My hands flail upwards, hoping to latch onto something.

The rumbling of the rocks as they take the dive and the air churning below... it's like everything is suspended and I can't get a grasp on reality. My heart palpitates as a shadow is cast over my last glimpse of the azure sky.

Almost falling in with me, Ruspin clasps mine, anchoring me.

"Angelica, you have to grab me with your other hand. I'll pull you up."

My shoulder is seconds from being displaced when I zero in on a sound. I had dismissed it as air before, but now, it's as distinguishable as my own face: flowing water. If it's flowing, it means that it's probably in the middle course. Flowing water, with such swiftness means no eyots for me to collide with, all I have to worry about is being caught in an escapable current.

"Angelica!" he yells, sliding in further.

"Let me go."

His grip tightens, "No."

I scowl. Then I swing my legs, trying to dislodge him. The bugger is immovable.

"Angelica, I'm not taking you to him. That was never my plan!" he grits. I involuntarily glance up, only to see his drawn face, the strain he's enduring to keep me from falling. Further back are his men, holding guns. They're probably waiting for him to pull me up, then we can all skip back to my homeland.

"So you're telling me that your men won't bind me as soon as you yank me out of here." I demand, still struggling against his hold.

"I'm not falling for that."

It's such a extraneous feeling. Practically floating in mid-air after sending your entire life walking on the ground. But, as I'm now finding out, dizzy spells aren't just confined to the land and sea.

"They're behind you." I rasp.

He shakes his head wryly.

"Ruspin, I'm serious. If they aren't your men..." I trail off and swallow, finally stilling in his grasp. "There's water below us. We have to fall."

He shakes his head vigorously, « Je ne permettre pas à qan de fait tombe. »

"You know I don't know what you're saying." I say, noting that I can hear the hollow thud of the footsteps growing closer. "But can't you hear the footsteps, they're getting closer. Just trust me. I don't want to die like this."

"But you would have shot yourself." His voice brokers no argument. It's hard, cold. He's too clouded by rage to hear the footsteps, but he can't even turn... because of the precarious position he's in, even the slightest movement means that we'll both fall.

My breath clogs my throat.

I grab his hand in an instantaneous motion and swing my legs upwards, not to push myself out, but to knock the ground from beneath him.

It's like a flashback of the crash, except this time there isn't a parachute.

I glance at Ruspin who is falling next to me, the clumps of dirt scattered around him. I yell his name as the river comes into perspective but he doesn't look at me. If he falls into the river at this velocity he could shatter every bone in his body. I try to wriggle closer to him by air swimming... sort of. I end up ploughing into him. Whoops.

He stares at me eyes wide and I motion to my feet, which are pointed and then his. He gets the message, or at least I hope he does, because what comes after is a world of mist and foam. Thankfully, the river is as deep as I had suspected and we didn't die... at least, I didn't die. Ruspin is nowhere. I try to see him through the water in my eyes and the spray raining down from every breaking wave. He isn't anywhere in my line of sight and due to the current there isn't even any way to go back for him.

It's not that I want him to take me to England, but that he's my only protection here, against those men with guns. Blimey! What if he's dead? That concerns me for more reasons than just my own safety.

The ruthless river, moving helicoidally, careens me from side to side. In the moments where water isn't clogging my lungs and my face is transitorily unsubmerged I see glimpses of men running behind me. I can't tell if they're Ruspin's, but if they are, that means he's close.

Gasping, and inhaling some water in the process, I smack into a net. I can only tell it's a net because of our intimate contact, I mean, I'm practically plastered against it.

Someone drags me along the length of the net and onto the river bank. Scrubbing at my eyes I see Bellamy crouched before me, backed by the English army and most definitely here to put me in a cage.

"I'm here to take you back home." He says, sincerely, as though believing his delusions.

"So Felix isn't there waiting?" I snap.

"No." he says, hoisting me to my feet, "But your future husband is."

"So just betray me without an explanation! That's all you think I deserve?" I bite out venomously.

"What I owe you?" he snarls, "It's more like what you owe me for all those years slaving away to protect you and to repair your catastrophes so that I wouldn't look like the fool.

"Well I never asked you to do that. That was my father Bellamy. You know what happened-"

He cuts me off, "And somehow, no matter how academically astute you became, you could never learn ways not to anger him."

"You're my best friend." I plead. Him, I could forgive for this. We could just go back if he helps me... If he acts like my friend again.

"But you were never mine."

Seconds after the words leave his mouth, before the significance hits me a crack resound through the forest.

Bellamy pushes me into the arms of two soldiers and barks, "Hide her at all costs."

They nod and robotically carry me to a secluded thicket; one totes me over his shoulder whilst the other is the point guard. Even though they're scantily clad for a battle, they must've been trained well to ignore my incessant rant for freedom.

They both look longingly at the germinating confrontation. They must be pissed to have been cut out of the action to babysit me. They're not even holding their guns, they inch forward as the battle commences, presumably between then and Ruspin's battement.

Well, guess who's alive?

Ruspin!

I deflate in relief, now fully able to focus on myself.

Pretending to be engrossed in the battle, I inch my fingers closer to one of their guns. The battle continues on; oblivious to me. Ruspin is as graceful a fighter as I had expected, although, I notice that he uses his precision to pick off targets; not allowing anyone close enough to engage in any sort of fist fight.

From my sheltered view of the battlefield I'm almost able to pick out what move comes next. So far, there've been little casualties, as the English undertook a mass retreat the moment Ruspin showed. At this point it's dwindled from mass explosions, to a few sporadic pops. The British has sent their mole from behind and now he's pointing his gun at them... at Ruspin to be specific. Lining up his shot...

Fuelled by sheer desperation I grab the soldier's gun and shoot the solider who was about to shoot Ruspin. He slouches against a tree and I can't tell whether he's dead or alive, but what I can tell is that the armies definitely notice.

This time, no one hides. When they clash, it's with the full brunt of their determination. It's a battle of better training and flat out survival skills and striding through it all, as though strolling through the streets of New York is Ruspin. He's heading straight at me, even as the soldiers try to wrest their gun away from me. He effortlessly cocks them on the head, decapitating them.

"I can conceal you." he says softly.

Why is so hard to yell at someone who talks rationally? "Conceal me or sell me, because as far as I know, they aren't synonyms."

"You won't believe me." he mutters, "But do you prefer me or them?" he gestures to the concussed soldiers.

Standing, I brush the dirt off my butt and attempt to intimidate him with the regal look that was ingrained in me by my father. He bites his lip, amusement glinting back at me from his eyes.

I clear my throat, forfeiting that idea, "The man I shot, is he dead?"

Ruspin glances at me, "Yes." He says coldly, and my heart stops. I killed someone trying to prevent him from killing someone. The only difference between them was that I have emotional attachments to Ruspin, whether or not I like it. the situation could've easily been reversed, where someone who didn't know Ruspin was presented with the opportunity to kill him and took it.

"After you gave him that flesh wound, he once more commenced his endeavour to kill me. I shot him in the head." He says, objectively, as though he's just relating the latest gossip... actually, with even less emotion than that. "Now shall we leave, or shall we remain and be shot."

I'm warring with the selfish relief that I did not kill him and the fact that Ruspin did, so effortlessly. Then I think of Paige and wonder what went through her killer's mind, whether or not it was Felix. Did they enjoy it? Or was it just a crime of necessity?

None of these worries are put to rest though as Ruspin marches off into the dense wall of greenery. I scramble behind him, not wanting to get lost in this hell hole. He doesn't even stop.

"Angelica, quickly!" is the only comment is throws over his shoulder as he methodically works his way inwards. And having no other choice, but to follow him, or to lose my way become lunch for some hungry cat.

Agony rips through me as I stumble on a protruding tree root. My foot aches, my stomach aches from all this walking. Ruspin moves further and further away from me, towards whatever safety net he has devised for a situation like this. He's leaving me, he's not coming back.

My hands tremble as I stumble forward on shaky knees. I brace myself against a tree and look down, hoping to catch my breath for a second. My navy blue dress must've masked it before, but the dark blotch of blood is unmistakable.

I can't feel the pain. I don't even remember being shot. All I feel, all that drives me is the adrenalin. The burning desperation to be free of my father and my freedom is moving away without a backward glance, if I stay here and bleed to death, I'll lose it.

Hoisting myself up I stagger behind Ruspin, in my woozy state I trip and sprawl atop the bed of moss. Tears burn my eyes and I yell, "Wait!"

"We have to hurry!" snaps his reply, "Qu-"

His response is lost in the wind, but I get the gist. I try to get up but hands hold me down, Ruspin stares at me open mouthed.

"Don't leave without me." I implore. The blood will attract animals, and I have no intention of being eaten alive.

« Jamias. » He holds me marital style, the action jostling the bullet and shrouding my vision in black. « Non, ouvre les yeux. Open your eyes. »

...Ruspin...

"We have to hurry! Qu-" I feel the keen absence of her presence, prompting me to seek her out.

For one moment of blissful ignorance, I think she's just tripped. But I'm given a raw, unseasoned taste of reality, the type I worked to evade.

Blood. Everywhere.

Angelica pushes herself up and the earth tilts on it's axis. Blood that seems more black than red gushes out from her abdomen and coats the leaves beneath her. My legs move faster than my mind, which is stuck in the past, reliving my own bloody memories... stuck in the cyclic terrors of my past.

My fingers, tainted red but this time it's with her blood.

I can't move I can't breathe I can't hear.

"Don't leave without me." slaps me back into the cold harsh reality of what is.

In my mind, I mantra: Don't die, don't die, don't die.

I've lied to her twice, once for me and other for her. I refuse to allow it to end this way.

« Jamais. » I say, in my angst, reverting to my native language. « Non, ouvre les yeux. » "Open your eyes." I beg, grabing her, noting with aversion, her grimace of pain.

Her eyes shut and I feel it with such finality, that I sprint to the vehicle, with total disregard in regard to the treat of falling.

Monty sees her and pales, his lips moving in clear, precise motions. "The safe house is too far."

"Where?"

"Your mother's" he dares say, holding my gaze warily.

Damning the consequences I nod in affirmation.

Annalise ushers me inside then promptly slaps me. The chutzpah, more than anything shocks me into action.

"I need to get this bullet out. And you're going to help me or watch her die."

Grabbing my hand, she uses my fingers to pry apart the skin enclosing the bullet. I've done so many things, extravagantly worse than this... but now, I'm seconds from regurgitating the contents of my stomach.

Angelica...

"She's going to live." Says Annalise. "Ruspin, it's going to be fine."

She riffles around her bag and takes out a package. When I realize what it is, I glance away.

Taking a harsh breath at the sight of her... here... lifeless. She's completely concussed, showing no manner of reaction even as I stroke her cheek. She can't die. I need her. I need her in my life, with her vivacious attitude and positive outlook. Pray that I have not killed it by bringing her here; driving her drastic measures. Is she consumed with hate for me? I would understand if she were.

Prompted by the suffering I have inflicted upon the one person whose contentedness fuels me, I utter the foreign words, "I'm sorry."

Ardently hopeful for a response, I inch closer, my heart palpitating wildly. My hands itch for contact with my chest. All my instincts are telling me to claw my chest and I don't comprehend it.

...Angelica

A painful, incessant buzzing radiates from my cheek. I crack open my eyes and find Annalise scowling at me. I'm presuming she had been slapping me for a while 'cause both my cheeks sting.

"Ruspin get over here and talk to her now!" she commands. When I look down, I see... a tampon? Why the ever loving hell is a tampon inserted in my stomach? More importantly, my shirt isn't raised high enough for them to-

"How are you feeling?" comes Ruspin's voice. I was so distracted by my relief that I hadn't noticed him crouch next to me.

"Why is there a tampon in me?" I question, glancing up at his face. It's compressed with worry and he looks nauseous. Jeez, I hope he doesn't throw up on me. "On a side note, why do you even have a tampon?"

"You got shot." He says.

I blink at him, not believing that I could forget something as momentous as being shot. All I remember is...

I shoot up like a cannon, smacking into his head. Well that just ruins my entire escape plan. I sit there while my vison becomes star-free.

"We're far away from that battle." States Ruspin, not looking disturbed or as though he's in any way suffering a head injury. I knew he was hard headed, but this is just pushing it.

Annalise sits sullenly off to one side as Ruspin continues to stare at me.

"I wish I was far away from you."

He frowns, "I distinctly remember you pleading that I don't leave you."

"I was shot. What's your excuse?"

"I would not have left you there."

"I know." I say, scowling, "who in their right mind would leave the merchandise behind?"

"But-"

I turn my head away, "I don't care. Just let me sleep."

"No!" he yells, shaking my shoulders.

"What the hell more do you want from me?!"

He shifts uncomfortably, removing his hand from my shoulder, "It isn't safe... for you to rest."

Letting out a curse, I clench my fists and stare at the unfamiliar ceiling.

"We're in an armoured vehicle." Says Ruspin, "On our way to my mother's house."

"What!" I exclaim, "Your mother lives in England?"

"No, foolish girl." Taunts Annalise, "If you-"

"Annalise!" is Ruspin's quiet reprimand.

"Fine." She huffs, "You keep her awake."

"Um, what should we talk about?" he asks.

I laugh in his face, almost positive that I sound like a braying donkey. "You've never done this before have you?"

"No." he replies, "But since you've got no choice but to listen. I'm going to tell you that it was never my intention to send you back. Michelangelo-"

Giving him a wry look I snap, "Something goes wrong; blame it on Michelangelo."

He continues on as though he hadn't heard me. "-sent men to kidnap you from my room, not anticipating that I was still there. Since he is meticulous and always ensures that no one actually sees him in any of his dealings, I posed as him, and had you delivered to my helipad. To keep up the façade I told you that I was returning you for money."

He pauses to swallow and I can see his throat work, "And then?" I prod.

It takes him a few seconds before he continues, "Then Monty informed me that the English were close and you seemed so hell-bent on killing yourself that I had to tie you up. I attempted to explain, but you refused to listen."

"Could you really blame me?" I ask softly.

"You could have trusted me."

"Like you trusted me back at the precipice?" I retort.

"I had my reasons." He defends.

"So did I."

"Think it through logically." He says. "The British want you back. I was supposedly returning you to them. Why would they shoot us out of the sky? Michelangelo must have contacted them and gave them our approximate location."

"You were going to sell me to them. That would have cost them." I counter, "All the more reason for this to happen. This way they get me free of charge."

"They want you to return because of Felix." He says, "He wants you back. The amount of resources expended for this hunt would have been more than they would have ever offered to me. They would only resort to such exorbitance if they were assured that I was not returning you."

We lapse into silence, "Michelangelo knew that if I hid you; no one would find you."

"It's hard for me to trust."

He sighs, "For me as well."

"How come this wound doesn't hurt?"

"We gave you endorphins." He says.

"Oh."

"Would you marry?" he asks.

"Would you?" I return, not sure how to respond to that.

Ruspin glances at me and bends his head, although I think I could see a whisper of a smile. "I once believed that I would never want to chain myself to a person."

I stare at him, not expecting such an honest answer, "But now?"

"I don't view it as a prison."

"Every man in my life with the exception of Cage has used me for something or the other. Even the people who I wished wouldn't, like you. Even Bellamy... and my father." I muse, "I don't think I'll ever trust a man enough to share myself with him in the ways a marriage demands."

I feel his hand touch mine, "When you meet him and learn to love him, you'll realize that it doesn't matter."

"Love isn't meant for me." I say, not bitterly, but matter of fact. "I experienced it once and that's my fair share."

The space is enclosed in silence. I glance up at Ruspin, almost sure that he's nodded off, but he looks as though he's in deep thought. His eyes are piercing but unfocused, his jaw locked. Annalise still resides in her corner, silently staring at us, agape.

"So you would deprive someone who's experiencing it for the first time?" he asks so softly that I strain to hear.

"No one loves me at this moment Ruspin."

"How can you be sure?" he asks, leaning closer.

"No one has ever seen the real me."

His face is hovering over mine, his eyes roam my face, "Would you let them, if they so desired."

Swallowing, I open my mouth to reply, but I don't know. I don't know if I will, if I won't. There are so many hypothetical possibilities... "I can't give you a definitive answer."

He nods, "A non-definitive answer is always better than a lie."

I find myself nodding along with him as his hand flutters down the sides of my face. "Have you ever lied to me?"

He says, hesitantly, "Yes. You remember when I told you..." he stutters, "On the plane, when I k-kissed you. I told you that Michelangelo's men were watching... I lied.