A/N: AKA I tried. *buries head in hands* This is the chapter where Karma makes it to third base ( where they have sex ), so if you're not a fan of smut ( is this even smut? *shrugs* ), skip this chapter. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. In other news, there is just one more chapter to go before this story is officially completed!

Nagisa enters the understated and elegant lobby of Karma's apartment building and checks in with the front desk.

It isn't until she is alone in his private elevator that the nerves really hit her.

Frowning at the brass key in her hands, Nagisa asked, "What is this supposed to be?"

"It's . . ." Stern Lecture buried her head in her hands to hide a flushed face. " . . . It's the key to Akabane's apartment."

"And just how did you get the key to Akabane Karma's apartment?" Gyaru English demanded, staring at the girl sitting across from her in an entirely new light. "I don't suppose you lifted it off him when you bumped into him on the street? Or did he give it to you while you were –"

"No! No!" Stern Lecture's head snapped up, and she glared at Gyaru English. "Isogai gave it to me –"

"– What a disappointment that must have been for you," Gyaru English muttered.

"– Because apparently, Karma has been distracted, so Isogai wanted to nip the problem in the bud –"

"Ohoho ~ Nagisa managed to 'distract' Akabane, eh?" Gyaru English waggled her eyebrows like a villain in a vaudeville. "Impressive."

This time, it was Nagisa who had to hide her burning face. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass table, calming down slightly at the sensation against her flushed skin.

"You'll have to talk to him eventually," Mistress said, folding her hands demurely in her lap. "If not, the two of you really will end up killing each other."

Aside from the fact that she doesn't know what to say – "Thank you"? "I'm sorry for trying to kill you"? "Why did you help me"? "Did I hallucinate you carrying me"? - Nagisa can't deny that she expects Akabane to try and kill her again. The issue of weapons isn't the problem; she has pepper spray in her clutch and knives strapped to her thigh. Nagisa just isn't sure that she'll be able to actually kill him if the situation calls for it.

And that's the Second Commandment broken: Never get attached to your target.

Not to mention the Third Commandment – Never go into a potentially hazardous situation without backup.

I'm breaking all my rules today, Nagisa thinks, exiting into a small foyer decorated with checkerboard marble tiles and an antique console bearing a massive arrangement of white calla lilies. Before she unlocks Akabane's front door, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for however she might find him. But the moment she enters Akabane's apartment, Nagisa knows he isn't home. The energy that thrums through a space when he occupies it is markedly absent. Lights that are activated by Nagisa's movements come on when she enters the expansive living room, and she forces herself to settle in as if she belongs there.

On the walls there are paintings, everywhere – from Jackson Pollock to Degas' ballerinas. His private space is warm and sumptuous, filled with antiques and art anchored by gorgeous Aubusson rugs laid over gleaming hardwood floors. Huge is too small a word for the main living area. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks the bustling and lively city, with lights that gleam like flickering candle flames.

To the right is an imposing 'U' shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel - or maybe platinum for all she knows - modern fireplace. On the left beside Nagisa, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six. Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. She should have known that he plays the piano too. Is there anything that boy can't do? There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

She wanders into his vast bed room, gazing around in interest. The floral wallpaper looks as though it could have come from George Washington's house. The hearth and mantel are glossy white. Antique furniture in varying shades of brown are scattered around the room. The huge four poster bed is made up neatly with fluffy pillows and linens in champagne silk. On the wall above it is a picture of Akabane, his clothes dripping wet. He is smiling happily, shielding his face with a forearm, and other males, all of their clothes plastered to their bodies like second skins, splash more water at him. Nagisa settles delicately onto the very edge of the bed, picking at her nails, which have been painted a pearly "Socialite". An inexplicable feeling courses through her veins, one that comes with the realization that she is most likely one of the few people that has been allowed a glimpse into Akabane's private life. Nagisa feels as though she's drunk down liquid sunshine.

She feels Akabane approaching before she hears the soft pad of his footsteps. Nagisa doesn't look up, scuffing the carpet with the edge of her toe. Hesitantly, she peers up at him through her eyelashes. From what she can see, Akabane doesn't seem mad, and he doesn't appear to be armed. In fact, she can't read his expression at all.

"What are you doing here?" Akabane asks, and Nagisa can feel the springs in the mattress squeak as he settles himself on the bed.

"Um . . ." Nagisa hesitates, wondering if she should rat 'Isogai' out. " . . . I wanted to talk to you."

Nagisa swallows. She and Akabane are finally alone with no one listening in. Total privacy. It's time, more than past, actually, to get to the truth of matters.

"Why did you do it?" She demands, her stomach in knots, and not only because she hasn't had a proper meal all day.

"Do what?" Akabane sounds oddly . . . Nervous.

She forces herself to sound confident, keeping her chin high. "Save me. I've been thinking about it all day, and I still can't figure it out. As much as it pains me to admit this, your life would be a lot easier if I'd gotten abducted and sold in Thailand or Morocco. No more Nagisa Shiota trying to kill you, no more Nagisa Shiota trying to one up you, no more Nagisa Shiota to get in your way."

Karma focuses on the sleeve of his jacket, brushing an invisible piece of lint as if it is the most important thing in the world. Tonight, he's wearing a black motorcycle jacket and a white T-Shirt, along with a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of black Converse. He refuses to look at her. "Give me some credit. I'm not one to stand idly by while a girl gets sold into modern day slavery."

"Yes, because you're the nicest person in the world," Nagisa rolls her eyes.

He doesn't laugh. He just sits on the bed, his fists clenched tightly, his attention fixed on the walls of his room that are surely as familiar to him as they are unfamiliar to Nagisa. Akabane's expression is pained, as if he can't bear to look directly at her. "Do you really want to know why I saved your life?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Akabane nods as though he's expected her persistence, and when he speaks, his tone is flat. "For as long as I can remember, I've been working with Mr. Karasuma. My parents were assassinated when I was younger, and he took me in, taught me everything I know. How to kill someone, how to tie my shoes . . . Blood and death was a regular occurrence for me; I killed someone once every week or so. My interest in you was purely professional at first. As you know, not many people tangle with me and walk away unscathed."

Nagisa listens, twisting her fingers together until they grow chilly from lack of blood. She doesn't say anything, doesn't judge, although she can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the golden-eyed boy, picturing a young child standing over two bodies and weeping his eyes out. She's barely breathing.

"You want to know why I did what I did?" His brows draw together as if he is only now allowing himself to consider this question. "It's fairly simple, actually. It's because . . . Even in this twisted bloody world that we call 'normal', without with your constant scheming behind my back to kill me, without the clear, unhardened look in your eyes, without that bloodlust that appears whenever we fight . . ." He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth. " . . . In this dark and screwed up world, where people stab each other in the back more often than not, you've become someone I . . . Care for. And I won't ever let you die. Alright?"

An invisible hand wraps around her throat, squeezing hard and making it impossible to breathe. "I . . . I . . ."

"'Love' might be too strong a word, but it's obvious the two of you feel something for each other."

" . . . That's what Mistress said," Nagisa murmurs, feeling hollow inside. " . . . She thought I was in love with you. But I don't . . ."

And then she is kissing him, and Nagisa isn't even sure who initiated it. With a soft sigh, Karma hauls her into him and kisses her hard, bruising her lips. His hand is in Nagisa's hair, fisting it roughly, holding her in place so she can't turn away. Karma kisses her without reservation, kissing her as if he is starved for the taste of her and Nagisa sighs, her body sagging limply against Karma's. He smells like cinnamon and tastes like mint. His body feels so perfectly right against Nagisa's. Her heart thunders in her chest.

"You're not going to stab me again, are you?" Karma pulls away, a tinge of that mischievous humor glinting in his eyes as usual.

Nagisa stares at him, raising a hand to press against her swollen lips. "No. Not today, Aka . . . Karma."

At the mention of his first name, Karma stills, his breath gusting hard and fast over her neck. His lips glide down Nagisa's neck, his tongue stroking over her racing pulse. He sucks on Nagisa's skin and pleasure radiates through her. Karma touches her restlessly, his hands sliding over her thighs, lingering between her legs as if caressing her bare skin is as necessary to him as breathing. His breath hisses out when he reaches the point where her garter clips to the top of her silk stocking. He tears his gaze away from Nagisa's and looks down, pushing her skirt higher to bare her from the waist down.

"You're beautiful," His gasped words are threaded with a hint of delicious agony. "Nagisa, you're so –" He slides his thumb beneath the edge of her underwear, biting his lower lip when Nagisa clenches helplessly around him. Pressed full-body against him, achingly aware of every hot, hard inch of Karma, Nagisa kisses him as if she can eat him alive. Her skin is damp and too sensitive, her breasts heavy and tender.

Nagisa tries to think of a response that makes sense, something appropriate, but all she can manage is: "Please. Don't stop."

She doesn't mind begging if it means getting her way.

Apparently that is enough to satisfy Karma, and he kisses her possessively. Thoroughly. Deeply.

He eases her back until she is lying against the pillows, and she waits for him to stop, to tell her that they've gone far enough for tonight. But she doesn't want him to. She wants him to keep going. Her body aches for it. She reaches for him, clinging so tightly that her fingers hurt. Everything inside of her hurts. Karma settles over her, covering her with his body, reacting to her. Nagisa wraps her legs around him, pulling his hips closer, telling him with her every movement that she wants him, that she wants this. Now.

"Are you sure?" Karma asks into the warm breath between them, barely lifting his mouth from hers.

She nods, but when she tries to speak, her voice trembles. She hopes he doesn't read it wrong. "Yes." She is nervous and terrified and thrilled all at the same time. He smiles against her mouth, still kissing her, stroking her tongue with lush slides of his own, and Nagisa melts into him, unable to stop her heart from thundering. He groans, his lips moving to her neck as he tugs at his shirt and pulls it over his head.

And as he slowly slides her dress up, her fingertips stroking her bare skin and making goose bumps prickle in the wake of his touch, Nagisa whimpers, sinking laxly into the mattress, sweaty and boneless and replete.

The pain is more intense than she could have ever imagined, and she does her best not to cry out. But, of course, Karma notices as her body tenses, and then she shudders. Tears dampen her lashes, clumping them together, and yet she refuses to let them fall. He insists that they stop, but Nagisa doesn't let him. Instead they wait, with Karma holding her, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her face, until the pain subsides, becoming something . . . less. Nagisa presses her cheek against Karma's chest, focusing on breathing through the pain.

She drifts off to sleep in Karma's arms. There's a whisper of lips on her forehead, and a murmur in her hair, "Thank you, Nagisa". Nagisa is so spent that she can't even answer him. Eventually, exhausted, she falls asleep.