Fan Fiction ❯ Undamaged ❯ Undamaged ( One-Shot )

*stressed words*

<< >>flashback (previously said) words

Warnings:: some cursing, mentions of abuse (nothing descriptive)

First pirson POV (Syrian Black)

Black Phoenix

Undamaged

How long has it been since I left the hospital? Or ran away from the hospital, since that was more truthful. It felt like an eternity, each day stretching, impossibly long, as if purposefully haunting and driving me insane. But, as I fingered the newspaper I had no intention of buying, I read the date and sighed heavily. Three days. Just three days. A week ago I was shot in the gut by my father, saving Rian's life. And three days ago I made the most painful decision I'd ever made in my life and ran away from the hospital, from the past, from my friends and from Rian. I should have known that I couldn't run away from myself, no matter how hard I tried, nor the emotions that were suffocating me.

But it was the decision I made, and I had to live with it. My desire to keep him safe was so strong I was willing to give him up, if it meant that. And it did. I knew that by leaving him I was saving him, but I also thought I knew I could be happy as long as he was safe. But so far, that theory wasn't a great success. My heart, my soul, my body were aching to be near him, whether or not that caused him harm.

I left the shop since the man behind the counter had nothing better to do than scowl at me, and I was too lost in my own thoughts to shoot him a dirty look or laugh like I might have done before. Before . . . I sighed again. Burying my hands deep in my pockets I made my way down the street towards an unknown destination.

If there was a list of everything stupid I'd ever done I suppose that discharging myself from the hospital after being shot was probably one of the worst. And then, finding myself totally homeless, penniless and injured. Stumbling out of hospital, hours later in pain so unbearable I had to creep down a dark alleyway to throw up in something like privacy and then sitting, surrounded by trashcans spilling rubbish onto the floor and seeing the crimson blood staining my bandages, staining my fingers.

I didn't know where to go. A hotel is all well and good if you have any money. With a bleeding wound I didn't fancy my chances in any type of shelter. Cindy? No, she'd never understand. And then one place struck me; it sickened me, but I had no choice. My father's house; my old home. The place where I lived for sixteen years, where my father tried to kill me. The place I escaped from months ago and vowed never to return to.

Oh God I must be desperate. I needed somewhere to sleep, somewhere to think and rest. Mostly, as cowardly as it sounded, I needed somewhere to hide. So three days ago I skulked into the house that had been abandoned for so long, such a pain in my chest as I entered the room where the photos of my affair were still scattered, into the bedroom where my father shut himself away, and finally to my own room where I had cried into my pillow countless nights. I was numb, so numb, and thankful for it. I didn't feel as I peeled the blood soaked bandage from my skin, as I bathed and redressed the wound. I didn't feel as I glanced at the photos of me as a child laughing happily with my father. Nothing. But as darkness enveloped me and I once again lied on my bed, feeling no more safe than I used to, I cried so hard into my pillow I thought my heart would break.

That was three days ago, and I'd cried every night since. Not something I'm willing to admit that often anymore, but at night, when I realised I was truly alone, I released the emotions in loud sobs. There was always such a hollowness in my stomach and a pressure in my chest, but worse, a buzz of words and thoughts running through my mind that threatened to drive me insane.

If only . . .

Perhaps I made a mistake . . .

Maybe this isn't . . .

But I had to block out the thoughts because I wasn't going to give myself false hope. I lived with the aching pain, perhaps not in the best way possible but in the only way I could handle. Didn't eat much. Threw up more than I should have. Spent a long time thinking until everything was blurry. So here I am, hands in my pockets, head lowered. I've never felt so miserable in my entire life, and as if mirroring my emotions it suddenly began to rain. Only softly, but raining none the less. I closed my eyes as the droplets fell against my skin, almost revelling in the fact that the whole cosmic universe won't fucking leave me alone. I can hear the shrill cries of women and children who just don't want to get wet and smile bitterly as they run to find shelter.

One good thing about the rain: it hides the tears. I'm barely aware that I'm silently crying, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters, really. It's not like my existence made a difference to mankind. Still hurts though. I didn't want to run and hide so instead I sat down on the nearest bench, out in the open, the wet wood staining my jeans, like I cared, and tipped my face up to the sky as if the rain could wash everything away.

I heard a child's laugh and thought for a moment I was going insane. But no, I blinked, realised that a young boy was standing not far away, dressed in a yellow rain Mack and looking almost like a duck. He was splashing about in the puddles. With a grin he threw his small body into the next growing river and giggled loudly, opened his arms wide and spun. Then, with no clear purpose, he leapt into the air and his green wellies found another puddle and he took delight in creating a small tsunami. This time, however, as I watched on in something like interest, the water flooded my legs, sending a shiver through my body as the cold water chilled my skin.

"Oh, I'm sorry," a man, tall and breathless, gasped, trying to stop himself from grinning. "He's too fond of the rain."

"No problem," I muttered, watching as the man, the father, laughed and ran to catch up with his mischief-maker son.

<<"Don't . . . don't apologise for him.">>

I sighed again. Talk about fucking irony. It was going to drive me insane.

Suddenly aware of a figure standing beside me, tall, a man I think. Dressed entirely in black: just casual wear jeans and sweater. One hand on the back of the bench, the other by his side. His hair was wet-dark and matted to his head. "This seat taken?" he asked.

I shrugged, self-consciously pulled my legs up onto the bench and rested my chin on my knees. "No," I breathed. "Knock yourself out."

He hesitated only slightly before he sat down, then fingered the bench in silence. I realised that despite the lack of sunshine he was wearing dark sunglasses and I shivered. "What are you doing out here in the rain?" he asked softly.

The rain was falling gently, so gently, like tears from heaven floating softly on the slight breeze. Don't know why the almost poetic thoughts were entering my mind, but I didn't care as I relaxed and allowed the soft droplets to smother me, to run across my scalp, down my skin, mixing with the tears. "Because," I breathed, "it reminds me of the time my life changed. Sitting outside the police station in the rain with nowhere to go, nothing but pain, wondering if ending it all would be the best for everyone."

<<"You shouldn't have bothered saving me.">>

I paused, finally turned and faced the man beside me on the bench. "But then," I continued, my voice breaking, "*you* called my name." I sobbed loudly, tightened my grip on my legs, realised I was shaking. Immediately I turned away and stared at the puddles.

After a long silence Rian said, "I remember." And then he placed his hand so gently over mine like he had back then, trying to reassure me. But I stiffened at the contact cos it was going to break my resolves as waves of warmth ran through me, and as if I had burnt him Rian immediately drew his hand back and joined them both like he was praying.

I could still hear the laughs of the kid and his father in the distance.

We both sat in uncomfortable silence for some time. I tried not to appear the insecure and confused teen but that's all I was. The position was making my muscles cramp but I didn't care. Eventually, still not facing him, my heart pounding I said, "Three days? Took you a while, didn't it? You must be getting rusty."

"I wanted to give you some time," Rian whispered. "I didn't . . . I thought maybe you just needed some time alone, to think." I'd been trying to get him mad. Okay, I also wanted him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me like there's no tomorrow, but mostly I wanted him to shout at me and turn and leave cos that was the easiest way to justify what was happening. If Rian was angry with me, then our separation wouldn't be causing him pain. "But I guess I was wrong. I tried not to think it, but I was wrong. I don't think quiet reflection was your intention."

He wanted me to confirm his suspicions, to say something, but I wouldn't. This was hurting me so much, such a pain in my chest, but I had to stop myself from saying I was sorry, from flinging myself into his arms. That wouldn't solve anything. "No," I said curtly. "It wasn't."

After another moment of tense silence, Rian suddenly let out a small sob. Three days of worrying and wondering and suspecting and now this . . . He turned away, raised a shaking hand to his face. Oh God how I wanted to hold him. How I wanted to say I was lying, that I never meant to leave. Anything I said he would probably accept, but I couldn't. I grit my teeth and turned my head away. His pain was my pain and I was hurting so much. I gasped, light-headed, then swallowed forcefully.

He regained his control. "I - I don't understand," he said. "Everything was okay, wasn't it? You woke up; we were so pleased to know you were all right. And . . . and you at least *pretended* you were happy to be alive." The silent accusation hung in the air. "So what on Earth happened? Was it Guy? Did you not want to see him? Or maybe it was my fault? Was I suffocating you? Are you pissed because . . ."

He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. 'Are you pissed because you blame me for what happened?' No. I shook my head, groaned in pain and disbelief. Oh God, no. I didn't blame Rian for my injury, not at all. He really thought that? "No," I moaned, without realising what I said.

He seemed to lighten somewhat. "Then what?" he asked.

"It's not important," I almost growled. Control. Just keep control.

"Not important?" Anger, finally. "You just decide to get up and walk out of a hospital after being shot, and disappear for *three days* and it's *not important*?"

"No!" I shouted suddenly, finding my feet, fighting against my instincts. I was standing, looming over him, and I could see the pain and disbelief on his face. "No, it's not important. And it's also none of your business! Just leave me alone, will you? Didn't you think that maybe I left cos . . ." I trailed off. As much as I knew it had to be done, hurting him was simply breaking me.

Still raining. By now I was soaked through to the bone, shivering so hard I probably could have collapsed. Instinctively I wrapped my arms about my body, comforting. Rian was still sitting on the bench; I was standing before him like a drowned rat, my bottom lip shaking. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them he would be gone and I could continue my life-long solitude. Instead I sobbed gently. Why was everything so hard?

I vaguely heard him standing, felt his arm slowly slip around my shoulder. With such gentleness he pulled me into an embrace, one arm around me, his hand in my damp hair. My head was resting against his shoulder almost like I wanted to sleep against him. That would never happen, but in that moment I didn't care whether or not my mind was made up. Sighing contently I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him all the closer, even thought letting him go would be all the harder for it.

I don't know why I let him take me home. I didn't want to give him any false hope. Maybe I was just going soft on myself, wanting to feel his arm around me, his hand in mine for as long as possible. But that wasn't fair either. I sat on the sofa, watching as Rian bent and collected the photos that still littered the floor, the ones of me and Mr Harada that pushed my father over the edge. There was a scowl on Rian's face. Either he was remembering or the photos were making him jealous. Didn't matter either way. "Rian," I murmured, but he hesitated to look at me. His glasses were gone. Eye contact was too painful. "Rian please . . ." Be strong. "Would you please leave?" It hurt. Oh God, I feel sick.

He was frozen for a moment, and then he shuffled the photos into a neat pile, placed them on the coffee table and turned to face me. "Syrian, what's wrong? Help me out here. I know you wouldn't push me away without reason or explanation, and I'm trying to be patient." Suddenly he dropped to his knees before me like he used to, his hands on my knees, and I shivered at the contact. Cos it was hard to restrain myself. "So please, please, talk to me. I'm so confused." His voice was so desperate. Must resist.

"Leave me alone," I whispered harshly.

He bit his bottom lip. "I don't understand this," he breathed. "You won't even tell me why you're brushing me off. I thought . . ."

He trailed off. You have to, you have to. Be strong. "Maybe," I said, pushing away the suffocating feeling of utter despair, "maybe you thought wrong."

Oh God, he looked like I'd stabbed him in the heart. And I had, really. I told him I didn't love him when really nothing was further from the truth. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat without him, could barely even breathe without him. But if he was suffering because of me I had to deal the final blow. He would die a little death, but in the end this would mean his freedom. He would be free to live and love without the fear of pain.

"Maybe I never loved you -"

Playing on his greatest weakness, his greatest vulnerability.

"Maybe it was all an act."

<<"Did you mean what you said?">>

"Maybe I was just using what I had."

My heart was thudding so hard. My body was shaking from the adrenaline and my mind was shouting no, no, no, no! I was lying to him, so blatantly lying that my stomach was clenching and I gasped, the pain inside overbearing, my chest suffocating. I couldn't believe this was happening, but it was the only way. Unbearable. He slowly, so slowly, pulled himself to his feet. I couldn't even look at him. I wasn't worthy anymore.

"Maybe?" he breathed, running a hand through his wet hair. And then, laughing, sneering, "*Maybe?* You know what, Syrian?" He sounded something between pained and angry, "I may have been insulted, beaten and strung up but that hurt." I winced; bit my lip, my eyes closed like everything would disappear if I couldn't see it. "I'm only going to say one thing to you," he continued.

"What?" I breathed. He's gonna shout and scream, he's gonna curse. He'll insult me, call me names. Slut? Tease? He might hit me. I deserve it. Maybe this is it. Maybe I'll never see him again. Maybe he'll be happy.

His face softened suddenly. "I wish things could have been different." And he turned and walked away, leaving me in a pit of despair, his words echoing in my mind. Such pain, so excruciating, so harshly necessary but so terribly heartbreaking. He stood at the door, watching me, looking at me for the last time, as if trying to memorise me, or waiting for me to say something. I couldn't look at him.

"Piece of filth," I muttered under my breath, barely aware I was saying it.

<<"Disgusting piece of filth.">>

"What?" Rian's voice: so far away.

"Revolting whore. Worthless little slut."

The words, coming from my own mouth, so condescending, so familiar. My father's words to me: his insults, embedded within my soul. I repeated them again and again, believing them, my voice growing louder and louder until eventually I was shouting them, shouting each insult at the top of my lungs, shivering and crying. Tears poured down my cheeks as I berated myself. My head in my hands. I'd lost it. I'd finally lost it, but with a bittersweet smile I cried out in emotional anguish.

"Syrian." Suddenly Rian's arms were around me and I didn't care about right or wrong, or morals or salvation. I threw myself against him, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, buried my fingers in his hair. "Sssh," he soothed, rocking me back and forth like a child, but the sobs were so painful my throat was constricting and I couldn't breathe. I tightened my grip, feeling him against me, his hands spread across my back, embracing. I took huge heavy gasps, my heart pounding, trying to breathe. "Please, Syrian, calm down. Don't scare me."

I nodded against his shoulder, closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. The dizziness faded and I smiled in relief. He was still holding me. I didn't release my grip, the reasons for pushing him away still clear but not important in that moment. "You're here," I breathed, "you stayed."

Rian nodded, raking his fingers through my hair. "Of course," he said, then gently pushed himself away so that we were face to face. "Syrian, I know what you were saying. I knew those words were . . . were *his.* No one expects you to be able to deal with this so quickly, and not alone." He sighed gently. "Can . . . can you tell me what's going on?"

No, no, no, no. You're supposed to be protecting him. You're supposed to be *leaving* him. But I can feel everything shattering. I want to tell him, I need to tell him. Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe he'll understand what I'm trying to do, what I'm trying to protect. "It's for the best," I murmur almost silently.

"What is?" he asked.

Deep breaths. "I . . . I heard what you said; when you and the doctor were talking. I heard you. He said my father . . . did all those things because he was abused as a child."

"You heard?" he said shakily, and then, "But that was just speculation."

"No," I said. "Whatever the truth, he was emotionally unstable. A 'slave to psychological damage.' Guy said he loved me, said my father *fucking* loved me. He hurt his family. He killed his wife. How could he have loved me if he did this? How could he hurt the people he should have protected? Because he was psychologically *damaged*?"

"I don't think I understand," Rian murmured, drawing me closer to him. The tears were falling silently. I angrily wiped them away.

"Don't you remember? His curse? My father's fucked up damage was passed onto *me*. He was a slave to it and he killed my mother and tried to kill me too. The son he *loved*." I sobbed again, heart pounding, eyes stinging. "I don't . . . want to be like him. I don't want to hurt the people I love." Another sob, heart wrenching. "I don't want to hurt *you.*"

Rian was silent for a long moment, and I could feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers. And then he spoke, so quietly the words were barely audible. "Syrian, I do understand. Your father was unstable and he hurt you, whether he wanted to or not. And now you think you're unstable and that you'll hurt me. But . . . do you remember what you said to him? 'Don't insult me. I'll never be like you.' You said that, and I was so proud of you."

"This isn't something I can control," I tried to explain. "It's inside of me, in my head."

"Who says there's anything to control?" he whispered, running his fingers down my cheek. "You get depressed sometimes. Who doesn't? You have panic attacks, okay, but you get through them. You're not damaged, Syrian, and you're nothing like him. You'll never ever hurt anyone you love. Your father, he did some fucked up things but you're not him. He probably never stopped once to think if what he was doing was wrong, but you ran away *just* to protect your friends. That shows me all the difference."

I was silent for a long time, such an emptiness inside of me. How could everything be clear one moment and then Rian speaks and its all comes undone? But, as I blinked away fresh tears, I realised he was right. Just because my father gave me some screwy genes didn't mean that I was anything like him. And I loved Rian too much to ever hurt him. "Oh God," I cried, holding him so tightly. I was wrong, so wrong. "What have I done? I just wanted to keep you safe. Couldn't bear to see you hurt, not because of me."

"I know, I know," he soothed gently, interlacing his fingers with mine.

"I . . . I didn't mean what I said," I whispered, my heart in my throat. "About not loving you. I thought my heart would break. I'm in love with you, Rian. So deeply. I could never truly let go. I don't think I could live without you." Please believe me, please, please. Don't say I hurt you enough for you to let go.

He was silent for a long time, as if contemplating something. <<"Maybe I never loved you.">> The words, my words, hurting him so much, tearing my heart. I closed my eyes, sobbed loudly once, held him tightly before letting go, turning away, my head lowered as the tears streamed down my face. "I understand," I tried to say, but more sobs, more tears, drowned out my words. Such an ache, I wondered how it didn't kill me. Everything, all the emotions from months of pain and dread and confusion suddenly released and it *hurt.* I couldn't be strong anymore.

He shook his head so slowly I wondered if he was even aware of anything. And then suddenly his hands were clenching my arms and he gasped, "What?" in confusion.

Choking slightly I pulled my arms from his loose embrace, not viciously, just sadly. With quiet control I murmured, "I understand," again, wiped my wet cheeks with shaking hands and somehow, somehow, I pulled myself to my feet. My chest aching I stumbled forward slightly towards the door. This time there'd be no reunion.

Suddenly . . . fingers wrapped so tightly around my wrist, begging, pulling. And a noise so instinctive, so raw, like a whimpering animal. My heart in my throat I cried out gently and turned to see wet green eyes, a trembling lip, his fingers still wrapped loosely around my wrist. "What are you doing?" he breathed, barely forming the words. My heart was pounding. "Where . . . where are you going?" Desperate now. I've never seen him so close to hysterical. "Are you leaving again? Are you just going to stand up and walk away and leave me sitting here, let me watch you go? Why? Don't you think the first time hurt me enough? Don't you think the second time would kill me?"

"But I hurt you," I whispered, lowering my head. "On purpose too. I said I didn't love you. I said that I used you. So . . . I understand if you can't trust me, if you want to -"

He jerked me forward suddenly by my wrist so that we were both standing face to face, and my breath caught in my throat. He was looking so intently at me; our faces only inches apart but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I couldn't even breathe without the air from my lips touching his face, so I held my breath. And I was glad that Rian had encased my wrist in his other hand, both of my hands trapped so gently so I couldn't touch him even though I wanted to. "Syrian," he began, and I shivered as his lips grazed my cheek as he spoke. "If I said 'you lied to me. I can't trust you. I want to leave,' would you be able to accept that? Deep down in your heart, could you really accept that?"

I shivered almost uncontrollably, closing my eyes, feeling him so close to me. And I knew the answer. It was so clear. I just needed the strength to say it. "No," I breathed. "I'd never accept it. I could never let you go."

I opened my eyes, curious, saw him smiling so warmly something inside me lit up. "Good," he said, his hands releasing mine, his fingers slowly trailing across my back. And then he gently tilted my head back so we were looking at each other and I flushed so furiously I wanted to run. But I didn't. "Good," he said again, to me and only me. "Because I'd never say that and I don't ever want you to give up on us for something we can work out. I love you so much sometimes I think my heart is burning. And I . . . I'm vulnerable, I know." He lowered his head, a blush on his cheeks that made my heart pound. "But I know you were trying to protect me."

"I didn't mean what I said before," I quickly whispered, my turn to raise his face to mine. "I love you, I love you so much. Please stay with me." I meant it so much, and my heart was pounding, wondering if this was it, if it was all over, or if, hopefully, he would stay. But . . . he was crying now. Tears were running silently down his cheeks and without a thought I slowly brushed them away. "Are you hurting?" I whispered.

He shook his head, moved closer to me, smiling so slightly. And then, suddenly, his lips were pressed against mine, so soft. He breathed so gently against my lips and I gasped as he moved his mouth against mine, my eyes closing. "Love you," he murmured, capturing my mouth again, sucking on my bottom lip. Instinct now, purely instinct. I felt his wet tears against my cheek and cupped his face in my hands, fingers through his hair, felt his own hands, arms, across my back.

"Love you too," I breathed against his cheek, moments before I kissed him again, running my tongue between his lips until he opened his mouth and our tongues met. Not as chaste as our first kisses, not as fierce as our last, but passionate. Forgiving, comforting and accepting. When we broke apart moments, hours later (who knew?) we were both panting but grinning too. There was such a lightness inside me I couldn't help but smile. Rian leant forward and kissed me so gently, as if trying to capture the smile so he could keep it forever.

Suddenly I was shivering so hard I gasped. Rian looked concerned, but somewhat drowsy at the same time. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Why are you trembling?"

"Cold," I bit out. It was true. My clothes were still damp from the rain and my skin was clammy; I could feel it. But I also knew that my body was shivering cos of Rian's touches. I flushed at the thought and suddenly Rian was running his hands down my denim jacket, feeling the wetness.

"Then I'll make you warm," he whispered against my neck, causing fresh waves of shivers. With slow movements he unbuttoned my jacket and slid it from my body, letting it fall to the ground almost silently. Instinctively I leant towards him, my eyes closed.

"Your sweater's wet too," I breathed, barely aware I was saying anything, and then my fingers were wrapped around the bottom of his shirt and lifting, grazing his bare skin. He closed his eyes too, lifted his arms above his head like a child as I pushed the sweater up his body, slowly revealing more of his skin. With ease I discarded the clothing, found my face inches from his neck and kissed the hollow of his throat gently.

"Syrian," he groaned softly, then fingered the shirt I was still wearing. With a quick tug he peeled it away from my body and it joined my jacket. Both shirtless now I moaned gently, leant into his embrace, my arms around his waist, my head against his shoulder.

His skin was clammy but, "So warm," I murmured, my breath tickling his skin. He exhaled slowly, gathering me in his arms, embracing me so that his chin rested against the top of my head. I smiled, placed a spread hand across his chest, felt his heart beating softly against my fingers. He ran his hands through my hair, then kissed the wet strands softly. We were holding each other, bare skin on bare skin. I felt a deep blush on my face.

He was stroking my cheek now. "Rian," I breathed, my eyes closing. "Please, don't ever doubt me."

He chuckled almost silently. "Never," he said, taking my hand, our fingers interlacing, raising it to his face to kiss my knuckles. "Never." And then we looked at each other for just a moment before he kissed me deeply, gently leading me away.

A soft tender kiss, a brush of his lips against mine. "Are you all right?" he whispered, barely breaking the kiss, breath hot on my skin. I was trembling slightly but warmth was enveloping my body and I gasped, touching the striking face above mine, watched as his green eyes fluttered closed.

"Yes," I breathed, running my fingers down his cheeks, leaving a trail of flushed skin. Rian smiled tenderly at me, pressing a soft kiss onto my forehead, down my face, kissing nose, chin, lips: hot kisses down my neck, across my throat. Breathing hard I stared at him for a moment, my breaths loud in my own ears between the gasps and small noises from both of us.

"Do you -?"

"Ssh," I interrupted gently, pressing a finger to his lips. No doubts. No questions. Not now or ever. "I love you." I kissed him deeply, my fingers twined in his damp hair, the feeling of his body pressed against mine causing me to moan into his mouth. I could feel Rian's warm hands gently dancing over my skin, softly exploring. I wrapped my arms around his neck, lost in the intensity of these feelings.

Our bodies melted against each other and Rian made a small whimpering noise, kissing my neck under the damp hair. "So beautiful," he murmured, taking my hand, interlacing our fingers. I drew a deep, shaky breath, a surge of pure physical need spreading through me. Aching. "Love you so much." And the undeniable knowledge deep inside that he wanted me too.

We made love for the first time that night, in the house where it all started. It was love and passion we shared; slick skin under my fingers, trembling hands, the feel of his hair brushing against my throat, chest, stomach. Two mouths, two heartbeats, and a warmth in my chest that replaced all the pain. It was slow and gentle, sweet, whispered promises and declarations of love that were quickly forgotten but sincerely meant.

The room was filled with soft breathing as we moved together and I was lost to the sensation, one of the sweetest memories I have. He sighed when he saw my half-hearted attempt at binding the wound that really wasn't there anymore, but if he was feeling guilty or angry he said nothing. Instead Rian placed a kiss directly onto the bandage, and looked at me with tears in his eyes. He began to run his fingers around the damaged skin but with a small cry I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed the fingertips.

Mouths pressed against lips and skin, fingers tangled, soothing voices, motions and tears of pleasure, pain and release. Gentle, so gentle his entrance was almost lost in the small cries until I felt him moving inside with slow strokes that softly sent me over the edge. I gasped his name as it hit, heard my own name on his lips; trembling and panting I pulled him into a deep embrace, silent for a long time, content in listening to his heavy breathing. "That was -"

"Yeah," he interrupted with a small smile, his fingers in my hair.

I giggled slightly. "You don't know what I was gonna say."

He looked at me with a devilish grin. "I have an idea," he laughed.

Sighing gently I cradled his head against my shoulder. "I thought my sex life had nothing to do with you?" I mildly accused. Rian made a shushing noise: pressed his lips to mine, quietening me. Not that I minded of course. But then something struck me and I think I tensed cos suddenly he was looking at me with worry in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he barely breathed, as if afraid of the answer.

"I - just I . . . I feel really guilty cos I never asked . . ." Realising I wasn't making much sense, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "I mean, I know your real name but I never bothered to ask which you prefer. And I shouldn't just assume -" I stopped as I felt Rian's fingertips against my lips, silencing me. He looked almost amused.

"Syrian, you're asking me about my name, *now*?" he giggled. I flushed.

"Well, d'you know what it feels like to wonder if you said the wrong name?"

He giggled again: such a welcome sound. "Okay, truthfully I never liked the name Braeden Knight. It was too - ironic." I raised my eyebrows, confused. "Well, it means 'from the dark valley.' Hey, stop laughing! I mean it." He poked me in the ribs. "So, call me Rian. You always say it so sweetly."

I smiled warmly at him. "Rian it is. I can't think of you any other way." We kissed again and something else began to play on my mind. "Um, could I ask you something?"

"This sounds serious," he asked with concern in his voice.

"I -" Blushing slightly I bit my bottom lip. "Since we're talking about names, with this whole Black Phoenix thing and . . . my father and everything, I really don't think I can handle being Syrian Black anymore," I admitted quietly.

Rian took my hand and ran his thumb over my knuckles. "What do you mean?" he asked. "What are you trying to say? You wanna change your name?"

He didn't know the half of it. "Yeah," I breathed.

He exhaled slowly. "I guess it makes sense, since the organisation that tried to kill you was named after your father. You probably don't want anything to do with them anymore, but you know what? There's a twist that he'll never see. The phoenix was a beautiful bird that rose from the ashes, from death, and brought light to the world." He chuckled slightly. "Like you, just like you."

I shivered slightly, remembering my father's words. <<"You're the one light thing in this dark place and it drives people crazy.">>

"That's very deep," I murmured. "So this whole time the black phoenix was me?"

Rian looked thoughtful for a moment, then seemed to shrug the whole idea away. "So what do you wanna change your name to?" he asked quietly, a tone of what, regret, in his voice?

"Not my whole name, just my surname." Suddenly nervous I realised I was fiddling with my hands when something chilled my skin. Metal. The silver ring was glistening on my finger and I remembered giving it to him months ago, finding it on the bed and promising to return it no matter what. It all seemed so distant, so far away, but with a smile on my face I palmed the ring, reached blindly for Rian's hand. "Here," I murmured, slipping the ring onto his finger beneath the covers. Rian seemed really shocked but I wasn't sure why until he so slowly raised his hand and I could see . . . The ring was sitting on the ring finger of his left hand.

"Did . . . did you mean to do that?" Rian asked, his voice shaking.

I bit my bottom lip. I hadn't even realised. "I guess it was fate," I breathed, looked at him, realised there were tears in my eyes and his too. "It *must* be fate, since I was going to ask if I could share your surname."

"You were?" he whispered. "You want my surname?" When I nodded slightly he broke into a smile and pulled me forward, kissing my forehead tenderly. "Sure."

So I was leaving my past behind and facing a new future, and even though there was a knot of nervous apprehension inside me, I knew everything would be okay. "God, I missed you," I said, drawing him into an embrace. "Three days and I missed you. How can we ever be apart?" I added melodramatically, even though I meant it. I felt his fingers running gently down my back and sighed quietly. "I love you. So much."

"Good, cos I love you too," he said, drawing my chin up with his finger, kissing me softly. And I melted into him as the dance began again.

I don't know much about the future. I don't know if I'll travel the world or stay put, or what career I may have, or what type of house I'll live in. I don't know the people who'll come and go, or who I should and shouldn't trust. I don't even know if I'll ever forgive the man I called my father. But I know one thing that will stay the same and it warms me to know he'll always be there.

My protector, my saviour.

My friend, my lover.

Just him. Always him.

~FIN~