(A/N: Let this serve as a lesson never to write fanfic at 12:30 AM. You end up with sentimental crap like this. :sweatdrop: Where’s the ‘overly-emotional sap’ category?

EDIT – 10/14/04 – Apparently I’d previously uploaded the unedited version of this, which causes a bit of confusion with one of the last lines. Adverbial confusion, apparently. It’s fixed now, though.)

Weakness.

As far as my enemies, and, yes, even my colleagues can tell, I have no weakness. I am an emotionless, preprogrammed, militaristic automaton who exists solely for one purpose--to kill. Woe betide those who cross my path; I am essentially an Angel of Death.

Emotions and so-called 'feelings' have no place on the battlefield; indeed, they serve as a true hindrance. Many otherwise strong, level-headed leaders have fallen due to emotional attachments, especially that odd, psychologically manipulating emotion known as ‘love’. My life was one wrought with death and destruction; emotions were far too costly and not nearly rewarding enough to merit their use in daily life.

She’s changed all that, seemingly overnight.

I’ve become weak because of her, weak and strong at the same time. I’d kill without a second thought to protect her. Any who dare hurt her will suffer at my hand. And at the end of the day, all the weariness and emotional drain of battles in war-torn nations melt away at the sound of her laugh or the look of wonder in her eyes.

She’s precious to me, incredibly precious. I can’t imagine how I ever lived without her by my side; she has become my world. Just the tiniest smile, and I find myself returning to those feelings that had long-since lain dormant. Before, I would never have permitted anyone to get so close, to cause these feelings; I hadn’t known just how much she would change me. She’s worked her way under my skin and has changed me, weakened me. But I live for these feelings, this ‘weakness,’ now.

Weak. I’m impossibly weak. But still...

I watch silently now as Kaname holds her tightly, her tiny form snuggled into a fuzzy pink blanket. The lamplight illuminates her joyful tears, falling unnoticed. I can’t help but wonder whether my own tears fall now as well. One tiny, fragile hand grips my finger tightly.

Weak now. But still...

I feel it’s all been worth it.

(End A/N: I know, I know. Sentimental crap. But comments and criticism are still very much welcome, even for a tiny, 330-word drabble. ;;)