*UNEDITED so some spelling/grammar may be atrocious because I wrote this in the middle of the night on a random spur of inspiration. mainly fluff from Hevelyn and Killicah/Millian(?), so hopefully that makes up for my tiredness--and laziness. love you all xx OH AND PLEASE SUGGEST ACTOR PORTRAYALS FOR KILLIAN, THANK YOU <3*

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HARRY AND EVELYN MIGHT as well have been glued together. Harry only lets Evelyn walk so far from his side before he squeezes her hand and tugs her back. He's scared to let go, truthfully. Every time he does, she's taken away from him and vice-versa.

He can't let that happen again--he won't.

It hadn't been the easiest task slipping out of the doctor's campsite. The reason they had the slightest chance was thanks to Tristan, who distracted staff members near the only opening long enough for them to pass by unnoticed. Things could have gone very wrong, which Harry had completely expected them to, but somehow, for once, it was easy. He wishes every tough situation were as simple.

Now the three of them--Harry, Evelyn, and 7080--are walking alongside the treeline of the abandoned neighborhood, hoping to find a house to recuperate. Evelyn hasn't mentioned any plans. He doubts she has any as of now. Something happened back in the hover that she hasn't told him. There's blood on her suit, a dead look in her eyes. He considers the worst, clenching his jaw to stifle the rising anger.

He zones back into Evelyn's voice as she speaks to 7080, who walks ahead of them. "...so you see? I can't just call you a number."

"But that's what everyone calls me."

"Well, I'm not everyone. I'll list some names, and you choose which one sounds best to you, okay?"

"I really--"

"Let's see, there's Michael, Lionel... Um." She narrowed her eyes at his back, thinking. "Derek, Adam... what else do you look like?" She continued listing names when 7080 finally stopped, his eyebrows furrowed as he faced her.

"What was that last one?"

Evelyn frowns in confusion, trying to remember. "Rowland?"

"No, before that."

She snaps her fingers. "Oh, Damien?"

"I like that," 7080, or now Damien, Harry supposes, says.

Evelyn smiles in satisfaction. "Damien it is, then." She sighs and rubs her temple with the hand Harry isn't clutching. "I'm going to need a list to keep track of all of you, honestly. You're all starting to blur together."

Harry chuckles as Damien shrugs and begins walking again.

"No, seriously," Evelyn says to him in a low voice, though Damien can probably still hear her if he were to be listening. "I'm really gonna need a notebook and a pen soon."

"I'll get right on that," Harry teases.

She falls quiet as their walk progresses. "I don't know what to do," she whispers. "I have no idea where Micah is with Robbie, and I have no idea where Locke is with Sasha. It's like the universe doesn't want any of us to be together."

"We'll find them."

"You can't be sure."

"We've found them before, haven't we? We can keep playing this game of hide-and-seek for a little while longer. We'll just be sure to chain them down when we do find them."

Evelyn snorts. "I'm considering that myself."

He looks over at her, drawing her features in his memory. The hard line of her jaw, her high cheekbones, her bright brown eyes. A face dull to others but impossibly beautiful to him. He squeezes her hand for the umpteenth time in less than an hour, leaning closer so their arms touch as they walk.

He plans to speak, but just as he opens his mouth, she beats him to it. "I was worried about you," she admits, surprising him.

"Worried about me?" he asks, puzzled. "I've been with that man plenty of times to know how to handle myself. I was worried about you."

She either hadn't been listening, or she simply chose to ignore him. Her words grow much softer as she cast her gaze to the ground. "I didn't think he would let you live this time." If Harry didn't have impeccable hearing, he would've missed what she said.

"Me either," he confesses quietly. "Pride before logic, I suppose."

"Harry, you don't get it," she says firmly, another shock to him. She stops and grips his hand to halt him as well. Damien, wisely, continues on but slows a bit so as not to totally lose them. Evelyn's eyes bore into Harry's so seriously, his stomach knots. "I thought you were gone. For good."

When her eyes begin to water, Harry frowns and cups her cheek with his calloused hand. "Evelyn..."

She leans into his touch. "I thought I was going to have to do this by myself," she whispers. "It was so hard to be alone when I lost my family. Then you found me, but he keeps taking you from me. I thought I wasn't going to see you again, and I would be alone going out of my mind. I wouldn't... I couldn't..." She cuts herself off after stammering, closing her eyes and inhaling a shaky breath.

He rubs his thumb over her cheekbone, wiping a tear in the process. "I will always fight for you," he says softly, tipping her chin up as she finally opens her eyes. He tries to smile, but he's sure it looks horrid with his canines. "You should know by now I'm not so easily detained. I'm actually a bit insulted you'd think me so inable."

His shoulders sag slightly when she manages a smile, rolling her eyes at him as she places her hand on his chest as if to push him away. Instead, she runs her hand up his bare collarbone and around to the back of his neck. He moves his hand from her face, sliding it around her waist. He presses his forehead against hers, their noses brushes and their breath mingling.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers, noticing her eyes on his lips.

She hesitates, but then kisses him softly. It's nothing more than a peck so his canines don't have the opportunity to scrape her and potentially Turn her. He finds that self-loathing churning within him again. Though he should be angry with the bastard that implanted them, he hates himself for not being able to kiss her as passionately as she deserves to be kissed.

She pulls apart and looks down, her voice nearly inaudible still. "I missed you."

Before he can reply that he probably missed her more, Damien shouts from very far ahead, "Hey, guys! I found a place!"

***

Micah decides to keep guard that night, in case any daring men do dare to show up. He keeps the hover locked tight, sitting in the lobby room where the group typically hangs out. He leans against the hover wall, the crate beneath him creaking with the rapid movement of his bouncing leg. He absentmindedly twirls a dagger between his fingers.

He smells pine before he hears Killian approaching, though trying to keep his steps quiet, Micah could hear a fly buzzing miles away. He lazily lolls his head to the side to watch Killian walk through the open doorway, still weaving the knife carelessly around his knuckles.

Killian steps through and halts when he sees Micah already knows he's there. He bites his bottom lip, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "I could've sworn I was being silent."

"Silence doesn't exist," Micah mumbles. "Not for me, anyways."

"You're going to cut yourself."

Micah shrugs.

Killian pursed his lips, still standing awkwardly. "I couldn't sleep."

"I presumed as much."

"If you're tired, I can, you know... take over." He scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze from meeting Micah.

Micah frowns, looking him over again. "That won't be necessary. I've gone weeks without sleeping before. This is tedious, that's all."

"Weeks? How did you do that?"

Micah shrugs again.

"Are you okay?"

Killian's abrupt question catches Micah off guard, and his frown deepens. He doesn't know how to answer, so he presses his lips together tightly.

Hesitantly, Killian sits beside him on the crate. It squeaks loudly, making Killian cringe, but then he says, "I have bad nightmares, so I can't hardly ever sleep. I'll be lucky if I get a solid hour in of decent rest."

Still unsure if he should say anything, Micah remains quiet.

Killian continues in a voice so soft, only Micah's inhuman ears could hear him. "Trey made the nightmares go away for a little while. But since he's been gone, they're back. Worse than before, I think." He clenches his jaw, then cautiously glances over at Micah, who's staring at the floor. "Have you ever had nightmares? Don't take this the wrong way, but being what you are... who you are... I would expect it's really difficult to cope with sometimes."

Micah swallows, stopping the dancing of the dagger to grip it tightly. He lets Killian believe he won't reply, then murmurs, "You have to sleep through them."

"But I can't."

"You have to. The reason you have them is because your conscience is covered with guilt. It's forcing you to relive every horrible moment so you never forgive yourself, but that's exactly what you have to do. You have to admit that you did what you needed to, what you had to, and you have to move on."

He feels Killian's eyes boring into the side of his face, so he turns his head to meet the boy's green gaze. He swears his heart falters, probably from thinking about his own nightmares.

Barely above a whisper, Killian says, "I can't forgive myself."

Micah gives him a wry smile. "Me either."

"So you still have nightmares?"

"Everyone does."

"I'm not asking everyone, I'm asking you." Killian tilts his head to the side to maintain Micah's stare when he tries to look away. "You're giving me advice that you aren't even taking yourself."

Micah grits his teeth, his knuckles white as they wrap around the hilt of the dagger furiously. Hundreds of pale, dead faces flash before his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut to try and block them out, but they keep pouring in, a never ending list.

He jumps when Killian sets his hand on his, eyes snapping open. He looks down to realize Killian is trying to keep Micah from slicing into his stomach with the tauntingly sharp blade. Micah hadn't even noticed he'd angled it.

Killian pries Micah's fingers open, taking the dagger from him and setting it on his other side. He's gazing at Micah strangely, a way Micah can't understand.

"I used to tell Trey about them," he whispers. "That always helped."

Managing to keep his breathing even, he grinds out, "Sharing the burden will do me no good."

"You don't know that until you try."

Micah pulls his knees to his chest, resting his forearms on his thighs. He runs his hands through his hair anxiously. For so long he's tried to block out so many faces. All it took was one small moment with Killian for that facade to crumble.

He doesn't know why he starts speaking. "The worst one, the one I dream about the most... It was a little girl." He grips the edge of the crate to keep himself from punching something. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. But the doctor manipulated me.

"This was during the war when I was overseas. Children were always playing around our campsite, and we thought nothing of it. Enjoyed it, actually, if you can believe that monsters were relieved to have children around. The doctor found out that we weren't picking them off. He got furious. Told us it was an ignorant and blind decision. Children can be just as dangerous as men our sizes. Anyways, the day the doctor visited, a little girl happened to be right outside my tent, playing with her dolls..." Micah doesn't know if he can finish.

Killian notices and, despite his words, says kindly, "Take your own advice. Face it."

He inhales sharply, rubbing his jean-clad thighs. "All she did was smile at me. At me. A monster with fangs and red eyes, and she didn't care at all. The funny thing is, none of the children did. They knew we weren't there to hurt them.

"But when she smiled at me..." He curls his fists. "The doctor persuaded me it was an act. That she was merely trying to gain our trust, because she's only a little girl, what harm could she do? Then he pointed to her jacket. There was a blinking light coming from her pocket. After what the doctor said, I instantly thought it was a bomb."

He laughs humorlessly. "You know what it was? Her mother's necklace. The sunlight had been glinting off of the ruby jewels when she moved. I put a bullet between the eyes of a six year old carrying an heirloom."

He hadn't realized tears are running down his face until one drips onto his bawled fist. Angrily, he clutches either side of his head, digging his nails into his skin. He buries his face in his knees. He doesn't know what to be humiliated about--the fact that he killed a child, the fact that he's crying, or the fact that he's telling all of this to Killian, of all people. It's most likely a combination of the three.

He hears Killian slide off the crate to standing in front of him. He flinches again when Killian grabs both of his hands from his face, the action reflectively causing Micah to look up, right into that bright green. Killian does not smile at him, but he does not glare or frown or bare his teeth in disgust. He simply looks at him.

Micah composes himself long enough to grasp his wits and assess the situation. He growls, yanking his hands from Killian's and looks off to the side. He hates himself for a many number of reasons, but becoming so soft is high on the infinite list.

"You don't have to be ashamed, Micah," Killian says, and Micah hates himself even more for how his heart pounds.

"I'm not," he snaps.

"Yes, you are. You don't have to be emotionless and heartless twenty-four-seven, you know. It's okay to feel things."

Micah scoffs.

"You asked me the other day what my sob-story was." With Killian saying this, Micah risks glancing over. He's sitting on the floor in front of Micah, glaring at the crate. "Well, where should I start? My mom was a drug addict and left me on a church's doorstep when I was seven. The other boys there hated me for some unknown reason, and they beat me every day without consequence. When I was thirteen, I ran away and technically got kidnapped, though I suppose you have to have parents to really be stolen.

"With the man who snatched me off the street in pure daylight, I continued to get beat and molested and broken down. With a miracle from the Man upstairs himself, I escaped three years later and wound up in juvie after getting in a fight with local high school kids. I had a pocket knife and nearly killed one of them. Even though they provoked it, I still got charged with attempted murder. Could've been worse I guess. I stayed there until I was eighteen, a light sentence since the shrink there said I improved well.

"Then the war started, and I'd been on my own until I met Trey about a year ago. I can't tell if life was shittier for me before the war, during the war, or right now. It's all been a walk through hell, and I haven't found my way out yet."

Micah stares at Killian so intently, he's positive his features will forever be imprinted in his brain. He slides off the crate after a moment or two, sitting in front of the now sobbing boy. He doesn't know what to do, so he just sits there, waiting for Killian to make the first move. He's never been one to have heartfelt conversations with.

"I miss him so much," Killian whispers between sobs. "I'm so scared."

Then, seemingly by impulse, Micah scoots over and wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders. Immediately, Killian curls into him, quietly sniffling into his shoulder. Somewhat awkwardly, Micah places his other hand on Killian's back. This feeling of holding someone, of feeling like this is what he should do is overwhelming. He finds himself reluctant for the moment he has to let go.

But Killian doesn't let go. He cries himself to sleep in Micah's arms, a strange scenario for Micah. He doesn't know if he should move in case he wakes him up, so he sits on the floor of the hover and holds Killian until the sun rises.