So...this plot bunny popped into my head, then turned totally feral and attacked me. I'd have to say Gramber is one of my LEAST favorite pairings in the movie, but here I am writing it. Go figure.

All of this takes place when Carmella (Amber) and GraveRobber are teenagers, focusing on the development of their relationship, whatever that might be. I may have mucked up a few details, and I made everybody really closed together in age. I hope that doesn't bother anybody too much. Okay, that's all I have to say. Please read, enjoy, and review!

Disclaimer: I wish every day that I owned these Repo! And its characters, but I don't :(

1. (Amber Sweet is) Addicted to the Knife

"DADDY!"

"Dad!"

"Papa~!"

Rotti Largo gave a resigned sigh as his three offspring wrestled their way into his office. God forbid he ever get any work done.

Carmella, his youngest child and only daughter stalked over to his desk. "Daddy, Luigi's making fun of me, and Pavi keeps trying to touch me. Make them stop!"

"What else am I supposed to do, Dad?" Fifteen-year-old Luigi demanded, several decibels louder than necessary, "The little skank got breast implants! They're ridiculous!"

"The Pavi thinks-a they're lovely," The scarred fourteen-year-old put in cheerfully as he made a grab for his younger sister's chest. Carmella slapped his hand away and crossed her arms, giving her father a "see-what-I-mean?" look.

Rotti ground his teeth. He'd long since accepted that his sons were not only imbeciles, but mentally unstable imbeciles. Luigi's temper tantrums had lasted through his childhood, and were now looking more like a product of psychotic rage disorder than anything else; he'd "accidentally" stabbed a Gentern last week, and Rotti doubted it would get any better from there. Pavi, on the other hand, had made a game of snatching the panties out from under the Genterns little white skirts and had attracted so many sexual harassment lawsuits that Rotti had a lawyer set aside for that alone. Even more troubling, after the boy's recent run-in with one of Earth's last surviving raccoons (quite feral from rabies and malnourishment,) Pavi had started wearing greasepaint to cover the resulting scars; he was still looking for "el-perfecto" mask. He'd also started using that God-awful accent to cover his speech impediment. Of his three progeny, Rotti could tell Carmella was the only one with any semblance of brains, and he was starting to worry about her, as well.

"Boys, leave your sister alone," Rotti commanded, hellfire in his eyes, "and get out of my sight."

"But—!"

"Out!"

Luigi and Pavi slunk out of the room, glaring at their sister, who wore a self-satisfied smirk.

"Thanks, daddy," Carmella said and turned to leave.

"Carmela," Rotti stopped her. He paused. He knew from his litany of wives that criticizing a woman's surgery was dangerous territory, but something had to be said. "Were the...implants really necessary?"

"They're just for fun, daddy. An experiment," Carmella insisted, "why, is something wrong?"

"You've had so many surgeries lately," Rotti said, "you're starting to not look like yourself anymore."

"What's so bad about that?" Carmella muttered. Then, before her father could say anything else, she perked up. "Am I still signed on for that lung transplant next week? It would really suck to get asthma."

"Yes, of course," Rotti sighed.

"Great! Thanks, daddy," Carmella enthused, skipping forward to peck her father on the cheek. She bounced out of the room, not leaving anymore space for conversation. Rotti watched her go. Yes, he really was starting to worry about her.

OoO

The first thing Carmella did when she got to her room was check herself out in her floor-length rococo mirror. She admired her new breast implants and glanced critically at her cheek bones; perhaps it was time to have them redone? Maybe put a little slant on them. Deciding not to dwell on the matter, Carmella switched the mirror to X-Ray mode, so she could admire her designer heart. Geneco had started pitching that particular surgery as a Valentine's day special. Carmella's had a little filter filled with special blue dye, so her blood was tinted purple. Pretty cool, but she thought she might update to the more recent, glow-in-the-dark model.

Sighing, she turned off the mirror and flopped down on her canopy bed. In a fit of frustration, Carmella kicked her feet against the mattress. Truth was, her father was right to be concerned. Carmella now acknowledged that she was "addicted to the knife," as people called it, or, in less kind terms, a "scalpel slut." She had had her first surgery when she was eleven—a pancreas replacement, because her mother had been a diabetic until she'd gotten the same procedure years back, and there was really no point in taking chances. Carmella had felt so good inside afterward, so improved, that she was eager to see what else her father's battery of SurGENS had to offer.

Before Carmella turned thirteen, she'd had three more surgeries: a scalp transplant, to make her curly, blonde hair dark and straight, then cornea replacements to turn her boring blue eyes a lovely amethyst color, and finally a whole-body skin-graft to make her tan. It wasn't that Carmella felt the need to change to make herself beautiful—she thought change was beautiful. Yeah, well, "addicted to the knife" was a pretty good way of putting it, also.

And now a larger issue had manifested itself. Naturally, Carmella had always gotten the best SurGENS, supplied with the best Zydrate, which was administered to her in ample quantities. As time wore on, and surgery after surgery took place, Carmella developed a tolerance to the pain-killer. She had taken to sneaking shots from her SurGENS guns whenever they turned their backs. Now, as pain radiated through Carmella's chest from her latest surgery, she longed for the blissful painlessness bestowed by the glowing blue drug. At night, when she lay in bed, Carmella could feel the chills, sweats, and tremors of withdrawal.

Nobody could know about this. Carmella was Geneco's poster-child for recreational surgery, as well as the responsible use of legal Zydrate as a pain-killer. If the public were to find out, she would be ruined. If her father found out, he would be humiliated, and Carmella would lose any hope of ever inheriting Geneco. She needed to keep this quiet, but she needed Zydrate even more.

Well, Carmella was just going to have to be more creative about getting her fix.