Kione wasn’t functioning at his greatest at the current moment. In fact, he had just had the worst few weeks of his entire life.

First his fiancé died, hit by a car on her way to his house. Of course, Kione blames himself for that particular tragedy, although Vega and Molly’s mother consistently tells him through her own grief that it was in no way his fault, that he could not have known someone would swerve and hit her, that he could not have done anything to stop the occurrence even if he had been there with her. She chided him harshly when he said he wished it had been him, not her, though she probably secretly held the same desire, not for any ill will towards Kione but for the powerful love for her daughter.

His second bought of bad luck was making the mistake of telling Molly’s mother that she didn’t have to tell Vega, she shouldn’t have to bare such bad news, that he would tell his once upon a time best and greatest. He called only to get the machine. He didn’t have the heart to tell Vega that his sister had died on the answering machine, or even really on the phone. He looked up the address from last years Christmas card and got in his beat up old truck.

His third run in with fortune was that the damned truck should choose today of all days to give out on the freeway. He spent three hours getting hot and sweaty and running one of his good pair of jeans bent over under the hood of the truck wielding a wrench. Tears ran down his cheeks as he gave up on the doctoring the truck and called a friend who owned a tow truck, or rather whose father owned a tow truck, and abandoned the truck, walking to the nearest exit and catching the next bus. The tears flowed from a contaminated fountain of annoyance and anger and frustration. Even with it’s contaminating content, the water of the fountain still stemmed from a deep sorrow at the loss of his beautiful, his beloved.

Kione now found himself standing on the welcome, or do not disturb mat of his once was first man’s apartment smelling like a garage and looking like a beach bum, in a pair of faded blue jeans with grease smudges, a snug tee shirt that proclaimed he was probably a fan of “The Goonies,” and a pair of black Kino sandals. Not exactly what you expect of a bearer of bad news.

He hears the phone ring and ignores it, much like he ignores the birds that flutter around and perch on his balcony outside. The answering machine takes the call, and the message is short and to the point: "It's Vega. I missed your call. When you get over it, leave your name and number. I'll think about calling back."

His apartment is a mess. It'd be a lie to say he even has the vaguest intention of tidying up the place, and as such junk is left wherever it lands. Amidst the heaps of garbage and wrinkled clothes is a couch where the young mechanic is situated, arms behind his head in a spaced out gesture of relaxation. His light brown gaze remains unfocused and half-opened, his messy bi-colored hair obscuring his vision. The digital clock reads 3:46 PM.

His outfit is rather lacking in the class department. He sports a plain, long-sleeved white tee paired with black and white checkered flannel pajama pants. He listens as some birds have the nerve to peck at the sliding glass door that seperates his world from theirs. He'd rather keep a distance, and can't do anything to stop their annoying behavior. Azrael. It's all that damn god's fault.

He hears the footsteps, listening as they come closer and closer, then just stop altogether. They happen to stop at his door. He waits for a knock before inquiring if there is, in fact, a presence there.

He prefers his visitors not show up in suits. His last encounter with a professionally dressed man rather sits in the back of his mind in an almost eery way.

You are an antisocial ass, the messaged had said. It's Kione. Answer the phone, Vega, no joke. Long pause of static and breathing. Vega? More silence, then there had been a disgusted huff and the sound of the receiver landing back in it's cradle before the message cut out.

Truth be told, Kione had known Vega wouldn't answer the phone. He'd been made at Kione for some time and their friendship clung together by shards and fragile threads, their contact consisting of only the annual Christmas Card, Birthday Card, and occasional short, half-hearted message.

Kione raised his hand and pulled it back to begin knocking, then paused. He frowned, hesitated, then put his hand flat against the door, resting his forehead against the back of his hand. He could feel tears stinging his eyes, threatening to fall once again, and he bit them back by biting his lip until the skin broke and his lower lip bled. He scowled at the taste of blood on his tongue, licked it away, and then straightened.

"Pull yourself together," he whispered in harsh tones to himself. He balled his fist and hammered the door before he could hesitate again.

He sees no reason in picking up the phone. He's taken the day off, and he doesn't need some piss ant ruining his peace. He closes his eyes, straining to hear, wondering if a knock is actually going to come.

The knock comes. And, unsurprisingly, Vega groans and slides slowly off the couch like a slowly melting slug, barely pushing himself to a standing position. He drags his feet across the floor with a sigh, running a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair. He looks like a zombie.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbles in irritation, slowly slinking towards the door.

His outstretched hand rests on the cool handle, and he turns the doorknob, pulling the door opened. He isn't happy to see the person standing before him, and he doesn't bother to smother his expression of annoyance. He stands in the doorway a moment, giving Kione a once-over.

"You look like shit," he says, then offers a sigh and adds grudgingly, "get your ass in here."

Despite the bad news, despite the bitterness that Vega held towards him, despite the grueling news that he knows he is bringing with him, Kione breaths a little bit lighter then he had a moment before when he hears Vega's grudging voice. No doubt he had just woken him from a nap or interrupted his favorite show. It would be Kione's luck to bring bad news to an already irritable man and he would just happen to irritate him further before delivering this news.

After that thought it's hard to breath again.

"Shit," he whispers a fraction of a second before the door actually opens and he receives what he new would be unguarded annoyance.

"You look much better?" he replied, composing himself as best he could in the seconds before answering. He stepped through the doorway and knew that there was no turning tail and running for the hills at this point. Of course, if he were being truthful with himself he would admit that he had known the moment he received the news himself that this would be his duty and that he would do it.

He rubs his temple with two pale fingers and screws up his face in distaste. He just stares at Kione, his eyes following him as he enters, and tiredly yanks the door shut again. After it's closed he turns, facing his old friend with his back pressed against the apartment door.

"Yeah, yeah, save your fucking sass for Molly." He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, shrugging his shoulders in a futile effort to rid himself of tiredness.

"What is it you want?"

He gazes wistfully at the kitchen counter, which seems oh so very far at the moment. His half empty pack of cigarettes rests there, demanding to be smoked. He doesn't move to retrieve it yet.

When he enters the apartment he wrinkled his nose at the mess of clothing and...stuff that lay in mountainous piles everywhere.

Vega's words about Molly bit deep into his heart and his soul and he turned his back to his old friend and looked into the apartment. He walked into the room and noticed the birds flocking around the doors and windows.

"Vega," he muttered with only half his heart and only half as much force as he would have liked to have used, "don't be like that." He scowled at the couch as he approached it and decided that sitting on it was probably less healthy then it looked and decided to remain standing.

"Vega," he was going to say this without crying, without breaking. He paused for a long time, holding his breath, and when he finally released it the words came out with it. "Molly..." He bit his lips again and the blood returned. He licked it away. "Molly died last week." It broke his heart twice just to speak the words out loud again.

He stared at Vega with hollow eyes.

Vega folds his arms over his chest, barely acknowledging Kione's response. His eyes are still focused on the counter, and linger there until Kione speaks again. He has the decency to notice his old friend's difference in tone and his lackluster attitude. He frowns, finding the ordeal troublesome, and finds his gaze drifting to the windows.

He doesn't like how long Kione takes to come up with a response. For the most part it just irritates him, and he gives the other mechanic a long, sidelong glance.

Then, he wishes Kione hadn't spoken at all. His jaw sags open unattractively and his eyes darken before he clenches his teeth. He gives a bitter laugh, then turns and slinks over toward the kitchen counter. His hands are shaking. He runs a hand through his hair, unable to respond.

He snatches up a single cancer stick paired with a black lighter, attempting to light the smoke with his trembling fingers.

Then all at once he just whips back to face Kione again. He hesitates and swallows thickly.

"Last week?" It's all he can manage to come up with. His voice cracks like a teenager's. "Why the fuck did... didn't you tell me sooner?"

Kione isn't watching Vega's reaction, he's actually trying to cope with his own shock and pain all over again. It hasn't worn off yet, the shock. For a few hours he feels like he's doing ok, then suddenly, for no reason, he'll shake and cry. Every time someone hugs him and tells him that they're sorry he sags and tries not to break all over again.

He's staring at the window, the view nearly covered by the birds. His gaze is blank and he's sagging into a perpetual slouch.

When Vega shouted at him he turned and looked at him. All Kione could do for the longest moment was stare at Vega with disbelieving eyes and stubborn shock on his face.

"What?!" he exclaimed. He turned around to face Vega now, his feet planted in the way that had always meant he was bound and determined to stand his ground and even if he was wrong and proven wrong he would still fight his side. "Do you even know how hard it is to track you down? I have half a dozen different Christmas cards with half a dozen different addresses." He stalked forward and swiped the lighter out of Vega's hands and drug his thumb across the wheel The flame leaped upward and flickered angrily.

He needed a smoke too and he fully intended to steal one of Vega's.

He hisses angrily through his teeth, clenching his hands into his fists. It's just his way of coping with things, rather than breaking down and crying. He attempts to fight Kione with his words to distract himself, exhaling shakily. The lighter goes without a fight, and suddenly he shrinks back into the kitchen counter.

The birds peck insistently at the glass, and a whole different anger wells in his stomach, proceeding to bubble to the surface.

"Get the fuck out," he orders, wavering on his feet. "I don't want to see your face. Get out."

Kione isn't shocked by his behavior, they were life long friends forever...once upon a time. Vega has behaved like this before and Kione has patiently witnessed it.

This is different. Only once has Vega ever directed this form of outlet to Kione and that had been when Kione had started dating his sister, Molly. Now Molly was gone and Kione was feeling alone without her and annoyed by Vega's reaction.

He glared at the window when the bird peeked. "What do you do? Fuckin feed those things?" It was the only reason he could think of that a dozen birds would hang around the glass doors of a bitter boy. They were beginning to make Kione feel claustrophobic.

He let the lights flame retreat and he opened his hand, letting it drop on the counter. "No," he replied. He wasn't going anywhere yet. He was suffering to and he wasn't going to let Vega make him feel like the bad guy. Don't shoot the messenger.

Vega's bitterness flares at Kione's annoyance, and he nearly breaks down at the mention of the birds. He wants to scream. "What do you fucking think? Yeah, I'll just waste my good food on those... those fucking creatures. Real good, Kione. I thought you knew me better than that."

He scowls at the monosyllable reply, looking like a confused and upset little toddler.
"Get out now!"

He pulls back his arm and then lets his fist fly. Punching doesn't count as shooting, now does it?

He did know Vega better then that, which was exactly why he wanted to know why the birds were swarming is apartment. Vega wouldn't feed them. Kione had the impression that animals didn't like Vega and that Vega didn't like animals and that under a neutral agreement they would avoid each other.

The fist caught him across his cheek as he was turning his face back towards Vega. It caught him off guard and sent his head back while at the same time he dropped into a low stance with his fists coming up. He stopped them at waist height and let them drop. Vega was just lashing out. It was Kione's fault Molly was dead, Vega deserved to get in a few hits. Kione deserved to die in Molly's place but time couldn't be turned back. The dead couldn't be brought back.

"No," he replied, resisting the need to rub his sore jaw line. His eyes weren't watering anymore. This wasn't about his loss, his loss of a finance and a love, this was about Vega's loss of his sister. Don't be selfish, Kione, he told himself. You are not the only one grieving.

Vega pulls back his fist and looks at it anger, gaze momentarily flicking up to watch Kione lower himself into a stance. His fists clench so tightly his nails nearly break the skin. His body shakes violently, the word ringing in his head. No. Just looking at Kione's face makes him want to beat him to a bloody pulp and just cry.

He hasn't been in contact with Molly. She can't have died, he tells himself. I died... and. And... last week. That fucking Azrael! He...

He lands another hit on his friend's more muscular body, his fist striking him square in the chest. His hands slowly unfurl, fingers flexing, and he slides like mollasses down to the messy floor.

"Get out, Kione." It's a weak command this time.

The next shot winded him. It took everything he had not to put his arms up and ward off the blow. Vega isn't as strong as Kione is anymore and Kione is much more solid and has more weight and muscle to throw into his side of a fight but the force behind the blow to an unprotected chest was still enough to stagger him and he stepped back with it, gasping for breath with one deep wheeze.

Vega slid to the floor and Kione doubled over slowly, putting his hands on his knees and concentrated on breathing for a few minutes. He didn't respond verbally at all this time when Vega commanded him. He responded physically by not complying.

"I'm sorry V," he muttered. "I'm..." out of things to say. It's been so long that he isn't sure what to say. Instead he just remains doubled over, his eyes regarding his once was Best.

"I'm sick of your face," he mumbles half-heartedly in response, feeling around on the carpet for the cigarette he previously dropped in his fit of trembling. He sighs, but it sounds more like another shaky exhale, and allows his eyes to close. The pecking of the birds outside has become more insistent.

"Hell, Kione..." he doesn't know what to say, either. He can't believe she's gone. It infuriates him and breaks his heart at the same time. With all these occurences in his life as of late (first dying, then the birds, then the wings, and then, shocker, turning into a bird), he's had something of a bad week as well. This... news, so to speak, is just icing on his wonderful cake full of tragedy. He doesn't want Kione around to witness this.

"I'm sorry," it's a murmured, half-assed apology. Or is he just feeling sorry for himself?

He's probably just feeling sorry for himself but Kione will take any apology he gets.

He watched Vega grope around and finally grabbed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter off the counter before, with a soft grunt of pain from the shock in his chest, he sat down and leaned back against the counter.

Kione put a cigarette between his thin lips and he flicked the lighter until the flame returned in all of it's flickering furry. He puffed on the cigarette to get it lit and then took it from his lips and offered it to Vega, removing another cancer stick from the pack at the same time and placing this one between his lips to stay. He lit the lighter again and watched the flame dance for a breif moment before lighting his cigarette.

He inhaled the burning smoke and held it in, then breathed it out, took the cigarette from between his lips and held it up in front of his face to examine the cherry.

"How can you be sick of my face? S'first time you've seen it in a year or more." He didn't look at Vega, his attention stayed on the cherry.

Hell, Kione.

"...I know," he agreed.

"You just have that kind of face," he explains with ill humor, opening his brown eyes to watch Kione's movements. His gaze settles on the cigarette he's offered (out of his own pack, though offered nonetheless), in which he takes after a moment of silence. He positions the cancerous cylinder between his lips with some effort. His shakiness has barely died down, and he takes a long drag to try and calm his nerves. Smoke billows out his mouth and his nose as he exhales.

"When are you going to leave?" His characterisitically nonchalant tone is tinged with intense hurt that threatens to leak through his iron wall of defense.

He slowly brings his knees to his chest to ward off the feeling of nausea that suddenly twists his gut.

"Blame my mother," he replied about his face.

Kione frowned at the question and he drew his knees up as well, though not up to his chest but comfortably with his feet and his knees apart. He took another long drag on the cigarette that devoured a quarter of the stick. He rested the cigarette between fingers and rested his wrist over his knee, dropping his head back against the counter.

"I guess I should'a left already," he admitted. "But damn it," he added with less force then he should have liked, "I'm not the one that ran away."

He stared across the room at the birds outside of the window. The claustrophobic feeling wasn't so terrible while he sat on the floor with a cigarette. The were still bothersome.

"You should go see your mom," he told him, still staring straight ahead.

He snorts at the answer he's given, resting his forehead on his knees. This way he doesn't have to look at Kione or the birds, and it helps him forget how ill he currently feels.

"Fuck you, Kione. You don't know the half of it. You had nothing to run away from, so how the hell could you understand my predicament? How do you know that you wouldn't bolt off with your tail between your legs, should you be put in the same situation?"

He lifts his head and takes another drag, forehead wrinkling in frustration. The birds are bothersome, but Kione's pissing him off. It's an odd sensation... he feels better acting bitchy than bitter and alone. He doesn't want to think about it.

"It's best I don't. She doesn't love me. She loved Molly. Fuck if she cares I'm alive, either. Bet she wishes it had been me."

"Didn't say I understood," Kione replied with all of the calmness of a white puffy cloud floating across a very blue sky in a lazy, slow pattern. "I just said that I'm not gonna leave since I'm not running from you. I don't have any need to leave."

It's funny, the way that Vega feels better shouting at Kione then being alone, Kione feels better being here with Vega, even if he is shouting at him, then he does being there wih Vega's mother. "She loves you," he almost muttered. "I asked her to let me tell you," he finished. He didn't further explain why he had wanted to be the one to break the terrible news to Vega. Perhaps he felt that Vega would hate the bearer of this news forever and while he didn't want him to hate him, he would rather Vega hate him forever then to hate his mother.

"Actually, she wishes it had been me," he whispered back softly. She'd never said it but he knew it. "Don't blame her. I wish it had been me too." The tears are threatening again and he took a long drag to calm them.

"You don't have any need to stay, either," he points out rather harshly. The cigarette has nearly burned all the way to the filter by now, and he feels like he's hardly smoked it at all. He narrows his eyes.

"Words are just words. It's easy to spout 'em and not give a shit what it was you just said. And, because that's the case, I don't care what she has to say." He's already on rocky terms with his mother; it's easier for him to hate her than face his problems.

He straightens his back and pushes himself to his feet. His pajamas sag to reveal pale, bony hips, and he shuffles to the balcony door, banging on it. The birds scatter... for now.

He looks back at Kione, his gaze appearing unfocused. "Shut up," he orders, sounding tired. "She loves you too, fucking idiot. Don't let your wallowing in despair ruin that."

It's hard for Vega. Kione's more of a son to his mother than he ever was, and it's impossible for him to relate at times.

"Sure I do," he replied. "I may not still be your friend but your still mine." He said it was a roll of the shoulders that might have been a shrug or might have been him trying to get more comfortable against the cabinet.

"She loves you man," he insisted. "She doesn't say so but I can see it. Same way I can it was killin Molly that you weren't around. Same way I can tell in your cards and letters that you miss them too." He's not the sharpest tool in the shed but he isn't the dullest and he is very good at reading peoples emotional states.

Kione looked at Vega when he shouted at him. "I didn't say she doesn't love me, otherwise she wouldn't have let me live there." Kione knew there was more then the one reason that their mother let him live in her place. He could afford his own and he could afford to take care of himself and Molly. Mom just wanted to keep Molly close. "I said she wished it had been me. Not that she doesn't love me. She does, but she loves Molly so much more." The tear started and he stopped it with the back of his wrist and covered the motion by puffing on his cigarette.

"It's..." he pauses, turning away, and doesn't finish. Vega opens the door, face contorting in faint disgust. His body bends and folds over as he crouches to the ground, reaching a hand toward the outdoors to smother the wasted cigarette. He tosses the butt wherever, and doesn't look long enough to see where it lands.

The disheveled man swallows, pulling the door closed before his winged company returns, and looks over at a heap of trash. His body slowly rises like a withered old man's, and now his hands rest weakly on his hips. He misses his family, but the stubborn fuck doesn't admit it.

"Give me a break, Ki. You're a mechanic, not a preacher." His expression gives the impression of distaste.

I wish it had been you.

"Your moping is pissing me off," he says rather flippantly. He just looks drained now.

"When's the funeral?" he forces himself to ask.

Kione followed Vega with his eyes silently. “I’m a friend,” he corrected. “And sometimes what you need is exactly what you don’t want.” He shook his head and puffed on his cigarette, drawing out the last of the ash. He lifted his foot and crushed the cherry against the bottom of his sandal, then reached up and lay the butt on the counter.

“In two days,” he replied. That had quite possibly been the worse part of it all, aside from the actual point of loosing his fiancé: planning the funeral. Their mother hadn’t been in the right condition and Kione had felt it his…responsibility to do so. The worst part of the planning the funeral had been the way everything was said. He had to pick up her body. He’d had to view her body. The corpse, deceased would be ready on Thursday. It killed him to think of her as an it.

He stared at a cigarette that he couldn’t remember getting out of the pack before he put this between his lips and lit it up too.

“At the St. Reeve’s Funeral Home,” he spoke around the cigarette. “Three in the afternoon.”

"You were a friend," he corrects with a steely sort of bitterness in his voice. The long pauses in between his speech make the atmosphere seem thick and dead with silence. His pale fingers tuck a lock of black hair away from his scarred eye and he manages a grimace.

He doesn't like funerals. He can practically see Azrael in his suit, grinning like the devil he is. The thought makes his fingers tighten into fists once more.

"I'll be there," he tells Kione, and proceeds to slink over to the couch. He doesn't want to argue.

"Is that enough to get you to leave?"

You were a friend. That was good enough to make him leave once upon a time. But yesterday, standing in the funeral home holding Molly’s favorite dress in his hands like a revered cloth of gold and looking down at her lifeless body he had vowed a thousand things to her. He would try to stop swearing so much, he would stop going to those late parties that she never liked, he would never change that hideous bed spread that she loved so much, he would keep all of her favorite clothes, he would mend things with her brother and he would be a better person. It was all too late. He should have done all of this when he still had her.

“I knew you would,” he replied. He watched Kione for a long, silent moment, puffed on the cigarette again and removed it from between his lips. He got to his feet and brushed his pants down his legs. “I’ll see you then,” he muttered heading towards the door.

He doesn't actually want Kione to leave. He wants to throw things at him and snap at him for stealing his cigarettes. He wants to blame him for Molly's death and all that's been going on lately. He wants to scream and throw a temper tantrum like a little toddler. Instead of acting on those impulses, he just lays there and watches Kione brush himself off and head toward the door.

"Yeah," he responds simply. His eyes linger on his disheveled figure a long time. "Go clean yourself up or something," he mumbles as an afterthought.

Kione reached the door and, with his hand on the door knob, he half turned to look over
his shoulder at Vega.

"Yeah well, you oughta get yourself cleaned up," he looked around the room and sneered at it. "This place is a pig sty." He turned away and put the cigarette between his lips again, then spoke around the butt of it, "Later, V."

"Who are you, my mother? Shut up and get lost already, before I haul your ass out of here myself." He says it like he can actually do it, and even adds a glare for good measure.

"Later."

He closes his eyes and doesn't watch him exit.

Kione shrugged and returned back to the doorway, pulling the door open and exiting silently into the real world again.

Secretly he smiled. His love was gone, his life was gone, his truck was failing him, but he smiled. This by no means meant that the sorrow was gone, only that the sad smile was a sad pleasure at having seen his friend again after what amounted to years. Terrible that it happened under these conditions.