"Honey?  Lily?  Lilah?" Daddy bellowed in our game.  The field was green, and the brush was thick, a beautiful place for a picnic, and a game.  No matter how long Dad would call for me, I'd still stay hidden, it was our game.  I hid, he looked.  Kind of like a hide-and-go-seek game, only Daddy and I both had guns, paintball guns, but guns nonetheless.  He wouldn't let me use the real guns yet, even though I could shoot them properly.
     I was hidden in a tree, Mommy could see me and was encouraging me to shoot.  I did have a perfect shot.  Daddy was less that twenty feet away, looking  away from me.  I aimed.  Perfect aim runs in my blood, I get that from my mom, but I get my balance from my dad, which was why I could squat in this tree without making a sound.  I checked my target, and I shot.  Daddy got a nice purple paintball square in his back, where his heart was, if I'd shot him with a real bullet he would have died.  He acted shot and dropped to the ground.  I got down from the tree and put the gun by him, rolling him over, he was playing dead, with his tongue sticking out.
     "I think you got him Lilah." Mommy laughed  in her native language, she was from Prague.  But I understood, I spoke both her language and Daddy's native Russian.  She came over and sat on Daddy's chest, sitting on him like he was a log, one leg on both sides.
    He opened one eye and suddenly grabbed both Mommy and I, flipping us over onto the ground.  Mom started laughing and yelling, I just giggled, I loved this part.  He got up, helping me up first, then Mommy.  We laughed and gathered the guns as we headed back to our blanket.
    There were sandwiches and sodas and desserts.  We all sat down, and started eating.  They gave me a gift, in nice purple wrapping paper.  Mommy and Daddy had just returned from a mission a few days ago, or was it a week, I couldn't remember.  They brought me a pretty necklace, gold with a single pearl held in a gold wire spiral.  It was beautiful.  I love pearls, they're so natural in their beauty that they are precious in their own way.
    "Let's go to Paris tomorrow." Mommy said, brushing my hair our of my face.  She was smiling, so lovely.  Daddy said I had her smile.  I thought so too.
    "Paris?  Why not London or Rome?" Daddy said with food still in his mouth.
    "I like Paris better, Daddy.  You know that." I giggled as I rolled over to put my head in Mommy's lap so she could run her fingers through my hair.
     Mommy smiled and bent down to kiss me.  Daddy reached over and ruffled my hair with his fingers.  They were both smiling.  So happy.
     Then out of nowhere, Daddy screams, and blood shoots out of his chest where a hole was made by an invisible bullet that never reached me.  Another geyser of blood bursts from his neck, and he's falling onto the blanket.  There's blood everywhere, it's on my shoes, my pants, the food.  Mommy is on her feet in a second, gun in hand, trying to help Daddy at the same time she's trying to find the assassin.  My clothes are getting wet by the life-blood flowing out of my father.  He's gasping for air.  I hear a screaming siren that continues for seconds until I realize it's coming from me.  My mother is crouching next to my father, rolling him over onto his back, even though that's not medically safe.  He's trying to say something, but he can't.  She's crying, and fires a shot into the bushes, and another into the trees.
     I'm crying as I try to stop screaming.  I grab the blanket and try to tear it.  It won't tear, but my shirt will.  I'm tearing cloth, crying, whimpering, afraid.  Blood's coming from him everywhere, so much of it.  It's coating my hands as I try to wrap the make-shift bandage around his neck, but not choking him.  He's dying in front of Mommy and me.  He's trying to speak, but he can't, he can't breathe.  I'm screaming louder now.  My lungs are hurting, and my throat is raw.  Mommy's crying and shaking.
     Another scream slices through the air as Mommy lands next to me.  Her gun goes flying over my head, near the bushes behind me.  There's blood everywhere.  Mommy lands partially on me and partially on Daddy.  She's still breathing, but bleeding a lot.  There's a hole in her tummy, and she's screaming.  Daddy's reaching for my hand.  It's so scary.  Everything is scary now.  This has to be a nightmare.  Mommy can't be dying in my arms.  Daddy can't be bleeding to death, holding my hand.  This is not real.  This is a bad dream.  This is not real.  I'm afraid, this is real and I'm afraid.  I'm so afraid.
     "...love you...." Mommy whispered as she tried to reach up to touch my face.  I was trying to press on the wounds, to put pressure on them, but her blood was flowing over my hands, I was covered in my parent's blood.  I was drowning, but I had to help Mommy.  Must try to help her, if Daddy was already dead.  This could not be happening.
     "Mati, mati?  Pozhalyjsta ne ostavlyaj menya odin.  Vati, mati, Ya lyublyu tebya." I was whispering in Russian, Daddy's native language.  Mommy's eyes had closed and her hand was slipping from my face.  Her blood was covering me, my clothes, my hands, my soul.  Daddy and Mommy were dead, they were dead.  "No, Mommy, mommy, please don't abandon me.  Daddy, mommy, I love you." I translated into English in my mind as soon as I had said my words.  Seconds had gone by, measly seconds, they had died in a matter of seconds, and it had been cruel.  I was alone now.  No, Mommy, Daddy, please, don't be dead, please.  I need you so much, please, you can't be dead, please, please, please, come back.  I'm sorry.  Please?  I somehow had curled up into my mother's lap, and I was crying now, as Daddy's and Mommy's bloody hands touched, I cried.  Cruel, hard, painful tears, tears that burned my eyes, that scolded my face.
     Please, please, don't be dead.  I love you so much.  Please.  Don't leave me alone, not here, not now, please. I was mumbling something to mommy, I started listening to what I was saying, "Mommy, what about Paris?  Or my sixteenth birthday party?  Daddy, what about our games?  What will I do now?  How will I live alone?  Please, take me with.  Please?  This isn't fair.  You promised, you said you'd never leave me, please.  Please.  This has to be a joke, please.  I love you... please don't forsake me here, not alone, not afraid, please, Daddy, Mommy, please..."

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     "She was found in her mother's lap, blood covered, still muttering.  For days she didn't sleep or eat.  Des has been through a lot, Pete, she's a survivor.  She'll live through this training." I was trying to convince Pete, maybe this time it would work.  We were watching Des in the Danger Room below, she was curled up in a fetal position, crying.  The muffled words were amplified so they could be heard on stereo up in the observation room.
     "Mommy, Daddy, please, please... Pozhalyjsta ne ostavlyaj menya odin.  Vati, mati, Ya lyublyu tebya.  I love you.  Please, no..." Pained cries of help came from the speaker.  Pete and I both knew Russian, but we were barely able to translate the grief-stricken foreign words.
     He looked at me, cigarette held in the corner of his mouth, scotch in his hand and muttered, "I really don't know at this point old man.  I really don't know.  Look at her for Christ' sake, just bloody look at her!"  He was waiving his hands around wildly, pointing down into the chamber below.  He was stamping his feet, and the Scotch bottle that was sitting on the inactive part of the control panel was shaking.  He looked at me, then sighing he sat in the swivel chair that had been provided for him.
     Below Des was shakily uncurling, grabbing her gun and shooting at some invisible target that only she could fathom.  She emptied her load on exactly the same spot in the room, without opening her eyes, standing or aiming.  Turning back to Pete, who had pushed the chair as close to the window as he could, I said, "She'll live.  I'd bet my life on it, she'll survive, she always does."
     "I sure 'ope you're right old man, I really 'ope you're right.  'Cause from where I'm sitting, she looks like she's in a lotta pain, maybe not physical, but the demons that're tormentin' 'er now, well, I wouldn't want ta see them with me own eyes." And I got a long glance from those eyes of his, there was fear in there, fear for Destiny, and hope, buried somewhere under all of those other emotional barriers.  Love was there as well, though he was trying to hide that.  What was going on in his mind?  Seeing Des put through this was not easy, but what was he thinking?  There was thought in those eyes, a  knowledge, something remembered, something sexual.  The wheels were turning, but where was Pete?  Had this pain reminded him of a memory long buried, or had he just remembered on his own free will?

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     People were crowded in this place, Goth's, Punks, the usual riffraff you'll find at every serious club.  Des had somehow managed to drag me here, though I can't remember how.  Makes me worry about her control over men, and how much she uses.  Nonetheless, here I was, barely able to get a foot of personal space, breathing smoke, and smelling only that sweet smell of spilled alcohol, already I knew I belonged here.  A band was assembling onstage, just setting up it appeared.  A huge smile flashed across Des's face as she quickly kissed my cheek muttering something about being back in a sec.  Fine by me, I fancied a drink.
     I lost her in the crowd as I got myself a scotch from the bar.  I didn't quite fit in, I was after all wearing a tie, but the black trench coat fit right in.  Des had dressed for this occasion, clothed all in black leather, pardon for a few things.  She had on a spiked dog collar, and with her hair up in a semi-bun, it had gleamed in the lights.  The black leather dress, as it was called, almost went down to mid-thigh, and had spaghetti straps to hold the dress up.  It fit her body exactly, though it was quite a bit showy.  She had bought black lipstick, which was applied, and black leather boots that not quite reached her knee, they were five inch spikes to be perfectly honest.  She could have been the goddess of leather, easily.  Except for her panties, which I knew were silk, and black.
     My drink turned into three before Des was back.  She was smirking and gestured me to come to her, which, sad to say, I was already doing.  I'm simply powerless around that woman.  God forbid.  She took my hand and lead me through the crowd, where I got a much closer look at the band.  Ick-bad pun.  The group that was setting up was Nine Inch Nails, and apparently Des knew Trent, because according to everything I was hearing, she was going to dance with him during their first number, which was, of course, Closer.  Great.
     Des was all but glowing when I noticed that she had somehow pulled a necklace from somewhere.  It was gold, which clashed with all of the silver metal she was wearing, and it held in a spiral gold cage, a pearl.  She handed the necklace to me, along with her purse, which had nothing but ammo, and a little gun in it, and went up onto the change as the beat to the song started.  The lights had lowered and strobe lights now provided all of the light.  Looking down at the necklace, I turned it over in my hands several times, listening to the song, before putting it, and the purse, in my trench coat's pocket.
     Red lights rose and fell with the music, revealing Des dancing with Trent, who apparently had a body microphone on.  She was slowly licking him, interlacing her legs with him, moving her hands all over his body.  I would have been jealous, except for the fact that she would wink at me whenever the song's chorus would be sung.  All in all, the song was getting more and more intense, and it wasn't long before Des's dress was barely covering her body, from the top or the bottom.  Trent's shirt had been torn off, the body microphone had obviously been on his necklace, or somewhere else.  She was covering his chest with black kisses, the kiss of Destiny.  I smiled.  Yup, tonight I had not only a date with my Destiny, but I was going to bed with her as well.  Life is good.
     The strobe and red lights suddenly stopped as the song finished.  Once the minimal lights had been put back on, and before the next song, Des thanked Trent, kissed his cheek and returned once again to my arms.  Needless to say, I'd personally seen better dancing from Des in the privacy of our room.  She was smiling and glowing to the applaud she was receiving.  But as soon as she was out of the spotlight, she immediately asked, "Pete, where's my necklace?"
 I smiled and reached in my pocket, only to find a hole, and no necklace.  The smile left my face as I quickly began to search the ground for it.  Des freaked out, and was shoving people out of the way to find her necklace.  She began shaking, as we both were still looking for the necklace that had to be on the floor, or in someone's hands.  I searched and searched until I finally found it, under the shoe of a young teenage girl, jail-bait the Yanks would say.  Des spotted it too, and nearly tackled the girl.  The teen was taken by total surprise, and while still in shock about why she was on the ground, Des had got her necklace and was putting it back around her neck, before dragging me out of the place.
     She cried that night, curled up in a ball.  She didn't respond to me, anything I said, or even the vodka that I had offered.  She kept talking about going to Paris tomorrow, and how we'd (whoever we was) go shopping.  Then Des was screaming, and flailing.  Des held her pillow, then cried as it slipped out of her hands onto the floor.  For the rest of the week she cried, though not as loud as that night.  Near the end of the week we made love, she cried all through it, so I stopped and tried to hold her, but she wouldn't let me wrap my arms around her.  It was hell, all for that necklace, and then she mumbled something in her sleep about never forgetting, never loosing and therefore never forgetting.  I think she meant the necklace.  I didn't know where she'd gotten it, but I'd read her file before the mission was even started, to make sure she wasn't a total wildcard, like psycho wildcard.  I knew about the murder.  Horrible to have that happen to you at such a young age.  And as she cried, I cried with her, though she never knew...

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