Author note: Okay so I know it has been a long time… Hi, everybody! I hope everyone has had awesome lives, filled with terrific, loving moments. Therefore, this is going to be a three-shot, meaning I am dropping some more chapters. These have a lot to do with my OC children, the twins, Nathaniel and Lizzie's (their story is told in a separate fiction) child Kain, and Rosa and Leigh's child Sophie. They are teen-young adult here in this fiction and it's about their tender first endeavors in serious, complicated, in some cases ugly, romance. First up is Tristian and Sophie!

Disclaimer: I own the OC's, this story, the story Awakening. My candy love is not mine, never will be. I would have had some yaoi/yuri options if it were mine.

Chapter start

Blood had never looked so dark, and it certainly had never looked so macabre in his crimson gaze. A small, decidedly twisted smirk graced his lips momentarily.

The bathroom was opulent in its splendor, benefits of being one of two children of a man and woman who, on the outer surface, ruled their world. Locke and Raisha were paid well for what they did, as were they many employees that ran the 'business'. It was all black and white marble, a bath slash hot tub in one far corner, with a shower large enough to fit five in the other.

Currently, Tristian was sitting on the edge of the tub, thread and needle held delicately between his fingers while he grimly studied the mess of his arm. Carelessness, which was what this had been. Lucia would never let him live it down, even as she harshly rebuked others for the same thing. She was his twin; she had certain privileges.

Despite that, and the fact they were partners on the field, he didn't call for her. Even though the bathroom was connected to both his and her rooms, and that she was, if not in her own room, then around the family house with Raisha or Locke. He didn't want to play with his words, didn't want to see his sister feel guilty for the fact she hadn't been with him on this mission due to its being designed for only one person. She would blame him for carelessness and herself for being foolish not to go anyway.

Both of them had a strange aversion to the other getting hurt. They didn't care when it was themselves, just that the other always had to survive, to make it through. Their mother and aunt Tata, an aged retired assassin, said it was because they were reborn versions of their namesakes.

Yeah, he put as much stock in that as he did the idea of world peace. Not happening.

No, Tristian was a firm believer in the fact you had one life. End of it. Not even he knew what Lucia thought about it. She had jokingly said that they would know for sure if they ever got the urge to rip each other's clothes off but that was all she said on it.

A gentle knock on the door told him he had a visitor, one who felt at perfect liberty to enter his bedchambers without it being a death sentence.

"Tristian?"

The soft voice made him release a sigh, even as the door swung open. In the doorway stood his angel, a living, breathing model of perfection and all the goodness that the dark underground he lived in denied.

It was for this woman that his blood stirred beyond the care he felt for his family and the joy he felt in killing. Sophie, his dear childhood friend, turned lover.

She had changed so much over the years. She was not the small, shy, plump little girl who was so easily bullied. Nevertheless, she wasn't outspoken like Rosalya, her mother, or even like Lucia or their other friend Nicki. Tristian often wondered if, perhaps, being in their group hadn't in a way stilted her growth as society's terms of 'normal'.

Having never even had to defend herself and being termed the twins precious one from birth; she had never strayed from them. Her loyalty was blinding even as it was a little startling.

Looks-wise, she hadn't really changed. Her long silver hair had straightened out of the tight ringlet curls and become a mass of wavy strands to her lower back, ribbons still being her main hair accessory, or a hat. He knew when it was wet it became curled again until it dried, had even delighted in brushing the strands while she relaxed on the bed. He also knew that, though the baby fat had melted away to leave her leggy and lovingly endowed as Rosalya was, she still was plumper in her middle, despite the artful clothing she wore. He loved it all.

Sophie had little use for exercise and she loved sweets.

As of now her heterochromatic eyes, one a brilliant gold and the other a blue so pale it was close to grey, softened into concern. "You're hurt!"

Despite the fact it was highly irregular, Tristian had trusted her with what he was. She knew, from nearly the beginning of their relationship that he and Lucia were killers, that he would one day run the very group he worked for now, with Lucia as his equal partner.

There had been heavy outrage at that, pouring in from all sides. It was highly irregular, primarily, that partners were not romantic. That Locke and Raisha had allowed the twins to form such a deep bond without that was anathema to the stodgy old members of the group. Especially since, they were the heirs. What relationship could possibly grow close enough to bear children, when set against the backdrop of what they did for a living, when the chosen partner was a sibling? What wife would settle for being second best to Lucia, and what husband would measure up to Tristian?

However, for Lucia had always been Castiel, some deep affection that made her measure everyone to him and reject them at turn. She toyed with 'normal' boys for fun, dallied in a few love affairs that would make their parents white.

And for Tristian, there had always been… Sophie. Clean and pure, kind and unsullied by his world and yet so willing to be sullied by it to remain with her favorite people.

Thus, the second outrage Lucia and Tristian had brought about. How dare they so carelessly reveal who and what they were to someone whose family had nothing to do with them? Yes, Rosalya knew what they were but even then, they were not part of it. Leigh knew nothing. And both twins had put their foots down when the option of disposing of Sophie came up, or even just erasing her memories of the time she was with Tristian.

Tristian had threatened to kill them all if they harmed a hair on her head. Lucia hadn't threatened a thing, but the loudest member of the group wanting to remove Sophie had been found bloody and dead by vicious torture not twenty-four hours later. The words had stopped then.

Tristian had fought for his precious one, and Lucia had protected them. All for this…

Sophie had crossed the tiled floor swiftly, her ankle boots clinking as the odd dress she wore made the soft sighs of rustling fabric. She kneeled swiftly, her long fingered hand already going to the tub where he had drawn up some water to clean his wound. She dunked the cloth into it before letting it drip onto the tiles, her eyes focused on her task now of cleaning him up. She was gentle, oh so very gentle. As though he would break otherwise.

"What happened," she asked.

Tristian eyed the dress she wore, smiling a little at it. She had definitely inherited the trend in her family to wear odd clothing. The dress was a masterpiece of white and gray trimming, a one of a kind creation by either herself or her father.

"A bad call," he said finally. He was reluctant to delve too deeply into the affair.

Where one had been promised, the person had hired thugs, regular run of the mill jerk-offs who thought they were special because they knew how to gang up on someone in a fight.

The first bullet that pierced one of their thick skulls had ruffled that belief. As they started dropping like flies, it had burst like a wave. One had gotten lucky and pierced his arm though, before Tristian had tsked and slit his throat.

Sophie let it go, sitting back on her legs after she had cleaned the worst of the blood and could see. She brought his hand to her lips, full and pouty, glossy with the flavored gloss she preferred, and kissed the back of it. She pressed her forehead there a moment later, breath tremulous.

She glanced up after a moment and reached for the other hand, the one holding the threaded needle.

"I don't think so, Sophie." Tristian held it away, watched the frown blossom. "I can handle this. Go watch some TV or find Lucia. You'll get your dress dirty." He added the last casually, seeing the way the material was already soaking up the water she had carelessly swung around. Water mixed with his blood, obscene against all that white.

"As if I care about that," she said suddenly. He was reminded again that, despite the docile lamb he was accustomed to, she was Rosalya's daughter. And both her parents, plus he and Lucia themselves, were guilty of spoiling and coddling her. Her parents out of love and the twins from some twisted version, dirtied by the possessiveness behind the affection.

"You could have died. Tristian, I can't help you, not like Lucia can. Not like your parents can… not like everyone but me can! You even taught Cain how to fight, even if he isn't an assassin like you and Lucia."

"You wouldn't have wanted to anyway. You hate exercise," he reminded her.

She huffed out a breath. "That is NOT what I meant, and you know it. And I do not hate all exercise. I like the kind you and I do together." A sultry look spanned her features as she used her long lashes to advantage, looking up from under them.

It made a small smile twitch his lips, as he cupped her cheek in his hand. Where his skin was nearly translucent like an Advanced, hers was creamy and silken, the picture of health.

"Of course you like it. I do all the work during our sessions," he teased lightly.

In response, she smacked his leg, making him laugh. Then she pushed to her knees, burrowing between his, her whole body screaming earnestness.

"Please, Tristian. I can't fight, and you never like to talk with me about the missions. I am not glass. Let me help you, even just this little bit."

It took a few moments of her puppy eyes but he eventually conceded, passing over the instruments. She re-cleaned the wound before she set to work stitching it up. Contrary to her words, it wasn't the first time she had stitched a wound on him. Even Lucia had been cornered by the silver haired angel, grumbling as she too was stitched.

She had learned to sew under Leigh's tutelage, growing to be just as competent in the area as top designers. However, she would never work for anyone but her parents and even let her mother try and teach her some of the more business oriented lessons of running several chain stores across the state.

He wondered if Rosalya, aware of what Tristian was, knew her daughter put her skill to strips of flesh as easily as she did to soft fabrics. He rather doubted it. Rosalya may have accepted the relationship with grit teeth and fond memories of when he was a child, protecting her daughter from harm, but she would not stand for such defilement.

"There, all done." She dropped the needle and thread away, again sitting back. "You know, maybe I should be a doctor. I am getting quite good at butterfly stitches, if I do say so myself.'

It was a skill she never should have had. Sophie was supposed to be living the life of a high fashion-diva, maybe even doing something with the angelic way her fingers glided over a piano, surrounded by the sun and laughter. She never should have been defiled by his world, never should have been touched by his hands, so dark with his sins he was surprised sometimes they weren't permanently tinged crimson as his eyes.

Sophie was everything good in the world where he was everything bad. He killed easily off a contract to do so, not caring for that persons life or if they had family, friends who would miss them. Sophie still cried when old yeller was shot or Bambi's mom died. And watching Gone with the Wind once a week, as she was prone to do, to the point she could say every word along with the actors, she still cried at the same points.

Yet here she was, willingly offering him everything, always opened. Every time he touched her, he imagined she was tainted by his dark even more, somehow still remaining innocent despite it. The crybaby he had protected as a child belonged to him.

It was this fact that made him truly believe he was not the original Tristian's reincarnation. From what he knew, stories gleamed from his Uncles Royce and Alexi, and even from Lysander himself, the man had loved two women, with the original Lucia winning out in the end.

From what he knew of her, she was hardly innocent, just as stained as he was, certainly as stained as the current Lucia. He was thoroughly convinced the original Tristian wouldn't have been capable of loving Sophie, would have despised and been irked by her. Unless he had somehow claimed her as his, or she had been connected to the original Lucia, he would not have cared.

This thought had him shifting. Sophie obligingly scooted so he could kneel to her level. With age-old familiarity, their bodies met and tangled, one of his hands going to the back of her dress to unsnap the buttons there, while the other tangled in her soft hair, both her arms going behind his neck to ruffle his hair.

When he pushed, she went down to the tile with him over her. Her silver hair fanned out now, even it catching up the cold water and the blood. Her dress was tugged to her elbows now, baring his goals and her body was lax, eyes lusty and loving, burning him.

It was wrong, so wrong, to taint this angelic being. If there were one similarity between him and his original it was that they would not change for their loves. His hands were already stained with blood, and he saw little reason to stay them now. However, like his original, he too would die to keep his promises to the beautiful girl he claimed as his, to keep her safe.

End chapter

Author note: Ah, this was satisfying. My fingers had been itching for a while to do something with Awakening and here it is! An ocXoc story, showing a part of the life of Tristian now he has grown up (possibly again, if you like to think he is reincarnated)

What do you all think of his rejection of that idea? I will get more in depth when I post Lucia's one-shot as a grown woman.