I don't have to do anything for you anymore. You already got it all.

The lines on her face deepened, and her expression hardened, and Kat stood up. She didn't care whether or not he saw her now, because her resolve and her hatred toward him was stronger than her fear. It was stronger than she was, even, and when he shone the light on her and took a step closer she did not back down.

Kat...

Her hair was a tangled matt of red, snarles with leaves and bits of twig in them. There was dirt on her face and hands and her clothes were ragged from pushing through the undergrowth, but the blade of the knife she held in her right hand was still clean enough to gleam. Her body was tense, but she was radiating the same energy she used to hand out in bloody streaks Charybdis so many years ago, and like it had always been before, there as no fear in her eyes, no fear of him or anyone or anything else. Like before, he was on the outside, and she was the same untouchable vicious girl he'd met thirteen years ago, but she hadn't hated him then.

No, Kat, NO. I won't let you do this. I won't let you shut me out. I love you. You loved me. We were happy. I can't lose you now. I need you. I love you.

But he said none of this to her, just kept repeating it to himself, because she hated him now, that much was obvious, and the Katera he'd known had only one way to deal with those she hated. She was lost to him, and if he had harbored any doubt, her cold green eyes held all the proof he'd ever need.

She was still glaring hatred at him, spitting words at him like a viper, but he couldn't hear her over the roaring in his ears. Everything he'd kept locked away for the last two years was swelling with the pain of his loss and frustration, and he took another step toward her. She held her ground, and he moved toward her again.

There was something different to him as he slowly approached her, something different that frightened her despite her furious resolve. The closer he came the more viciously she berated him, desperate now to keep him away, but he took another step and she looked up into his eyes, and then she knew.

No. You... you can't make me. I don't want to. I don't want to love you and have you leave again.

Her own eyes widened and she turned and ran, bolted, fled, flying through the woods as if she were being hunted, because she was. She could hear him behind her, crashing through the underbrush, and it terrified her even more because she remembered this. She remembered Charybdis at night, Burr and the army brats, Command School and Ryan, the nights on the streets, before she found Wick, and she was screaming even before he caught her.

But he did catch her, and it was almost deja vu as his hand wrapped in her hair and tugged her back. The force of it nearly pulled her from her feet, but Kat was too angry to fall, and like every time before, she fought back. She used the sudden shift in balance to whirl around, and she cut him before she could stop herself, the hand holding her blade flashing out in front of her and taking with it a trail of blood.

"I hate you!" she screamed, striking out at him again with bloodlust she'd long forgotten, and once started nothing could make her stop. She wanted him to hurt like she hurt, wanted him to die like she'd died every single time he'd left her, and there were tears in her eyes as she attacked him, but she didn't stop.

Then he was reaching out and grabbing for her shirt, but his hand caught in her hair instead. He slowed down, but the sudden change in speed still made her screech. She didn't fall, though, and she spun around to face him as cold fire seared a line across his abdomen. He didn't actually see the blade until she'd cut him again, across the chest this time, and long-unused training knocked him out of his shock. He grabbed her wrist while the knife was still heading away from him and tried to squeeze it to make her let go, but she clawed at his face and he could only imprison her other hand.

She wrenched, and he didn't let her go, but he became aware of the warmth that was running down his front, and the sudden icy wave that made him look away from her face and down at himself.

His shirt was soaked in blood, two neat slashes in the material showing two neat slashes in his skin. He couldn't feel anything but cold there, couldn't assess the damage, and he looked back up at her.

I knew she might, one day. I always knew, even at the beginning.

He let her go, though his slackening strength could hardly have kept her there. He put his left hand over the worse of the two and tried to apply pressure, but it was still numb with shock and it was hard to tell. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, but he couldn't feel betrayed. He only felt remorse, that it had come to this at last, and anger that he wouldn't have a chance to make things right again.

There was blood running down his chest and stomach, more blood than than there should have been, and he glanced down at himself and pressed his hand against his abdomen. More blood welled over his fingers and down his skin, and then he looked up to her. His eyes were sad, and she wasn't prepared for that; she'd expected him to hate her in return, to be as angry and vicious, but he wasn't and it made her own fury hesitate.

"...is this what you need, Kitten?" he asked her, and suddenly her fury was back, but for another reason.

"No!" she screamed at him, "It isn't! It isn't but I don't want to need you!"

Once she said it she knew it was true. It had always been true. It was the only reason she'd ever hated him; not for the pain he'd caused her, not for the times he'd left her, but because she needed him. That was why she hated him, because it was glaringly obvious that she was dependent upon him and nothing would change that, and she hated herself just as much at that moment.

I don't want to need you.

I love you, Kat.

The dagger hit his shoulder hilt first and thudded into the mud at his feet, and she turned away and folded up, as if trying to protect herself but lacking the strength to stand, and screamed at him to go away. It was an old pose, one he remembered seeing in Command School more often than anywhere else, and it made him feel guilty and protective at once.

He could think of nothing to say. He thought about trying to make it back to the house by himself.

I probably could. But if I was able to make it, what would be the point, alone?

He made his way toward her slowly and carefully; he didn't want to startle her, and he didn't want to stumble. He was already feeling weak. It wasn't a deep cut (he assured and reassured himself, it wasn't, couldn't possibly be deep enough to be near fatal), but it was bleeding a lot, and the night hadn't been particularly warm to begin with.

"Kat..."

He said her name to alert her to his presence, but she didn't look up.

"...I love you."

She heard him, he knew she'd heard him; there was a movement, something, a reaction, but it was dark and getting darker for him and he couldn't quite tell what it was. She still said nothing, and he spoke one more time, his voice sounding uncoordinated even to him.

There were countless times she'd come to his aid, fought for him and stayed at his side, but it had always been an unspoken agreement. Protecting him was simply something she did because she had to, something she did because she loved him, and that alone might have been enough to make her go to him, but then he asked.

You don't mean it. You never wanted me or my help all these weeks. Why should I help you now, just because I've hurt you like you've hurt me?

She stood and turned to face him, but the bitter refusal died on her lips once she saw him. He was all white and red in the darkness, pale and bloody, and she stared at him with speechless remorse.

I just wanted you to go away. I didn't want to kill you.

"...Kat?" His voice was even shakier this time, and after another moment she managed to drag her gaze away from his torso to his face, and their eyes met. For the first time in a long time neither said a word, just looked at the other and waited, and eventually Kat broke the silence and moved toward him.

"Let me see," she said, her tone businesslike, and he let her pull his hands away from the cut so that she could examine it. It was deep, but not deep enough to be immediately threatening, and she placed his hand back over his abdomen and pressed down. "You need stitches."

She slipped an arm around his waist, close enough to steady him but leaving space between them. He bridged that distance by leaning against her, and she tried to move back, but his weight was on her and she didn't want to fall. Instead she straightened and started to guide him through the woods, trying to ignore his blood on her hands, trying to ignore how close he really was, and failing utterly.

I love you too.

Their progress was painfully slow, and it was nearly an hour later that they finally made it up the steps and into the house. From there she half-carried him to her room, managed to get him onto the bed and then turned and left to get help. It was next door that she went, to Wick's room, and Kat was bloody and exhausted when her sister opened the door.

Kat was in the room and in his blurry peripheral vision, but she was keeping her distance, and so he watched the bright metal move and tried to keep his eyes open. Blood loss had left him cold and weak, but he wasn't in any real pain and he desperately wanted to stay awake long enough to be alone with Kat after the doctor left.

The woman finally finished with the second line of stitches to close the cut on his chest and gave Kat some medication and some terse instructions on what needed to be done. The doctor asked no questions about how the injuries had occurred, and didn't seem to care. Wick had apparently had her waiting downstairs when they returned. Nathan wondered whether the doctor had been intended for himself or for Katera.

The sound of the door closing brought his eyes open and made him realize that he'd almost fallen asleep. The room was darker now, but he and Kat could see in the dark, and he could see her standing next to the door.

Why did you make me do this? I wouldn't have if you'd just told me you didn't want me around, or needed to be alone. I wouldn't have if you'd just told me something. Why'd you come when I knew I was just going to hurt you?

"He can take this for pain," the doctor was saying, somehow abruptly in front of her, and Kat blinked and realized that she'd fallen asleep standing upright. "Oh... okay," she said, and the woman looked at her reprovingly. "And he's restricted from moving around, at least for the first few days. You don't want the stitches tearing out, do you?"

"No," Kat said softly, and then nodded several times as the doctor finished her instructions and left. She was still looking in the direction of the door when Mode said her name, and she turned around to look at him across the room.

"Don't go. Please."

You should want me to, she thought, and was suddenly flooded with guilt for what she'd done. I'd want me to leave.

Instead of leaving she made herself walk toward him, and watched him watch her until she stood beside the bed. He was just as tired as she was, she could see it on his face and in his eyes, and she couldn't bring herself to be angry again. There were too many things that needed to be said when both of them were ready, when one of them wasn't still bleeding, and she put it all aside and climbed up next to him.

"Kat?"

There was no response, and he immediately tried to sit up and just as immediately regretted it. He hissed at the pain in his abdomen and lay still until it subsided somewhat and then pushed himself back with his arms. He encountered the headboard and used it to prop himself up. It wasn't comfortable, but it meant he could see the whole room, and confirm that she wasn't in it.

She's gone, and I wasn't even awake to see her leave.

"Kat!"

She did not appear, and he moved himself carefully to the edge of the bed, preparing to try to stand. His hand slipped under the covers and as he steadied himself the warmth under his fingertips registered. Warm. The bed is warm. She was just here, she can't be too far... Then he heard the distant shower, sagged in relief, and then set about making his way to it.

Walking itself wasn't painful, as long as he was careful about how he moved his upper torso. The bathroom wasn't far, and he hesitated briefly and then slowly opened the door.

He was standing there against the wall and she was about three inches from running bodily into him before she realized he was there, and realization made her scream. He yelped in surprise too, but Kat was already back in the shower stall and slamming the door behind her.

"What are you doing? You're hurt! You're supposed to be in bed! You're going to tear your stitches out, you stupid idiot!"

Ashamed for startling her and gratified at her concern, he still didn't move at first.

Of course I'm coming back. I don't have anywhere else to go, anywhere else without you.

"Where?" she snapped, the uncertainty hidden again in an instant. "The bedroom? Of course. I have to go there once I leave here, don't I? Now get back to bed!"

He left after looking at her through the foggy glass, and she avoided his gaze and started hurrying again. It didn't take her long to get dressed, but she lingered long after she needed to, straightening the room with unnecessary attention and going over her own appearance several times, smoothing her hair, fixing her clothes, but eventually even she grew impatient with her own hesitance.

For a moment, as she stomped back into their bedroom, she thought that maybe he'd left. Then she noticed him sitting in the bed, just as she'd commanded him to, waiting for her, watching her as she stepped through the door, and her face flushed.

She was clean now, her hair soft and still a little damp on her shoulders, and he watched her move around the room and wished she'd come closer so he could hold her. That thought made him more aware of himself, and that he was also in need of a bath.

She retreated again to the bathroom and busied herself with making the water warm, with finding dry towels, with anything but him. It took him a minute to make his way into the room, and she was grateful for that minute, trying to use that little precious time to compose herself. When she realized, though, that he really was going to need her help, it didn't take long for that hard-earned composure to falter, and Kat stared at him with uncertainty in her eyes.

"You'll... you'll probably need help," she said, trying not to sound reluctant and failing utterly at it. He gave no indication that he noticed her hesitance and nodded, and Kat silently cursed herself for being a coward, rolled up her sleeves, and stepped forward. "Okay."

It was torture, being so close to him after so long. Kat had helped him for months, but suddenly it was different, suddenly she could barely stand to be near and touch him. He was cooperative and accomodating, assisting her as best he could, doing what she told him and letting her fuss over him, but his passivity only made it that much harder. It felt like all the other times he'd played along, and she knew what was coming, knew that soon he'd push her away again, and now she could only remember that it was she who was supposed to be furious and betrayed by his distance, but there was nothing distant at the moment, and Kat had to get away.

"Are you coming back?"

I don't know what you want to hear, Mode. I don't know what to say. I could stay, or I could go, but either way it would feel the same. Either way you're just going to leave again.

"I don't know," she said. "Why should I? You'll go away again, anyway." The last should have been said angrily, accusingly, but it came out small and uncertain, and she turned away from him. "You shouldn't ask me. I've never asked you, and you always go away. I shouldn't have to tell you. You should already know."

He finished dressing in his pants and a shirt and walked into the other room, half expecting her not to be there. She was sitting on the little couch closest to hallway, and she didn't look at him when he came in. She didn't even look up until he was right next to her, and he sat down without waiting to see if she would try to get up. He put his arms around her and she didn't pull away, but she was stiff and unresponsive when he pulled her close. Her muscles were tense and it felt as if she were going to start struggling any moment, but he held her anyway and kissed the top of her head.

She already knew that he loved her. She already knew that he'd never wanted to leave. Circumstances had brought them to together and pulled them apart, but they were here again and that wasn't what frightened her. What frightened her was that, like every other time she'd gotten close to him since she'd brought him back, as soon as she touched him he would push her away.

And he would, she knew it, he would push her away and he didn't understand that she couldn't bear it if he did. It would be easier if she just didn't respond to him at all, Kat told herself, but it wasn't. Instead it was all she could do to keep from clinging to him, to stop herself before she forgave him for everything, and her body was bowstring tight as she nearly vibrated in his arms with the effort to remain in place.

Despite all this, she wouldn't move. Even if he left soon, at least he was holding her now.

I love you too, Mode.

"Stay with me, Kat."

Still she did her best not to look at him, and he closed the distance and kissed her.

He'd said he loved her. He'd asked her to stay with him. And even though she was still too terrified to close her eyes, afraid that he might disappear if she did, she believed him.

Of course I will.

She kissed him fiercely in return, and it felt so good it made her teeth hurt. He wound a hand into her curls, and she dug her nails into the small of his back, and he didn't push her away.