Blue Locks to Red.

Yet with the sound of her voice, her father's face turns to her. His expression was anything but happy, even just looking at the stare from his eyes– it showed nothing but sadness. Slowly placing his cup of tea down on the table in front of him. All Amelia could do was stand where she was, watching as her father turned his body in her direction.

"Amelia, come here. Sit down, please." Charlie pats on the spot next to him, to which his daughter quickly comes and sits down next to him.

With her eyebrow raised, she places a hand on top of his. Leaning closer to her father, "Dad, what is it?" There was a strain in her tone, just as her father grabbed onto her hands tightly. Squeezing with force she had not felt, unless it was dire.

That one time was when she had come back from the harsh battle between her ex lover. With blood splattered on her clothing, huffing and out of breath before being met with his strong embrace. A father worried truly for his daughter, the one thing he couldn't lose in his entire lifetime. No matter if they truly were not related, they were tangled together by their hearts.

She could feel the squeezing becoming too much for even his own hand, and the sigh of despair leaves his lips. "As you've known the last couple of years I've been having a hard time breathing. Coughing a lot." There's a pause in the older man's speech before he continued. "I went to the doctor's today."

Finally he looked back at his daughter, and the look in his eyes was desperate. A desperate plea for his daughter to understand whatever may leave his lips, yet the effect was only nothing short of heart breaking to Amelia. She had not seen such a look in his eyes since the entire plummet of their lives began. When he lost the love of his life, when he was torn from new love again and again. Having to watch his daughter fall victim to the hands of men who never would love her the way she deserved. A look full of emotions beyond her own comprehension, but had her heart throbbing at the sight of his hooded eyes.

"I have lung cancer."

That was the hammer thrown to shatter the glass, and the words seem to echo on each and every part of her skull. A bitter swing to her heart, a gut wrenching turn of events that could not have chosen to arise at a worse time. Her father, the one man that she had held onto so tightly from the moment she was born– Had an illness that would no doubt kill him. Perhaps it didn't register when he said it in her mind, but her eyes widened as she stared at him. In disbelief, in shock with a mixture of pure confusion.

"W...what?" The word slowly leaves her lips, and with a huff of hesitation her hand holds the tighter onto her father's. Until the words truly click in her mind, and the realization of reality sinks into her entire being. He was going to die, the illness he had was going to take him from her. There was nothing she could do to stop it, not a single motion on her end would ever stop the cells of mutation slowly from taking over every single health organ until nothing was left.

The tears finally begin to escape her eyes, and for a moment there's a choke back of a sob before her hands are gripping tightly onto her father. Pulling him into a tight and emotional embrace, one in which he gives back to with all of his might. She can feel the jagged breathing of his own chest, while the tears soak into the back of his shirt. Mascara and makeup completely tarnished as the sobs continue to envelope her completely. While her father's large hand holds onto the back of her head, trying to soothe her as much as he could.

There was nothing that could sooth her in this moment, not when the person she wished to protect for as long as she could was cursed with something she could never even touch. He could be doomed to die a painful death, one that was unavoidable by the eyes of God alone.

"Shh, shh Amelia. Please, don't cry. I'm sorry you had to hear it like this." Charlie's voice is gentle, yet the daggers of his saddened tone only make the emotions even worse for his daughter. "But it's better to tell you now then find out when I end up dead."

At his words she pulls herself back to face him, tears mixed with black mascara falling down her tan cheeks. Hands tightly holding onto his arms, the quivering of her lips forming. "Don't say that! I won't let you die! I can help, the doctors can help!" There's a strain to her words, it clearly was hurting her.

Even if there truly was nothing she could do, she had to try– He was her father, the one person who never held any ill will or intentions to her. No matter if they were blood related or not, he took care of her: he treated her with care that helped her to be kind in the most desperate moments. After all of this time, she had to give back to him in his worst moments. When her own world was turned upside down, he was there to help make it right again. Charlie was the father she never knew she needed, until there was space between them. When she ran away, when she told him she hated him for lying about everything she had ever known. They were brought together stronger than ever as father and daughter.

So now what could she do when she was the one to be his shoulder? To give him the support, the solution when it was her turn?

Her father can tell how distraught she was and in the moment of seeing weakness, his own heart shatters. Bringing his thumb to wipe the tears from under her eyes, the ones running down her cheeks in a rush to drip down her chin. His own stare was pained, yet not for himself: For his only daughter.

Charlie says sadly, "My poor little baby, life just never seems to ease up on you or me." There's a laugh that is forced from his throat, trying to uplift the deafening sadness. "But, that doesn't mean you should ever give up. If I end up not being here."

Amelia shakes her head in disapproval of her father's words, standing firm to her emotions on the situation. "Dad, please don't put things like that out there." She sighs, gripping tightly onto her father's arms with a light tug. "You need to stay confident, I am right here for you–."

Yet before she can finish her sentence, the doorbell rings in their ears. Both father and daughter looked their heads in the direction of the door. There's a pause between the two of them, before Charlie looks back towards his daughter. While Amelia's eyes stayed locked on the door, hand slowly moving to her gun on the belt across her waist. Once her hand clicks onto the top of the gun holding case, her eyes flicker back to her father.

No one would know of her father's property but a few people in their inner circle. So with the ringing doorbell sending off more than alarms, Amelia slowly rises from where she sat. Heart pumping, blood rushing through each and every vein. Pulling the gun from its holding place, cocking it back with ease. Taking her stance, she looks back down at her father– Whose eyes are widened in fear with a mixture of his own surprise.

"Stay here, I'll see who it is." The once emotional moment between them is gone, as her voice rings ice cold with the stoic nature of her persona returning once more. Finally taking a few steps forward, with the silence echoing against her heels clicking against the floor. A slow movement towards the wooden door, a moment in time that felt as though it was an eternity within itself.

Who could be on the other side was a gnawing question– Yet no matter who it was, they were trespassing on private property. They were just asking for her to shoot a bullet in between their eyes no matter the outcome. Amelia would make sure to give them a scare, to have them running so she didn't have to waste a bullet on the pathetic person on the other side of the door. She wouldn't be liable no matter the outcome, self defense was hardly a case she couldn't plead.

When she finally makes it to the door, her hand slowly comes to wrap around the door knob, not before putting her gun away for a moment to use her other hand for the lock. When the lock is turned; it clicks, just before her hand is pulling her gun out once more. However, Amelia doesn't open the door right away. With her ear pressed against it, she listens for any noise on the other side. For a cough, a sneeze or even a knock on the hardwood pressed against her eardrum. Yet there is nothing, there is silence– Which unnerves the agent further than the singular ring of the doorbell chime. Amelia takes a few steps back, before her hand twists the door knob.

With the impact of the door swinging open, her gun is immediately aimed at the open area outside. Before the person on the other side can truly be registered in her vision, the click of her pistol rings in the air. Standing firm and tall with her dominant position in whoever was on the other side.

Until she finally sees who is on the other side– And her eyes widen at the sight.

There stood a man, dressed in the most formal attire of black suit– Seemingly tailored to perfection from the cuffs of his sleeves to the bottom of his shoes. Dress shoes that hardly looked worn, never scuffed and tampered with. Cufflinks on each sleeve, with a black tie done to perfection. The scuff of hair as a beard on the man's face, with the golden earrings shimmering across the glistening sunsetting view. Caramel eyes stare back at her, with the tan look of his skin taunting her– With the darkest color of red atop his head. Slicked back in a way that deemed it was done again and again until placed in the perfect position. A man who towered over her by more than a few inches, on the other side of her gun. A man she knew all too well, a man that made her heart completely stop.

Amelia was frozen, eyes completely in shock of the image in front of her. The person who she had thought had left completely, had become a distant memory of someone who deserved better than the life he was given. Someone who had her heart until his bitter end, before his own supposed demise.

"Luca..?"

Yet here he was, alive right in front of her.

"Hello, Amelia." A long forgotten smile spreads across his face. Completely unphased by the gun aimed in his direction. From the sight of her reaction he knew, she wasn't going to shoot him– Not when he knew who she was."

The death of Luca Taylor Alexander, was everything Amelia had ever thought of. What could have been, what would have happened if she had been able to save him. A reasoning for being better, a reasoning for exacting revenge on the person who framed him to end his prospering days.

"I hope you missed me."

Now he stood right in front of her, unlike any ghost she had been haunted by before. Luca was real, Luca was flesh and bone: He was never dead at all. He was much more than alive, when his spirit haunted her for years upon years. Another crashing moment of bittersweet relief, yet agonizing betrayal.

She would have rather it being a stranger– A bullet can't tear apart your heart when you're the one shooting the gun. Luca, seemingly, was the one holding the weapon at her. Aimlessly pointing his exact shot at her heart. Amelia should have been happy he was alive, joyous that he never had been placed in the ground at all. Yet she attended his execution, she cried and sobbed at her grave and funeral with all of the tears she could muster.

A man who was standing right in front of her, like nothing had ever changed. Like he had never died at all, like the hands of the clock stood still with the bitter notion of death at its door. Amelia, now bewildered, was more than captured by the image of him.

Luca, a dead man now walking amongst the living– Disobeying the laws of life and death: Just to be right in front of her. Now Amelia had to deal with the emotions of despair, to deal with the singular notion of regret.

Placed back into the box of regret that she had let him be seen as dead for all these years, when he lived on amongst the millions of others on the planet. Another reminder that he was one a stain of blood that followed behind her every step.

What was he to be now, if it never happened at all. She didn't know, and the agent was more than scared to find out. With the crumbling of her sanity, there was nothing that could be stopped.

Not even the ghosts of the past, coming to truly haunt her. One more second, she would have pulled the trigger and truly– He would have become a ghost.