[scarlet-egg]

Hey guys!

I don’t update much here but you can find all my drafts and notes and other such things over at yet!! another!! tumblr!!

This one will be reserved for edited pieces, which was always the plan, but there’s a bunch of fandom stuff that never goes further than a draft (or takes months to get edited!) if you’re interested in that.

[scarlet-egg]

“I've been thinking,” remarked Lexi one day, sitting with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, her attention focused entirely on the smoke curling from the tip. “I'm going to die.”

Ash considered this statement for a while – not because he cared overly much, but because she had been so oblivious to how intimidating he really was and considered him hanging from the ceiling to be some kind of party trick, so silence was the least she deserved. In the end he'd exiled her to chair and claimed the couch, just to get across how unimpressed he was.

She still hadn't noticed.

“Most people tend to,” he scowled, opting for the easy route, after due consideration. It never hurt to remind Lexi how stupid she was.

“You noticed too?” Her eyes widened, but he couldn't tell if it was sarcasm masquerading as delight, or if she just didn't understand how the whole death thing worked. “I thought I was the only one!”

The former, then, but that didn't explain why she was contemplating her own mortality – she couldn't be old, surely, when Loki had yet to trade her in for a younger model. Was she trying to... bond over a shared interest?

His skin crawled.

“You're a real fucking Sherlock,” Ash sneered.

“Don't be glib,” she chided, taking a slug from her bottle – and from the look on her face and the way she crammed the cigarette into her face immediately, it tasted just as good as it looked. It never took much to make her forget that body heat warmed liquid, but he took his victories where he could steal them. “Look,” she continued, as if he'd said a word. “I'm going to die, Ashley, and I expect you to be there.”

This time his pause was genuine. He understood that syllables became words became sentences, and all the letters seemed to be in the right order, but none of it didn't make sense. Maybe he was drunker than her after all.

Was that even possible?

"Nah," said Ash.

“I'm serious!” the brunette protested, and it annoyed him because he knew that and he still didn't care. “When I depart this mortal coil, I want to be ushered off by someone who knows what they're doing.”

“Do you know the difference between a psychopomp and a god?” He spat the words, not missing a beat. “Being a god means I don't have to do the grunt work, Lexington.”

“Being an asshole is what you fucking are, and if you don't show up, I'm going to come back and haunt you.”

Ash scowled anew. He didn't like how matter-of-factly she stated that – as if she could just decide to become a ghost – and he didn't like how all this sincerity tasted. He wanted to throw something at her head, but with how slow her reflexes were and how fragile mortals were, she'd probably end up dead.

He had no doubts that would be on purpose, either – she'd die just to spite him, so he didn't have a choice but to be present.

“What's the magic word?” he demanded, as snidely as he could manage.

“Fuck you,” Lexi answered, completely ignoring the severity of the situation. “You owe me.”

He wasn't sure how to argue that, but his instinct was to – she was wrong, but what specific incident could she even be referring to? It didn't matter, though, because the problem was kind of that no matter how confident she was, they literally didn't work that work. She wasn't going to Mictlan so it wasn't his problem and it wasn't his domain – hell, if she died from natural causes, he might not even be the first to know about it.

Ash downed the shot he'd been holding since they started talking, and -- not for the first time – was grateful that his skin was so fucking cold. No need to choke down something luke-warm when you were Ana-fucking-mosatlani.

“Unfortunately,” he informed her. “I'll be washing my hair that day.”

She must have thought he was joking, because Lexi laughed – she just happened to do it while she was trying to take a swallow, and then when she tried to breathe, and the whole thing was a goddamn mess. He sat there and let her suffer, staring at the heavens in a silent plea.

If he said anything, she might start to wonder if he couldn't do what she was asking, instead of just refusing because he was a dick. That was the better option, right – that she think he just hated her?

Right.

He needed more tequila, Ash thought.

=============

"Hey, Ashley."

"Fuck off."

"Aaaashleyyyy."

"I said fuck off."

"Ooooohhh Ashleyyyy, AAASSSHHHLLLLEEEEE--"

"For fucks sake, Lexington, I'm trying to take a piss!"

Lexi's head was the only part poking through the wall, and it turned towards him so he could see her frown – and the fact her eyes were pointedly closed, in case he had any ideas about how interested she was in his spider-schlong. He didn't buy her innocence for a fucking second.

“That's why I'm not looking,” the ghost informed him archly. “But hey – if I didn't startle you enough, would chains help? I could rattle some chains next time.”

“You could fuck off. That'd help.”

“I'll rattle,” she confirmed. “Can't half-ass this spooky atmosphere, y'know?”

“I will fucking banish you, I swear to--”

“You tried that already,” Lexi reminded him cheerfully, raising her voice to be heard over the flush. Her head kept twisting as he moved to the sink, turning a full-half circle to make sure he washed his hands.

“Maybe this time you'll get the hint,” Ash prompted, flipping her off.

“Ninth time's the charm!” the ghost chirped, floating the rest of the wall through the wall as he stalked out of the room. He slammed the door shut behind him, but it did no more to keep her out than it had when she had a body.

Lexi dying was the worst thing that had ever happened to him – including the time when he had. Loki was still moping around like she had gone anywhere because she refused to talk to him, and on top of that, she hadn't fucking gone anywhere. Most of the time she was just an annoying flicker in the corner of his eye, but even with the literal song-and-dance routine she did to try and get his attention, the worst part about her being dead was that she never shut up.

She had more to say than any of the other ghosts he'd ever fucking met, and dominion over the dead didn't matter when the dead wouldn't shut up. She whispered sweet nothings in his ear while he was trying to sleep, offered suggestions for how to be 'more spookier' when he was trying to intimidate mortals, and in general, had achieved the impossible:

Dead-Lexi was more annoying than when she had been breathing. She wouldn't stay banished, she kept talking, and it was too quiet when she wasn't around.

Ash stopped sharply, but the ghost didn't bother – she was quite happy to float through him, despite the snarl. He swiped at the air, and hit nothing.

“That was deliberate!” he accused.

“A little,” she agreed, twisting her neck a half-circle to see if his face was doing anything interesting this time. It wasn't, so she let it untwist, like a coiled string. “Hey – when you banish me this time, can you try Tahiti? I've been crazy pale lately, for some reason.”

Sometimes, Ash thought, Lexi didn't take being dead very seriously. He should just kill her again and be done with it. Gods above knew why he hadn't given into the temptation already.

“Fuck off,” he growled, and stalked away. She followed.

For a whole two seconds, she was silent, and then--

“Hey, Ashley...”

[scarlet-egg]

“Jesus Christ, Ashley!” Lexi – believing she had mastered the dramatic cry of horror – never failed to make use of it, and that was what greeted him as he stepped through the door. The God stiffened in the middle of his living room to glare at the creature invading his couch, but her face-hole kept moving. “What happened to your pants?”

He glanced down and thought-- Why would a spider wear pants?

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Lexi – pretty in her own mortal kind of way, enough to satisfy the less discerning among us, but not really the brightest crayon in the box.

“Musta dropped 'em,” he sneered, and resumed his stalking. The legs exploding from his back – bone white, and made of exactly that – bobbed and swayed with each step, dragging her gaze back to them every time she tried to look away. If he was being honest – which would go against every fibre of his being, incidentally – he would have to admit he was quite proud of this.

One day, he knew, her curiousity was going to be greater than she was discomfort – and on this day, she was going to try and touch them. Not that he cared to have her in his personal space, but she was going to regret it so much, and there were some days when making Lexi do The Thing was the only fantasy worth smiling about.

Not that he ever smiled of course --  being a God was serious business.

“Christ,” the brunette muttered again, cursing the world in general.  He flashed her a smirk and collapsed into the chair, legs thrown scandalously wide.

You know, in case she was watching.

“Don't be a dick,” she growled, twitching as she fought the urge to cover her eyes –  he wasn't going to win that easily. “I'm not here for the show.”

“If this is what you're into,” he was quick to shoot back. “Loki sure has some competition.”

Lexi scowled and slung one leg across the other, leaning back in her vain attempt to prove she didn't care he was strutting around in a fucking loincloth, talking about her Not-Boyfriend. Ash scowled right on back, effortlessly proving he didn't care if she cared – and that he was gonna stay right there exactly how he was, no matter how fucking cold the breeze was in his current position.

He didn't revel in her attention, but he could bare it a little longer.

“Surprised you found the place,” he sneered, speaking suddenly. “Who'd you have to bribe to lead you right to the front door?”

“GPS only costs 9.99 a month,” she snapped – not that he could be found on any GPS, as they both knew. He had contacts to ensure his privacy. “Not that you would know, since you insist on living in a fucking cave.”

Strictly speaking – accurate description. Realistically speaking – his cave was better furnished than her apartment. He had nicer carpets, too.

“The horror,” he moaned. “Of not having to deal with people.” He paused, but she wasn't sufficiently cowered by this reminder, so he added-- “Because I'm a fucking god.”

“Golly!” Her eyes widened in feigned delight. “And here I thought you were just into some weird sex thing now!”

“Now,” he echoed, and stared at her meaningfully.

The word hung there for a second before Lexi grimaced, admitting defeat in this battle of hypotheticals. Then – because this was as relaxed as he was going to get – Ash stood up and twisted sharply, striding away. From the angle she was on she got a great look at his ass.

His bare as, as the loincloth couldn't move fast enough to keep up with his motions.

The silence was a stunned one, but it came with a slowly dawning look of comprehension as Lexi realised what she had just seen – he would have preferred a bit more horror, but you couldn't ask the peasants for everything. Wherever she thought someone with hips like his was going to find boxers, she'd sure learned her lesson.

Her face got paler as he walked past her and the full weight of her faulty assumption – and what that meant – came crashing down on her fragile mortal mind, and his ego swelled in direct proportion to her mind-numbing despair.

See? he thought. Sometimes it is worth getting up in the morning.

[scarlet-egg]

"Hey." Dante spoke, but softly -- loud enough to be heard over the tenants arguing in the apartment above and the cars rushing by below, over the bird cawing outside the window and the other-side-of-the-room-distant thrum of a fan, but not loud enough to wake the girl if she was actually asleep. She shifted almost imperceptibly, acknowledging his existence, and didn't have to look up to know he was smiling. "There's a party Saturday, yeah?"

He got a grunt, which was the equivalent of a full length essay from his companion. For a while he'd been content just teasing strands out of the bun she kept her hair coiled in, but now his fingers shifted to trace nonsensical shapes across the back of her neck; it sent little chills down her spine, and she heard his grin get wider.

So proud of himself, this one.

"Come," he added. "Everyone'll be there."

Everyone tended to be in a lot of places, and he wanted to show her off in all of them – it didn't bother Zhi because damn, she'd be proud of her too if she was dating herself, but she rarely agreed. He kept trying though, in case this was the time he won her over, and sometimes he was even right.

But today she just wanted to lie there, eyes mostly closed and his idle touches roaming across her; it was nice like this, comforting and safe and right, and a thousand other things she shouldn't be thinking about if she wanted to get through the day with her dignity intact.

So Zhi sat up. Dante let his hand slip to her hip and frowned, all scruffy and unkempt and puzzled, and there was a weird lump in her throat. When was the last time he'd remembered to shave? Virgil needed to look after him better, the bloody freeloader.

"Can't," the girl said.

“No problem.” He grinned in relief and stretched out – but when she didn't nestle back against him, he wilted a little. “Zhi?”

No-one else said her name like that.

“Going away,” she uttered, and hated that it hurt so much.

“Oh.” His disappointment stung, but it's not like it was the end of the world – Zhi hated talking and people and talking around people even when she didn't hate them, so it's not like her taking off was unheard of. He missed her, but he got it. “When're you coming back?”

"...."

Dante sat up again. He pushed himself to sit up against the arm of the couch, looking at her proper, but she was busy looking past him and out the window.

"Zhi?"

“Not,” was all she offered. He was uncharacteristically silent, and eventually her gaze dragged itself back to him, whether or not that was the smart thing to do. He was just.. just staring, and her chest ached. “Can't,” the teen muttered, and wished she hadn't because it only looked sadder and now there was nothing left to add. She fumbled, desperately, for a way to make it less... less bad. “'m a freak.”

Dante didn't really understand what was happening or what he was meant to say or what to do – this was too big and too much and too wrong -- but that he understood! That he could latch onto with both hands and grinding teeth because it wasn't true.

“No!” He lunged forward, grabbing her by both shoulders. She didn't fight as he dragged her in and kissed her – closed-mouthed but hard, like he could convince her with brute force. “Zhi, you--”

“She means she's a mutant, you moron.” The exasperated remark came from the doorway, cutting Dante off; he jerked his head around to Virgil who just rolled his eyes, as if everyone should have known that. It was nice the poet had bothered to show up, but couldn't he see they were in the middle of something? A bit of privacy would be nice!

Zhi said nothing.

“You aren't!” Dante swung his attention back to her; the face that stared back at him was as stoic as ever, but he could see the little tremors in her jaw as she swallowed, and it scared him. His words tumbled out, little pitter-patter pleas all across her lips. “Look – just run away with me, okay? We'll go tonight – we'll go now! We can get a little place in Brooklyn and They won't even dare come looking because they know the kinds of people who live in Brooklyn, and we--”

"No," said Zhi.

"But--"

“I'm going,” she repeated, and her voice was firm – in all the time he'd known her, she had never used a full sentence, and it was a lousy time to start.

Dante felt his face crumble, and didn't know how to stop it – he couldn't say no, but how did she expect him to say yes? He knew her and he knew she didn't want to go, and he couldn't have cared less she was a mutant because it's not like they started hanging out because she had cool powers so why did it mean she had to lea--

“I don't want you to,” he argued, quietly. “You can--”

"--go," she finished.

There was a painful finality to the word, but he didn't want to go back to how it used to be – Zhi was the prettiest and the smartest and the strongest person he knew, and she stopped him doing really stupid shit unless it would be funnier if he did, and he knew that everyone thought she was a bad influence on her with her perfect grades but he didn't care because she didn't care and she was the best thing he'd found in forever and he kept her safe and he liked her and he was pretty sure she liked him and he knew – really, really knew! -- that she was happy when they were together and--

--and he couldn't just let her walk away! He'd just have to-- to-- to knock her out! Yeah, knock her out and tie her to a chair until she remembered there was nothing they couldn't handle! And if there was something, he knew guys who could handle the rest of it!

He was a terrible, terrible influence on her – but it evened out, because she was the best influence on him.

“This is a stunningly stupid idea,” Virgil groaned, lounging in the chair. He refused to change out of the cravat they'd found at a thrift store and even though it felt kind of stupid to glare at a ghost in a cravat, that didn't stop Dante.

It didn't help he was right – tying Zhi up never did much of anything. The only solution was to use the nail gun! It was around here somewhere because everything was here, he just needed to retrace his steps and--

"Dante," Virgil complained, covering his face with his hands, at the same time as Zhi uttered--

"Dante."

Just his name – no inflection, no begging, just his name and she never said his name and she never looked at him like that and she never... she was never...?

“But...” His voice sounded very small.

“Mmm,” she sighed, but he couldn't tell if it was criticism or agreement.

It hurt.

She kissed him, then – if he'd any doubts about her sincerity, that would have been enough to convince him. He'd always wandered what she looked like with her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, but no matter what he tried she was always awake before him; when she pulled away her eyes were closed and--

They opened, slowly, to meet his gaze.

“I wasn't even sure you closed your eyes,” Dante whispered, awe-struck, and the tremors in her jaw shifted. Maybe she would have smiled if he hadn't first.

He didn't want to force her into it. Never had.

Zhi's head jerked like the sight of him suddenly repulsed her, and her movements were stiff as she clambered off the couch. She never said goodbye so why start now, but Dante's face crumbled against – he felt lost and cold suddenly, and her first footstep stabbed deep into the pit of his stomach. The second wrenched the knife in his chest, and--

“Don't do it,” Virgil pleaded, hands over his face. “Try having some dignity, I swea--”

“Wait!” Dante yelped, but she didn't – he stumbled over his feet to catch up, but when his hand touched her arm she went still like she'd walked into a brick wall. The door swung open but she didn't step out; she didn't look back, either, but her head twitched, betraying where her attention lay. “It's cold,” he rambled wildly, while the sun baked the pavement and the fan choked and spluttered, trying to keep the heat at bay. You need to-- to take this.”

He struggled with his hoodie, reluctant to let her out of his sight in case she disappeared, but unable to find an alternative. Instantly he was entangled, and he panicked; twisting this way made it worse and twisting that way didn't help, and there were no rescuing the situation no matter how hard he yanked and tore. All he could think was She's gone she's left she's not there I wasted my chance I wasted it and now she's gone over and over on an endless loop until it became the truth, and he slumped there in the middle of the room, alone.

Zhi's touch was light as always, and it was barely a pluck here and a nudge there before the strain slackened. He tore it the rest of the way off and thrust it into her chest; she accepted it instinctively, almost stumbling back with the force of it.

“You'll be cold,” Dante swore knuckles pressed against her as she crowded in, willing her to understand. She didn't react, and in his state, he didn't know if she had.

Without a word – without even trying to speak – Zhi just walked away. He stood in his shitty apartment and watched as she went down the hall and around the corner; a moment later her steps echoed in the stairwell, then the thick door clanged shut and that, too, was gone.

He waited a while longer – after all, she had left lots of times and it had never mattered before. Any second she'd pop her head around the corner and admit that this was just a tasteless joke, that this was over and of course she wasn't leaving, and--

“Stupid,” Virgil sighed, and when Dante ignored him, added-- “She's coming out, now.”

He banged his shin on the table and knocked a vase off with his elbow on his dash to the window, but he didn't care because he got one last glimpse of Zhi as she crossed the street. She had both arms wrapped around the hoodie, but even if her face hadn't been pointed down he still wouldn't have been too high above to make out her expression.

He didn't know what she was thinking, and that had never mattered before.

She'll be back he reminded himself, unconvincingly, if only because the alternative was that she never returned and he was left to live in a world without Zhi.

All things considered, he didn't like the idea of losing his soulmate, so...

So he'd just wait. For her, he would wait.

[scarlet-egg]

winter

The coffee shop was far from crowded, but Zara remained unimpressed -- she had been promised a barren wasteland, not a vaguely populated one, and this was an unacceptable betrayal. The fact it was Ray's treat only guaranteed that she'd stay, not that she was under any obligation to break out of her apathetic dourness to appreciate it.

Ray knew this. She was pretty sure it had all been deliberate.

So while her gracious, kind and fucking thoughtful friend sashayed away to throw things at a barista's face, Zara oozed into a booth. She slouched low, throwing her feet on the table, and letting her head fall where it may -- just like how she sat every other day, but this time, she was making a point.

A very important, very serious point. What point exactly it was would come to her in due time.

...But while it would have been nice to believe her attitude was why the other customers gave her such a wide berth, she was pretty sure the real reason was the way she smelled. Ray had made her shower -- with soap! like some sort of fucking monster – and now she smelled like artificial flowers. It didn't comfort her any that no-one remembered what real flowers smelled like anymore, because the fake ones were still fucking rank.

If it hadn't required so much effort, Zara would have sighed. Her head lolled to the side, her breath fogging up a patch on the filthy window -- she saw something through slitted eyes, but the vent below kicked in and washed it away before it registered. She breathed, the heater breathed; she breathed, the heater breathed; it was an endless cycle, and the more it continued, the greater her urge to be a dick became.

Breathing had a habit of doing that to her, really.

The transient slumped further, oozing closer to the window through sheer luck. Her ass squeaked against the seat until she was almost nose-to-nose with the glass, and when she breathed in, it smelled worse than she did. She held it a second until the heaters kicked on, and then breathed out.

The ghosts of long forgotten – and badly drawn -- dicks assaulted her delicate eyes, but there was no audience to fake a reaction for. She wasn't surprised, and even though the heat wiped the canvas clean again, the damage was done.

Why wasn't Ray back? She was probably dead. RIP Ray. She'd have to remember to piss on her grave in her memory, just like Ray was so fond of doing while she was alive.

Zara sighed, and the dicks flared back; she slapped a hand against the glass, grimacing internally as it stuck to her skin, but in the end she'd touched worse and most of it had to do with Ray, so this was mild. Another half-dozen arm-flops netted two successful swipes, making the glass smeared enough to create her own masterpiece, and leave at least a taste of it visible for the next asshole to sit here.

She just had to think of something that wasn't dicks now, right? It was irritatingly difficult -- they were like some kind of slimy fungus, seeping into everything and taking root, and completely devoid of any redeeming features.

Yes, all she could think of was a giant, throbbing--

Zara thumped her head against the glass, forced a great sigh, and watched the cloud blossom. She dragged a finger down through this only proof that she was still alive, and eventually managed to scrawl--

There once was a girl from--

Ohfuckit. It was slow going, with the heat washing away her efforts after every stroke, and she didn't even notice at first when her feet were shoved from the table. Ray slid into the opposite side of the booth, leaving her to continue her slow descent. Just off-balance enough to topple, Zara let it happen; her shoulder scraped down the back of the booth until she came to rest with her cheek smooshed into the cushion; her imagination provided the briefest of flashes about what else was on them, what she was never going to get off again, and what she was going to have to live with for the rest of her life.

Still not worth getting up, she decided, and lay there, staring at the underside of the table. Parts of it moved.

A cup slid across the table, and Zara lifted one hand to grope listlessly for it. Her fingertips brushed the side and she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to sit up -- this was, all in all, a lot more effort than she preferred to start the day with.

"You took too long," she uttered, voice devoid of all emotion, including accusation. Even by coffee shop standards what sat before her was a shitty offering -- lukewarm, mud-coloured, and not worth getting off the couch for.

Revivals -- talked a big game, and turned out to be lying pieces of shit. Couldn't trust 'em anymore.

"I got side-tracked," the other woman shrugged, crossing her legs with feigned languidness. The slit up her skirt allowed her to achieve her goal, which was to bare even more skin to the public eye, as if she even had anything left to hide. She took a measured sip from her own cup, giving nothing away.

"You punched the barista in the dick again," Zara concluded.

"He deserved it.”

"You say that every time."

Some things were just undeniable truths, and this was one of them -- but that didn't mean he didn't deserve it every time. Zara conceded, taking a swallow; she spat it back out immediately, spraying the table and the surrounded area as she spluttered, scrubbing frantically at her tongue with her hand.

Unfortunately, her hand had been on the window, and didn't taste any better. She stared at Ray, still watching with mild interest.

"That's not coffee," Zara whined.

The ultimate betrayal, and things would never been the same again. They couldn't be.

"Shocking," Ray remarked. Her long nails rasped against her top as she flicked at the droplets, making a point rather than having any expectation to succeed -- but all it proved was she was a moron, as they almost tore through the flimsy material.

"Explain," the transient stated, roused from her apathy but not quite far enough to feel emotion about it.

The other considered this demand, studying the ceiling as she sipped her cup. When she finally deigned the other with her gaze, there was no remorse it in -- that was nothing there, in the depths of her cold, dead eyes.

"I punched him in the dick," she reiterated, eventually, as if she was speaking to a small child. "I'm not stupid enough to take my own order."

"This is low fat. Who orders low fat?"

"Z.Z., pay attention -- he probably poisoned mine."

"They have a trait for that.”

"It's the principle of the matter," the stripper muttered, crossing her arms -- but she didn't relinquish her cup for a second, well aware that someone else might get the idea to poison her if she did, and then all her efforts would have been in vain.

Someone else meaning Zara. Zara totally would.

"Not everyone is as petty as you," Zara uttered.

"Have you seen this place?" came the snide retort. "Of course he is."

It was another one of those undeniable truths, and Zara swung her gaze over the line of waiting customers. None of them noticed the pair in the booth, which was fair because they hadn't been noticed in return. Mutual ignorance was the only way to survive a cold morning in The City.

"None of them are dying," the transient pointed out, and took another sip of the liquid betrayal. It tasted even worse the second time, and if her taste buds hadn't already been so fried, she wouldn't have been able to swallow at all.

But, you know, not the first time that acquired flaw came in handy -- and probably not the last.

"Just wait," Ray assured her, and smiled as she settled back into the booth to take her own advice.

It was a lot easier not to try and tell her how stupid she was, so Zara didn't bother. She rolled her eyes and didn't move, and it wasn't long before the fireworks began in all shades of brown – she had to admit, however silently, that the barista was actually just as petty as Ray had assumed him to be. He got a pretty impressive range, all things considered; smart innovators never tired of finding new and interesting ways to punish customers.

But in the end she would have preferred to just have her own coffee -- one of these days, when she finally struck it rich, she was going to do just that. She was going to come here, order it her damn self, and somehow resist the allure to punch the guy behind the counter.

Yes, that's exactly what Zara was going to do.

After all, the soul-crushing realisation that life was meaningless and all your efforts were for naught never really had the same impact if you didn't at least have hope for something, did it.

[scarlet-egg]

If only he didn't have magical god powers, Ash never would have seen any of it -- not the rumpled sheets that implied someone hadn't long left, not the someone that was still there, and not the look on Lexi's face when she saw him pop into existence.

And -- mostly importantly -- he wouldn't have seen what she fucking wore, with those silhouettes prancing all the way across her pajamas. It didn't even occur to him to be grateful she wasn't still naked, so intense was his disgust.

"Ashleeyyyy," the brunette whined, flopping back onto the mattress. She flung her arms above her head, stretching; it bared less than an inch of skin, but he still had to fight down bile. "Unless you want your brother to come in and find you watching me sleep, you really need to fuck off."

What kind of stupid did she take him for? She wasn't sleep, hadn't been sleeping -- in fact, he was pretty sure sleeping was the one thing that didn't happen in this cesspit.

"My name is Anakmosatlani," he growled, unfurling on his thread to try and make himself look bigger. "Scion of Mictlantechtli, betrothed to--

"Your name is Ashley," Lexi griped, just going ahead and talking right over him. "And even if it wasn't, I can't spell any of that shit."

"You can't even spell your own fucking name," he spat back.

"You caught me," she agreed, far too easily. "What do you want?"

"Aside from the ability to scour the memory of your fucking ankles from my mind?"

Lexi rolled her eyes, and he almost missed it because in the same moment she reached out, blinding him with the bright light of the lamp. Then she sat up in her Spider-Man pajamas and just stared, well aware of what was doing and utterly fearless in her attempts to irk the god currently glowering at her. Loki wandered in from behind, yawning, and -- with no fucking respect for the dead -- shoved his little brother aside just so he could flop down onto the bed, crawling towards his not-girlfriend and collapsing down on top of her. She absently patted the top of his head, still damp from the shower -- he hadn't even bothered getting dressed, as if he had anything to be proud of under that towel -- and when Loki rolled onto his back, she patted at his face, instead, still not looking away from Ash.

Loki couldn't have given less of a shit if he'd tried. He lifted his head, nuzzling at the inside of her wrist, and finally managed to get her attention.

Ash just left. They were fucking disgusting, acting like lovebirds in their advanced age -- who the fuck did they think they were fooling?

And it only made it worse than he quite aware they wouldn't have even noticed he was gone.

[scarlet-egg]

Lexi crouched in the cupboard, doors clamped shut in front of her, and glowered through the tiny slash of light. The walls pressed in on every side, brushing the top of her head and nudging against both her elbows, but her discomfort was irrelevant – she just waited, ears straining for any hint of an approach, barely even breathing.

If she breathed, the woman knew, he would find her. He would find her and he would win, and then she'd have to stare into that smug little scowl of his and know he had bested her again. There was no fucking way she was allowing this, not today – she would wait until time eternal, bored of her skull and legs cramping, if only it meant--

“Found youuu,” a voice sing-songed into her ear, breath tickling her skin, and Lexi screamed – if she'd thought about it she would have realized there was nowhere for that annoying little fuckshit to even be hiding, but she didn't. In the moment all she knew was his words ghosting across her bare skin, and instinct kicked in:

Fuck this. She ran.

The cupboard all but tore from its hinges as she exploded out, twirling into the room beyond and raking nails desperately against her neck, trying to rid herself of the phantom sensation. Her head slammed into a shelf and she yelped anew, dropping to the floor in a tangle of legs and pain and confusion; she clamped a hand over the throb and felt something warm and sticky, and it hurt. With eyes water and head swimming she flopped onto her back, already scowling back at the space she had been curled in, determined not to let Ash have the satisfaction of knowing how viciously he'd defeated her.

But the cupboard was empty and before she had a chance to comprehend what this meant, the door opened.

Ash said nothing. He stared at the scene before him, at the woman sprawled on the floor in front of him, and said nothing. Neither did she, and her expression didn't change.

“You do understand,” he said slowly, enunciating each word as if she was a particularly stupid breed of rock. “The point of hide-'n'-seek, don't you?”

“I hit my head,” the brunette snarled, protesting her incompetence, and his face did something weird as he noticed the blood.

“Fuck, you-- you what? Expect me to kiss it better?”

She considered this, still glaring as hard as she could – she could say yes and see how far he would take this bluff, but that would mean Ash kissing her, and the thought of that even did something much weirder to her face than it had to his.

His eyes widened at the unspoken insult, and his lips peeled back from his teeth.

“Fuck you,” Ash grunted, and slammed the door in her face hard enough to rattle the walls. It rattled her head, too, and without an audience to keep her dramatics in check, Lexi whined. She clenched her eyes shut and dropped her head, cradling the throbbing thing in both hands.

For a while, that's how she remained – and when she lifted it again, it was only to stare at the door. Then she turned to stare at the cupboard for a bit of a change, but it remained empty.

This didn't fool her for a second. Somehow, she knew, this was Ash's fault. Somehow, he had orchestrated this entire thing.

But that didn't mean she wasn't smart enough to never try and figure out how.

[scarlet-egg]

summer

It was unbearably hot, and Ray hated it -- you could tell from the scowl plastered all over her generally so pretty face. She sprawled in front of the open window, head lolled towards the fan working on full blast, shamelessly sending her sweat-stank right out onto the street without a second thought. She wasn't naked, but only because she liked to make it clear she could wear less, if she only put her mind to it.

It was unbearably hot, and Zara hated it -- you could tell from the fact she wore she same expression she wore every day, with literally no change. She sprawled along the couch, staring at the wall with all the enthusiasm of a dead goldfish and about as much class. She wasn't naked, but only because she wore the same thing she always did, on account of putting just as much effort as anyone expected of the transient.

Still, she didn't sweat -- it wasn't lady-like. Also, it was probably biologically impossible at this point. She was amazed Ray still could, with everything she had crammed under her skin.

"Ughhhh," complained the other, not opening her eyes -- her voice echoed in the unnaturally empty space, devoid of all trash, and made her want to grimace. There had been the usual accusations of cleaning, but she was pretty sure the urchins down the road had just robbed her. "I love the heat."

Zara turned her head towards the window very slowly, but it lacked the creaking sound that would have really sold it. All things considered, finding better company was possible -- but who had the energy to break such a filthy habit in this kind of weather?

"Because you have an excuse to dress like you lost everything in a fire," she uttered, following the expected script. Not worth making it a question, though.

"I did," Ray snapped.

There was a surge of power, a hum, and the fan cut out -- the heat crashed down in an almost tangible wave, forcing the air from their lungs, and then it clicked back on. Neither sucked in a gasp, but the flush in the stripper's cheeks wasn't from shame.

"Twenty years ago," Zara said, like nothing had happened.

"Don't trivialize my pain," grumbled Ray, but it was too hot to be really offended. The knowledge killed her.

But speaking of being offended...

"Aren't you worried," inquired the transient, as interested as she always was. "That your free show will hurt business."

The other gave this due consideration before she answered -- which was to say, she snored softly for several minutes. Then, rousing herself--

"Men are all the same," Ray muttered; it was fucking annoying to have to be the voice of reason, but the one in the room that wasn't her had thought Fred counted. "It's the journey, not the destination."

"That doesn't sound right."

"I'm sure you think so, being that you aren't in possession of the extremely complicated algorithms necessary to understand such matters.

"Taking off your clothes is real complicated, right."

"It is when I do it."

There was a hard edge to her tone, and Zara thought about this -- she didn't actually care, and neither of them were dumb enough to believe she would, but there wasn't much else to do. The wall failed to do anything interesting, so they sat in silence.

She tried staring at the floor because variety was the spice of life, and Ray yawned.

"I fucking hate the heat," the stripper whined, shifting to get more comfortable -- but being that her skin had already fused to the chair and didn't move with her, it did little to help. "I don't want to do anyone."

There was a grunt -- possibly of agreement, but probably automatic. If only it wasn't too hot to turn on the TV they wouldn't be stuck with each other for entertainment, and the day would be far more tolerable.

Ray fought again to move. Her skin came away from the chair slowly and painfully, and she complained the entire time. When there were just enough motion possible to turn sideways and stare at the thing on her couch, she did.

It didn't move. It was probably dead.

"You know," the woman remarked, raising an eyebrow -- a very erotic eyebrow, it had to be said, if you were into that sort of thing. "I'm practically already naked."

"I'm not," said Zara, who was not.

"I could help with that."

The transient thought about this. It sounded like a lot of work, and it was never worth the effort. Ray was no Fred Christ, but goddamn, she tried.

"Do I have to move," she uttered, finally, and the revival rolled her eyes.

"You never do."

Well it's not like she was wrong, but the expression she wore while uttering this fact was absolutely offensive. Zara filed this away to forget about as soon as humanly possible.

She sighed. She raised an arm, and let it flop back down again, and that was about as much of an invitation as anyone was going to get. It was just so bloody hot.

And in the end, Ray didn't even try -- it would have been an awful boring day if either of them was actually satisfied. What would there be left to complain about?

[scarlet-egg]

It was a dark and foreboding night, even before the demigod began to follow the mortal. He made no sound -- shrouded as he was by the night that had accepted him as its own -- and the woman didn't think to glance back.

She never thought to glance back.

The world was devoid of life, this late -- any evidence to the contrary was a filthy fucking lie -- but still she strode fearlessly into the alley; they moved across the bridge, the two of them, away from the light and along the streets where even the trash didn't dare linger. Her footsteps echoed back from the mist like a second pursuer and her shadow moved desperately, clawing at the walls and denied even the small mercy of escape.

The demigod sneered -- he'd try to run too, if he was in its position. What a fate.

He scaled the walls, moving ahead and waiting impatiently for her meandering to quicken. It was unlikely she'd be attacked tonight, and he knew it; he'd never worried about it before, clearly making him a weather-racist, but there was a lot to be said for hubris when mortals broke so easily.

And she never thought to look up, either. Her ignorance was a painful thing.

The apartments loomed in the distance; her pace didn't quicken, but she only paused once she stood on top of the stoop. With her eyes the only thing visible above the thick scarf -- shining even in light this dim -- she finally turned around. She couldn't have seen him through the fog, but he swore that she did, all the same.

"Thanks for walking me home," Lexi murmured, to the world at large. The warmth of her smile stayed in place long after the doors had slammed shut behind her, and Ash just stared at the spot, his face twisted in disgust, until he realized what he was doing.

Then, he swore.

Fuck it -- next time she could walk herself home.

-------------------

There was something to be said about having a sanctuary, Ash thought.

...And there was entirely something else to be said about someone invading it.

The stench was overwhelming -- Eau de Toilet the moment he opened the door, seeping into the wood and the wine and everything he knew and despised as if she owned the place. The spiders were smart enough to scuttle away as he stomped down the stairs, his presence announced with a cold air and vicious scowl, but she only sat there, watching him approach with lazy disinterest.

The glow of the laptop painted her face a sickly green, and he hated her for it -- that was his trick, and there she was, stealing it! She should have been worried -- should have been terrified! -- that she was in his domain and what he was about to do about it, but there she was, utterly oblivious. Still he stomp-stomp-stomped right up, sneering down as he came to a halt, and...

...and she yawned.

"Get the fuck out of my seat," Ash ordered, his voice an ominous growl, choosing not to dignify that slight with a response. One that was, for example, shoving her -- but he would have done it, if only it didn't mean touching her.

"Are you sure?" To his eternal -- if not ­ever-growing repulsion -- the brunette made no attempt to comply. Instead she cocked an eyebrow, then a leg, and plastered a thoughtful expression onto her face like she was considering his request. "I may have farted while I was sitting here," she admitted. There was a pause, just long enough for his face to start melting. "Okay, look, I definitely did, but I don't want to be crass, you know?"

Not for the first time, and not for the last, she left Ash speechless.

It was tragic, really -- he'd liked that chair, and now he was going to have to burn it. Burn it like all the others.

And staring in her too-innocent face, he began to suspect she was doing this on purpose.

-------------------------------------

Lexi was leaning over his shoulder.

She did this a lot now she could, and not once had it failed to make Ash's skin crawl. In fact, it annoyed him almost as much as the look on her face did.

"This," choked the brunette, taking one hand from his chair to wave it vaguely in the direction of the laptop -- he tensed, worried she was going to try and touch him, but she didn't. "This... this is really bad porn, Ashley!"

"It's not porn," he uttered, completely deadpan. "It's an instructional video."

"And just what are you trying to learn from this?" she demanded, her horror far surpassing the accepted amounts for this kind of situation. It was genuine, too, which was fucking unnerving, but wh--

Wait. Waait. She didn't think he was a virgin, did she?

...Did she?

Holy fuck, Ash prayed, please let her think he was still a virgin.

"I'm learning plenty," he shot back, crossing his arms and slouching down -- away from her hand, and in the perfect condition to scowl up. "For example--"

"No.." Lexi's voice shot up an octave, just loud enough to talk over him, and that was all sorts of fucking infuriating. "You are not." She glanced back to the screen, grimaced, and covered her mouth for just a second. "The light is so bad, you can't even see anything!" Well, actually, he could see plenty, but he was smart enough not to tell her that she was right -- it was pretty terrible. "I-- is that even a dude?!"

"Well," he snarled. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you."

Lexi stared at him. He glowered back.

"I have no idea what you are referring to," she informed him. "But fuck you, Ashley."

It was a safe -- not to mention accurate -- response. He would have been proud of her, if only it wasn't Lexi.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, growing tired of her schoolyard antics. He slammed the laptop shut with one hand, plunging them into a darkness that only one of them cared about -- she was too dumb to be intimidated, and he was growing increasingly frustrated by this.

"Maybe I just came to see you," she complained -- and Christ, it was like she was trying to prove him right.

"I don't see any fucking tequila, so why would I want you to?"

Ash scowled at her, and Lexi stared at the wall to the left where she assumed his head was. She said nothing, and her expression didn't change.

"Are you maybe planning to leave?" he snarled eventually, making a meaningful shooing motion towards the steps. She didn't get the hint, on account of being blind.

"Are you planning to turn the lights back on?"

"Fuck off. The darkness is my home."

"'fraid not, then."

He stared at her in disgust. She stared right back at him, dead in the eye, and shrugged.

Ash caved first, on account of the smell -- he made a disgusted sound at the back of his throat, ripped the lid of the laptop up, and twisted to give her a piece of his fucking mind.

The shit-eating grin on her face was enough to silence him, and he just glowered-- she wasn't even pretending not to be amused at her apparent victory.

She was such a fucking asshole, and he couldn't wait to make her pay for it.

[scarlet-egg]

69: graveyard shift

Lexi hated tests.

She hated them and then she was bad at them, but still she studied -- no-one expected her to do any better than she knew she would, but there was still a tiny shred of fear that if she didn't, if she really failed, she wouldn't be allowed to stay at the Institute anymore.

She was a little hazy on what would happen then and what her parents would do, but none of it would be good. She hated tests, yeah, but she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't even try to do well.

None of this made studying any easier, though, and she allowed herself a moan, her head buried in her hands. Hours later, and she still didn't understand a word of it! She couldn't even just curl up in bed and study, because Zhi had her own finals and it wasn't fair for them both to be up all night, and-- and--

--and she had a test in five hours she wasn't prepared for and she hadn't even showered yet!

Her hands came down, and the first thing she saw was a steaming mug on the table in front of her, leaving a coffee ring on her worksheet. The second thing she saw was Ash, dangling half out of the shadows with his eyes crossed and tongue lolling -- in the dim light of the lamp, his eyes glowed.

Lexi blinked sluggishly. She was too tired to be delighted, let alone scared. His efforts were wasted.

"Thanks," she uttered, voice raspy with disuse, and twisted to automatically gather her textbooks into a pile so he could share the couch. Unlike those who actually studied, Ash had got sleep -- now he was just wandering around shirtless, hair messy, perfectly rested and pretty bloody bored.

But that's because Ash was an asshole.

He didn't say a word as he leapt over the back, taking up most of the cushions and not even rolling his eyes when she slumped against his side. After a second of relaxation the panic kicked in again and Lexi slumped further, her head ending up in his lap and her face shoved back in the textbook. By silent agreement she just kept on studying, while he sat there and allowed it.

Lexi hated tests, but not as much as Ash -- tests meant she wasn't around, and Ozzie was only good company as long as, you know, he didn't have to actually be near him.

It's just she was so bad at them, and it showed -- the book slapped into her face, and she began to snore. Her breath fluttered with pages with every exhale but she remained utterly crashed out, as if someone had flipped a switch. Ash stared at her with a mixture of dismay and disgust -- he'd gone to all the effort of stealing her a coffee, and this was the thanks he got? This was how she chose to repay his kindness?

Nice one, Lexington.

He didn't hesitate -- he slid both hands beneath her, felt the weight of her vulnerable form in his grasp for a moment, and then--

--ceremoniously flipped her right the fuck off his couch. She squealed loud enough to wake the dead as she hit the ground, and he grimaced -- she wasn't even pretending to appreciate his efforts to keep her on track! There was a test to study for, after all!

Really, his good will was just lost on some people.

[scarlet-egg]

4. resurface

Lexi was late.

It's not like it was a date and it's not like he cared, but Ash still thought it was lame to be left at a pool alone in the middle of the night. He'd always assumed that's why she kept waking him up and dragging him off, but thinking about it, maybe she was just an asshole and pissing Ozzie off was her new favourite hobby.

And the fact she might have a hobby that didn't involve him was the only reason why he went looking. It's not like he cared.

--

His room was empty, and his suspicions grew as quickly as his irritation. He scowled at Ozzie's bed, but that didn't make it any less unslept in.

The lounge was empty, so at least she hadn't fallen asleep trying to watch telenovelas this time. One day he just knew he was going to sulk in and find her snuggled up in Ozzie's arms, but apparently hell hadn't frozen over because today was not that day. He shuddered at the thought all the same, in case the universe didn't realize how he felt about it.

The danger room was empty, too, so she didn't have the excuse of having pissed off a teacher. It wouldn't be the first time, but that was his thing.

Ash stood at the top of the stairs and stared down into the empty lobby, and grimaced at what he knew he must do. There was one place left -- the one place he'd sworn to never go, the one thing he'd sworn to never do, and the only possible course of action that he knew he would regret.

There was no way that would end well, and it's not like he even cared.

He turned around.

---

The room-mate answered his knock at the door after precisely three seconds -- if she thought there was anything untoward about a strange guy showing up in the middle of the night, it didn't show.

But then again, nothing showed -- not ever. Half the rumours in the mansion were about her and why she was unable to expression emotion.

He stared up for a long moment at the teenager in her ratty hoodie and what was either very long underwear or very short shorts, and wondered where she'd left her fucking shame. She was about as excited to see him as he was to see his reflection.

He hated her, he decided.

"Lexi?" Ash demanded, hands in his pockets as he glowered.

"Out," came the reply, and the door slammed in his face.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual.

---

Fuck it, Ash decided -- if she didn't want to come swimming he wasn't going to wait for her, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to invite her again. He'd just go on his own and have a blast, and then she'd know how much he didn't need her around, because clearly she'd forgotten this was meant to be a friendship and not a one-sided-- you know, thing.

Because it's not like he cared, and he still didn't need anyone around.

---

The air was colder than it had been when he'd gone inside, and Ash glowered at the lawn as he skulked along. He would have just shadow stepped, but the moon was too bright -- it bleached the world pale, and the amount of time it would take to reach the shadows would have been equal to how long it took to just reach the pool itself.

Dew stuck to his feet and grass stuck to his feet and animal poop stuck to his feet, and by the time he finally got there, he couldn't even muster up any surprise that Lexi was waiting for him. She watched him approach with lazy disinterest, hair fanning about her as she floated, and showing absolutely no remorse like the sociopath he always thought she was.

"You're late," she informed him, and stood up.

Ash threw a pine cone at her head. It missed, and splashed her when it landed. She started laughing, and he scowled as he sat on the edge of the pool, watching her.

He was still mad, but he'd let it slide.

At least she was there.

[scarlet-egg]

63. tyranny

His arms hurt.

Normally this wouldn't have bothered Ash, exactly, because he could moan as loudly as he liked about it, making sure everyone around him (which was precisely no-one, on any given day) knew just how much discomfort he was in. But if he gave in and did that now, Lexi was going to know.

It was important that Lexi didn't know. She'd enjoy it way too much.

He shot her a scowl from the corner of his eye, but she hardly cared -- she'd banished him to the small desk in the corner and claimed his bed for herself, happily sprawling the length of it. She chewed the end of her pencil, kicking her legs idly in the air as she studied; whatever textbook she'd grabbed was clearly more interesting than his, because he'd barely got through a paragraph before going cross-eyed in boredom. She had headphones on, but he could still faintly hear the music she was trying to listen to, because she was only wearing the one -- in case he wanted to, what, talk or something?

Who knew what she was thinking. Lexi was dumb.

Ash turned his attention back to the desk, glowering at the sheet in front of him. It's not like the numbers swam in front of his eyes and the problems weren't even that hard, but man, his arms ached. They throbbed and whined and complained, and picking up the pencil was just gonna make it worse. It was way too much effort, considering he was barely going to pass anyway.

"Need any help?" He looked up at Lexi's curious enquiry, and found her head cocked to one side. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was being genuine.

"No."

"It's just you've been staring at that page for ten minutes, you know."

"I did notice, thanks."

"Your arms still hurt, huh?"

Ash floundered for a second, caught off-guard by the strangely astute observation -- and it came from her, dripping in sickly-sweet tones of concern. He scowled anew at what he could only figure was her great delight at his agony.

"They do not," he half-growled, turning away. Just to prove how wrong she was, he picked up the pencil -- then pain shot through his entire body and he yelped, dropping it again. "Shit."

"Language!" Lexi admonished, swinging herself off the bed. She bounced over, draping her arms over his shoulders and thumping her chin on his shoulder, pressing their cheeks together and letting out a sad sigh. He found if he tried real hard, he could glare at her from the corner of his eye without moving. "You want a massage, Ash?"

"Not if you're the one offering."

"Still made Scott made you do a million press-ups 'cause you were a jerk, huh?"

"Still amused Scott made me do a million press-ups 'cause I was a jerk, huh?" he mimicked, raising his voice a few notches to really sell the point. It didn't exactly have the intended effect.

"Kinda, yeah," Lexi admitted, shooting him a grin.

There was a beat.

"Don't think I won't fight you just because you're a girl," Ash warned, trying to sound super ominous. That didn't exactly have the intended effect, either -- she giggled.

"You haven't even noticed I'm a girl yet!"

"I'll show you what I--"

Ash cut himself off, face still turned towards her but his eyes on the door, which had been loudly flung open by the only person as annoyed to see his best friend as he always was. Ozzie stood in the doorway, the brighter light of the mansion at large framing him dramatically, staring at them in uncomfortable surprise -- which then, very slowly shifted into disgust.

"And you wonder why people think you're dating," he snarled at the pair -- pressed together, draped together, smooshed together -- before slamming the door closed again. His footsteps clomped off down the hall despite the thick carpet, leaving the two of them to it in the flickering candlelight.

Not that the candlelight was romantic -- it was dramatic. It had been Ozzie's idea. Really, he was being completely unreasonable about the entire scene.

Lexi just looked puzzled. She turned to Ash, an inch away from his face and close enough that he could smell the lip gloss she lathered on at every opportunity, and asked--

"Why would anyone think that?"

Sometimes, he suspected she didn't even have to try to play dumb.

[scarlet-egg]

cw: (very tame) adult fun

Sound

"Must you make so much noise?" Ash growled, and Lexi grunted -- his voice teased down her arched neck, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach and not exactly providing an enlightening observation. With one hand buried in his hair and the other clawing uselessly at the wall behind her, searching for something that wasn't there, she was well aware of how much fucking noise she was making.

And with one hand down her scandalously loose pants and the other roaming under his shirt, it's not like he was fucking faultless, was he -- a fact he was painfully aware of, she knew. It would have given her some satisfaction to know he was suffering right along with her if she'd only had a moment to think.

"Asshole," she hissed back, twisting her head away and yanking hard on his hair -- but her leg came up in the same motion, hooking around his hip in case he got any ideas, and she felt him smirk against her skin. He nudged her shirt off her shoulder with his chin, baring more of her skin to his assault, nipping and lapping away the marks as he moved down. The brunette grit her jaw, nostrils flaring as she fought to keep herself in check, even as she ground and bucked in time with his motions.

All that did was encourage him, the fucker, and when she finally slipped up -- when she sucked in a shallow gasp as he flicked his thumb -- Ash pulled back, sighing in deep disappointment as he eyed her flushed cheeks.

"Please," he complained, despite the fact he never let up for a second -- he palmed her breast idly, gently, as if that wasn't worse. "Sometimes I think you're trying to get us caught."

As if he'd be annoyed about that -- Lexi scowled, holding his gaze as she ground down defiantly. It gave her more than a little thrill when she clenched -- deliberately, because he wasn't the only one that could play this game - -and his expression darkened in response.

"Classy," he was quick to sneer, but when she rammed his face back into her neck, he didn't exactly complain. His breath was hot and wet and she bit her cheek hard, tasting copper and forgetting how to breathe, her teeth aching as she chased the crest; he bit down and there was a pang as he broke the skin, and it wasn't intentional, it wouldn't have been--

Ash whipped his head up, crushing his lips against hers and muffling the sounds as she rode the wave out, scowling all the while, irritated he had to stop what he was doing and deal with her reaction. She wanted to be sarcastic about it, she really wanted to criticize his performance, but the words stuck -- she managed a vague sound of frustration, and she hated him for it.

Satisfied she wasn't about to launch into a fit of wild shrieking -- it's not like she wouldn't, just to be a dick -- he pulled away, oozing smug silence. Her legs trembled as he lightly flicked a hard nub in farewell, tugging her shirt back into place.

"You stretched it," Lexi grumbled, unclenching her fingers from his hair as he leaned in close.

"Whoops," he apologised, an asshole to the end, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hand twitched; it wasn't enough to set her off again but she bucked with a surprised yelp, almost tearing a fistful of his locks out with the sudden motion.

And all he did was sigh again, like this had somehow lowered his opinion of her even further. She scowled.

"Hopeless,"Ash complained, and she didn't argue -- she couldn't. Bragging rights went to the winner, and she'd lost this fucking round.

Luckily, that didn't make him any more pleasant, and if he didn't have such a pretty face she would have kicked him to the curb long ago -- drift compatible or not, it's not like she enjoyed having him around.

"Asshole," she grunted, shoving him back, and he smirked like it was a badge of honour.

There was just no teaching some people.

[scarlet-egg]

Ash never slept well, even when the night was silent.

Tonight, it wasn't -- just enough noise to make the quiet uncomfortable, just enough light to deny him darkness, just enough existing outside his room to remind him he was nothing more than a cog in a machine. His head was full of snickering second-guesses and muttered frustrations, and the cacophony of his own thoughts was louder than usual.

It was worse when he closed his eyes; fireworks sparked behind his eyelids and the memory of metal shrieking across metal echoed in his ears. It was easy to forget how long it had been, on nights like these; it was easy to lose track of which death he was trying to pretend had never happened.

Even when he was alone with only shadows for company, he still couldn't get any bloody peace.

Ash sighed, running a hand through his hair before curling his arm under his head. The unyielding metal made a lousy pillow, but it wasn't worth the effort of being annoyed. He thought about it, tried to let his mind drift and stop replaying the same mistakes over and over; he focused on the footsteps of eager little ants scurrying by, quick and eager and--

--they stopped. His gaze snapped to the door and the emptiness stretched -- if they hadn't moved on, what were they doing? Trying to stare the door down?

Probably, yeah.

Assholes, he decided -- they were going to ring the doorbell, light a bag of dog shit, and run away giggling at their own hi-lar-ity. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last.

Mystery solved, he turned his attention back to the ceiling, trying to find a pattern in the shifting shades. He failed -- harder to see them now, through his darkening mood.

The door swung open without warning and light flooded in, pushing the gloom back barely a foot and for barely a second before it winked out again. He got the vaguest impression of a figure -- mussed hair and half-dressed, bare feet and dark splotches on a pale canvas -- and grimaced, squinting against the too-rapid switch.

Her footsteps came closer -- not the forced silence of someone creeping, but the reluctant padding of someone who had no interest in declaring their presence. He kept his gaze locked firmly above, cursing her with every step -- (knock your toe on the bed trip over a chair spontaneously combust just fucking LEAVE) -- and bit down on his tongue when the mattress dipped.

He tasted copper.

For a while, Lexi just sat there -- maybe considering how she had got to this point and what use there was in going on -- and then she swung her legs up, sprawling over what should have been the empty side. He said nothing, but neither did she -- and who the fuck just showed up in the middle of the night, half-naked, and said nothing? There was nothing she could want from him that it wouldn't be easier to get from somewhere else, so what was the point?

His bed wasn't big, and already her heat was seeping through the thin blanket. Ash scowled harder and said nothing, but really loudly, hoping she'd get the hint. It didn't matter what had prompted this unnatural display because no answer she gave would satisfy him, an the only reason he wasn't throwing her out was because that would require acknowledging her.

Maybe she felt the same way, lying there -- he didn't think to ask. Her breathing was too-quick too-shallow, and a little of his frustration was lost. Not a lot, and it was instantly replaced by resigned frustration, but...

Lexi rolled over, and he flinched away as her knees ghosted his thigh on the way to her chest. He scowled, but there was only darkness around her; the shadows had thickened until she was little more than a blurry impression of a fuzzy outline, and it was a small consolation that there was no way her night vision was any better than his.

She barely touched his pillow, and the odd way it raised and dipped gave the impression of a smudge on her forehead. Maybe shadow, maybe hair, probably his imagination -- Ash still had to squash the urge to reach out and fix the imperfection. He breathed in and tasted soap; none of the sweat and blood and burning oil she'd reek of as she stormed away.

He grit his teeth, with no more sympathy for her now than he'd had then. She seemed to think he hadn't been there -- that he hadn't felt everything she did when things went wrong, that he hadn't felt it when the knowledge that having a giant fuck-off robot and something to punch in the face wasn't going to fix everything came crashing down on her. Sometimes your best wasn't good enough and sometimes you couldn't save everyone -- sometimes people died.

That's the way things had been before the kaiju, and that's how they'd be long after they were gone. The idea she could change this was ridiculous, and he'd told her so -- his lips hadn't moved once, but they hadn't needed to, as he gave her a piece of his mind.

But now, there wasn't much left to fill the silence, and it grew just as heavy as the darkness.

Lexi unfurled and stretched out again, shifting and moving and jostling him in a thousand little ways. It couldn't have been comfortable perched on the edge and almost rolling off, but he didn't kick her out and she made no attempt to leave. He just stared straight ahead, seeing nothing and hearing only her breathing; it evened out, eventually, finding a steady rhythm in matching his own. He thought of trying to disrupt the sync, and dismissed it in the same moment.

Unlike her, he knew what a lost cause looked like.

He closed his eyes and demanded sleep take him; the fireworks were waiting, flashes and screeches and roaring pain, and when they snapped open again the darkness was already there, inescapable and suffocating and wrapping tight.

Shit.

It was only a few seconds before his breathing settled, matching hers, and he grit his teeth against the knowledge. His hand -- his real hand, the one still made of flesh -- twitched, sliding across the blanket without any consideration for what he wanted. He didn't touch her though, only moved close enough to feel her warmth, to reassure himself she was still alive.

Despite himself, Ash was still startled when her own moved -- barely enough to brush the tips across his own. They were rougher than they used to be and still softer than his own, and he scowled harder at the ceiling as slowly -- reluctantly -- they curled together.

But he most definitely did not hold her hand, that much was certain.

He couldn't hear her smile over the darkness and was glad of it, because it meant she couldn't hear his expression, either. He breathed in and she breathed out, and he listened to her exist beside him, and he wondered if maybe that was just enough to remind them both they weren't so completely alone, even when they wanted to be.

He closed his eyes and the darkness was there, too.

[scarlet-egg]

"Do you miss her?"

The question is asked in a field that will never exist -- soft grass below, warm sun above, distant birdsong floating by on a faint breeze. There's a kind of gentle serenity in just existing there; being so much older and wiser and more mature, there no doubts to plague her and no uncertainties to colour her thoughts pale yellow.

But she doesn't ask because she wants to -- she asks because he wants to tell her.

Armando only smiles. She can't see his eyes, but she's certain it reaches them; she can see it so clearly, this thing that she has never seen. It crinkles his skin as he gazes down at her, betraying the depths of his gentle amusement, and she is helpless not to smile back.

"A strange question," he teases, his voice a low tumble. It tugs at the tips of her eyes, and her lips curl further. "Of course I do."

"Of course," the medium echoes, content with this response and her place in the world. She watches the flowers dance to their own tune, and understands that nothing he could ever say would bother her. "You loved her."

"I did," he agrees.

They sit side-by-side, that pair -- not touching, but close enough that they could if one only reached out. She sometimes wonders what that would be like, but it is a passing thought that slips away before she can look too closely, like smoke in the breeze or the lingering after-taste of a dream after you have awoken.

"And now?" she asks, but that question doesn't come from her -- there's something like a judder as they push past her lips, and the breeze halts for just a second as she remembers the child she used to be. Then it is gone like it was never there, and the world resumes, and it seems it never stopped for him at all.

"Always," Armando assures her.

Her approval is a tangible thing as she stares at him; her thoughts slip and slide and coil, arranging themselves into something new and different and not entirely pleasant. The edges of the field must be tingeing with dusk, she decides.

"Should I channel her for you?"

She's facing him, then; there's a memory of cloth rustling and her body turning, so she must have done it, but she can't imagine why. Her head tilts to the side, her smile fading... but it's been so long since he saw her sister, how can she not offer?

If there's despair in a place such as this, it's at that.

An eternity lives and dies between her question and his answer, but the wait hardly bothers her -- whatever he says will be just what she expects, be just fine, because now she is older and wiser and more mature and she understands. The kind of fierce, eternal love they shared is right, and she would never dream of feeling anything but compassion for it -- not for a moment, not even in her darkest hour.

Yet even though she knows this, Maya always wakes before the first word falls from his lips.

==

Godot studied his visitor through the glass as he always did, his gaze locked away from prying eyes -- but no matter how many times he saw her, it never failed to jar him just how much older she was.

It wasn't really fair, though, was it? He was older, too. Time kept on passing even when you were trapped in purgatory, with no respect for the world around it.

Time didn't care if you only saw each other once a week, except for holidays. Time didn't care if birthdays were a thing that only happened around other people for fear of breaking the fragile agreement, or if anniversaries were eternally looming shadows in unacknowledged corners. Time didn't care if the days melted into an endless blur, and the future was an indistinct haze, and if the only moment of sharp focus was in the now, where Time had no right to be.

It wasn't going to wait just because they never had enough to say what they needed to when they were finally in the same room, and on days like these, Godot could hardly blame it.

"Maya?" His voice wasn't the reassuring rumble half-remembered from a dream, but rough and concerned. "Is something wrong?"

There were no nicknames here, she thought. They had no right.

Should I channel Mia? she thought, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't force them past her lips and make them real, no matter how hard she strained. Do you want me to?

And so she remained silent, averting her gaze.

Do you still love her? she thought -- but here, she wasn't older and wiser and more mature, and her stomach twisted and roiled at what the answer might be. The question was a dark and bitter stain at the back of her throat, ever present. Did you ever stop?

In her dream, the answer never mattered. In her dream, she understood.

Sitting there in the cold, plastic chair -- she never did.

"No," Maya managed finally, her voice an unconvincing murmur. "Everything is fine."

He didn't believe her any more than she wanted him to, but no matter how hard she wished, she knew that Godot wouldn't ask again. He wouldn't pry, wouldn't demand the truth no matter how hard he stared, because...

...because he did understand. The pain, the distress, the resentment? It all made so, so much more sense to him that it ever would to her.

And it was a bitter pill to swallow, that knowledge.

[scarlet-egg]

Working for the new Boss isn't much like working for the old Boss. Half the time, I'm not even sure he is the boss.

I don't ask, either -- you learn quick in my line of work that everything is need to know, and I don't. Just being in this place gives me the impression there's a lot I should have worked out and haven't, or at least, a lot I should want to know and still don't. I don't care much either way -- I've got no plans to go digging. Maybe if I just don't find out, I won't end up with the same look in my eye that everyone I pass has.

You know, the one that screams I know things.

I'm careful not to stare in the mirror too much, though, just in case. Never know what you might accidentally pick up.

Mostly it's an easy gig, even if it's a bit boring -- I get an assignment, I go somewhere and do something, and then I come back. Sometimes I scrawl out a report, but I can usually put it off until the new Boss comes to... remind me. He doesn't seem too annoyed about having to chase it up, and it took me a while to figure out why.

At first I figured he hated paperwork as much as I do, and took any excuse to get out of the office --  then I saw what it looked like when he went back in. I know what a secret looks like, and I've got no business knowing his.

But even with all of this, the days are too long -- I've really only got the one skill, and as useful as it might be, it's not always needed. I find that as long as I'm not in the way, no-one pays me any mind. So long as I'm not fucking up, I can do pretty much as I want.

On days like that, I used to think about going home -- just packing up, and seeing if I couldn't get some work with whoever took over back home. On days when there's nothing left to do, taking my chances doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

For some reason, I never do.

==

I use the elevator a lot.

They gave me a cubicle, but I'm not a fan -- it's a tiny block slotted into a bigger block, surrounded on all sides by just the same, and still nothing fits right. The chair is too narrow, the pens too thin, the computer too old -- even the air feels thick. It's like wearing someone else's life, and they were a size smaller than me.

So, like the Boss, I find reasons -- any reason -- to escape.

I see a lot of the same people, riding the elevator, but none of them see me. The interesting one -- the really interesting one -- is this woman, right? She moves like she has somewhere to be, always carrying these thick books covered in jagged symbols that make my teeth hum and my skin crawl, and that would be okay, except that one day, I notice that she doesn't just not see me -- she doesn't see anyone.

She moves through the world like nothing outside of her head matters, and I don't think she's there for the same reason the rest of us are. She isn't that pretty -- not a supermodel or anything, dressed practically and not for looks -- but I can't stop watching her. I think a lot of things, that day.

It's rude to stare, I think. I got no excuse for staring, I think. She doesn't notice, and I don't stop. It happens again and again and again.

It's almost like she feels familiar, but we've never met and I can't think of anything to say, anyway. I guess it's a good thing she doesn't see me.

But when the door ding and I step forward and she steps out, I'm too surprised to stop -- we bang into each other full on and even though she stumbles, she doesn't make a sound. There's no curse and no gasp, but there is a hard frown. She slaps her hand out, stopping the doors in their attempt to shut, and looks at me.

Her eyes are bright and cold.

"Sorry," I mutter, dropping down to gather her scattered belongings together. I'm clumsy in my nervousness -- books scape along the tiles, papers crumple beneath my touch -- and she makes a frustrated sound that freeze me in place. I look around uncertainly, and spy a scrap about to slide beneath the elevator and the door; without thinking I sprawl over, snatching desperately, and the doors slam onto either side of my wrist.

I sit up in the doorway, startled at how much it hurt, and she stares at me with a bland expression. She's not very impressed, and she's not very sympathetic.

I stand.

"Sorry," I say again, but the apology is hollow. I smooth the paper out, keeping my hands busy -- it's a newspaper clipping full of words I don't recognize, and a few that I do, and put my teeth on edge. Her other papers, the books, they're already gathered neatly in her other arm, held close to her chest, and she just holds her free hand out silently. I placed the paper into it, searching for something to say. "Stars?" I asked, at a loss.

"Stars," she agrees, but it's sharply -- like she expects me to argue. I nod amicably, but this doesn't impress her either. "Tonight, there's--" She stops, frowning as she looks over her shoulder, down the hallway. "This isn't the right floor."

She pushes past me, into the elevator, and slaps the doors open when they try to close.

"Well?" the woman demands, and I realize she's waiting for me. For a second, I consider not -- but I do have somewhere to be, so I step in beside her, keeping close to the wall. "Where are you going?" she prompts, impatient to be moving.

It seems like a question I should know the answer to.

I don't.

==

She's on top of the roof that night, just where she informed me she would be -- but it wasn't exactly an invitation so much as a statement of fact, and I don't think she would have left if I didn't show up. It's not like she was waiting for me.

I thought about it for a while, about whether I should go or not -- and about whether or not she wanted me to. In the end, I had nowhere better to be, and when I step out on the roof in the cool air, she looks up and sees me.

"Finally," the woman snaps, in lieu of greeting -- I'm late, even though I'm not. "Look at this."

She steps back from the telescope and the door slams shut behind me as I let it go -- a heavy, metallic clang -- but she doesn't seem to notice. We're alone up here, without even an entertaining view.

The tube is dwarfed in my hand, but I stare down into it anyway, with no idea what I'm looking for. When I figure it's been long enough to look like I know, I stand up.

"Isn't that fascinating?" she demands, and my participation isn't required for this conversation just yet. I nod, but her expression doesn't change, and she shoos me away as she makes a note in the book on the ground. She adjusts the telescope, and utters-- "What do you remember?"

About what? I automatically go to respond, but I see her looking at me and close my mouth again. It's a pretty long way to the ground, from up here, looking over the edge of the roof -- if you jumped, you'd probably die.

"Chanting." The word comes out slowly, but it tastes right -- like I said, there's a bunch of stuff I've got no intention to go digging in, and this is one of them. Getting nosy about What Happened isn't going to help. "You?"

The look she gives me is amused, even if her lips aren't.

"Everything," she informs me, as if that explains it all. I think of the symbols on her books and a skitter runs down my spine, but I don't walk away. "Did you really come up here because you were interested in the stars."

It's not a question. She's onto me.

"Yeah." The lie comes easily -- like they always do. Then I point up, even knowing how ridiculous this path is. "That's my favourite."

After a second her eyes flick up, and from the look on her face, there is one there. Would you look at that -- this is already going better than I expected.

"I don't recognize it," the woman challenges, but she's nowhere near as good a liar as I am. A few strands of hair have been teased loose by the wind, coming free of her severe bun, but it doesn't make her look playful so much as irritated.

I say nothing for a while, but only because my mind has gone blank. Do stars have names? They probably all have names.

She waits.

"Orion," I tell her, because why not? If it was good enough for our dog when I was a kid, it's good enough for a pinprick of light in the sky.

"Orion is a constellation," she informs me, and points to the left. "And it's there."

I glance in that direction, but it doesn't enlighten me much. She's laughing at me, I think -- not smiling or sounding amused in any way, but still laughing. I figure it's the kind of thing she's had a lot of practice with.

"Is that so?" I say.

The woman sighs and steps forward, lifting my hand in hers -- her touch isn't soft and neither is her skin, no matter what it looks like. The pads of her fingers are rough.

"Here," she lectures, and traces my finger across the night -- over, angle, down-down, angle, over -- but it's too quick and I couldn't have kept up, even if I wasn't just staring at her. "See?" I nod automatically, but she doesn't buy it. "Honestly," she adds, criticizing my obvious ignorance as she drops my hand, stepping away.

I look back to the stars, and study her from the corner of my eye. She doesn't seem all that mad, scrawling in her notebook -- even her quick notes are careful and neat and even. Eventually she looks to me again, but it's only a brief, dismissive glance.

"Well," she states, shifting the telescope again. I wonder if she's annoyed by what she sees through it, or if this is just how she always looks. "Are you going to tell me what you really remember?"

I guess I'll have a chance to find out.

"About what?" I ask, feigning ignorance -- and I swear, she almost smiles.

[scarlet-egg]

((follows directly from this))

The comm might not have woken her, but it was the first thing Holly registered when the world swam back into focus. Blerp-blerp it went, as if she had nothing better to do. Blerp-blerp it continued softly, as if she wasn't trying to sleep.

Blerp-blerp it insisted, somewhere in the distance, and that was the first hint she had that something wasn't right -- the fact the blerp never got any louder.

The second hint, of course, was that when she sat up to snatch it from the bedside table, she somehow ended up on the floor. There was an answering thud! from the next room over, sounding just as surprised as she felt, and her ears finally popped.

There were just so many things to address -- where was she to start?

Holly clambered to her feet, head reeling, and snatched at the comm again. She managed to reach it this time, slapping buttons even as she stumbled for the door -- that was a good plan, you know: turn it off, get rid of the distraction, and then--

"Holly?"

--a tinny human voice would come grating through? The fairy balked, whirling around to confront the intruder, before she realized what was happening.

"Artemis?" Wait -- did her voice always sound that raspy?

"Holly!"

"Mulch?!"

There was a beat of bewildered silence from all involved parties, but Holly was not going to be the last to react. She shook her head -- vainly trying to unscramble her thoughts -- and clapped her hands together sharply, demanding light.

Then she made a sound and snapped them together again, frantically demanding there be no light, because no-one would really ask to wake up to that sight. As it turned out, when Mulch wore her robe, it didn't quite meet all the way around, and the fact he was still wearing his clothes underneath didn't make that any less horrifying.

There were sounds.

"When did you get back?" he demanded, indignant even around the mawful of her food. "Aren't you on a mission right now?"

"How did you get in here?" Holly groaned, wondering why she hadn't just stayed in bed.

"Holly?" Oh right, because of that. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured the voice in the comm firmly, but somehow that came out as-- "Achoo!"

Another pause, this time more suspicious.

"I ain't even thinking a word," Mulch blurted, with great feeling, thumping into the bench as he took a step backwards. She very much wanted to accuse him of doing something wrong, but the only thing coming to mind was the fact he was eating her food, and it's not like he cared much about this.

But as always, Artemis swooped in at her hour of need to save her from a horrifying, humiliating fate.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, the frown evident in his tone. "You sound unwell."

Oh, did she think he was going to rescue her? That wasn't right, was it.

"I'm fine," Holly snapped, and sneezed -- then again, again, and again, in rapid, violent succession. She groaned once she could breathe again, covering her face with one hand and slowly shaking her head. "Just... just fine."

"I ain't saying you're wrong," Mulch agreed, cautiously. "But..."

The fairy stared into the kitchen, realizing with a mixture of horror and confusion that her eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom, and reminded herself that this was her house, and her kitchen, and she wasn't the one who had--

Oh, who was she kidding?

"What are you doing here, Mulch?" she groaned again, while Artemis sat in what was no doubt vaguely amused silence.

"Dunno," her guest responded easily. "Got hungry?" He thudded across the tiles to her table, dropping into the chair so heavily that the lights snapped back on. Things were being smooshed into the pretty wood, and she couldn't even find the energy to be horrified anymore. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house!"

"Well, yeah," he agreed, giving her a sideways look. Crumbs scattered from his lips, because he wasn't about to stop eating just because he was talking. "But don't you have somewhere better to be?"

Holly froze, panicked for a split second -- was he right? Did she? Was there something she had forgotten? No, that was ridiculous, of course she didn't.

"Don't try and change the subject!" she ordered, crossing her arms. The door frame was there to support her as she swayed, so it wasn't so obvious she almost lost her balance. "How often do you sneak in to steal my food?!"

"Hey!" he protested, waving his hands. "It's not stealing exactly, the way I see it, it's just payment for services rendered, and..."

"Have you asked him about the remedy?" Artemis' mild tone broke through his mumbling, and both froze -- Mulch because he had no idea what was happening but that sounded like it was going to require effort, and Holly because she knew exactly what was about to happen and she had no doubt it was going to end badly. Most things did when it involved the both of them, in her experience.

"I uh... that's not a great idea," she ventured slowly, and Mulch nodded emphatically.

"But it seems you have my cold," the mudboy elaborated, and she couldn't quite tell if it was a frown or a smile in his voice. She closed her eyes in defeat either way, and in the pause that followed, she could just feel the smile radiating out from the chair.

It was small at first, hesitant and shy -- but it didn't stay that way for long.

"You caught a cold?" Mulch asked, radiating surprised glee. "Recently?"

You caught a cold from a mudboy, hmmm? Just how exactly, Captain, did you manage that one?

Not even he was stupid enough to say that, but his grin hadn't got the memo -- it said that and so, so much more.

"Somehow," Holly corrected, shooting him a hard look -- and then she gave the comm the same one, in the hopes that the magical boy genius would get the hint. "We don't know for sure what happened."

Then she sneezed again, another three times, just for good measure.

"Clearly," Artemis agreed dryly, and Mulch snorted around the last of his sandwich. He tried to cover it with a cough, thumping his chest dramatically and looking pained, but it fooled no-one.

"You know," he drawled, stretching lazily -- the robe gave up then, the tie just snapping, and he didn't even notice. "This seems like the perfect time to make my exit."

"Look how wise you are," Holly groaned, grimacing up at the ceiling. The ceiling would never betray her. The ceiling would never reveal so much of itself.

Mulch paused half-way out of the chair to shoot her a wounded look, but when it failed to melt her ice-cold heart he sighed, shaking his head as he slouched towards the door.

"I suppose I'll see you later, Holly," he lamented miserably, but it sounded more like a threat than a reluctant farewell. She would have groaned again but he was already shutting the door -- and she waited to hear the lock click into place, even though it clearly didn't do much to deter intruders.

But, you know, it made her feel better, so that's nice.

She didn't even bother looking back into the kitchen -- she just snapped her hands together, flooding her abode in darkness, and slunk her way back towards the bedroom. Cleaning up would be a problem for later, when she actually cared.

"Holly?" Artemis' voice startled her -- he'd been silent for so long, she'd almost forgotten he was there at all. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the fairy sighed, exaggerating her irritation as she climbed back into bed. They said you could hear expressions in your voice, so she made sure to roll her eyes for good measure -- let him hear that one.

"And you're sure you're not delirious?"

"I think I'd notice that, mudboy."

"It's only that it sounds as if you're smiling right now, Captain."

Whoops. He didn't even have the decency to try and hide his amusement, either.

"Artemis, please." She put on her firmest frown, wiggling her way underneath the covers -- their weight was comforting, and she fought back a yawn. "Everyone knows the best treatment for biological warfare is sleep."

"This wasn't my intention," he stated, and suddenly, it wasn't so much of a joke anymore. She felt a flicker of something that might have been guilt, and stomped down on it stubbornly.

"I'll be fine," Holly sighed, dismissing his concerns as gently as possible. "I promise I just need rest."

He was silent for a time, and despite her vows, her eyelids began to droop. She really, really should say goodbye before she fell asleep, but...

"Do you need soup?" the mudboy asked suddenly. Her eyes snapped open hard enough that her head spun, and she squinted at the ceiling as she tried to see something dancing before her other than dry noodles and chicken feathers. "I can make you soup."

"Do you, uh..." Holly hesitated, trying to phrase her blurted question tactfully. "Do you have experience making soup... by any chance?"

"Butler assures me it is not difficult."

And that was far too quick a response to be even remotely sincere.

"I'm not that sick," she insisted firmly, and could hear his frown even before he spoke.

"Are you sure? I don't mind--"

There was another thought, then, dragging itself from the quagmire that her thoughts were rapidly becoming.

"Artemis," she interrupted, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Pardon?"

"Are you still on mandatory bed rest?"

There was a very long and very telling silence, and in any other situation, she would have felt a flash of smug satisfaction at catching him out. Later, maybe.

"That isn't--" Artemis began to protest, and she grinned.

"You should get some rest, too," Holly reminded him, rolling onto her side. She held the comm loosely in one hand, up by her pillow, and didn't try to fight it as her eyes closed this time. "Before your mother catches you still awake at this hour."

"I--"

"Goodnight, Artemis."

He sighed. It wasn't so much a sound of defeat as of resignation, and Holly decided that his mother had just appeared at the door -- after all, if it was Butler, he would have been enlisted in Artemis' daring escape plans. She almost felt bad for him, being so terribly trapped.

But only almost, because at least if she had to suffer with this cold, she would be suffering alone.

"Goodnight, Holly," came the reluctant farewell.

And she pretended not to notice that he still waited for her to hang up first.