Yes, I KNOW this ending is very, very abrupt. Don't comment on it - I WILL BE POSTING MORE.

See, due to unfortunate circumstances (meaning the fact I got a PS3 for Christmas and was playing Assassin's Creed for most of the past week or two, and the fact that for the past two days I've been at a friend's house, making story writing very difficult) I haven't gotten around the finishing the story. It is close to completion, but not quite done. So I'm going to post it in two parts even though I really don't want to. Why? Well, it's because I promised to have this story up by the end of the year, and it is alarmingly close to that date. So I'm doing this mainly so I won't break a promise to you guys.

On a happier and less confusing note, I'd like the dedicate this story to my amazing and totally crazy friend Erin. She's the only one who actually bothered to constant nag me to write this story. Thank you, Erin. Thank you very much.

FIRST LEGATO X WOLFWOOD ON FANFIC! W00T!

Disclaimer: I own nothing and get no profit from this.

Enjoy.

--

Legato didn't look up when the door to his room opened then shut and footsteps clicked against the dull gray concrete floor. He didn't even bother to open his eyes as he heard the soft rustle of clothes approach the glass that formed one of the walls of his prison cell.

So the first thing he knew of the man who would soon change his life forever was his voice.

"Hey. Mind if I light up?"

I took him a moment to register the words themselves, because Legato had trouble absorbing the voice and tone. It was slightly coarse and rough, but over that it managed to speak of confidence and ease in his bearing, a silky, promising undertone (or was that just Legato's imagination?), and underneath it all a subtle threat of violence should any person dare to cross him. It spoke of a lifetime of hardships that had only strengthened him and of his willingness to take life head-on. It whispered of self-assurance, poise, grace, and something else, darker, deeper, something Legato knew quite well.

Legato rolled over and opened his eyes just a fraction to catch a glimpse of the person that voice belonged to.

What he saw was not what he expected.

The man standing outside of his cell was of average height – or, at least, he would be if he wasn't slouching. He had black hair, cut short and set mussed upon his head. He had defined featured and the shadow of a beard on his face. The deep blue suit and pants looked rumpled, as though he had slept in his clothes, but somehow this only added to his rugged appearance. An unlit cigarette hung between his slightly parted lips and his hands, jammed into his pockets, made no move to light it. And when he lifted his head and his unwavering, unending pool of dark blue met Legato's piercing golden eyes, the corners of the man's lips lifted slightly and he raised a hand in a mock salute.

The two exchanged glances for a few seconds before Legato rolled back over and closed his eyes, perfectly satisfied with the companionship of the darkness behind his eyelids. It was just another human scum infesting the planet, just like Legato himself. He didn't deserve to live, even if his voice and bearing and posture and those eyes were so…unique.

Legato curled tighter on the stone slab they called a bed, wishing he could die or at least be let out, wishing that they would just leave him alone, wishing he could get the image of that man out of his thoughts.

"I'm going to take that as a no." This was followed by the clink of a ligter and the intoxicating scent of the lit cigarette. Legato had always liked cigarettes. He wouldn't ever smoke one himself, of course – he thought they tasted disgusting. No, it was everything else about them that he liked – the face that they killed millions of people, the scent of those deadly hanging in the air, eating away at his insides even now. Both of those things gave him a little rush of satisfaction every time someone around him smoked (satisfaction because Legato had never experienced the foreign emotion humans called happiness).

"Legato Bluesummers," came the husky voice from outside his cell. "Committed to a lifetime sentence in prison because of mass murder. Found guilty and locked up in a slightly better then normal cell because you lawyer said you were insane and needed 'special treatment'." Legato heard the man slowly exhale. "Well, I'm the special treatment they ordered. Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service. The newest of your councilors in," a slight chuckle was inserted here, low and deep, "a long list of them." The man – should I call him Nicholas or Wolfwood? Legato wondered – paused, seemingly waiting for a reply. When he didn't get one, however, he didn't seem annoyed. They never did – at least, not in the beginning.

"I want to be very clear. I am not afraid of you. I have seen my share of murderers, psychos, crazies, rapists, pedophiles – the list goes on, but you get my point. I was not afraid of them, nor will I feel any fear in your presence. I will not cower against the wall if you start going into gruesome details of your last kill, nor will I be particularly impressed. I am not, moreover, going to be afraid of your sick enjoyment that you take from kill, so if you can, please refrain from attempting to tell me about it."

Legato felt his nails dig into his palm as he angrily clenched his fist. /You compare me to those ants?!?/ He wanted to scream. /I am a thousand times better then them! They have nothing but sickening human emotions, but I have a purpose, a reason! I may not enjoy killing, as you presume, but I know it has to be done to rid the world of sniveling little pathetic beings like you!/ however, even as he thought it, he knew it was just another trick, another ploy to get him to turn around and engage this "Wolfwood" (Legato refused to think they were on a first name basis) in conversation. Legato was used to these people's tricks by now. Acknowledge them, and they would have their fist hook sunk into you. Ignore them, and eventually they would grow frustrated and leave.

"Tough one, aren't you? But they told me all about that. It doesn't matter to me if you talk, you know. Everyone has a story to tell, even if they don't use words to share it." He heard the man slide along the glass wall to sit on the floor and take another deep breath of his cancerous stick. "However long it takes, Legato, I'll be waiting for you."

Astonishingly, the man actually fell silent. Legato knew this one as well. Apparently, if two people in a room didn't talk for a long while, one of them would feel the overwhelming urge to fill the blessed silence with their meaningless chatter. Legato didn't quite understand this theory, as he himself preferred quiet over any type of noise, but it was certainly amusing to watch the foolish human grow quickly uncomfortable in the stillness and nervously begin to talk, or, worse, hum tunelessly to themselves. Of course, it was infinitely more amusing to turn his piercing yellow gaze on them and watch as they fidgeted under his harsh gaze and finally scurry away spouting lame excuses.

But somehow…somehow Legato got a feeling that that wouldn't work with this man.

Legato waited, eyes closed, his patience endless, for his new counselor to slip up and speak, or, better, for him to get fed up and leave. He was a little surprised to find that, even with the stranger resting his back on one of his prison walls, he was at ease in the other's presence. Normally having someone this close and separated from him by only a thick sheet of clear glass made his skin crawl all over, made him feel like there was an itch between his shoulder blades he couldn't quite reach and the only way to relieve it was to wrap his pale fingers around the other's neck and just squeeze until the life fled from their eyes and another human was forever gone.

Oddly enough, though, Legato didn't feel remotely like that, and this placid reaction frightened him. He tried to write it off as a side effect of the drugs, but deep inside, he knew the truth – he didn't truly want to kill this man.

Legato swallowed and tried to ignore his inner want, no, need, to know who this man was, to understand him and this bizarre feeling, to simply look at him again, and remained curled up upon his bed, staring resolutely at the wall. /I don't need him,/ he found himself saying. /I don't need anyone. I'm just a filthy human and so is he! All we do is waste and exploit the areas we live in and then move on. There is nothing to our lives except reproducing and killing! He's just as bad as the rest of them! He – /

Legato stopped his thoughts when he realized he was just trying to convince himself of a lie. It did not matter what he thought of this man, for his thoughts were nothing, nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. He would die eventually, just like all the other humans.

-.-

Legato woke with a start and stared, disconcerted, at the gray wall in front of his eyes and struggled to comprehend a feeling he felt lingering in his gut. His eyes widened slightly as he recalled the evening and, without really realizing what he was doing, he turned over and let his eyes take in the sight before him.

The room was empty.

Legato let his eyes linger on the abandoned room. And, for the first time he could remember, he could truly apply the adjective "abandoned" to anything. Before now, he hadn't saw his punishment as punishing, really – he liked the solitude of his cell. The only thing he hated was the endless string of irritating counselors.

But now…something was different. Something – and he did not know what (not yet) – had changed. The room truly felt confining – Legato fought against the sudden, alarming, almost overpowering urge to beat his fists against these walls and scream all of his frustrations and agony until his voice broke and he could speak no more. Still he stared at the empty room, the feelings he didn't know he had in confused turmoil.

He didn't understand it. How could one man cause this? How could one man tear away his carefully constructed core to reveal…well, reveal whatever was underneath, that not even Legato himself knew about? It was unthinkable, that he, that any man, could…could…

Legato clutched his head with his hands. Thoughts, that's all these were. Thoughts, irrepressible, irresponsible, mocking. Clouded, worthless, human thoughts. They were nothing, nothing.

Legato forced his body to relax, closing his eyes, and succumbing to the peaceful lull of slumber. That's right. Nothing. He was nothing, his thoughts were nothing, and he could sleep content in that knowledge.

.

The man visited almost every day, sometimes staying an hour or two, sometimes staying only a few minutes, and always leaving behind the lingering smell of tobacco and an even more annoying feeling that Legato was beginning to identify as regret. For what he was no quite sure, although he was beginning to suspect…

Three weeks and four days from their first day, his new counselor stepped into his cell and took up his position sitting against his wall, cigarette already lit and in place. He didn't say anything, as usual, and Legato marveled at this man's patience and preserverance. Didn't that single act set him apart, make him different from the rest, showed that maybe Legato could relate to this man?

Legato wasn't sure, but he was strangely eager to find out.

"Who are you, really…?" He found his lips moving, to his surprise, his voice and thought exposed. He coughed a few times, unused to saying words aloud, his voice harsh from disuse and the smoke he had been inhaling everyday. He swallowed thickly and fell silent.

A few seconds later, the thick cloud of smoke lightenede and Legato realized that the cigarette had been extinguised. He waited for either the man to light another one or for him to leave, and was confused when neither occurred. They had established a subtle and almost unnoticeable pattern, the man and his smoking and Legato and his silence, and any break made Legato wary of the other man. He felt himself tensing as the smoke gradually cleared, the toxic mist gone and revealing things Legato would rather leave hidden. He heard the man let out one last smoke-laden breath and shift slightly. Legato released a small, shuddering breath, feeling the panic rise from the change in his situation. He hated not being in control, not knowing what the man's exact thoughts were. His fingers twitched as he gripped his forearms tightly, eyes widening. Let it go back to normal, let him leave, just let him have control again –

A rap on his glass wall startled him. Cautiously he lifted his head.

Wolfwood lifted two fingers and grinned in a strange sort of acknowledgment. Legato watched, a touch confused, as the man hauled himself to his feet, gave the glass a friendly tap and Legato himself a wink, and leisurely exited.

Legato turned his eyes back to the wall, but he heard the door creaking shut as the man took his leave.

/That man confuses me./ His eyes attempted to pierce the wall, with no success. /I don't like that./

His fingers clenched into a fist.

/I want some answers./

-.-

The next time his counselor enter, Legato was sitting up on his bed. His gaze was focused on the opposite wall, and he was resting against the wall, but both knew his pose was far from casual.

Wolfwood sat in a different-then-usual pose as well, cross-legged and facing the clear sheet of glass instead of leaning against it. He leveled his own gaze straight ahead, and, surprisingly, did not light up a cigarette. Legato decided to ignore his inconsistency.

The two sat quietly for a moment, waiting for the other to speak. Finally Legato let his eyes flicker over to his "counselor" and was not astounded when the man calmly met his look, as thought he had known the instant Legato was going to look over.

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow and motioned his hand, as if saying 'you first'.

Legato continued to gaze into those calm blue depths.

Wolfwood laughed, rubbing the stubble on his chin and speaking to Legato for the first time in many weeks.

"All right." He paused. "Did you want to ask me something…?"

The question hung between them, more like an invitation then a challenge. Legato calculated for a moment. Did he truly want to do this? Did he want to succumb? Did he want this man to succeed where so many had failed?

Did he want to exist while knowing nothing about this man…?

"Who…" He voice broke, and for a minute he couldn't stop the coughs racking his body, brought on by the thick smoke clogging his lungs for the past three weeks and the lack of talking outlining his last year. Finally, he forced himself to stop hacking for a moment to ask, "Who are you?"

Wolfwood watched and didn't respond, an odd look on his face that Legato couldn't begin to understand. "Are you all right?"

Swallowing thickly, Legato stared at Wolfwood for a long moment, trying to decipher the look he was giving him. Then, suddenly, he understood, and it only made him more bewildered.

It was concerned. His councelor was looking at him with concern.

Legato attempted to register this, but it was unthinkable. Someone looking at him with concern was alien, rare, atypical, something that Legato was fairly sure had never happened to him before. Most people looked at him with pity or disgust, maybe even fear, or some mix of the three. Never had someone even gazed at him with anything even resembling concern.

But most of the time it didn't matter how people looked at him. They were just people, scum, masses to be slaughter. In fact, he couldn't think of a time when a look had mattered at all to him.

…that was, until now.

"Answer my question," Legato demanded, his voice hoarse but usable.

Wolfwood smiled, but somehow Legato could sense the worry underneath the façade. "I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Your councelor."

Legato scowled, unsatisfied with the answer. "You know what I mean. Answer the question," he repeated.

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I understand you."

Legato just narrowed his eyes. /Don't play coy, man. I know you understand me perfectly well./

Wolfwood's smile spread, as though he had caught Legato's thoughts. He rubbed his forehead, and answered, "Let's just say I'm not so different from you, hmm?"

"Why would you be?"

Wolfwood appeared at a loss. "Why would I be what?"

"Different from me."

Wolfwood furrowed his brows. "Everyone's different. So, thus, I must be different from you. But I'm saying – "

"No," Legato interrupted, "you're wrong." He was slightly disappointed. This man didn't know anything. Legato had found that if they didn't know of the true idea, his idea, then they couldn't be made to accept.

"Why am I wrong?"

Legato began talking, even though the effort was futile. "All humans are the same fundamentally – thieving, lying souls. There are no differences. We are all the identical, each as horrible as the person next to them."