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The bandaged ribs beneath Fallon's dress pulsated with rushing blood. They hadn't broken again, but they had been beaten to hell and back. She worried that her stitches had ruptured, that something had gone terribly wrong and she might bleed out before the youma had a chance to kill her.

When Vanessa yanked back, Fallon murmured an annoyance, but it was swallowed up by a screech of the youma. Both girls staggered unsteadily toward the line of traffic. Fallon tried to move them toward the crosswalk (the rules of the road must be obeyed!), but Vanessa caught her off-balance, dragging them through the traffic.

Great. So now she would survive a youma attack, only to be killed by a car? "VANESSA. Cars. VANESSA." The short-haired girl slammed her hands on the hood, and Fallon shouted an apology over her shoulder. Once they cleared the other side of the road, they'd be fine, right? The youma would stop.

From the alley, a winged and bleeding youma buzzed into view. Its gut looked slit open, chunky black bits spilling on to the line of cars that it flew over. Fallon shouted, "Run! VANESSA, COME ON!" She tugged both of them into the next lane of traffic. The youma was so close, its claws outstretched, mouth foaming. It darted downward, sailing in a death spiral toward them.

Fallon screamed again, but it was drowned out by the echoing honk of a semi-truck fast approaching. The youma dove, and both girls did too, pushing against each other and throwing themselves on to the sidewalk just out of harm's way. The semi-truck collided with the flying youma, and it exploded into a flurry of dust, coating the massive silver grill.

On the sidewalk, Fallon was panting, chest and falling so fast she thought she might be hysterical. Tears had sprung to her eyes, both from pain and fear. Her arm was still wrapped around Vanessa, but she was too stunned to say anything.

Their hearts were slamming against one another like hammers trying to pound in the same nail. If it were not Vanessa, Fallon might have been a touch awkward about the closeness, the overtones of heated encounter. Instead, she gripped the girl's arm, not in fear but in dogged relief. It wasn't quite a hug, just a mutual collapse.

Fallon's breath was ragged. It took her several moments to respond to Vanessa. "Gone," she said. "Dead. The truck. The truck. Hit it." Some residual dust coated the street, but it was quickly dissolving. Fallon had only seen youma dust once before when Sailor Cancer killed one in front of her. It made sense that they disappeared like this, or else the streets of Destiny City would be littered with youma corpses.

Relief was a cooling balm, but Fallon was still mad. A few cars had pulled off to the side of the road. A taxi driver with a red face was shouting profanity at the two girls. Fallon ignored it. "That was so stupid, Vanessa," she said, sitting up. "Were you following me?" How else could she have been there at just the right time?

Fallon could not stop herself. She slapped Vanessa on the arm, eyes narrowing. "Stop it," she hissed, voice low and gravely. "We got very lucky tonight. We should be grateful to God, not proud." The sidewalk was cool under the rising moon. Fallon wanted to stand up, but her legs were still shaking. She wasn't certain they could take it.

Letting out a long sigh, Fallon rested her face in her hands. She wasn't crying; she was processing. If Vanessa hadn't stalked her, it was possible she never would have made it out of that alley. But at the same time, if Fallon were alone, she would have just run away -- and who was to say that wouldn't work? It had worked for her in the past. Either way, she could not let Vanessa believe for a second that what she had done had saved her life, otherwise Super Van would be out on the street to die another day.

Vanessa wasn't precisely Fallon's favorite kind of person, but that didn't mean she wished death on her. "I don't know what I have to do to convince you that you are on a suicide mission. Do you really want to die so much? There are much faster ways." Her face resurfaced from her hands, warped by a mix of relief and annoyance. Magenta eyes fell to the destroyed suit. Fallon pursed her lips.

"And that suit is hideous."

The wince did not escape Fallon's notice, but she didn't say anything. She was doing plenty of wincing of her own. "You could've fooled me," she quipped, brushing debris from her skirt. It would need to be dry cleaned immediately before any of the stains set. Her dry cleaning bill had risen substantially since her time at Barren Pines. She highly doubted that constant tailing by Super Van was going to do anything to change that.

Fallon shrugged her way out of reach of Vanessa, carefully getting to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she caught herself on a nearby lamp post. "Vanessa, this has to stop." She shook her head. "I'm serious. You want to leave the people you love with your corpse? Then fine. Keep going." Vanessa already seemed upset, but as far as Fallon was concerned, it was a good thing. She needed to get upset, she needed to realize the gravity of the situation. Fallon failed to tie that airy voice with the mention of a mother who was -- past tense.

It was hard to say if Fallon hated Vanessa, or if she was merely frustrated by her. There was a stupid nobility in her actions, and perhaps, like Fallon, she often felt compelled to do things that she knew could harm her. Fallon had OCD; Vanessa had ADD? Who could say.

Fallon lifted her eyes to the hotel across the street. "Go home and stay there, Vanessa. We got lucky tonight." Emotion pinched in Fallon's throat. She was tired of these near death experiences, she was tired of being weak and helpless, she was tired of wondering if every day was the last she'd have alive. Why couldn't Vanessa be so cautious?

Wordlessly, Fallon started to walk away, clutching her arms across her aching ribs.