A/N: I don't own Gungrave or any of the Characters.
Was it the wrong choice?
It seemed right, so right. After the running and the hiding, the death and the mayhem, peace seemed so right.
How was I to know it would be so short lived?
How could I have known that I would be forced to pick up those guns again, to shoulder the weight of the coffin?
Would she befall the same fate that had claimed her mother?
Why wasn't anything simple these days?
The familiar weight of the two Cerberus pistols in my hands is like a warm coat against the winter's chill, and the feel of my jacket and hat are like the caresses of a lover's hand.
Perhaps I was never meant to be one of peace, being what I was and am.
Still though, everyone wants peace.
Everyone wants to belong.
The bells of Requiem are still ringing; tolling out for those that would hear them. I hear them as well, though they toll not for me.
Perhaps Brandon Heat is truly dead.
But if he is, then who am I?
I hear Mika mumble in her sleep, and I blink my good eye stoically.
Perhaps she is the reason I put the guns down that time. Her revenge and mine had been achieved; it was time to put aside the old life, the life that I had outlived.
Maybe we had relaxed too soon.
The rain is falling, as it did that night long ago. A rain to wash the world clean, a rain to wash clean one's soul.
I pull back the slide on Left Head, hearing the soothing sound of a round being chambered.
The lines blurred when you brought in family and the past, belief and dreams of the future.
But one thing was certain.
The line existed, and it needed to be marked out.
Beyond the Grave still had work to do.
And maybe God would forgive me whenever I do meet him.