Chapter 9

Mara woke, and found herself lying in Tor's bed. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. If only he were here, with her.

In the bunk below her, Tor and Fergie lay awake. Tor lay, staring at the bunk above him. He sighed, and turned towards Fergie. "Much though I love you little brother," he whispered, "I'm gonna go visit her." He kissed him gently.

"I wish," Mara muttered into the pillow, "I wish he were here."

"Who?" Tor smiled, standing on the bottom rung of the ladder.

Mara blushed, "You, of course,"

In a second, Tor had climbed up the ladder, and was lying beside her, "Your wish has come true," he grinned.

She stroked the side of his face, "Is it true what they say?"

"What?"

"That you screw your brother?"

Tor thought about it for a second, "Yes." then he laughed, "That wasn't the answer you were expecting, was it?"

"Not exactly,"

Tor blushed, "I just, I just couldn't bear to lie to you."

In the bunk below, Fergie took his own pulse, words Tor had spoken earlier in the week drifted back to him,

"Well if you truly were deeply in love, your pulse would be racing....... yes, we're twins and our heartrates match, exactly."

He felt the thud of his own pulse quicken, and bit his lip, as the tears started to slide silently down his cheeks.

Eagle stared at Matt, asleep in his arms, fighting back the tears. He'd just have to be there to pick Matt up when Ariadne broke his heart.

Art glanced up at the clock, still holding Seiji's hand tight. He really needed sleep, but he couldn't. Only a few minutes before he would have to wake them all up. He glanced around, what a messed up lot they were: Fergie, silently sobbing, jealous of his brother's girlfriend; Alex, lying silently awake, watching the sleeping Raven, his gaze lingered on Eagle, staring at Matt in his arms. Poor sod.

Seiji woke up, to find Art, still holding his hand, staring across the room at Eagle. He sighed, and pulled his hand away from Art's. "I'm going," he whispered, and, sliding the knife out from under his pillow to take with him, he left.

Art just sat there, staring at the door, willing himself to get up, willing himself to stop Seiji from what he was about to do, but completely unable to do anything.

In the dark of the garden, Seiji sat down on the wet, dew covered grass. He slipped the knife out of his pocket, rolling up his sleeve. The early morning sun broke through the trees and glinted off the knife. Seiji gasped as the pain flooded his body, watching the blood trickle down his arm. He relaxed, the tension removed from his body, and rolled up his sleeve to do it again.