Csilla had once again reached the light safely. She began to reach upwards towards the light again when she felt a distant rumble. Her eyes widened in horror as the rumble continued and the debris piled above them groaned. Clearly the debris was just as shocked by the sound as Csilla was. She released a scream as the rubble near her collapased. She managed to dive out of the way as a corner of the supply carrier lurched downwards. She would've been grateful to see the slope it made, leading upwards from the ditch into the open air. But she couldn't enjoy it. As the carrier slipped downwards, another rock rolled down, catching Csilla from behind. She felt the sharp pain on the back of her head and screamed again, her eyes rolling backwards into her head. She crumbled down, her own world dark, even as the sunlight shined down on her golden hair.

"I'm sorry," he felt himself breathe quietly, watching her with melting eyes. She didn't understand what he had been through, but he also didn't bother to try and understand how hard the life of a half-breed was. She had been thrown into the blur of war, forced to choose sides despite the fact that she belonged to both. That tearing feeling--the inability to pick between them... Elastor could understand, but his stubborn nature forced him to pretend otherwise. However, the game he had been playing tipped over--the pieces scattering. And he didn't bother trying to pick them up; he merely watched as it was lost, almost thankful. It was too much effort to be an asshole. He sighed and leaned his head upward against the spear that had nearly killed him. It was acting as a good headrest now. The Cretan had learned long ago that sometimes you just have to let go. If Csilla was going to kill him, he was sure that she would have already. Well, he supposed they were even now: a life for a life. They didn't need to get along...at all, and yet... Elastor still felt the need to express his apologies. For some reason, he didn't enjoy the idea of her thinking of him as a selfish asshole like everyone else typically did. He didn't want her to hate him. Not as he previously thought. Normally, he didn't care--it didn't bother him this much. He let out a frustrated sigh and dropped his head to meet the bottomless pits that regarded him with scorn. Ouch.

"At least, it's supposed to be spotless. Missed one, didn't you?” Yes he had. That wasn't even a question. He wasn't even going to bother answering that. She knew as well as he did that he hadn't killed her that night. And if she was going to be so ungrateful, he almost wished he had. Though he knew that wasn't true either. And it frustrated him. Why had he spared her? He had killed countless people that begged for their lives with those scared eyes that looked into death itself. She had bared those eyes that night, but he had hesitated--hesitated enough to spare her. Ela didn't hesitate. Ever. But he had... And it was an undeniable failure. ...His first and only failure. But he didn't regret it. Out of all the people milling about the world, she had found him again. She had found him to rub in the fact that she was his living failure. It angered him, made him feel the desire to slit her throat and watch her eyes roll back until there wasn't a shred of her sly remarks left. But he liked it--he liked the fire in her spirit. It touched him, forced him to let her live not only then, but now too. He couldn't help the annoying thought that maybe the two of them weren't supposed to die. "Hn," he replied.

And then it went dark.

He sucked in a sharp breath, wondering where the strange lighting had gone. Blinking to focus, he caught the faint outline of her body wiping at her face. Females. He grimaced and inched closer, trying not to jar his ribs anymore than he already had. Should he...comfort her? Why...was she...cry-- She crawled further away towards a trickle of light in the corner where they both must have fallen through. He looked up at it and suddenly felt discreet vibrations in the ground. Shit. He slid out his sword and stabbed it to the soil, thrusting his ear against earth and ignoring the jutting pain through his chest. The blade shook and he erected his body back to an upright position. A tank was headed towards them. But whose side would they be on? He sheathed his katana and threw himself to his feet and in the direction that the blond had crawled. "Csil--" She screamed. The debris above them fell. He saw the corner of the blown up supply crate inch downward into the trap they were caught in. She dove out of the way before he reached her, but the crate continued to slide, taking everything with it including a rock big enough to leave a dent in pretty much anything. He saw it aim itself dangerously at the back of her head, but he failed at getting to her before its target was reached spot-on. She crumbled and he dove over top of her before the entire roof caved in...


He awoke slowly to the smell of thick smoke. Raising his head through a layer of dirt, he wiped at his eyes until he was sure the grime was out of his line of sight. What he saw then would make any grown man nearly have a heart attack. But to Ela, it was rather normal. A tank lay deserted, smoking, and pretty much sideways. Metal of the supply crate was spread apart by the collision of the singed Cretan tank. Funny, there were no people inside. "Just what the hell is going on," Elastor said aloud with a scowl of disgust. First his supply crate was blown up by Amestrian bombs and now it was rammed by his own tanks?! How more messed up could this situation...get? He remembered suddenly the existence of Csilla. Never mind then. Where was she? He removed himself from the rubble to find that the girl was still under him. Frowning, he inspected the back of her head. It didn't seem to be bleeding, but there would be a giant bruise there when she woke up...

"Cease fire and--” static. It was Dietrich. Cease fire? It seemed he had come to some sort of agreement with the Amestrians. This war would be over. He would return to Creta. But... He stared down at the girl whose head was in his lap and sighed. What a nuisance she was turning out to be... He'd have to take her with him. He couldn't leave her here. Especially when the next thing to befall his supply crate would probably be a falling meteorite. He was a walking curse...who deserved nothing.

Ela hoisted Csilla into his arms and stood on his wavering feet. Maybe the tank would still run? He was positive that his body wouldn't hold up the long walk back to camp. And when that happened, he would have to hand over the girl as a prisoner of war. Most likely. He found he really didn't want to do that. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stand dishing out any more hardship to her. What a problem.

He reached the tank and set her down in the cock pit as he tried to right the giant vehicle. He didn't have a lot of experience with such things, but he always found a way. Using one of the giant metal spears lodged underneath the blown up crate, he gunned the engine. The metal wheels spun against the grass until they caught the tip of the spear. That left only the right side spinning, which sent the giant thing upwards. The spear uncaught then and it thrust forward now upright. Ela didn't feel the pangs of success at his work; he merely continued his focus with the situation at hand. He had to drive this busted machine all the way back to Creta without either getting found out or blown up by Amestrians. This would be fun.


He parked the tank at his apartment, getting weird stares from his neighbors and pretty much everyone else he passed on the typical London street. They almost didn't let him across the bridge. But he climbed out and showed the toll men his Royal Guard card and they shut up as expected. Ela found that he had a lot of trouble lifting Csilla out of the top of the tank. It pulled at his ribs and made his head spin so much he wasn't even sure if he was lifting her up or down. But eventually, he got her out, nearly dropping her onto the pavement of the parking lot. It was a longer trek up to his apartment on the top floor. He cursed himself for his hatred of elevators, and unlocked his door with his teeth. He barely made it the rest of the way across the room and to his bed by the shaded window. That was when he finally let Csilla fall, but it was onto the bed.

He sucked in a breath and stumbled into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of iced Aerugese green tea. While draining the glass, he felt his vision start to get fuzzy. What-- He hit the floor.

Soft. Soooooft. That was Csilla's first thought as her mind awoke. Sof-... OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH! Csilla's head was throbbing. She reached her hand up and slowly touched the back of her head. She winced and withdrew her hand. There was a lump back there. A small lump, but a lump nonetheless. She threw her arm back down to her side and began to think about her last moments before the soft feeling. She had been... in darkness. Trying to find a way out. Rumble. Then a crash. More darkness. But the second darkness hadn't been as frightening as the first. There was... safety in that darkness. Followed by nothingness. A bleak nothingness until.. soft.

Csilla's eyes snapped open as it all came rushing back to her. The war. The trap ditch. Elastor. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she sat up slowly, wincing slightly as she moved her head. She was in... a bedroom? Well, that was a big difference from a trap ditch. Once her head stopped spinning, she stood to inspect her surroundings. She peeked in various doors, finding a well-kept closet and a bathroom. She edged her way out into a living room, noting a door nearby. She made to inspect the other room but she saw a light coming from what she assumed was the kitchen. She stepped forward hesitantly, almost afraid at what she would find. She peeked cautiously around the corner and gasped. She saw broken glass on the floor and.. Elastor? She looked at him and then spun around, looking at the apartment. She then ran to a window in the living room and looked out. She cried out, tears welling her eyes. London. She was in Creta. She was so close to her birthplace.. her home, that she could almost feel the sweet air brush across her face. She took a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. He had brought her... home. Csilla's eyes widened and she shook her head. No, not home. Why had she thought home? Creta hadn't been her home for many years now and Elastor's apartment definitely didn't qualify as her home.

...ELASTOR. Csilla spun back around and ran into the kitchen, gingerly avoiding the broken glass on the floor. She knelt down next to him, quickly checking for a pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found one. She scanned her eyes over him quickly. The cuts on his arms that she had bandaged seemed to be bleeding a little again and she bet that if she looked at his chest, it would be bruised from his broken ribs. He hadn't even sought any kind of medical attention. He just brought her.. to his home. Not even to the military. Head of Defense at Central HQ was a heady title and would likely be a good prize for Dietrich to use later. And yet, here she was. She shook off the confusing thoughts for the time being and slowly sat Elastor up. She managed to throw one of his arms around her neck and grunting with exertion, got him upright. She half carried, half dragged him into his bedroom. She managed to get the top half of him on his bed and then lifted his legs up to situate him better. Blushing the tiniest bit, she began to peel what was left of his jacket and shirt off of him. As she reassessed the damage she couldn't help but murmur aloud, “Wow..” Her eyes grew really wide as she realized what she was doing. NO! DO NOT CHECK HIM OUT! She fled into the bathroom, intent on finding medical supplies and losing the red blush that had stolen up her cheeks. She groaned aloud as she realized that much like the rest of the apartment, it was sparsely furnished. Only a few medical supplies. She took what bandages she could find and after getting a washcloth wet, returned the bedroom. She gently cleaned up his arms and torso and bandaged each wound. “And now.. the ribs.” She groaned.. knowing that unless he was awake she couldn't properly bind them up. Not that she could do that “properly” anyway. Why, oh WHY, did he not seek medical help?

Having done all she could she moved out of his bedroom and into the living room. Then, as she was wont to do, she talked to herself. “Now what? He obviously brought me here for... a reason I cannot begin to fathom. I should leave. But... he shouldn't be left alone right now. No.. I'll leave.. later.” Having made a decision, she looked down at herself. Oh yes, definitely a huge mess. Her military jacket was likely still in the ditch. Her white shirt underneath was dirty and her blue pants had holes in them. As always, her boots were dirty, but intact. She reached inside her left boot, to the small pocket she had sewn in. She carefully felt two id cards and smiled. Good. They were both there. Now then. Time to get cleaned up. She looked longingly back into the bedroom.. her mental gaze resting on the shower she had seen in the bathroom. But, no. She couldn't... could she? Well, Elastor was unconscious. And he had brought her back here. So being freshly showered wasn't such a bad idea. She began to move towards the bedroom but stopped in the doorway, a thought sobering her. These were the only clothes she had. And what was the point in getting clean if only to put dirty clothes back on? Oooh, this was going to get very complicated. Especially because at this point she disliked the idea of being dirty more than she did the idea of Elastor waking up and killing her.

Csilla entered the bedroom quietly and quickly dug around in Elastor's dresser. She successfully found a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring and a black tshirt. Perfect! She sighed for a clean bra and underwear but was grateful that what she had on wasn't covered in dirt and grime. A quick scrub and hanging on them towel rack to dry would make them perfect again. Smiling brightly with glee, she went into the bathroom and shut the door with a click. In her excitement, she totally forgot to turn the lock on the door. Csilla pulled out a towel and set it close to the shower. She turned on the hot water and breathed in happily as it began to steam the room. She began peeling her clothes off, folding them neatly over her boots. Taking a small bit of hand soap, she quickly washed her underwear and bra, throwing them on the towel rack. Pulling her hair out of its tie, she gratefully stepped under the stream of hot water. “Ahhh... now this is bliss.” She let her head fall backwards under the water, feeling the dirt caked in her hair, begin to fall away. She peered at the shampoo and bar of soap that rested on the stand in the shower. Simple. Just like everything else in this place. But hey, it would make her clean. And that was the all-important goal.

Fire danced behind closed eyelids. Sweat-streaked hands grasped black sheets, breath coming out in short gasps. His head thrust from side to side, unseeing blue seeing blurs of heat and ended lives. They were gone--everything he had ever known toasted to a singed crisp of ash that the wind stole from him. Unattainable...no longer within reach or the call of a voice. His mother spun around with a trail of long red hair. She smiled. "Ela don't run around so much you're going to get hurt! ...Like I did..." Her smile turn rabid, teeth growing into slits of festering saliva. She reached out towards him, blistered hands shaking...quivering, grabbing at him. His father took her hands as they broke away into bones, but he didn't seem to notice. "One day, you will take over this business from me, my son. ...And you will be forced to pay back every...last...cent of the debt I buried our family in..." He threw himself at Ela, wrapping arms around his throat in a deathly embrace. Breathe...he--he couldn't breathe!!! The flames tore around him, licking at the strings of his shirt and pulling it away until he wore nothing but skin--skin hardened from battle--hardened from years of perfect missions.

The floor of his home caved in, colors swirling around him like rainbows from falling water. Hands grasping nothing, he screamed for his mother--for his father who had already been sucked into oblivion. But no, he knew he wouldn't die... He didn't die. Someone needed to live so that they could write the checks for the man in white. Red-stained white...tainted white. Checks whose purpose was unknown. The postcards from his sister every Christmas with her smiling children. He burned them so no one could find her address--so the threats would at least seem empty. But they would kill her--they whom he did not know. The man's name was Takatori. He had grey hair and a mask with black goggles. His hand had many rings. Ela would find him. And when he did, he would kill him and hunt down every last one of those men who had destroyed his life. How much money had he given them now...? His sister only knew he was a Royal Guard, nothing more, nothing less. He liked to keep it that way. His secret life...his secret files and secret research... He would find him.

The flames engulfed his sister, wrapping her around and around with invisible heat. She screamed as her body melted and her children wailed, reminding him of himself, but he hadn't screamed. Horror-struck faces, eyes sunken in to no longer understand the concept of happiness--didn't deserve happiness. He wanted everyone to hate him. But someone had changed that. With the flick of a hand. Bottomless pits of emotion, the look of betrayal even though they hadn't known each other's names. His own anger...pouring off him like a black waterfall with no rainbow. The thought jarred him and suddenly he felt something soft underneath his back. Pain sunk in, clawing bony fingers across his skin until it left a mark. Scarlet stains growing browner with time, etched onto bandages woven tightly around healing, aching skin. He felt his eyelids pinched shut and suddenly. He jolted awake, panting, upright, looking around in a frenzy of mild confusion.

It was his apartment.

That's right... Hair lights of golden tinges...a locket of the same color screaming out to faded memories of failure. Living failure... Vaguely he heard water running and crawled to the edge of the bed. Was she still here? It seemed they had switched positions somehow. How had that happened? The scene in the kitchen...broken glass...tea. He sucked in another breath of clarity and stumbled to unsteady feet, wandering in delirium to the bathroom door that wasn't locked. Hot skin bit into cold metal, knowing nothing but the movement of turning without a hitch. The door swung open to reveal spotted glass splashed with steam. He wanted to run his fingers over it, but froze. Suddenly his face was getting hotter and hotter until it was nearly unbearable as a blush sizzled across the tops of his cheeks. She was so utterly...not dressed and in the shower. What was--what was he doing!? He froze and tried to breathe so he wouldn't pass out. The humidity made him dizzy and he grabbed at the counter to keep from falling right there. He had to get out first...before she threw something at him. "S-sorry!" He stammered, locked the door and slammed it. Only then did he suddenly realize that he was still staring at her sud-covered body. Coolly, he turned and fiddled with the nob until it unlocked. Once he got it open, Ela relocked it, stepped out, and then shut it very...very quietly. Maybe she wouldn't notice the fact that he hadn't left the bathroom the first time... His blush increased as he leaned his back against the door, taking a deep breath. That had to have been the most embarrassing moment of his life. Yes, yes that was it. And embarrassing moments were normal according to what the guys always said. They actually had encouraged him to screw up from time to time, right? So this wasn't so bad. Everything would be perfectly fine...

He was being a bad host as well--passing out on her before she even woke up. She was his captive...yet...she stayed? He couldn't really comprehend that, but he did know one thing: females were human too...so they needed to eat. It had to have been at least twenty-four hours since he had first trekked up the many flights of stairs carrying her limp body. It was probably lighter now, but...not healthier. He sighed and massaged his temples. He had some... frozen peas and... oh! He sauntered from the door and into the kitchen, laying an arm protectively over his ribs. He had some ingredients to make his sister's favorite recipe of macaroni and cheese. ...He hated making it...somewhat. She loved his cooking, but he didn't know how to accept the praise. So he just ignored it. But he was starving now and cheese, noodles, mushrooms, and tomato sauce couldn't very much make anything else. And that would still involve making it, which would then in turn be praised... Apparently he had skills in the kitchen. Annoying.

He set about boiling the noddles, mixing in the breadcrumbs, butter, tomato sauce, cheese and mushrooms once the water was drained. He shoved it all in an oven pot and thrust it in there for a forty minute wait. He stood there staring at it obsessively until he realized that wouldn't make the time go faster... He turned the television on that was perched on a table in the kitchen.

Channel 7 Creta Extra: "--was reported that over three-thousand lives were taken in West City, Amestris alone. But due to the bombs set by the Fuhrer herself numbers are estimated to rise much higher than anticipated. Now onto Joe with the Sports."
“Haha Vicky, that rhymes with forts!”
Click.
Channel 346 Science Explorer XXII: “So you see as I was explaining earlier. What with global warming ravaging the planet, this could have impacted plants in a positive light while affecting us in a bad one. What appears to be a megaflora beanstalk has sprung up out of the recesses of a human-caused—”
Click.
Channel 347 Religionland: “God has given us—”
Click.
Channel 348 Religionland2: “—a chance—”
Click.
Channel 349 Religionland4: “—descend into heaven if we are to grasp his—”
Click. Click. Click.
Channel 352 International News: “Chotto matte kudasai yo! Nyuyokku no biinsutakku wa degai desu! Sukoshi degai sugimasu yo! Nan to imi?!”
Click.
Channel 353 Cartoon Netscape: “Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman? Be he 'live, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.”
Click.
Channel 354 Historistics: “I do so declare that this will be a day with which we celebrate the dawning of fairy tale versus reality. These gathered around me have been believers—”
Click.
Channel 355 Comedepic: “So what’s the difference between ‘cool beans’ and coffee beans? You don’t know? Well, then I’ll tell you! Coffee beans are hawt! Hahahaha ahhhahah—”
Click.

...

He gave up.

Csilla reached for the shampoo and put a deliberate amount her hand. As she worked it into a lather in her hair, she sighed again. Showers truly were one of the greatest things in the world. She rinsed her hair and reached for the soap. As she lathered up her entire body, she could've sworn she heard movement in the next room, but she ignored it. Looking back later, she probably should've paid attention, because the next thing she knew the door to the bathroom was opening. Her eyes got really wide as she saw Elastor stumble into the bathroom, seeing his face go dark red as he realized that she was NAKED. She squealed and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the suds from the soap were giving her some decent cover. She heard him stammer, “S-sorry!” She kept her eyes shut as she heard the door slam shut and lock. And then as the door... opened and shut again? Well, that was odd. She cracked one eye open and quickly scanned the bathroom. Ah, alone at last. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down and finished soaping up. She rinsed off quickly and turned the water off.

Stepping out she rung the extra hair out of her hair and wrapped herself in a towel. She quickly checked to make sure that the clothes she had borrowed were still there. Good. Apparently he'd been so distracted by... other things. She dried herself off and then used the towel to make a turban around her hair. She noticed that her underwear were dry but her bra still felt slightly damp. “Well, better damp bra than no bra at all.” She quickly got dressed and ruffling her hair with the towel, used her fingers as a hairbrush. She put her hair up in a messy ponytail to keep it out of her face. She delayed going out into the bedroom for as long as possible. When she could primp herself no longer, she peeked out to.. nothing? Where was he? She carefully brought out her dirty clothes and boots, resting them in a neat pile on the floor next to the dresser. She could swear she heard.. “Coffee beans?” Rolling her eyes at what she assumed was a TV or radio, she went out into the kitchen. Elastor had turned the TV off as she walked in and she blushed a light shade of pink. They really had the worst track record for running into each other. She prepared to say something.. - anything. But she smelled something cooking. And it smelled delicious. In response to the smell, her stomach rumbled. She smiled faintly and glanced down at her stomach before looking at Elastor. “Um.. that smells really good. What is it?” She decided that for the time being it was best to “forget” the incident in the bathroom. And the fact that she wasn't still lying in a trap ditch in a war zone. That was something that could come up after she had a full stomach.

“Um.. that smells really good. What is it?” He tensed slightly and turned around to see a stringy ponytail and a girl wearing his clothes. Ela raised an eyebrow. Best not to mention the outfit... Girls tended to have problems when people laughed at what they were wearing. He threw the humor into the deepest bowels of his system in order to prevent the snicker rolling over his lips. "Macaroni and cheese," he said simply in a monotone voice. He didn't know whether or not she would like the stuff, but it was food nonetheless, and judging from her stomach gurgle, she was certainly hungry. But for some reason, Ela couldn't rid himself of the images of her in the shower. The steam...the soapsuds... It infiltrated his mind like a trained assassin and began shaking any or all life out of him until it resulted in...this.

Dull blue eyes stared at her blankly until they flitted to the time on the stove. Two minutes had passed? That was...it? Time insulted his perception. What a kick to his pride. He sighed, annoyed. "I'm going to take a shower too. If you want revenge, you'll need a blowtorch." With that, he left the kitchen and went immediately to his drawers that appeared riffled through. He would have to refold those later...when she wasn't avidly watching him. He couldn't stand being this dirty. Any longer and he would start scratching his skin off...that would be unpleasant. And really, there were other more efficient ways of breaking down a bathroom door without the use of a blowtorch... What was he thinking!? Or not at all...

He grabbed a black beater and blue skinny jeans that had bleach stains all over them. He headed straight for the bathroom, but stopped. She probably wouldn't use common sense so it was better to tell her so his apartment didn't burn down. He indicated towards the stove. "Watch that, if it beeps, take it out, got it? ...Thanks." He trudged into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it and barricading it with a stool. That would hold it...for now.

He blasted the hot water until it was scalding--until no other human could possibly stand it--and then got in. Only then did he realize he had taken his clothes off (see ornately folded pile in the corner), but he had forgotten to remove the bandages... He did so... and it was a wet, sopping mess of blood and water. He tossed it carelessly into the trash can that was already stained with the blood of many missions. Then he went about washing his hair without a care in the world...except for the strange blond girl he had ended up bringing home. What was wrong with him? He felt so out of character...so not himself. But he also felt that it was the right thing. They were even now: a life for a life. He could forget her and move on. She could go back to Amestris and be his enemy. He didn't care. No, not at all. ...so then why did it feel like he had to keep telling himself that?

He stepped out of the shower when he was completely sure that not a speck of dirt was on him anywhere, and into his clothes. With a puff of steam and men's deodorant, he exited the bathroom. "You can keep those," Ela said, meaning his clothes, of course. And he didn't know whether he meant that he didn't want them back after touching her or he was just being nice since her's reeked of death and blood. Either way, she got the picture, he hoped.

“Macaroni and cheese. Csilla's eyes lit up as he spoke those three simple words. She smiled brightly. “Wow, really? That was my favorite when I was younger!” It was strange, but every moment she was in Creta, she felt more and more.. settled. She had thought returning to Creta would be a difficult thing. But so far, it wasn't too bad. A hot shower, her favorite childhood meal... oh, and being in a strange man's apartment. She internally cringed. That was the flaw in all this. Because it really made no sense. But- that was not important right now. Csilla kept hoping that if she ignored the oddity of the situation, it would just magically disappear. Probably not. So, maybe she would wait for him to say something? Even before she had finished the thought, Csilla heard herself scoff in her head. Yeah, right. She may not have know Elastor long, yet it was obvious he was not a natural conversationalist.

“I'm going to take a shower too. If you want revenge, you'll need a blowtorch.” Csilla raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a puzzled look on her face. Before she had a chance to reply, he was gone. So, clearly he expected her to burst upon him in the shower, completely disoriented? The very thought of it caused a blush to steal up her cheeks. It also made me wonder what would happen if she... OH. NO NO NO. She shook her head quickly to clear her mind. “By Zeus,..” she muttered. Clearly Aphrodite was having some influence on her lately. She willed the heat in her cheeks to dissipate and she assumed she looked “normal” enough when Elastor came back towards the kitchen.

“Watch that, if it beeps, take it out, got? ...Thanks.” She called after him as he went towards the bathroom. “Sure. Enjoy your shower!” Well.. - that sounded slightly awkward. OH WELL. Csilla turned to the stove and saw there was only twenty minutes left on the timer. She wasn't entirely sure how long his shower would take but as she moved into the living room, made a point to listen for the timer. She went down to a chair closest to the window and sat, staring out at the streets of London. It was still was wonderful as she remembered. Her grandparents had taken her one year when she was little during her summer break. She smiled fondly as she recalled wandering through the streets, swinging hand in hand with her grandfather. Those were the days.. before she drew away and he got sick. Her smile slowly faded. Then the memory of her last visit to London flitted into her mind. She had been running to Amestris. Because.. - no. She wouldn't think about that.

Shaking her head, she began to hum off-hand as she went back into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter for a moment as the timer beeped. Sighing, she managed to find the oven mitts and took the delicious-smelling meal from the oven, placing it on the stove to cool. She was putting the oven mitts away as she heard Elastor come back into the kitchen.

“You can keep those.” She glanced down at the clothes she was wearing, assuming that's what he meant. “Oh, thanks. Sorry I went through your stuff,” she smiled sheepishly. “I was sort of desperate for clean clothes. This seemed to be the best option.” She glanced down again. She did look kind of like a layabout. But she doubted she could fit into his jeans or anything. “I'll probably have to find some more realistic clothes if I'll be-” She stopped suddenly. She didn't want to finish it. “...if I'll be staying around.” That was going to open up a situation she did not want to bring up. At least.. not right now. She smiled faintly and turned towards the stove. “The food should be just about cool now. If you can show me where everything is, I can help serve?” She glanced back at him expectantly. Food first. Awkward conversation later.

Awkward conversation now--get it out of the way--never save things for later. He could tell she rapidly changed the subject for a reason, and he wouldn't allow that. Elastor ran a hand through his dripping hair and frowned. "There's money in a lock box on the table. The key in in the silverware drawer." He breezed past her and further into the kitchen, opening the designated drawer to indicate what he was speaking of. And sure enough, a small, silver key was lodged to the side of the wooden drawer with sullen scotch tape. He took out two forks and a serving spoon before closing it. "It would probably be a bad idea to take the tank." Bad attempt at a joke. He didn't even know why he had said it. Maybe to loosen the mood? He could cut the air with his katana... Or maybe that was just the steam from the bathroom. He shrugged inwardly, and handed her the wooden spoon, reaching for two bowls. Then he passed those to her too and proceeded to exit the kitchen, thinking. There was no way he'd let her drive his Porsche. Plus, there was a 90-percent chance that she couldn't drive stick shift. He was in no condition himself to drive it, but he wouldn't say that either... His right arm had long gashes all the way down it. He stared at them with cold, silvery blue eyes that almost seemed to freeze time itself. They were just barely healed over--just enough to not gush blood anymore. He had to ask.

"Csilla," he said darkly, "it will be easier to stay here for a while...safer. Take your pick of anything here... and could you do...what you did before?" Did she know how to speak vague? Ela could only hope. He wasn't well versed in asking for help in any way, but he couldn't very well bandage an arm while bandaging the other... What a pain in the ass. He sighed. "Bandages." Better to be on the safe side.

The bowls were filled and the leftovers deposited in the large, empty refrigerator. They ate to the news reporting scarce information about the bombs in Central. Ela turned to her once they had finished eating and found himself caught in a rare moment. "Did you know anyone...caught in the bombs?" That was it; he was done. Anything after that question resulted in a 'hn' or a nod. Amestris had no internet connections, no phone lines. It was nearly impossible for contact. ...Or so the TV said. So she had to be worried. That was her country now, right? Why wasn't she working for the Cretan Military instead? That was something he really wanted to know, but he chose to keep it silent because he wanted to know.

The dishes were washed and put away. Ela was barely keeping conscious in the chair while Csi bandaged him as promised. And by the time she was done, he was out cold. The next day was much of the same, except he ran a high fever that didn't break until midway through the next day... He woke up to rays of sunshine and realized in a moment of delusional clarity that he had made a grave mistake. He was housing an enemy--someone he was supposed to kill. Now not only did he know her, but she knew him. There was no end to the trouble he would get in... It was an error...a hiccup in his system. Maybe he had a concussion. That had to be it. She had to go. She should leave before he killed her--gone before the sharp metal made her gone. He forced himself from the bed, dizzy. The blood drained from his face and he almost passed out right there in the middle of the room, but Ela's will was strong. He searched his apartment for the blond until he found her. Erasing and stomping over all feeling he said, "You have to leave" in a deathly, cold voice.

“There's money in a lock box on the table. The key is in the silverware drawer.” Csilla watched as Elastor moved past her into the kitchen and pointed towards a small key in the drawer as he drew forth forks and a big spoon. She chuckled faintly at his attempt at humor and then let him hand her the serving spoon and bowls. She raised an eyebrow as he disappeared quickly out of the kitchen. Yes, her previous assumption had been right. He wasn't a conversationalist. She filled the two bowls with heaping portions of the macaroni and cheese and took them out towards Elastor. She handed one to him as he spoke in a dark voice.

“Csilla, it will be easier to stay here for awhile... safer. Take your pick of anything here... and could you do... what you did before? … … Bandages.” Csilla nodded her head, resting her bowl on a side table as she turned back to the kitchen to put away the rest of the food in the fridge. “I guess for now, it would be best. And yes, I will redo your bandages after we eat.” She chose not to say that she had her old ID from when she lived in Creta, with her original name still printed. She could easily pass as a Cretan citizen again. Hell, she still was a Cretan citizen. Dual citizenship did have its perks, when her two countries weren't at war. But he wanted her to stay around his apartment. And in a strange way, she felt good that he wanted that. Maybe he didn't want to risk her being found out and taken? Or maybe he just didn't want to be discovered harboring an Amestrian soldier. Csilla smiled a little to herself as she returned to the living room. She would prefer the former over the latter. She ate slowly watching the news as the bombings across Amestris were discussed. When they turned to the destruction in Central, she grew very still, only eating methodically. As she finished eating, she heard Elastor's voice break through the buzzing in her head.

“Did you know anyone... caught in the bombs?” She shook her head momentarily to clear it and responded quietly. “I don't know many people outside of HQ in Central.. still. So many people...” She shook her head again, sighing for the loss of lives and all the destruction. She helped to clean and put away the dirty dishes and then sat Elastor down in a chair to re-bandage his arms. They kept a companionable silence as she worked and when she finished, she realized he was out. When he finally awoke again, she managed to help him into his bed, where he promptly passed out again. She felt his forehead and groaned. Fever. Great. She went to find a bowl that she filled with cold water and found a washcloth in the bathroom. He had so little medical supplies and she was scared to leave him alone for too long... the old-fashioned way was going to have to do. She dragged one of the armchairs from the living room next to his bed and sat down. Over the next day and a half, she rarely moved from that chair. She bathed his forehead and chest in cool water and when he was lucid enough, she helped to keep fluids and even a little food in his system. She often dozed in the chair, one hand resting lightly on his arm, so she could feel him stir. She often sat there in the quiet, entranced by the almost peaceful look on his face when he was battling the harder parts of the fever. But sometimes.. she told him stories.

“I've got a great myth to tell you, Ela. One of my favorites.” Csilla had started quietly calling him “Ela” somewhere on the first day of his fever. It seemed so much easier and it made her smile as she said it. Made them almost appear as.. friends? Csilla scooted forward in her chair, brushing a stray hair out of Ela's face. She then let her hand rest lightly on top of his. “The story begins with a young girl named Psyche, the youngest of three daughters. She was very beautiful and soon, people stopped worshiping Aphrodite to visit and worship mortal Psyche instead. Aphrodite grew angry and helped to place a curse of sorts on Psyche that while men would constantly worship her, none would marry her. Her parents grew desperate after a time and visited an oracle. The oracle, influenced by the god Apollo, told the parents that Psyche would be wed to a beast and must be taken to the top of a nearby mountain. Sadly, the parents followed the orders of the oracle. Psyche was left on the top of the mountain, where the North Wind gently lifted her and brought her to a beautiful home in a valley. She was given her every wish by invisible servants and each night, she would be visited by her husband. He would speak sweet words to her, but every morning when she awoke, he was gone. Psyche was pleased to have a husband that loved her so, and she did not seem disheartened that she never saw his face. Feeling lonely after months of marriage, she begged her husband to allow her sisters to visit. He gave his permission but warned her to be wary of them. They would try to twist her feelings for him and if she ever took the chance to look upon him in the dark, it would be the last time he ever saw her. Psyche's sisters visited and just as her husband predicted, they twisted Psyche's thoughts about her husband. They warned her he was a hideous monster and that he would kill her when she saw him, so it was her job to kill him first. The following night, Psyche went to her bed with a knife under her pillow and a lantern next to the bed.”

Csilla leaned forward further, squeezing his hand gently. “When she heard her husband's breathing deepen, she carefully took out the knife and lit the lantern. But oh, there was no monster asleep next to her. It was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, with gossamer white wings tucked underneath his back. She had married the god of Love, Eros. As she leaned over him, a drop of oil spilled from the lantern and fell on his shoulder, waking him. He awoke and realizing he had been seen by her, he fled. Psyche felt horribly ashamed that she had fallen under her sister's trap and lost the man she loved. She traveled the earth, begging Aphrodite's forgiveness. She was asked to perform three impossible tasks, which she did with help from other sympathetic gods. Eros begged to Zeus for the life of his beloved and Zeus not only forced Aphrodite to stop tormenting the poor girl, but he also granted her immortality. Psyche and Eros were reunited and live together in the realm of the gods.”

After Csilla finished telling her story, she noticed that Ela's fever had finally broken. His skin had regained some of its normal color and he was cool to the touch. She smiled softly as she went into the kitchen to refill a glass of water for him and to refill the bowl with some fresh cold water. There was something about Ela that Csilla found comforting. True, they hadn't much time to get to know one another over the past few days, considering he had been unconscious for most of it. And Csilla definitely wasn't used to silence all the time. But it was nice. Despite her extremely strange circumstances, she was grateful to be in Creta. Grateful to be with Elastor. She was humming off-hand in the kitchen when she heard movement behind her. She turned to see Elastor. She gasped. “What are you doing out of bed, Ela? Your fever just broke. You're still weak.”

“You have to leave.” Csilla's eyes opened wide in surprise. Well, that was not the first words she had expected out of his mouth. Maybe “thank you” or “I'm starving.” Definitely not “leave.” She watched as he appeared to sway a little on his feet and she moved closer to him. She looped an arm around his waist, throwing one of his arms over her shoulders. “I'll leave later. For now, you need to get back into bed.” She ushered him back into his bedroom and got him to sit down on the bed. She sat down next to him, keeping an arm looped around his waist he case he started to sway again. She immediately reached out to rest her hand against his forehead to make sure his temperature was still relatively cool.

The first thing that registered in Ela's mind was the fact that he was being touched. Not only was it without permission, but it was also without any sort of warning. He froze inside, momentarily in shock, before he realized that he was sitting on his bed and she was still touching him. Needless to say the ice melted around the edges of his mind pretty quick. He fumed and couldn't catch up to the stream of overwhelmed thoughts that piled into his head. She was still there. That was what bothered him the most. She was still there. She hadn't listened--she hadn't even heeded his demand or recognized it for what it was: a threat. Csilla had no idea the danger she was in. Her naiveté made him sick--sick enough to not realize her hand was on his forehead. Elastor doubled backwards and almost fell off the other side of the bed before he was satisfied with the distance between them. Her grasp was off of him, but the touch still lingered on his skin, tingling as if trying to invade every bit of him. What...what was this? It confused him beyond reason--beyond rational thought. All he wanted to do was to get away when she should be the one running away.

"What are you doing out of bed, Ela? Your fever just broke. You're still weak. ...I'll leave later. For now, you need to get back into bed." Words... They never went away. Just like that man's words...Takatori... Seeping into his already ruined soul and tainting whatever was left with the fires of revenge. It shone through his eyes now as he turned their glacial depths on those brown voids. They seemed to see through him, to know everything without knowing. It made Ela feel as if he hadn't ever been seen his whole life--as if this was the first time that anyone was really looking at him. His head spun and he almost felt his pupils shrink to nothing with the anger that took it course through his entire system. He clenched the sheets instead of her neck and tore through the air between them with his glare to kill all.

"Ela?" He spat. "...Who do you think you are?" He was baffled. Life had suddenly become incomprehensible...with the presence of a single girl. "You're just a prisoner here--an enemy." His voice grew even colder, lacking the few traces of any indication that he had emotions whatsoever. He let go of the sheets and managed to pry her from the bed and to her feet despite he was having trouble on his own. He let go of her, red hair falling all over his face. "I didn't turn you in because I want to kill you myself; you are my living failure. They would torture you until there isn't a shred of you left before you die. Get. Out. Now. Leave or I will kill you," he hissed. "Che." What an annoyance. It took way too much effort to get her out. His hatred for her only grew the longer she stayed...and so did her effects. He watched with horror as she grabbed her things that were still in a neat pile, and realized that he was only trying to convince himself. Enemies couldn't get along. Enemies were killed. And that's it. He was yelling at himself. Not her. Not her. But the door had already slammed shut. He was alone.

Alone, just like he had always wanted.

Being alone was lonely, but it was safe. Loneliness was a lesser pain than that of loss. He could put up with it. He was satisfied--satisfied and...not. He was angry. So angry something had to happen. Now. He spun around from his spot by the door and slammed his fist straight through the drywall. Pain. Sweet, pain--an old friend. His only friend. It made him angrier. But why? He never lost control like this. It was a fight--an internal battle that he was losing. And he was losing because he didn't hate her--because he couldn't find a reason to hate her. It didn't happen--didn't come as easily as the others. Who...would have stayed--stayed so long? He shivered, unused to the treatment of people...caring, was it? Being tended to...being acknowledged as more than just a weapon to accomplish death. She saw...it--whatever she saw there that was him and nothing more. He felt the fear welling up deep in the confines of rusted cobwebs and neglected acceptance. His skin was crawling where she touched, and somehow...he was sure it wouldn't go away until he saw her again. If he saw her again.

[EXIT THREAD]

He seemed to stiffen as she put her hand against his forehead. But his next words stopped her cold. "Ela? ...Who do you think you are? ...You're just a prisoner here--an enemy." Csilla couldn't believe her eyes or her ears. He looked so.. unbelievably angry. He stood and roughly pulled her up from the bed, standing in front of her. Her arms fell to her sides, limp. His eyes had turned so.. unbearably cold. Csilla opened her mouth to say something, but he caught her off.
 
"I didn't turn you in because I want to kill you myself; you are my living failure. They would torture you until there isn't a shred left before you die. Get. Out. Now. Leave or I will kill you." Csilla stepped backwards shakily, her eyes boring into his. She wished in her heart of hearts that it was just some twisted joke. But it wasn't. Her eyes grew dark chocolate brown, filling with tears. She refused to let them fall. There was an aching pain in her chest, one she had never felt before. It was like... her heart had seized up and then suddenly stopped. Piece by piece was breaking off and each twinge felt like a part of her was being ripped away. She reached for her uniform and her boots and with a shuddering gasp she ran. She ran straight through the apartment, slamming the front door behind her. She ran down the flights of stairs down into the parking lot. She ran until she couldn't run anymore. And then she stopped, bending forwards, hands on her knees, taking in gasping breaths joined with tears. She quickly moved down an alley, throwing her uniform in the nearest dumpster. A bloodied Amestrian uniform wasn't going to do her much good now. She slid down against the side of the dumpster and pulled her boots on. Reaching into the left, she pulled out her two id cards. One was her official Amestrian id with her bright smiling face staring up at her. The other was a little older, but luckily, was still in good condition. Csilla Thanos, the card read. Csilla's 15-year-old self smiled faintly up at her. Oh, how different things had been then. She almost wished that she could go back to those simple days. But that was a fleeting wish, because there was no going back. Ever.

Standing, she brushed off the pants she was wearing and wiped the tear stains from her cheeks. Tears later. For now, she needed to get out of Creta. And quickly. She wasn't sure if Elastor would report her now but she couldn't take that chance. Her first order of business... new clothes. She hurried to the nearest bank and showed her ID card, asking for access to her Cretan bank account. She had set aside an emergency fund in Creta, in case she had to return. She gratefully thanked her younger self as the bank teller counted out some bills. Thanking the young man, she left the bank for the nearest shop. She bought a pair of jeans and a London t-shirt, as well as a few other things. She changed in the bathroom of the store, leaving her old clothes behind. No, not her clothes. His clothes. She used her ID and money to get herself the next available train into Amestris. It wasn't until she was in Amestris that she finally felt somewhat safe again. Oh, how strange it felt to be fleeing Creta.. again.
 
Csilla avoided the cities, having no desire to be found by military personnel yet. She managed to find a place to stay between West City and Central City. She knew she had to keep going. She had likely been assumed M.I.A. if not dead.She needed to get to Central and report that she was alive and well. But not yet. There was something she had been waiting to do. Something that needed to be done. When she had gotten to the room she rented, she sat down with a piece of paper and a pencil. And she sketched. The smooth lines, sharp edges, and shading slowly began to form something that was so familiar and so terrible. After she had finished, she laid her head down in her arms and cried. Her sobs wracked her entire body and consumed her soul. She didn't know why it had to hurt this much. Losing her parents and her grandparents was nothing like the pain she felt now. This was loss.. but a far harsher kind. She wished with all her being that she could've gone to see her family's grave site. That she could've never been in that trap ditch in the first place. Hell, she wished that she had died, those 5 years ago. Because nothing would hurt as much as she hurt now.
 
As she cried, her drawing looked up from the table. The figure in the sketch was sleeping in a large bed, a uniform room lightly sketched in the background. The sheet was wrapped around their legs, slung long across their body. They were turned towards the viewer, arms resting lightly. Their hair was tousled, a few strands lying across their face, making the viewer want to reach out and brush them away. It was a quiet scene. The figure's face was peaceful, calm. And if the figure awoke, the viewer would've been graced with their eyes. Eyes that would shine ice blue.