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"They don't need theirs after all... They didn't quite make it."

Shaw remembered staring at the Goddess blankly for a moment before looking down at the scissors now in his hands. The words had sounded strangely grim, and even then he wondered at their meaning. Perhaps they were like the monsters they'd all encountered before? But why were they locked up?

And what did she mean by 'hearts'?

It didn't do to ask unnecessary questions however, and he remembered trying to smile back as she waved him onward. He had found he liked smiling, more often than not.

Finally, after one last uncertain glance backward, he had crawled through the opening. It was dark, and close. The thumping noises were unsettling, and he brandished the scissors with both hands. Before him lay three doors; each marked with a different sigil. He approached them one after the other - reaching out to touch the carved surfaces, brush them with his fingers. Testing them.

It was time, now, to decide. Labs, she'd said. Whatever that meant. He clutched the scissors to his chest, just over his heart. They were wicked looking, sharp and clinical. He tried not to wonder what kind of obstacle would render such a tool necessary. Better to focus on the task at hand.

Which door was the correct one? Did they all lead to the same place? There was no indication, and he almost turned back to ask, but -

No. She was busy. It wouldn't do to ask unnecessary questions.

After some consideration, he chose the first - the last door filled him with unease, and the second just seemed a little off somehow. Besides, he liked the little smiling pumpkin. It reminded him of something - something he couldn't quite remember.

He was somehow certain he'd always liked pumpkins.

After a few moments of reverent silence, Shaw stood, securing the bag and its precious cargo to his belt. He took one last look at the lonely little tombstone, the earth before it upturned and raw, like a fresh wound. They wouldn't be needing it, she'd said. They hadn't made it. He tried to reassure himself with that thought, but he couldn't seem to shake the vision of her smiling, teasing visage.

It seemed so... Wrong.

Without another word, he turned abruptly away. He crossed the field quickly, searching for the narrow, pumpkin lined path, but to no avail - all he could see were endless rows of the glowing orange blossoms. They swayed gently, as if caught in some unfelt breeze. Perturbed, Shaw continued to walk, searching for any sign of a door or exit.

His sense of unease grew. This was clearly not a lab - in fact, he wasn't quite sure how he'd arrived here at all. He'd been too caught up in the moment to consider it, when the hallway had faded into nothing. Was this just another vision? Was his real body trapped somewhere in the fog?

"HELLO?" He called. Surely the Goddess could hear him - he was only a room away.

A sudden, cool sensation around his ankles combined with a startling splash interrupted his train of thought. He looked down, surprised. The ground below the flowers was no longer visible, covered in several inches of water. It swirled around his ankles, shockingly cold where it had soaked up his pant leg.

Shaw allowed his gaze to slowly travel onward, toward the horizon - and the delicate blossoms disappeared in the mire, their faint glows the only sign that existed somewhere beneath. He turned around, but the hill was gone, replaced by a thick, viscous bank of fog. He had to keep moving forward.

A sudden sloshing noise made him jump, and he glanced furtively over his shoulder.

There was nothing there but the eerie glow of the drowned flower; he was completely alone. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to relax. It was nothing. Just his imagination.

Had it gotten darker?

Shaw began sloshing forward, making decent headway at first, but slowing as the cold water rose to climb first to mid calf, and then to his knees. It was a struggle, every step an effort. The cold seemed to suck him down, leaving him bone-weary and shivering. He wondered if he'd ever find his way out of this place.

Gradually, he became aware of a splashing sound, just a half-second delayed from his own steps - so close he'd almost missed it. He stopped abruptly, reaching for the scissors he'd pocketed-

"Please, give it back."

He spun around, but there was nothing but the fog.

He turned back and began walking.

He was so tired, now. His teeth chattered with cold, and it was all he could do to keep his neck above the water. Neck? Shaw blinked, abruptly becoming aware of his surroundings. He was practically treading water, the soles of his boots just barely brushing the ground below. All around him, the muted glow of the orange blossoms buired deep under the waves lit his way-

"Please give me back my-"

There was no warning this time, no telltale splash to give it away. He felt thin, bony fingers dig into his shoulders as he was shoved beneath the surface. Shocked, he took in a deep breath - and sucked in water, choking until his vision faded, black eating at its edges. He grabbed the hands at his throat, kicking out desperately - there was no touching the bottom now - but their grip was pure steel.

His struggles grew increasingly weak, until he floated limply in their sharp, painful embrace. A shadow passed over him, and he opened his eyes.

Her gaze was no longer a soft, doe brown; but an empty and glassy grey. Her tightly curled hair floated in wisps in the water, and her eerie grin was underlit by the glow of the blossoms. She bared her teeth - unnaturally long; with thin, receding gums.

"Give me back my heart."

The pulpit sat squarely in the center of the raised dias, so that everyone might get a good look at the parties assembled on either of its sides. It was hot, summer day, but the air conditioning blew cold on the stage, and shaW was suddenly grateful for the tux and vest he'd been so relcutant to don these few months. He might look like a penguin, but at least he was warm; which was more than could be said for the bridesmaids in their short, matching formals.

He watched the church doors eagerly, and tried not to fidget.

It felt like ages before the wedding march began to play on the old pipe organ. Here comes the bride had never sounded sweeter, and shaW let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as the wide, white doors swung inward.

What came through those doors took his breath away.

Those sweet, doe eyes floated in a smiling, nervous face. Delicately applied makeup accentuated her features without overpowering them, and she seemed to float in a haze of white as the veil tucked into her curling hair wafted around her. The ivory dress she wore sat off the shoulder, a sweetheart neck that hugged her hips and torso and flared out into a full skirt that slid along the floor with the faint whisper of silk.

She was resplindent, and God help him, in a few minutes she would be his.

shaW seemed to lose time, and when he next came aware, he was being asked a question.

"I do."

In the reflection of the pulpit, he could see his brother and best man giving him a thumbs up.

"You may kiss the-"

shaW didn't wait for permission, and with a joyful laugh, pulled Denise close, pressing his lips to hers. Startled, she grinned against his mouth before kissing him back. She was soft, pliant; warm. When she finally pulled away with a deep chuckle, her cheeks were rosy and flushed; her eyes overbright.

With his thumb, he gently wiped away a single tear that trailed down her cheek.

He was hers, heart and soul.

White on white on white on white on gleaming metal...

The first thing Shaw realized was that he was cold. He shivered, shifting, but couldn't seem to get comfortable - the surface he laid on was cool and unyielding.

The second thing he realized was that he was laying down. He opened his eyes, and closed them again almost immediately. The lights were harsh and bright. He waited.

He opened his eyes.

It was a small room, with white on white on white on white walls, unadorned. There was a door.

Shaw sat up, stretching, trying to work out the kinks in his sore muscles. How long had he been sleeping? How had he gotten here in the first place? Where was 'here'? He crossed the room.

There was a door.

He opened it.

Frantically, Shaw glanced around - and spotted a piece of paper on the floor, to the left of the door. Dropping to his knees, he snatched it up, nearly tearing it in his haste to unfold it.

A C E G.

The passcode was in numbers. The letters meant nothing to him.

There was a strange, reddish stain across the top half.

Shaw could taste his heart in his throat, but he didn't dare look back again - the agonized call of the scissors inched closer.

"shaW."

Something called his name. She called his name. He did not remember who she was, only that it was important to forget. He had done something terrible. Something that had filled his soul with dread; his heart with despair.

"Give me back my heart."

Shaw sprinted onward, through the grey, grey trees. His legs, his heart pumped rhythmically, a frantic staccato. He flew through openings that weren't there a second before, snagging his clothing on low hanging branches and narrowly dodging roots that would send him sprawling to the ground.

"We can trade, shaW."

The figure's tone was surprisingly dulcet; feminine. He didn't stop running. No matter how fast he ran, the figure was always the same distance behind him. It didn't sound fatigued in the least.

"Your heart, for the one you stole from me."

He didn't stop running.

She loomed over him, her white on white on white on doe brown eyes gazing down at him lovingly. His head rested in her lap. One blackened, disfigured hand combed its fingers through his hair, and he sighed. It was so loud, that frenzied tempo.

The beating of his heart.

"Don't worry," she said soothingly. She placed her other hand on his chest, and he felt something cool and metallic slice through the fabric of his shirt.

A pair of rusted scissors.

"It only hurts once."

The public showers of the trainee dorms were steamy and humid, and nearly empty. It was very early - or very late - and their sole occupant was just finishing up. There was a short squeal as someone turned off the shower head; the clatter of curtain hooks as something was slid off into the stall. Eventually, the cloth was pushed aside, and a dark-skinned moon hunter that was strangely familiar stepped out, a white towel tucked around his waist.

shaW stretched, rotating his neck and rolling his shoulders. He was so, so tired. Tense. On edge. He walked slowly toward one of the many sinks dotting the wall. The only sound was the faint drip of the showerhead, and the slap of his feet against the tile. He leaned against the basin with one hand, wiping the bathroom mirror with the other.

He stared into his own eyes, and was surprised at what he saw.

Deep, dark circles swallowed the thin, tender flesh just above his cheekbones. His face was gaunt, hollow. He looked like he'd aged ten years. He felt like he'd aged twenty. It was a strange realization, and an uncomfortable one. He chose to ignore it, and picked up his razor from the edge of the sink instead.

Schick. Schick. He dragged it against his grizzled, unkempt face and neck, leaving clean, smooth furrows. Little hairs showered the sink. Once or twice, he nicked himself - a stupid mistake, born of inattention.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

She needed him, now more than ever, perhaps. Or maybe she'd never really needed him at all? He hesitated, wiping the excess shaving gel from his face, and stared at his reflection. She'd tried to fix it, tried to stay away from him. An image flashed across his mind - a red headed hunter with a coat emblazoned with suns, now branches, a feral grin cutting across his features - and shaW's brow creased in a frown. She needed him, the firey-headed hunter. For reasons he didn't understand, but he had to accept it, had to let her be free, had to remain calm don't push her away don't push her away-

shaW's shoulders flexed, his muscles rippling and cording, his hands clutching the sides of the basin with white knuckles.

He tossed and turned most nights, unable to go to sleep; afraid to wake her. He was so, so tired. She was his haven, his safety - and his greatest weakness. Unarmed, but still somehow so very dangerous. They had to get Nona back - they had to fix this. But that was just another problem to add to the pile - they'd never really addressed what had gotten her there in the first place, that dangerous obsession. She was chasing tigers.

Tigers with red hair and white coats and a vile disposition-

He shook his head, and droplets fell from his face and hair, scattering against the mirror and dripping down his chest, leaving delicate trails in their wake. No, he had to be careful, oh-so-careful. It wasn't his place to judge. He needed her, like a drug, like a crutch, like a habit but more than that, beneath the pain seeing the look in her eyes when she talked about him, when he passed him in the hall - he wanted her. Even the ugly bits, the bits she kept from him. They were a part of the whole a delicate filigree, swirling and traceable patterns interposed to make a whole.

Caught in her web.

He smiled, and it was somber and a little sad. He was a patient man, and so he was careful, and cautious - she was meticulous and thoughtful, but other times, she was a wildfire, consuming; unpredictable. Sometimes it felt like walking on broken glass.

He raised his hand to his face, cupping his cheek, holding his elbow with the other. Thinking.

A cease fire hadn't worked. Keeping them apart wasn't helping either - it was like pressing pause, pushing, delaying. Delaying the inevitable, maybe. How long before their next dance was their last? He thought about her; about the smell of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, pressed to his cheek. shaW couldn't lose her - she was his sanity, in this place. His passion, his fire.

His heart.

He let his hand slip down, feeling the scratch marks, the imprints of teeth on his neck. Sometimes it felt like walking on broken glass -

But it was worth it. No matter the cost.

He made his way back to their dorm, quietly padding through the empty halls in sweat pants and an old shirt. He opened the door slowly, reluctant to wake her. As he stood in the doorway, he studied her still form, outlined by the dim light of dawn.

shaW bowed his head, and whispered a quiet prayer.

"Bless us O Lord,
and these Thy gifts,
which we are about to receive from Thy bounty.
Through Christ Our Lord. Amen."