Crank gingerly climbs the rickety steps to the farmhouse attic. At one point, his large foot goes through the rotten wood. Crank bitterly yanks his boot free. In a fit of frustration, he removes the ooman boots and hurls them down the stairs. Enough with the pretense.

Crank pushes the attic door open and enters the loft. The moonlight streaming into the window barely illuminates his surroundings. Crank pulls back the dry-rotted curtain and peers up at the sky. The stars are fully visible against the dark tapestry of space. The nebula Simone pointed out days before is more vibrant—and shimmers like a jewel. Crank releases a deep sigh and removes his gloves. He places a clawed hand on the glass—memories of home flooding his mind and making his heart race with sadness and unfettered anxiety.

Maybe this has all been a mistake? He should have remained a true yautja. Beholden to their time-honored customs and traditions. He should not have made this journey. And what of his love for Simone? At some point, they will be forced to part ways. Either through his death, her death, or both. He may even be forced to abandon Simone to her fate, in order to save her. If he does this, he knows she will never forgive him. Worse, she may hold a grudge against all yautja. Such is the way of oomans. He should never have forgotten that.

Crank lowers his head and utters the ancient words of his honored race. If there is a force for good in the universe, he hopes it is paying attention.

-

-

Crank strolls quietly into the living room. Simone has since dressed and gone to sleep. He does not wish to rouse her from her slumber. No fire is burning, and the cool of the evening air has driven Simone under the comfort of a thin blanket.

Crank gently rearranges the blanket so that it is under her chin. Simone stirs, but does not wake. Crank chitters softly and chooses another spot on the floor to lie down. He lies across from Simone and simply watches her sleep. Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy, and he too slumbers.

-

-

An hour later, Crank's eyes gradually slide open—adjusting to the dim light of the room. Simone is kneeling in front of him, her hand outstretched to caress his face. Sitting up, Crank blinks and peers silently at Simone. She casually removes a beaded braid from across his forehead.

"Why are you sleeping over here, Crank?!" Simone says with concern.

When he does not answer, Simone sighs and touches the disguise barely clinging to his face. She desperately wants everything to be well between them. Nevertheless, it seems fate has another plan.

"This disguise is so worn," Simone laments. "Not very many people would be fooled by it anymore. And I don't have the materials I need for another one. This is so hopeless."

Worry is etched on Simone's face as she sits back, her legs bent beneath her. Crank takes Simone's head in his hands and forces her to look at him.

"There is something I want you to see," Crank says.

He climbs to his feet and gently draws Simone up after him. Crossing to the front door, he leads Simone outside. They continue walking long after they are past the barn, and outside of the boundaries of town. Simone remembers Crank's warning about freakish storms and tugs on his hand.

"Crank...Where are we going?" Simone questions. "I thought you said we shouldn't wander out this far?!"

Crank stops walking and turns to face her. Simone's eyes are wide and she is obviously quite worried. Crank repositions his shoulder cannon, and then reaches down to pluck Simone up into his arms.

"We will be fine," Crank informs her. "I only said that because I did not wish harm to come to you. And because...I have already seen what there is to see. While on my hunts."

Simone's leans to kiss Crank on his costume nose. She glares at him through half-lidded eyes.

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"So, Sherlock was right," she accuses him mockingly. "You have been hunting. And you lied to me."

"No," Crank says worriedly. "You never asked. I only hunted while everyone was asleep. You could not have known."

Simone snuggles further into Crank's arms; her head nestled in the space between his head, neck and chest. She is simply grateful that he is speaking to her again. Whatever storm had come over him this evening, it seems to have passed.

"You're right...I never asked," Simone says. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I didn't want to know. We all have things which make us feel better...Feel whole. Hunting is a part of who you are. I won't try to change that. Just don't kill anyone, okay?"

Crank smiles and kisses the top of Simone's head, her curls tickling his face and tangling with the mass of hair that is his faux ooman beard. He sighs with ever-growing sadness. This facade, this ooman face, this life. Will he ever be allowed to exist outside of all this? Can their love endure when he no longer has need of a mask?

Crank reaches his favorite spot on the high dunes. He carefully lowers Simone to the ground, and encircles her waist with a muscular arm. His smile is strained as he makes eye contact.

"There is something I believe we must do," Crank begins. "Something...I was afraid you might not like. It is...A yautja tradition. One that will bind us together. So that even if I am far away...I will always be with you."

"Crank...What are you talking about?!" Simone says, her voice cracking and tears springing to her eyes. "What do you mean?!"

Crank struggles to maintain composure. Even in his sadness, he understands the gravity of the ritual they are about to undertake. It makes him almost giddy.

"Do not be afraid," Crank says.

He ejects his wrist blades and Simone jumps merely from instinct. Crank lifts the blades to just under his chin and presses the tips to his flesh. Two small wounds appear and spots of fluorescent green blood dribble over the metal of his wrist blades. Simone utters a tiny gasp.

"Crank? What is this?" Simone says, fear in her voice.

Crank lowers his wrist blades and retracts them. He softens his voice and drops the bladed arm at his side, in order to appear less menacing. He does not want to frighten Simone before he has a chance to explain the next stage.

"Your kind would call it a blood rite," Crank explains patiently. "By taking of each other's blood we will be forever bonded. Nothing can ever separate us. Not time, not distance, not anyone or anything. I will only partake if you do. It must be your choice."

Simone takes a moment to consider, her jaw clenching and then relaxing. Crank can sense the inner turmoil at the back of her mind. His heart sinks and he steels himself for her answer.

"Yes," Simone finally says. "Yes. I'll do it. I love you, Crank! I want to be with you forever. What do I have to do?"

Crank does not answer. He simply lowers his head, and tilts it so that his wounds are more accessible to her. Simone catches on, a flash of horror on her face.

"You mean...I have to...Oh, no. Crank, I can't! Isn't there some other way?!" Simone exclaims.

"There is no other way," Crank says. "The ritual of Everlasting Love has never been altered. Both lovers must partake of each other's blood...As it flows from the source."

Simone places a tentative hand on Crank's forearm, studying the gashes from which his blood slowly drips.

"Does it hurt?!" Simone inquires.

"I do not know," Crank answers truthfully. "I have never done it."

Simone grips Crank's forearm and gently tugs him downward even more. He watches as her lips part, her tongue licking over their surface. She is nervous, but willing to fulfill her side of the bargain.

Crank closes his eyes as Simone covers his wounds with her mouth. Her tongue slides over his flesh, saliva washing away the trickles of blood issuing from the tiny gashes made by his blades. He tightens his hold on her waist, encouraging her to drink deeper. After what seems like forever, Simone pulls away. She is visibly flustered. Tiny spots of green blood glisten on her top lip.

"Enough...I...I...I think that is enough," Simone says.

Crank leans in and kisses her intensely, his tongue licking away the droplets of blood on her lip. Simone does nothing to dispel him. In fact, she happily reciprocates. They are both breathing heavily when Crank withdraws.

"Are you going to cut me as well?" Simone whispers, a hint of fear in her voice.

"No," Crank says. "Your teeth are much too blunt. They would never have pierced my skin without doing serious damage. Do not worry. I will not harm you."

The reality of what Crank has said dawns on Simone, but it is too late. He lowers his mouth to a spot on her neck and gently bites down. His pointed yautja teeth once again break through the fake flesh of his disguise. There is a sharp pain as his teeth puncture her skin. Simone issues a small gasp, and Crank further tightens his grip on her waist. Simone also embraces him, her arm draped over his shoulder; as he repositions his head to drink of her blood.

He is much more careful, with how much he takes from her. Keeping in mind ooman physiology. After a brief moment, he separates his mouth from her neck. When he peers at Simone, she has a weird expression on her face.

"Simone?..." Crank inquires, but she does not allow him to finish.

"Maybe vampires aren't so much fiction after all?" Simone says. "Maybe we oomans have simply forgotten our history?"

Crank blinks twice. He considers what Simone has said.

"Maybe so?" he says.