10 December 2015

Nicanora slept in short bursts. A few hours here, a few hours there. A few hours this time meant rising around four in the afternoon. Thankfully this time around it wasn't to the infernal sound of banging on the old wooden door that shuttered her in to the rented room and away from the odd world around her. Sitting up in bed, she squinted at the two boxes still sitting unopened on the table.

"May as well," she said with a sigh and got to her feet. Shaking her hair out along the way, it became a wild lion's mane untamable by her fingers. She gave up and instead slid her thumbnail along the tape holding the box's seams shut. The first of the overloaded boxes sprang open, nearly thwacking Nica in the face with one of the flaps. With a grunt, she folded them down and peered inside. With only the thin cracks of sunlight filtering around the edges of the window's worn curtain, everything in the box looked black. On top, a crinkled piece of notebook paper that had evidently been hastily ripped from its spiral spine judging by the jagged fringe along the left side. Nica scooped it up for closer examination.

for hunting through the night.

i said i would get it to you.
wait for me.
i'll come for you soon.
you'll be safe there.
-me

Beneath the note were her clothes, the better part of her closet stuffed into one oversized U-Haul box. If the box's contents looked completely black, it was because they were. Jackets, shirts, tank tops, sweaters, jeans, pants, skirts, dresses. All black with very little break in the monotony and all hastily crammed together without any respect for order or folding. She would likely need to spend the next two or three hours properly folding things to tuck in the inn room's dresser or straightening things to be hung in the closet. A closet that was much, much smaller than the one she had been used to in Miami.

The condo in Coral Gables wasn't sprawling by all means, but it was more than a room and a bathroom at the very least. It offered a view of the ocean and was only a few blocks from the Miami Institute. While she likely spent more time at the Institute than at the apartment, it had still been her home. Now it was a world away and she was left waiting for answers.

11 December 2015

Nica opened the second box late the next day. Unlike the first, there was no note and it was taped shut with what must have amounted to half a roll of box tape. It was heavier than the first two, full of tinks and clinks. The yellow wash from the light overhead afforded her a better view of the contents inside. On first glance, it appeared to be a box full of rags in varying colors but as she dipped her hands in and grabbed for the topmost layer, she felt the hard form that was concealed beneath. Rather than rags, they were his old t-shirts wrapped around long thin blades, stacked at even intervals in the box. Nica took them out one by one and laid them across her bed. Her collection, every last blade, was set neatly in front of her.

Beneath that, the rest of her gear sat in the box. Leather armor, thicker than the leather worn day to day and processed in such a way it could withstand most demon venom without putting a damper on movement. It wasn't the most comfortable get up, but it had seen her through several battles that regular leather couldn't have. A pair of bracers were tucked away too, just beneath the leather vest. They were lined with electrum, a silver gold alloy that, while impure, still made for great protection. The clean lines of strength and protection runes only furthered that cause, each one circling the bold crosses that decorated the inside of each cuff. Beside the bracers, two witchlight stones rattled around loosely in the box, unsecured but mostly because they didn't need to be. It was missing the rest of her miscellaneous supplies, like her stakes and her silver, but at the very bottom, she found the most important piece of them all. Smaller than almost everything else in the box, she almost missed it in the jumble. A solid silver ring, stamped with a square within a square, and in the middle, a raised cross. The Truecross family ring. The corners contained smaller crosses, as did the band of the ring, and it fit perfectly in a well worn groove on the middle finger of her left hand, settling a glimmer of silver just below the deep black Mark that permanently claimed space on the back of her hand.

Smothering the ring with constant attention from the opposite hand, she returned to her perusal of gear and blades alike. Out of habit, she arranged them by length for the ease of taking inventory. A number of throwing knives, a trio of flat handle-less daggers, a blessed iron dagger, two butterfly knives, a custom crosshatch blade that was just as dangerous for the wielder as it was for the one on the receiving end, the Iberian falcata that had once been her mothers, and of course, last but certainly not least, a mismatched pair of seraph blades. Penemue and Remiel, as she had deemed them, had come with her all the way from the Madrid Institute when Nica and her father had moved to Miami.

Save for a few minor things, it was as though the box's sender had compiled the entirety of who Nica was as a Shadowhunter, crammed it into two boxes, and sent them, care of a courier who couldn't give less of a damn about their contents. Her life. Reduced to two hastily packed boxes. It took her thirty minutes to get over that fact and another hour to put it all away. When all was said and done, she collapsed face first on the bed, face buried in her pillow. She could still smell where she had laid out the shirts he had wrapped her blades in. They smelled like bergamot and grapefruit with a touch of cedar and something else she had never quite put her finger on. A homey scent that made everything that much more difficult to process. She flipped the pillow to get the smell out of her face and flopped over onto her back.

i'll come for you soon.

"You better."

13 December 2015

A lioness caged, she paced the small expanse of the inn room, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The longer she waited, the worse she felt about everything. She swung between the violent extremes, manic hope and destructive pessimism. A swing of an arm sent an empty bottle bouncing off the desk and onto the floor with a clatter of crinkling plastic and hollow crunching. She immediately picked it back up only to crumple it in her grip. The sound wasn't as satisfying as the release of nervous tension that rippled through every muscle fiber in her body. Dropping the crippled bottle into a garbage can full of its plastic siblings, she scooped the burner phone off the bedside table and flipped it open for what must have been the millionth time since arriving.

No new texts.

No missed calls.

No new voicemails.

She resisted the overwhelming urge to throw the burner across the room. Her own phone was a world away, full of her contacts and texts and pictures and games. This two bit piece of plastic barely passed for a phone and it was her only line home. The urge was too much. She threw the flip phone at the far wall. It dented the old plaster and fell behind the dresser. Swearing, Nica pulled the dresser away from the wall and sifted through the dark behind it until she found the phone deep within a pile of dust bunnies. She expected it to be in pieces, shattered, dented. Something.

No, it was fine. Nokia.

Blowing dust off, she punched the redial button. Much like every other time, it rang and clicked over to voicemail.

"Hey, I can't come to the phone right now but if you drop your name and number after the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

BEEP

"You lied, by the way. You said I would be the only one of us here, that there wouldn't be others. You lied, Christopher. I met one and he says there are even more. Nevermind the sheer number of Downworlders around here. Everywhere! Everywhere. Children of the Night, the Moon, of Lilith... I can't go a block or walk downstairs for a drink without running into one or two. They all just magically coexist peacefully here and it makes--"

BEEP. "To review your message, press star, to send, press pound."

After a brief tensing of her fist around the inflexible plastic, she hung up and redialed.

"The mailbox you are trying to reach is currently full. Please hang up and try again later."

When she threw the phone again, she didn't go to retrieve it.

15 December 2015

"I've always been a heliophile myself," she told the woman downstairs before climbing the steps back to her room. Melanie had proven to be a strange bird of a woman, not human but not like anything Nicanora had seen before. With the face of an angel and the deadly grace of a viper, strange wasn't even a good word for it. The woman was acquainted with the other Nephilim that Nica had met, had referred to him as an idiot or at the very least something close. These were all things Nica thought about as she slid down the upper floor's hallway, trying to ignore the itch of the envelope tucked up her sleeve as it nagged at her wrist. Open me, it said. Not literally, no. There was no writing on the front or the back to indicate who it was from or if it was even intended for her. It had been in her mail box, which Nica was certain had been completely empty when she had signed for the room, so it wasn't like it could have been a holdover from a past renter. Shutting the door behind her, she locked it and ran her hand over the runes she had marked around the door handle. Protection, strength, quiet.

She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped the envelope from her sleeve, grasping it between both hands. For what must have been the hundredth time, Nica ran her fingers over the front and then the back, tracing the edges and the barely perceptible folds of whatever note lay within. An hour must have passed before she finally slipped a nail beneath one sealed corner and ripped across carefully. The war drum that was her heart rattled in its cage for reasons unknown, the note slipping out of the confines of the envelope and into her open palm. Twice folded, she reversed the creases and smoothed the paper flat. It had been ripped from a notebook, much the same as the note in her box of gear, uneven and jagged along the left side and the bottom. Messing handwriting too, just like the first.

delayed, will join you when i can.
dont go to the old.
943-our time, the day of your birth
-me

"Nine forty-three our time... the day of my birth?" Nica was born in the middle of August, surely he didn't mean for her to meet him again then. That was months away still. She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes. Maybe mulling it over for awhile would enlighten her.

17 December 2015

Text to C: got it. envy.

Text from C: kk

Kk. Typically the two most infuriating letters to receive as a response to a text. But considering her own had been all of three words and made little sense out of contest, she would let it pass for now. It got her wondering though, just where he might have been hiding. Where ever Christopher was, he was somewhere he could still contact her. Somewhere he could send her notes and other things. Did he still have access to her old apartment? He had a key, or at least he did the last time she had seen him. He was over there as much as she was, even when she wasn't there. That was an apt way of describing Christopher.

Always there, even if she wasn't.

Almost all of her biggest memories included him in some capacity now that she thought about it.

The first time she rode a bike and crashed face first into a fence. She still had a scar on the underside of her chin from that and could, to this day, still hear Christopher's soft reassurances that it would be okay so long as she got up and tried again.

The time she beat someone up for saying that girls were worse Shadowhunters than boys because they were smaller and weaker. Christopher had taken the blame, mostly because the offending party didn't want to admit they had been beaten up by a girl. His father had grounded him for three month for it. Not once did he complain.

When she got her first Marks, just a few months after him. The fierce pride he had worn was more than she could have asked from any brother ever. They made their parabatai bond only a few months later. A pair of twelve year old kids binding themselves to one another for life. But supposedly they say that if a friendship can last ten years, it'll last forever.

When her mother had died and Christopher stayed up with her all night as she destroyed everything within arm's reach. And when she turned that destructive force upon herself, he had pinned her arms to her sides and hugged her until she calmed down, no matter how many times she had kicked him along the way. He had lost his mother too, a long time ago when they were only toddlers.

The moment her father decided they were moving to Miami to help at the Institute there, Christopher had told his father that he was going too. It wasn't even a second thought. Where Nicanora was, Christopher was sure to be not far behind. Always there, even if she wasn't.

It was time for her to repay the favor.

19 December 2015

A humming in her pocket twisted her composure into surprise. Shifting in her seat, she dug the cheap phone out of her pocket and squinted at the dimmed screen. "Perm?tame un momento," she murmured to Taneth and Jed, rose, and pushed out onto the porch to take the call. Will had been left behind as well, just a blip on her radar. The number lit up the screen in the dark of the porch and she took the steps down to the front walk and away from any prying ears that had been out there as well.

"Hello?" Tentative, cautious.

"It's me." Christopher's voice was quiet, rough.

"Chris? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He didn't sound fine.

"Are you sure? What's up?" Dropping her voice as she got further from the inn.

"Delayed again...minor setback. I...Nic...I'm not sure when I'm going to make it there." Defeat permeated his tone.

"So if you can't come to me, let me come to you. How do I come home?"

"No, no. You really shouldn't. Not right now, just trust me on that."

"You keep telling me to trust you on this. And I'm trying really hard to do so. But you're making it difficult when you tell me nothing except to sit and wait and trust. I don't sit and wait, Christopher Altatorre. We don't sit and wait. It isn't in my blood and it isn't fair for you to ask this of me. I want to help so just let me help. Dios ****ing m?o."

Christopher was quiet as her scathing scolding died down. She heard a shuffle against the mouthpiece. "I know. Just give me a little more time to make things right."

Nica huffed. "How much longer?"

"No s?. I don't want to make promises I can't keep. Just...patience?"

"It's hard to be patient in a place like this, Christopher."

"I know. Just keep your head down, don't draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. Keep an eye on your mail. I've gotta go though."

She was tired of keeping her head down, of playing it safe and hiding. Paranoia was not a good look on her. Nica sighed. "Okay. Can I at least text you? I get so bored..."

It was Christopher's turn to sigh. "Yeah, just be careful."

"I always am."

"Hardly. Later Nic."

"Bye."

20 December 2015

"So if public service doesn't pay, why stay in the field?" Sitting in the Inn, Nica asked Will out of the blue. They had been out to get food together twice already, so running into him in the Inn was no surprise. Despite the seeming familiarity, they still hadn't formerly traded names. She had gleaned his off of a work ID glimpsed just briefly the second night they had ate together but still called him by the nickname Taneth had given him.

"Because I need something to complain about, obviously." It was an easy reply.

The spill of laughter broke her silence just long enough to be silenced with a swig of water. She sloshed the liquid around her mouth before swallowing and shaking her head. "Isn't the weather crappy enough to fill that need?" She asked Will.

"I grew up in this kinda weather. Doesn't bother me." He shrugged and sipped from his mug. "Let me guess, South Florida, Texas, or So Cal."

Just as quickly as it had died, her laughter lived once more. "Not originally, no. But most recently, yes, southern Florida. Am I that obvious?"

"You don't like the cold. You're not so great at dressing for the cold. Seemed like simple logic." At least he didn't racially profile her, right?

That would have ended poorly for him, inevitably. Worse than exploding suckers too. Nica looked down at herself. The conservative outfit seemed warm enough. She looked back up at him only mildly affronted. "I'm terrific at dressing for the cold, thank you very much."

"Say that again in January." In the moment, Will was smug.

January was the coldest month of the year in Madrid, she could handle January certainly. "I bet I'll be just fine." Confident to a fault. "Plus, January is only a couple weeks away and it's fine...ish now."

"Make sure you keep your heating bill paid." His coffee gone, Will was moving back behind the bar. "Get you anything, Fanny?" See? Almost a week and they still hadn't properly exchanged names. It was a source for great amusement.

"Hopefully I'll be back home by then. Otherwise, this place keeps it paid, right?" She gestured with her water bottle to the inn around them. "Fresh bottle of water?" It was a good moment to chug down the rest of what she had in the current bottle.

"Only passing through, huh?" He refilled his mug and fetched up her bottle, passing the latter back to her when he retook his seat to her right.

"Yeah, something like that," she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. "Thanks Mista Loaf." Taking up the water, a quick pass of her index finger traced the seal. She deemed it solid and immediately cracked it open.

"I liked Senor Loaf better," he teased. She wasn't forthcoming with the details and he didn't pry. Privacy was a precious thing. "Gonna spend the holiday here, watering up?"

"You like the accent, I get it," she quipped and grinned. After her conversation that morning, she was struggling with just how much she could say and to whom. But her smile was still an easy thing even as she shrugged again. "I guess. Don't really celebrate so I'll probably sleep the day away, wash my hair, something like that, you know?"

"I do." The delivery was unabashed. He listened and drank, nodding his head along with her supposed plans. "Could always go dancing."

Against tanned skin, the blush was muted but there, partially hidden by a dip of her chin and a quiet laugh. "Thought you were working or something?"

"I am, but it doesn't mean I can't be curious." His smile widened.

"I am always down for dancing," she said seriously. "Except at this one club down near the harbor area. That one got crossed off the list."

"Always-always?" Staring at her curiously.

"Always-always," she said with a grave nod.

"And what happened at this club?" Will was growing curiouser and curiouser.

That was a story that required a roll of her eyes, exasperated. "Some asshat tried to mug me or something. It was a pretty shady area of town, I'm not all that surprised."

"Could have been worse." Will was either big on the bright side or just very accepting of his surroundings, but he made an apologetic expression into his mug as he drank. "But yeah, I don't think I'd go back either."

She swished more water around her mouth and nodded. "Yeah, it could have." Grim as it was, he was right. "There are some solid places in better parts of town anyways. So...Senor Save-the-World, was talk of Christmas dancing just for fun or is this going to be an actual thing at some point?"

"Wednesday night is the station's annual Yule-Christmas party," he replied without hesitating. "Wanna come make me look more interesting and socially engaging?"

She perked up instantly, a kilowatt smile cutting a wide swath of red framed white across her mouth. "Will there be dancing?" Negotiations, you know?

"There will, I believe, be dancing." He seemed amused.

"Well, if there isn't, we'll dance anyways. How's that for interesting and socially engaging?" If it were even possible, her grin grew. Oddly enough, it was something to look forward to, if only for a few days.



((Adapted from live play))

22 December 2015

Two weeks had flown by. Another night had been spent drinking cheap beer at a bar full of semi-familiar faces, taking in introductions and cracking jokes at her own expense and perhaps a little at the expense of Will, who had returned for yet another evening of torment. Poor guy, he couldn't catch a break. He had come in on the tail end of an encounter with, as Nica remembered it, a bus wreck, a gang war, and a fire breathing alligator. Nica was no stranger to odd but that was quite the shift. Will was nice though, sweet without being creepy, pleasant to any who spoke to him, easy going and laid back. Not her type in the least, if she were being honest. But she enjoyed his company and their simple banter, so she welcomed the distraction that he provided.

Distractions. They held her over until she could arrange a Portal back to Miami. Wednesday evening would find her dancing the evening away with a cute EMT at a station holiday party, but Monday night found her chasing a wisp of a blonde for the sake of a sleep over. Like Will, Taneth was sweet. Unlike Will, as far as Nica had seen, Taneth had a heaviness in her heart that shaded her view of the world. For all the joy she brought others, it seemed almost as if she didn't think she could have the same. It made Nica sad to see but she didn't dare impose and pry. Privacy wasn't a tenet she was keen on infringing on. As Nica returned back to the inn the next day, she found herself thinking about the last time she'd had any sort of platonic slumber party. Sure Nica had had several guys, and even a few ladies, stay the night over recent years but it wasn't without more sinful intent.

Christopher had been her last. The thought shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, that he would have been the last person she trusted enough to just hang out without expectations. Cotton pajama pants and messy buns could be worn without fear of judgment while they played video games and watched movies. Though he lived only a block away, it had been over a year since the last time they'd had a night in like that. Right around Christmas, if she remembered right. As a group, they had tracked down a warlock who had been summoning demons and setting them on his enemies one by one in a series of grisly murders that were beginning to have the local authorities asking all the wrong questions. It was Christopher and Nica along with the Blackwater twins, Lidia and Daniel, and Lidia's boyfriend Silvano Marcaluz. The five of them had fought together many times and had been training together for the better part of a decade save for Silvano, who had only joined their group in the past two years. He came to Miami from the Lisbon Institute but he was a capable warrior so he was a welcome addition. Regardless, the quintet had blown through the pack of Achaieral demons, wrangled the rogue warlock, and went out to celebrate over dinner and drinks before Christopher and Nica had returned to her apartment.

"Lidia and Silvano seemed weird tonight, don't you think?" Nica said through a mouthful of popcorn as she settled on the black leather couch and kicked her legs up across Christopher's lap.

"Weird? I didn't notice anything weird," he said too quickly to have been a casual write off of the strangeness Nica had noticed. Christopher glanced away and flipped the input on the flat panel television, clicking over to the bluray menu.

"Mentiroso!" Nica called him out, jabbing him in the side with a finger. "You totally noticed! Admit it!"

"Ah, Nic, stop that!" He twisted away from her bony digits and sharp fingernails, smacking at her hand with the remote. "Maybe they were a little weird, okay?"

"Knew it. Don't often see Silvano miss his mark like that and the way Lidia freaked out on him, wow," she said, sitting back smugly. One of the Achaieral demons had nearly taken Christopher's head off when Silvano's chakram had gone wide. Only by the grace of the Angel did Christopher recover quickly enough to take the demon down himself. She looked aside to her parabatai who looked sheepish. "Chris?"

"They've been having some issues," he mumbled. Nica's brows rose and she turned to face him more, propping her elbow on the back of the couch.

"Oh really? Spill it!" Drama gossip, she was always down to hear it.

"It's not really my place, just trust me. Give them some space, they'll work it out," he answered evasively. Nica rolled her eyes and settled back in.

"Boring," she muttered. Christopher chuckled and clicked play, ending the conversation there.

She missed it, the stupid conversations over microwave popcorn and cut rate movies. She missed him, her friends, her life. As she got back to her room, she tugged free the envelope that she had collected from her mailbox the night before. Her thumbnail slipped into the flap and tore it open. Inside, a note and a thin stack of bills, easily converted to silver. Pocketing the money, she unfolded the note and looked it over.

enjoy your hot date
stay out of trouble
talk soon

Nica stared. Not at the words but rather the stationary the note had been written on to begin with. Only partially visible, the logo for the Miami Majestic Hotel was just able to be made out at the top of the torn paper. He had been careless in covering his tracks.

But now she had something to go off of.

23 December 2015

For all of his downplayed charm, the start of the evening said very plainly that Will wasn't entirely within his element.

Tossing a too-small closet had ended with an ensemble that included the nicest pair of black Levis he owned (no fraying or holes or anything), a soft blue-gray button down that just barely qualified as dressy, topped by a borrowed black vest, and the tie from his dress uniform. It suited him (no pun intended) just enough to leave him feeling comfortable in his own skin and, he thought, to pass whatever dress code requirements that might be enforced.

His RFD-EMS coat sort of ruined the effect, though.

There was a coy smile when he met his evening companion on the back stairs of the Inn, just shy of her room, bold enough to present her with a single lily that had been trimmed short so that he could slip it into her hair unasked. I'll take it back later, he teased her, so that I can tell the guys at the station later that I deflowered you and not feel like I'm a liar.

It set the tone for the most of the evening, from the less than inspiring ride in his jeep to the massive Old Market station house, so the first few quips (at her expense and his) when they arrived arm-in-arm awkwardly to more than a few stares. For all of his talk of showing her off, he was a gentleman (though he still introduced her as Fanny), abandoning her only once for an extended bathroom break (damn that taco dip) and leaving her to here a few funny and sometimes off stories of Old Market's 'Iron Will' of Station 316. Sometimes the tones were respectful, almost casually venerable, and at other times disconcerted.

By chance, his return coincided with the more insistent start of the music, with more than one wife and girlfriend cowing their men with a look until bodies finally started moving.

Even a world away from home, Nica was always prepared for a party. Just as she had told him, she was black clad from shoulder to mid thigh, breaking for an ample amount of tanned leg before culminating in sky high heels to match the dress. To mute the ensemble's sparkle, she had thrown on a blase cardigan in a pale shade of brown. For all the good that the Thermis rune on her lower back did, Rhydin's winter chill was none too welcome and the soft cashmere pulled double duty by hiding away a number of her secrets, ones carried no matter the occasion. While she had honestly prepared herself to receive a bouquet of venus flytraps, she was quite relieved to accept the single lily, regardless of the groan worthy remark that came with it.

While the city was big, Old Market was among the nearest districts to Dragon's Gate and the Inn other than New Haven. She had spent the better part of two weeks exploring the urban terrain and found a certain amount of charm in the marketplace district that she was more than willing to revisit. He had prepared her ahead of time for the idea that that his co workers thought him odd, so the stares they garnered as they entered only had her grinning further. She took a strange amount of pleasure in seeing them gawk at the way her arm wound around his to tuck her in at his side with far more familiarity than should have been built from their short acquaintance. An expert at mingling and blending in, it was with ease that she survived his lengthy departure. That 'Iron Will' had someone to bring to the party, especially when they'd likely not heard her mentioned before, was a surprise that bled into rarely shared stories. Either to impress or to talk for the sake of talking to the leggy Spaniard, Nica took each one as an opportunity to know more about Will since he was so adept at dodging the subject of himself. Little bits, tiny tidbits that were taken and stored away, she would piece them together at a later time if she found the motivation to do so. But as he returned, she broke away from his coworkers with a practiced smile and laugh so she could meet him midway.

"See, now this is better than awkward conversations and stale chips right? Come on, you owe me a dance," she spoke up loud enough to be heard over the growing swell of the song, offering him the upturned palm of a hand Marked on the other side, already stepping toward the station house's makeshift dance floor.

"I know," he mumbled, wearing equals part reservation and amusement in an expression that seemed decidedly his. "No escaping a deal with the devil...ess?"

He took her hand in his, rougher digits dancing across the back of her hand to cup it, drawing her along with him to take the lead and perhaps deny her the enjoyment of dragging him into place. Initiative was something Will had in spades, much to the chagrin of his peers and superiors, and it was on display in muted fashion when he made a place for them between the other pairings and drew her in closer. The music was loud enough to enjoy, but allowed for a great many a conversation to continued uninterrupted through the all the moving.

"I'm passable at this, at best," he confessed, beginning to move to the beat. "But it's worth the company, maybe," A small grin was left half formed.

"I should claim to be offended by that or something, but I think I'll take it as a compliment," she said with a grin that took up plenty of space in a slash of white framed with red, stark crimson giving a pop of color against a backdrop of black and tan. Hand taken, she soon found herself passed up instead of leading which only further cemented the open smile. Seldom was Nicanora a follower rather than a leader but this time around she made an exception for rough hands that slid over barely there silver scarring, one of a few clues that gave away the truth that she wasn't the delicate thing her appearance made her out to be.

"Well lucky for you, I'm close to phenomenal," she met his confession with pomp and ego, unabashed enough to admit that when she was good at something, she was really good. Letting him lead, she gracefully moved with him. "Maybe? So it's still a gamble then. And what would make it a sure deal?"

"Pretty sure I got the better end of the deal," Will mused.

He didn't touch after drawing her out onto the dance floor, finding his comfort in the close proximity without the more forward invasion of space. For the most part, his gaze stayed steady on her face and his attention to the conversation, but even the eyes of a good man strayed, whatever he said. It was Nicanora's fault, her and that dress.

"I'll tell you when I figure that out."

"Maybe, maybe not," Nica pulled a smirk to match. Even if she wouldn't admit it out loud, she was grateful for the distraction provided by the evening. Movement came easily in a magnetic give and take that likely would have clicked no matter her dance partner. The languid finesse of each twist and sway spoke of endless nights doing much the same in sweltering clubs full of writhing bodies in locales far more exotic than even Miami could offer. This...wasn't exactly a club and the sea of people around them wasn't made up of your average party goer, but that didn't nudge her to tone it down. Not in the least, especially considering she so simply continued the conversation between them.

"Oh so indecisive. I'll have you know that I'm currently saving you from a wonderful time holding up the wall over there with Halitosis, Fedora, and Dollar Store Lex Luthor." She tipped her head to indicate a trio of wallflowers, glumly sipping punch and quietly conversing over Fedora's mother's hip replacement and DSLL's failed mail order marriage. "Certainly one dance is worth avoiding that?"

"Hey, Fedora's not a bad guy." Will swallowed a laugh. "He was my T.O. when I first joined the department, for what it was worth."

Will's head tilted to the side and he regarded her with a growing amusement. "Well, if you're expecting me to milk it for all it's worth..." He reached for her then, his hands finding her hips and drawing her in until they were almost touching.

"He's like forty and still lives with his mother, I'm sure he's absolutely charming," she said in a tone dryer than the Sahara. "What's a teeoh?"

An easy step no matter the gravity defying heels, she was pulled just so to make it easy for her to walk the fingers of her left hand up his arm and to his shoulder where they settled tentatively. "Now it's a matter of you milking it? And here I thought you were the one doing me a favor by begrudging me a song or two of middle school stand-and-sway."

"Training officer," he replied. "Not that I needed much of it. I've got better credentials than ninety percent of the guys in this room." From another man, it might have been boastful; from Will, it was a simple statement that was delivered with a tongue flavored in simple fact and, surprisingly, some sincere humility. "But it's not like they can vet everyone who ends up here, on purpose or by accident."

She teased with her words, but if it was meant to push him... it worked. Will snorted and laugh and gave another short tug, putting them chest to chest and nearly nose to nose. This close, his eyes were the color lazy summer afternoon, a deep blue clouded sparsely in white. "Okay, okay. You get the high school treatment..."

She thought about it for a few moments as he talked. The sheer number of new arrivals had to be overwhelming for any place of employment let alone somewhere requiring at the very least a background in the field. In the Mundane world, they used background checks and social security numbers while the Shadowhunters were a little more liberal with their hiring practices so long as your track record proved your point. Regardless, there were always the growing pains of settling into a new job. She hummed a note of agreement, nodding along the way. The short pull to meet him tugged free a spill of laughter, enough to get them a few sidelong looks from other nearby pairs.

"Oh, I've been upgraded to high school now?" She said through the tail end of the laugh and snaked her arms up around the back of his neck. At this proximity, it was easy to pick up notes of honey and peppermint laid over the faintest touch of something floral, likely freesia. Pleasant even if it was a bit of a plain trait when compared to the rest of her. Dark of skin tone, hair and eye, each seemed touched by gold when the light hit just right, whether it was the contrast of Marks against her skin, the subtle copper-gold shot through at intervals through her hair, or the tiniest glimmer set over the light brown of her irises. "You could be lying and I'd never know though. Never did the regular high school thing, you know?"

One didn't ask, the other didn't tell. It was a subtle game the pair played, giving a little, but never enough. Comfortable in their secrets or perhaps just the enjoyment of being coy? Her laughter produced another smile, downplayed but genuine, his eyes danced with unspilled laughter.

"You have," he conceded with a nod. "But that also means you might be subjected to the revisitation of hormones and that dress is scandalously short where not-so-sneaky groping hands are concerned. High school was... high school. I'm better adjusted to the world now than I was then. They make it hard to find yourself."

Discretion was the name of the game more often than not. Considering the looks his coworkers had given them and the stories they had told, she didn't think it prudent to question him on his life or credentials in front of them all as if it were an interrogation rather than some semblance of a date. That said, she liked that he didn't pry. People here were good like that it seemed.

"Find me a woman at any club in Miami Beach who says they haven't been groped while out dancing and I'll find you a liar. Though I urge caution, never know what danger lurks ahead," she said ominously before promptly breaking into another laugh, this one softer, closer to a giggle with a little more melody and a little less air. "Is anyone well adjusted in their teenaged years, really? Nobody honestly expects you, general you, to find yourself before the age of like...twenty five."

"Twenty." It was less of an argument (none of one at all, really) and more the offer of another puzzle piece, a statement of fact without any history openly offered. The devil was in the details, as the saying went, and Will didn't appear entirely ready to invite anyone to Sunday supper with his.

"Twenty?" She repeated, her brows rising. "Mierda, so I should have long since had my ducks in a row by now. Here I thought I had a little bit longer." Though she tried to sound troubled by this, it mostly came out teasing. "And here I am dancing instead. That won't do." The initial arch of her body looked as though she was on the verge of pulling away, a viable threat considering her words. It was short lived regardless of his reaction time and the brief intermission in the close pressed dancing was over before either of them knew it.

It was an opening, albeit a small one. She stepped away, but when she stepped back, it was right into the extended rise of a leg, half tripping her in one fluid motion to draw her down into a dip. Will, it seemed, had some moves. "Gotta let all the stress out somewhere, don't we? Get rid of all that tension."

It was the first hint he gave about his awareness of anything regarding her subtler nature, delivered with some small level of empathy. Or sympathy. Which, was hard to say.

Nica was not the sort to fall. Not just in some philosophic or metaphoric sense of the word, but rather the permanent Equilibrium rune on her left thigh made so that such minor trifles like tripping over something seldom led to a tumble. Between the minor augmentation and the quick clasp of her hands at the material of his vest, she knew she wouldn't fall. The drop of her stomach came up short when the dip met the valley's extent of his reach and in spite of herself she laughed. Short, sweet, like chimes caught by a wisp of a breeze and silenced only by their own stilling.

"Exactly," she answered softly. Gone was the teasing of moments before, replaced instead by an unspoken appreciation of the sentiment, however fleeting it may have been. "And here you try to act like there's no good reason to dance." Right back to it, of course.

"The more you think I won't," he intoned secretively near her ear. "The harder you'll try to get me to." If it was a secret, Will made a show of giving it up far too easily, drawing her back into a slow half spin the put her back against his chest for the amount of time it took them to dance out a few long beats, before he set them face-to-face again.

And in the next moment, he ruined the facade. "Was that convincing?"

It could have been a secret, it could have been an observation. She played it off with a coquettish smile as her grip on his vest loosened when he uprighted her. The half spin wasn't enough to flare the edge of the dress but it did kick up the tail of her cardigan only for it to settle between them as he drew her back against him. Spins, half or otherwise, were graceful even if she was on her toes and she soon found herself facing him once more.

"You almost had me fooled. And I think," she said, leaning close for a conspiratorial whisper, "that you've definitely got the rest of them fooled." People were staring at Iron Will. Nica was blaming him obviously.

"What's one secret? They don't get to know everything." It was as innocent as innocent got with Will, which was to say frustratingly hard to pinpoint. One could almost believe, whatever those secrets were, that he hid them in plain sight. For the moment, he seemed untroubled.

DSLL wasn't as impressed. "Look at 'im. Devil's own luck, if I didn't tell ya before. Sould 'is soul for it, Sol, or I'm a gay penguin." It dissolved in a hushed murmur between the Wallflower trio, but if the subject of discussion had heard, he gave no indication.

Frustratingly hard to pinpoint was an apt way to describe the man. Despite this, she was remarkably nonplussed by the way he danced around things without ever quite establishing a solid baseline. "Everything or anything?" She asked, venturing into the acceptance of rhetorical questioning since she didn't legitimately expect an answer. "So long as you don't mind the talking that they'll inevitably do." She skipped a beat and chuckled quietly, keen ears picking up on it all too well. "Right now, in fact. Should tell him that even if he's a gay penguin, you'll still accept him."

"Depends on who's interested," he replied blithely. It sounded coy, but the paramedic's warmth of character made it more of a subtle invitation.

When she spoke of the Wallflower Trio, a sandy brown bobbed upwards, as if he had just discovered something was afoot. A quick glance was thrown over his shoulder, but if he was bothered by it, Will didn't show it. "People talk." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if you're fifteen or fifty. Tongues wag and not always in the fun way."

"I like secrets," she offered in unabashed response. There was no need to hide behind some idea that she couldn't flat out say so. In tandem with the look over his shoulder, Nica followed and shot the trio a cheeky wink just in case they looked their way. They weren't the only ones looking but the nephilim paid the others no mind as she drifted a hand down the length of his arm and toward his hand.

"Then should just as well give them something to talk about, you know? See how twisted it gets by the times it gets back to you. May as well have fun along the way." Her eyes had left their surroundings in favor of meeting his. "Wanna get your coat and we can get out of here?"

The Wallflower Trio looked more like the Three Stooges in the moment; one appeared clueless, the other wore a mask of consternation and confusion, and DSLL was just irritated. Of them all, it was the last pair of eyes that followed Nicanora's every movement and grew less thrilled when she made the sudden claim on Will.

"So you're saying I should take you home and come back tomorrow twirling some of your underthings on my finger? Or let their imaginations run wild." He played his part like a gentleman, but there was a hint of masculine sensuality in the way he leaned to to dust a kiss against the curve of her jaw, before throwing a friendly wave to his co-workers in the first of a few requisite farewells.

"Yeah, let's steal some of those taquitos and ride. We might be real hungry in a little while." The last statement carried.

Will could be a sh*t sometimes.



((Co-written with Will. Thank you for the scene!))

26 December 2015

"Answer your damn phone, Christopher," Nica growled into the phone's receiver as it rang through to the voicemail yet again. Another Rhydinian sunrise found her pounding redial to one of only four contacts in her phone, the first, a single letter: C. Much like the prior five, the sixth call rang straight through to his voicemail. She didn't leave a message, instead ending the call and jumping to the text application.

Text to C: Call me. I'm worried.

She hadn't heard from him in the better part of four days almost. He had not answered her calls nor her texts, the latter of which had led to a string of profanity laden short messages and culminated in the most recent request to call her. Skimming back through the rest of her messaging threads, she paused on one from the last contact in her address book, listed under "Zynn the Warlock". With Christopher as good as AWOL, Nicanora had given in and messaged the Warlock about a portal back to Miami, hopefully before the New Year now that she had the money to pay the woman. A flutter of responses had come in while she was trying to repeatedly call Christopher.

Text from Zynn the Warlock: Nica. Uhh.
Text from Zynn the Warlock: the pretty shadowhunter, right?
Text from Zynn the Warlock: and sure! maybe monday or tuseday?
Text from Zynn the Warlock: and payment would be awesome.
Text from Zynn the Warlock: just text me, yeah?

The pretty Shadowhunter. It curled her mouth into a smile despite her current ire at her parabatai. But Monday or Tuesday. She could be home in only a couple of days. Her heart raced as she tapped out another response.

Text to Zynn (10:02 am): Haha if that's how you wanna remember me, I'll go with that
Text to Zynn (10:03 am): Either one works, whichever is best for you
Text to Zynn (10:03 am): If needed I can send you a message after the weekend. Thank you for your help!

Unlike the delay between her messages the night before and the Warlock's answer the next day, a final flurry of messages came through only a few minutes later.

Text from Zynn the Warlock: Yeah it works, youre the pretty shadowhunter
Text from Zynn the Warlock: cris is the quiet gurmpy one
Text from Zynn the Warlock: heh may be best you do text me after the weekend
Text from Zynn the Warlock: i am not sure how much my memory may survive the weekend

Nica was the pretty one while the other nephilim was the quiet grumpy one. That aligned with what Nica had assessed of Crispin. The man had articulated his unwavering trust in the young Warlock so at the very least, she tried not to worry about the last response and the woman's memory. It couldn't be that bad right? Tossing her phone onto the bedside table, she rolled into bed for a few hours of sleep.

28 December 2015

Bluebird Sky was a little coffee shop owned by a bubbly little woman named Regina. A niche spot carved into the first two floors of an old brownstone building where Dragon's Gate met Old Market, it had all the warmth and creature comfort of a mom-and-pop establishment but was busy enough with its eclectic clientele to be considered what passed for hipster-chic in Rhy'din. The proprietress was mid-thirties going on late teens, as trendy in her little non-prescription glasses as she was sweet, cracking jokes behind the counter with her half dozen employees and patrons alike. An old jukebox flickered its lights in sickly fashion, half dead with age and misuse, but what music there was to be had filtered through old speakers littered throughout the place.

It wasn't long after their arrival that they were fixed up with something hot in oversized ceramic mugs and Nicanora was being led to the small open air veranda on the second floor, a circle of battered and overstuffed sofas ringed around a modest fire pit. It was a place easy to comfortably slump and watch the passing world below or a companion nearby. For a change, he hadn't had much to say.

Will didn't do goodbyes, though he had yet to confess it to her.

Instead he nursed the hot brew in testing sips, the mug cradled in both hands and lending to the thoughtfulness of his expression as he stared at her over the rim.

For all the effort, the hot chocolate didn't quite stand up against her own but the ambiance made up for some of the lacking. The coffee shop was charming, warm against the chill of winter, and welcoming even at a late hour. Regina's friendliness was enough to offset the slightly awkward silence that had lingered between them on the way over. For all of the easy banter under the dim light of the Red Dragon, her impending departure seemed to suck the life out of it once they were away from the crowd. But with her mug in hand, she took to the firepit like a fish to water, soaking up the warmth with a lazy sprawl on the floor in front of a yellow plaid sofa that looked like it had been taken out of an era where flowers and acid were all the rage and the carpet could swallow a child whole.

"This place is cute. I'm kind of sad I didn't know about it sooner," she mused, testing the waters with a bit of light conversation that just barely toed the line of subjects he seemed to avoid.

"I was too busy trying to feed you," he replied with a controlled smile. Another sip was taken down, the dark roast laced with a very simple dose of sugar and half-and-half. "And even then there were places we missed." Being a food truck savant only went so far.

Some small comfort was sought out in the moment, stolen away in the small, less predictable ticks of the clock. For all of his unabashed fondness for the woman, he had still remained pleasantly closed off and seemed to mull that and more over before the sudden urge to talk won over again.

"So much gets overlooked here, it's more often like finding little nuggets of gold in the sifting pan than cat turds in the sandbox. The food is as varied as the crazy. I'll try to show you some more of the former when you get back." The last was delivered in a trailing descent of volume that died off with the last two words. He'd had a sneaking suspicious, but who wanted to ruin the moment?

"I could probably survive on hot chocolate, if I'm being perfectly honest," she admitted with a wry smile half obscured by a lift of her mug. With a little more chocolate and a bit of cornstarch, the mixture would have been perfect, she thought. As it was, it had just a bit too much milk and sort of reminded her of the prepackaged cocoa packets with their crunchy, stale mini marshmallows. Even with milk it was difficult to make something out of those. "It's a big city, seems to change a lot. Thai place I liked just up and disappeared the other day."

She was amused by it, if only a little bit. For all of its oddities, the strange city was growing on her. Just in time for her to have to tuck it all away and forget about it. Duty won out over fascination and a bond deeper than blood would always call her home no matter where she went. His silence was weighty, if brief, even if it seemed to stretch on much longer than it had in actuality. His voice lifted her gaze from the fire pit's lazy flicker, the languid dance of the flames drawing the moment out. Maybe if she stared hard enough, time would stop.

"It's easy to see why. When it's a world of weird, how do you stand out? I actually feel...kind of normal here," she said, her gaze lowering again. Her jaw worked at her teeth pinched the inside of her cheek and bit down. It wasn't quite enough to outdo the nagging feeling of guilt, the same one that had weighed on her conscience when she told Taneth that she would make contact within a week. Not be back necessarily, but that she'd make contact. There was no guarantee that would even happen but saying so out loud would be admitting that she had no idea what she was getting herself in to. But for all she had played at dancing around subjects with him or others, she wasn't sure she could keep up the charade. Without looking up from the firepit, she sipped at her hot chocolate and drowned a sigh. "I don't know when that'll be..." if at all, "but it sounds like fun."

"I feel the same way about coffee." It was an unsurprising revelation, even if he'd proven at least once that he could eat like a man two to three times his size. His metabolism was almost freakish. Silence came in the form of another sip, his body in a half sprawl on one of the couches, lazy and not as weary as it had been earlier.

In a place such as this, Will played the part of the local oddity. He wasn't too plain, nor too handsome. He didn't boast or threaten or pontificate about the great tragedy of his life or give off not so subtle hints of great power or skill. And still he seemed fearless. As unafraid as he was painful mortal, in his own mind, at least. The sore thumb that blended in more than it stuck out.

She could have danced that jig for hours, but he knew better. The expressions were ones he had come to know almost as well as the back of his hand, sometimes better. Regretted or no, he knew when someone had one foot out the door. "I'm pretty terrible at romantic notions, but had I known sooner, I'd have tortured myself a little more by requesting time off. Or calling in sick. Just to send you on your way with an extra good memory or two."

Nica shifted in her slouch, rising up like a cat waking from a nap so that it could resume said nap on the couch instead. She adjusted herself into a boneless drape over one side of the yellow plaid couch, an elbow to the arm allowing her to prop an unmarked but thoroughly scarred hand against her temple. She hadn't quite figured out just how either of them fit in in such a place. The quiet but charming EMT, a man with a job as mundane as any. And the Shadowhunter with nothing to hunt. On Earth, the Child of Raziel was beautiful by most standards and strong enough to be tasked with protecting mankind from the demons that would love nothing more than to destroy them. But here. Here she had a chance at normalcy. A shot at blending in without having to hide from the world. They called them Shadowhunters but the truth of the matter was they were the shadows, just there at the edge of your periphery and gone when you tried to focus on them. Never quite a part of the Mundane world. But Rhydin was so far from Mundane that it didn't matter.

It was temptation in its finest form.

She had to leave. Sooner rather than later. She already thought it bad enough that she had skipped leaving earlier in the day in favor of having just a few more hours with those she had begun to call her friends. From her new spot up on the couch, she found it easier to keep her eyes low without craning her neck, letting them focus somewhere just on his side of the fire pit. It made it easy to let her gaze flicker toward his for fractions of seconds before returning to the glow. Flame for the birth of a Nephilim, and to wash away our sins. "Tortured...yourself?" She finally asked, a lift of her gaze landing a little more solidly on the tension in the line of his mouth and the way he sat on the couch. "I'm very blessed to have amassed so many good memories in such a short time."

"One of the great ironies of my life; I love people but I don't have much use for them." It was a simple admission, one that spawned a dozen likely questions for the single one it perhaps answered. There was something special about Will and it was something very few were perceptive enough to put their fingers on. It intrigued some, enflamed others, confused or discomforted. "It's something of a pleasant frustration that I like having you around more than I don't."

As the coffee cooled, the sips grew deeper, more of the brew taken from the cup to warm him at his core. He stared at her, not intensely, but with a steadiness that was both flattering and distracting.

"I find myself uncomfortably caught between thoughts, because I'm not good at this. The more you're here, the more I don't fancy the idea of you gone." He chuckled and shook his head, tossing his chin her way. "You're good company, Fanny, and that bothers me."

Not using her real name added some much needed levity to the moment.

"Do you have cats? Because that sounds like something a cat lady would say," she said, answering his admission with a tease. Nica didn't do well with the edge of vulnerability, received or offered. Even in comfortable company like this. Intrigue was a good word for what pulled her to him. A draw that couldn't be explained, something that was familiar but wasn't. "Pleasant frustration seems like a bit of an oxymoron. Which is greater, the pleasure or the frustration?" From one question into another in hopes that if she kept him talking that she wouldn't have to.

Steadiness gave way to the briefest of staring contests. The Nephilim ultimately relented, finding some interesting point in the depths of her dwindling drink that warranted study instead of the slightly clouded blue he offered her only a few feet away. Her head canted, as if she were listening particularly intently. The motion mirrored the opposite direction, her lips parting to answer his chuckle but he broke the moment just in time. She reeled in the thought, summoned a smile, and brought her gaze up again. The tip of the mug at her mouth emptied the rest of the no longer hot chocolate in two swallows, leaving her tongue to run over her bottom lip to verify that no watered down chocolate remained.

"I have that effect on people, you know. People just want to be around me," she said wryly. As if to add to the pomp, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and settled back into languid lean. "I wager it's the accent, you know?" A beat, two, three. "It bothers you? Why's that?"

"No, no cats. I had fish once but that didn't work out so well." He made a face at her for the teasing, draining away the last of the coffee and setting the mug off to the side. One hand moved to clasp the other wrist in front of him, like some reverse parade rest. "Pleasure at the moment. The frustration'll likely come later."

Iron Will remained a steady presence on the couch.

"That you're beautiful is like saying the sun's bright, making me Captain Obvious. But you're also sincere and good company, which not many pretty people can add to their karmic resume." For some small, dragging span of time, he didn't answer her last question. The silence was filled with a long look past her, over the edge of the veranda to the signs dotting the storefronts below. "Before" He shrugged. "Because reasons. Now? Because I'm intimately familiar with that expression. The one that says 'I'm probably not coming back'."

"Maybe cats will come down the line then," she remarked, leaning down to set her empty mug on the floor in front of the couch. The table to her side was overloaded with an eclectic and spiraling sculpture, giving little room for the cup. Nica, still intent on teasing him to the best of her abilities, offered a dark lash laden, half lidded look paired with a muted smirk. "I hear the West side of town's got some good remedies for that." Her brows bobbed suggestively.

For all of her ego and preening, the compliment still brought a faint flush to cheeks tanned bronze. Skin deep compliments, she was no stranger to. Those that dug a little deeper weren't too far outside of the norm but the sincerity and frankness with which he spoke them struck a chord with her. She could have cut the building tension with a blade sharp quip, a tease to remind him that they didn't have to do the serious thing. Unbeknownst to her, the first hint of a frown had wrangled the corners of her mouth as she awaited his answer with bated breath. It fell further when the answer finally came.

"Because reasons. Vague. I like it," she said, the droll tone rolling over her words to flatten them into something resembling neutrality. "And you've read me like a book. Remind me not to play poker with you." The guard was inching its way back up. She took a breath and tamped it down bit by bit. "I'm probably not. But that's what people do here, don't they? They come and go, but mostly they go."

"If I did that, my salary wouldn't live up to my standards." Hadn't he already shown he was picky about people? Still, she produced a smile from him and a rude gesture that was all too hollow. The smile, it didn't last. "I've heard more than one rando around the parts same the same thing: 'Nothing lasts forever'. I haven't lived a long life, but it seems apt enough, especially here. Doesn't mean I have to like in this case."

The tumble of laughter even surprised her but came without restraint until she pulled her hands up to her mouth to smother it away. She shook her head, eyes low then high before meeting his. Her smile lingered longer than his did, the more comfortable curve of her mouth hanging out of habit rather than the warmth of the moment. "in a place like this, what more can you do than simply go with it?" She shrugged, the humor draining slowly from her smile. "If it counts for anything..." Nica paused, working the words over her tongue until they felt right. No, they didn't quite make it. She shook her head nevermind and chuckled. "It'll be okay. It always is."

"Sunday morning I had to let a father watch me fail to save his kid," Will said, his mouth quirked into a sadder approximation of the smile he'd been wearing for her benefit. "I survived that. I'll survive this. Besides, you're the one who's gonna suffer. I'm not letting you our of my sight until it's time for your to make your grand departure."

"We can't save everyone, no matter how hard we try," she mumbled. Nica took in a breath. Short, not quite enough to fill her lungs. But enough to maintain her composure. His follow up further cemented the carefully crafted calm and she mustered a smirk, haughty and just for him. "And that's going to lead to some immense amount of suffering, hmm? For some reason, I don't really believe that."

"It might," he said, ignoring the mumble completely. "Maybe you'll find yourself looking up at a star-filled winter sky one night and asking yourself: I wonder if Senor Loaf danced lately? Does he still get french toast on his nights off? Is he still a good kisser?"

Some things she was grateful for. His discretion was one of them. "And that is suffering?" She asked, brows lifting. It was easy, the smile that found her lips, something she found herself wearing often around him. "Be still my heart, I shall not survive the night if that is to be my life upon the 'morrow." Melodramatically, she clasped her hands over her chest, fluttering lashes until a giggle brought about a shake of her head. "I'll place my bets now. No, yes, and if my cheek is any judge, which it is sometimes, yes on the last as well."

"What if I'm a really good kisser? You'd have to lament leaving that behind." It was almost like the logic of an overgrown child, the way he placed amusing emphasis on things that were likely more unimportant than not, but delivered with an older man's cheek. Will more it like armor, a suit of iron painted in such a gaudy, off-putting manner that many forgot that it was there.

It had served him well.

His own grin softened when she giggled, tempering his pushy humor in light of the melancholy undercurrent in the conversation that they had both been ignoring. Nicanora didn't need reassurance about her choice, no more than she needed anyone to beg her to stay. He wouldn't, of course. 'Iron' Will didn't beg. Nor did he think hard thoughts about the future. Loss was a part of life. In honor of it, he tried to live in the moment and what he saw there. Always and now.

"Nicanora."

"Ah, but you said "Is he still a good kisser". I wouldn't know so I can't ponder such a thing." She said with a smirk that held the faintest note of challenge to it. Kicking her leather bound legs off of the couch, she pushed herself into something vaguely resembling proper sitting posture. If proper meant forearms to thighs and a curving of the back that would make most chiropractors frown. "I could guess though."

When Nicanora made a decision, she stuck to it no matter the outside influences. It was both a blessing and a curse and thus far in life, was more of the former than the latter. Even if she had been a complete nightmare for her poor father. But if there was anything that was going to get her through this, it would be her bullheaded determination. There was a certain comfort in that. When he used her name, her full first name, she looked up, brows rising with the motion. It had been the first hint of an unspoken question, what, but it was tucked away in favor of a lighthearted tease. "Keep saying it and it'll be rolling off your tongue in no time."

"Come here." It was neither a request nor a command, hardly a suggestion, and something close to an offer. His expression didn't hint at what the offer was, but the paramedic was far from being seated in the most romantically inviting pose. His intentions were left for her to guess.

8 February 2016

The smell of coffee brewing was almost enough to take the edge off of the hangover headache that had nestled itself just behind her eyes and she thanked technology for the advent of timer controlled coffee makers. It made rolling over and tucking herself against Will?s bare chest all that much easier. He slid an arm around her without opening his eyes and so she drifted comfortably in and out of sleep for another twenty minutes before an upbeat electronic samba humming from her phone drew her back to the realm of the living. With the most reluctant of groans, she wriggled out from the protective wrap of his arm and fumbled through her jacket pockets. Without looking at the screen, she caught it on one of the very last rings before it would have gone to voicemail.

?Hello?? She was groggy and it showed in her voice. Nica glanced over to the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its dim glow read 8:27. ****, it was early.

?Anora, where have you been?? Gregorio sounded either frantic or pissed. Maybe both. Nica groaned and hunched over to put her elbows to her knees, her feet flat to the floor.

?Papa, I?m fine. What?s wrong?? She mumbled into the phone and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

?You didn?t answer last night when I called and when I called Daniel, he had no idea where you were either. Next, I wake up to almost four thousand in charges to your card. Do you know how worried I?ve been?? As her father finished his rebuke, Nica winced. It wasn?t helping her headache but she also knew it wasn?t the end of it either.

?I?m fine, really. I didn?t hear my phone go off. I was at a charity event.? Despite the lifted volume of her father?s voice, she kept her own low in hopes of not waking Will. She should have left the room but the bed was comfortable and warm and Will?s apartment was so chilly in comparison.

?Four thousand, mija.? Her father repeated. ?What could you have spent nearly that much on in a single night??

?Hookers and blow, Dad. What else?? Nica deadpanned. Gregorio went quiet. She could practically hear the steam coming out of his ears. It was likely the wrong answer but it was already out there, so she braced herself for his response.

?Don?t take that tone with me, Nicanora. I don?t suppose this has anything to do with the Mundane boy you?ve been seeing?? Gregorio asked. Nica frowned while plotting Daniel?s inevitable death.

?He?s not a Mundane,? she protested.

?Oh, he?s not, is he? Another of your Downworlder dalliances?? Each word needled at her like tiny razor blades. If there was anyone that knew how to make her feel awful, it was her father.

?No,? Nica said sullenly.

?If he?s not a Mundane and he?s not a Downworlder, do you mean to tell me he is of our kind? What family did he come from, under whom did he study?? There was deliberate sarcasm in each question, the interrogation wearing her thin.

?Papa,? plaintively. She had no answers for his questions.

?Until you can answer otherwise, he is a Mundane. I understand that after a loss like yours that it?s easy to get distracted, but please, mija, do not sidetrack all you?ve worked for, for some Mundane boy.? From scolding to pleading, he was really twisting the knife in her heart.

?Father, it?s nothing serious,? she mumbled into the phone, scrubbing a hand over her face then back through her hair.

?I would certainly hope not. If you wish to continue living outside of the Clave?s influence and doing so on my dime, at the very least you will return to your training. I didn?t invest nearly twenty years of the best tutoring possible only to have you throw it away.? Gregorio paused, waiting for Nicanora?s inevitable protest.

No protest came. She hung her head and continued listening. Only the sound of her uneven breathing indicated to her father that the call was still connected.

?I?m of the understanding that the Blackwaters will be remaining nearby for the short term. You are to report to Daniel tomorrow morning for further instruction.? There was a finality in his tone that said it would be futile to argue. She made a small noise to let him know she had heard him. He sighed. ?Anora, I love you. Please take care of yourself and be well, that is all I want.?

There was so much she could have said. So much she wanted to say. Instead, she settled for something lesser. ?Love you too, Papa. Ciao.?

?Adios, mi ni?a hermosa.?

They both hung up, leaving Nica to drop her phone onto the pile of clothing she had amassed at the bedside. For a few moments, she sat there, her shoulders rounded and her head in her hands. She felt the brush of a few fingers just below the hemline of the oversized Denver Broncos jersey she was wearing, grazing her lower black with an unspoken invitation. Without a word, she tilted back and rolled into Will?s waiting grasp. Though the opportunity to sleep had long since gone out the window, she could pretend for just a little while longer.

11 February 2016

Dead air.

The quiet click of it rolling to voicemail without ringing.

"Hey, I can't come to the phone right now but if you drop your name and number after the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

BEEP

"Soy yo. Por supuesto que soy yo. No s? lo que estoy haciendo, pero realmente te echo de menos ahora. Creo que s?lo quer?a escuchar su voz de nuevo. Mierda. No estoy haciendo muy bien, Christopher. Deseo ... deseo que me llame de vuelta y dime que estoy so?ando. Que todo terminar? pronto. Te echo de menos."

3 March 2016

Nica did exactly what Daniel asked her not to. She freaked out. Failing to return to the inn room was compounded further by the fact she left her phone there. Daniel did his best not to worry about it, difficult as that may have been. How else did he expect her to react?

When he arrived at their training meeting point the next morning, he was surprised to find her waiting there. Though she still wore the same clothes from yesterday, a rather typical black on black on black leather getup, she had at the very least showered, her chestnut hair drawn back into a tight ponytail that left the strands to sweep between her shoulder blades. Dark shadows made half moons beneath her eyes, darkening brown until the gold slivers were the barest glimmer.

"Hi...," he began as he neared. Her frowned pulled itself downwards even further.

"We're running today," she said abruptly, turning on her heel and starting at a slow jog down the path.

"We can run to warm up, if you want," he conceded, picking up his pace to catch up with her.

"No. Not to warm up. We're running. Until I say stop or until one of us keels over, we're going run. This isn't negotiable and it counts as training, so don't say a damn word and try to keep up." Terse as her tone was, he knew better than to argue. He could have made a case for sticking to their lesson plans but breaking from routine was alright every once in awhile.

So they ran.

Through Battlefield Park from east to west, emerging somewhere on the northside of Seaside. They ran along jagged cliffs, the rhythmic thumping of their pace coming in time with the beating of the sea on the shore. They ran through ankle deep sand and surf. They ran along the cobblestone lined streets of the old part of the market. They ran past the churches of Old Temple to the tune of ringing bells. They ran along the boardwalks of Dockside, leaping and dodging crates and cargo. They ran and ran and ran, long past the point of her sides aching, far past the point of stamina and speed runes' short lives, well beyond the point that she could even think anymore.

It was a path well picked in Daniel's eyes, one that took him through each of the city's distinctly different districts, across uneven and unfamiliar terrain, and finally brought them back to the old inn that they were calling home for the time being. Nicanora was still a few paces ahead of him when she slowed to a stop, pausing only long enough to catch her breath before pushing through the front door. Hot on her trail, Daniel wanted to ask just where she had gone the night before and whether or not she was okay. But she was too quick and by the time he closed the gap between them, she slipped through the door to her room and shut it firmly in his face.

"Nicanora," he said against the crack.

"Go away, Daniel. I don't want to talk to you right now," she called back, her voice muffled by the door between them. He heard something heavy hit the other side before it slid down to the floor.

"You know where to find me when you're ready to. I'll see you on Sunday for training," he answered, stepping back from the door in favor of its twin only fifteen feet further down the hall.

29 April 2016

"Hey, I can't come to the phone right now but if you drop your name and number after the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

BEEP

Sigh.

"I wish you were here right now. You would know just what to say to make things...bearable. Not better, but bearable. I thought it couldn't get worse, that losing you was the end of the line for me and everything after that I'd be numb to. But I see his pain and I feel my own and I can't help but wonder if maybe...maybe it can always get worse... ... ... Time doesn't make things better, that saying is bull shit. It just makes you think that you can carry more because you're used to the weight of what you've got. I'm so angry, it isn't fair. I need to be strong though. Still. I can be strong and angry, right? I miss you, Christopher. Desear?a que estuvieras aqu?."

11 May 2016

On Monday she had signed the papers.

A six month lease on a one bedroom apartment in Old Temple. The Blackwaters had signed a shorter lease for a two bedroom in the same building only two floors lower than her. When discussing apartments, she and Daniel had fundamental disagreements on whether to go with the building on Rosemont Road or the building on Seacrest Street. A matter of compromise found them calling Kingston Street home for the short term. It was a turn of the century building with plenty of charm. Nica had sacrificed closet space in the agreement but that tub was to die for.

Who said she wasn?t diplomatic?

On Tuesday she had begun moving the few belongings she did have over to the new place.

Mostly clothes and a whole lot of weapons. It was neither cramped like the inn in Dragon?s Gate nor cozy like Taneth?s little cottage. The open space and the vaulted ceiling made her uneasy, like she?d never be able to properly make use of the area. When her closet was full and her weapons were either stored or stashed where she could, she spent the rest of the day Marking the place.

Protection, quiet, strength. She knew Daniel was likely two floors down doing much the same.

On Wednesday she locked herself inside.

She turned her phone to silent and ignored the numerous messages and calls that came in. Anyone who knew her knew that the day was not a good one just by date alone. Daniel had brought coffee by in the morning. He left when she refused to open the door. Niamh called, the humming buzz of her phone skittering across the floor telling her it wasn?t just a text message. Still she didn?t answer, letting it roll over to voicemail. Around noon she finally checked it.

?Ay lass? ah? ye know me ?n? things like this. Jus? wanted ta let ye know I was thinkin? of ye t?day. Oh, also t? remind ye that ye?ve got people ?ere fer ye if ye need us. Lemme know iffn yer needin? anythin?. Later dove.?

?The one person that I need today isn?t here? so?,? Nica trailed off, letting her voice echo in the emptiness of hardwood floors and smooth, freshly painted drywall. While she was at it, she flipped through her text messages too.

Will St. Jude.

Daniel Blackwater.

Daniel Blackwater.

Will St. Jude.

Will St. Jude.

Niamh Kilcannon.

Will St. Jude.

Daniel Blackwater.

Gregorio Truecross.

?

Phoebe Altatorre.

Hola cari?o. Espero que est?s bien hoy. Te amamos y te extra?amos. Pensando en ti. XX Phoe.

Christopher?s step-mother. It was a sweet gesture but she couldn?t even imagine what Phoebe and Michael, his parents, were going through today. She wanted to cry. After all, she hadn?t since his death. It had been an ever present threat, lingering just behind a hard wall of emotional armor that she wore like a second skin. Without responding, Nica left her phone on the counter, freed a bottle of something or other from the only full cabinet in the apartment (the liquor cabinet), she retreated to the sanctity of the bathroom where she put another barrier between herself and the world, locking the door and climbing into the empty tub. Fully clothed, she sank down into the porcelain depths, the only sign of life coming in the form of the rise and fall of the bottle with each drink and the ragged breathing that was her best attempt at holding it together.

?Feliz cumplea?os, Christopher.?

11 May 2017

Between Bluebird Sky, Will, and the intermittent nature of working with Crispin both through training and the odd sort of business partnership they had formed, the distractions were abundant. It made it easy, almost, to keep her hands, heart, and mind busy enough that she could avoid thinking. That was the killer, thinking, and it was a slow death. Trust her, there was nothing quick about the steady dissolution of a bond forged over a lifetime and through a nigh unbreakable oath. Nothing fast or merciful about the pervasiveness of her dwelling. It had been almost a year and a half, surely she should have been over it by now.

Instead it was as if someone had cemented her boots to New Year?s Day so that every sunrise was the first in which her parabatai no longer existed.

It was Thursday. It should have been a training day. Instead a vague text had been left for her partner that she wouldn?t be available. Partner, what an odd term. The other Rhy?Din based Shadowhunter had always been something of an enigma for Nicanora. There were certain unspoken understandings struck between them, a familiar knowing in their upbringing and coping mechanisms. Or lack thereof, it was debateable. It was a slow burn friendship, built bit by bit on a foundation of vigorous training, Asian food, and mutual implied facepalming in the presence of the not-so-Mundane paramedic.

But at the end of the day, despite their similar diminutives, he wasn?t Christopher. Christopher was dead and though it wasn?t the same deep clawfoot tub she had sulked in the year prior, she spent the better part of the day curled up in the locked bathroom. Her company was a bottle of Ron Montero pale rum and a pack of cowboy killers. Both were half gone by midday, leaving her head to swim or more precisely drown in her thoughts. Sometime around three (or was it four?), she freed her phone from the counter and fumbled through her contacts.

--A--

Altatorre, Christopher

Nica tapped the call button and wait for it to go straight to voicemail. Instead it rang three times and connected.

?Hello?? An unfamiliar masculine voice answered. Her breath caught in her chest.

?Hello?? They asked again. For all the words she had meant to ramble to her best friend?s voicemail, she had none for the man on the other end.

?I hear someone breathing. Are you there?? Once more their voice crackled in Nica?s ear. Finally she fought back the bile rising in her throat and managed to answer.

?Y-yeah. I?m here?. Um? Christopher?? She knew it wasn?t him but it was the only name that could form on her tongue. The person on the other end sighed.

?No. This isn?t Christopher and I really wish you people would stop calling for him.?

?I?m s--,? Before the words could slip free, the other person hung up. His apartment, his phone number, it was like she was losing Christopher in bits and pieces all over again no matter how much she tried to cling to what was left. Though she wondered who else still called Christopher?s number after all this time, the thought was set to the wayside in favor of acknowledging the pain residing in her chest just beneath her right collarbone. It was enough that when she touched two fingers to the spot, she half expected them to come away sticky and red but there was nothing there save for the long faded Mark, a silver-white reminder of what had been and would never again be.

23 June 2017

Late

"You simply do not let them be taken." She repeated to herself on her way from the edge of Seaside and Battlefield Park to the heart of Old Temple. The other Nephilim's words echoed in her mind with every step of the way. Beachside bungalows gave way to the short and squat brick and mortar buildings of the old market. When she crossed the river and those buildings turned into sky reaching spires and bell towers, she knew she was nearly home. Unfortunately, when she climbed the steps to the front door of the apartment she shared with the rather standoffish paramedic, she thought that maybe just maybe she'd catch him before he headed back out to work yet again. Alas, it wasn't in the cards. The apartment was dark save for a light on in the fish tank and one over the kitchen sink. Her shoulders sank and with the motion she dropped her rucksack by the door and her keys on the table. By the time he returned, she had fallen asleep on the couch. Not quite like she intended to stay there overnight but rather curled up uncomfortably into one corner with her head on her arm and her arm on the couch's back.

2211 Hours

Old Temple

"You two talkin' yet?" Ronnie glanced aside to his partner, slumped down in the passenger seat of the old ambulance. The their shift had ended almost forty-five minutes prior and the had spent the last fifteen just sitting there, parked in the alley outside the towering sprawl of his warehouse apartment. There were bags under the sandy haired man's eyes and he hadn't shaved in over a week.

Will merely grunted his response. "No."

"You over it yet?" Ronnie snorted.

"I dunno." A shoulder rolled in a shrug but he at least turned a small glance the much bigger man's way. "Why?"

"Life's short, kid. Just..." Ronnie paused for a moment. "Don't forget that." The engine came to life again in a modest rumble and before will could protest, they were pulling out of the alley. Three blocks later they were pulling up to an all night Stop-n-Shop; it might have been divine providence that the Grillenium Falcon truck was parked outside.

"Huh."

Twenty minutes later...

The sound of Will's key in the lock was faint, a light nudge of his hip causing it to creak when it opened, followed by the fragile crinkling of a plastic grocery bag. His work bag was discarded by the door, the subtly fragrant bags finding a home on the coffee table before the slumbering Nephilim. He couldn't have said how long he had stood there, watching her with a mild tilt of his head to one side. It was some minutes after that when he stood behind the couch and let the thin petals of a fake Stop-n-Shop rose glide along the long curve of her neck, after he had curled an errant lock of hair over the shell of her ear.

It had taken a night or two for her to de-escalate from the elevated high of battle but by Friday she slept soundly even with the rustling of plastic and the metallic click and wooden groan as he came through the door. She was hungry at the very least and if the pseudo-velvet rose petals hadn't roused her, the smell of food would have. There was a subtle tinge of whiskey on her breath which may have accounted for how she slept so well in such an uncomfortable position. A leonine yawn stretched her jaw, her eyes resistant to opening. But only for a few moments before she groaned and sat upright. Her head tipped forward then side to side to work the tension out of her muscles. She succeeded somewhat but couch sleeping was hell on the alignment, angel blooded or not. Her nostrils flared, assessing the bag on the coffee table. Sniff. Sniff sniff. "Pesto, provolone, and mozzarella?"

"Enough for days." The flower teased down over her collarbone and back up over her cheek, the paramedic looming over her. "Fridge has been bare all week and you're recovering."

"Tomato basil?" Came the follow up. It was easier to talk food than it was to let spill everything on her mind. She looked up and back over her shoulder at him only to wince at the crick in her neck. Turning back, she stretched and arm across her torso then swung her legs off the couch so she could lean and look into the bag herself.

"And sopa de ajo." Will's muscles creaked, his body protesting as he shrugged out of his work jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. "Plus two bags of lemon cookies." The rose was slipped into her hair before both hands were planted on the backrest of the couch, his athletic form leaned forward as he watched her.

That must have been the garlic she smelled. A look of legitimate surprise echoed across her expression as she pawed through the bag's contents, drawing out paper wrapped sandwiches and styrofoam cups of soup kept closed with flimsy plastic lids. For the time being, she left the rose in her hair. A plastic soup spoon was twirled between her fingers as she sat back and tipped a look up at him nearly upside down. "Come sit with me?"

"I dunno." One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. "Got a good view down the front on your shirt."

She glanced down at the neckline of her shirt, a navy blue scoop neck that had a habit of clinging to her frame. A small smile curled her mouth and with a heave ho sigh, she reached up for him, intent on dragging him down to her. "Por favor? I've, ah, got things to say."

Without sharing another snappy comeback, the paramedic rounded the couch and then sat down beside her. He made no move for the food but sat close enough to Nicanora to inspire at least some comfort in the situation before them. He tipped a subtle look her way, patient.

"I've been unfair to you." She began once he settled though she didn't look at him. Instead she kept her hands busy with peeling lids from containers and unwrapping sandwiches. Each was squared neatly on the table, an almost perfectionist bordering on OCD angling setting them at nearly perfect intervals. "I've been unfair and I'd like to explain my understanding of why that is the case. I just want you to listen, if you're willing. When I'm done, you're welcome to be mad, to yell, to leave, or whatever. But I just want you to listen... if you will. Okay?"

"I'm sitting here," he told her, nodding. "If you don't mind the stink of sixteen hours in the cut, the least I can do is give you my ear." Both hands dropped carefully into his lap.

She nodded twice, once for him, once for herself. Forearms to her knees, she sucked at her bottom lip, running her tongue across the chapped flesh as she decided where to begin. For all that she rehearsed it on the way home, in the moment it had all slipped out of her head. Paper crinkled as she freed a lemon cookie from its friends. Her fingers worried the edge, scraping flakes of the treat off at random.

"The way I've... treated you. It isn't a reflection on you or your skills... your experiences. It's a reflection on me. To have you at my side in the midst of the things I've seen... I have no doubt that it would in fact make things easier for all involved. Assuredly had you been there on Tuesday it would have. But the issue isn't with you. It's with me. If you're in a room, I can always find you... and not just because of your mouth." A look flickered aside just to see if he picked up on the nip of levity before she took a breath and continued.

"Always. And in that moment, if I thought for an instant that something could happen while I was focused on another task, I would hesitate between the two. Hesitation, no matter how slight, that's how you get yourself killed." Fast the lemon cookie was becoming a pile of crumbs on her thigh. "I learned how to wield a sword before I learned how to ride a bike. I had my judo sandan before most kids trade in their white belt. I've been a fighter since I could walk and I do not hesitate. Or I didn't..."

The rest of the cookie crumbled in her grasp and she poked at the remnants on her leg with a frown. "Since Christopher died, I find myself second guessing every step that could run the risk of compromising the little bit that I've built since then. You're at the center of that and that isn't your fault. You're not him. He's dead. You're not. And I have no right to bubble wrap you to protect you from the life I live, not if I want to maintain the privilege of our relationship. I'm... I'm not sorry for wanting to keep you safe but I am sorry that I didn't give you a choice in the matter. I'm going to try to be better about it."

With a heavy exhale and a heave of her shoulders, she was done.

"In hindsight," he said quietly. "I can see that. You lost the most important person in your life. Now there's someone else almost as special and you're forced to realize that it's possible it'll happen again."

He leveled a hard stare at the food laid out on the coffee table, his own elbows dropping to his knees a she took a deep breath. "My life has been defined by people telling me what I can't do. What I'm not capable of. Where I can't go. Who I can't be. I remember more of my earlier childhood than I'm willing to admit to anyone and I was only ever meant to be a footnote in a sad newspaper article. From one place to another, it's been about what I can't survive, what I can't endure, and what I've left behind. What I've lost."

A subtle turn of his head stole a look at her in profile.

"Can't begin to understand what you had with, Christopher. You can explain the parabatai to me a thousand times and it'll only ever be words. Important words, but just words. I don't come from your world. But I've lost. I lost my birth parents. I've lost my adopted family, since on my Earth I'm KIA. Every friend I've ever had since the age of seventeen is dead. I couldn't save any of them. I work a job where failure isn't guaranteed but the strong possibility is inevitable. I lose people. I... get loss." A soft snort flared his nostrils and, for a moment, he considered breaking the rule about smoking inside the apartment. "It made being an affable ass easy. Keeping people at arm's length easy. Now? Not so easy."

Will looked away.

"It made wanting to live without committing violence easy. I've engaged in more than my fair share. I was good as it. But I made a new life here, though it was easy to walk away. Now here I am. Beautiful warrior woman, smart and sexy, can slay monsters and suck a golfball through a garden hose. You've never made any bones about who you are. What you do. It's part of you, so... I love that too, even if I worry. Nicanora...

?...life is short. Too short. I'll live it on my terms. You can live it on yours. We can do that together. I'm no more fragile than you are and, Spain aside, am capable of more than you get to see. If you need me. If our friends need me. I'll step up. I can not throw a punch and still not let you down. I love your stupid, hot, sexy, warrior ass too much to just sit on my hands."

"I never wanted you to think I felt you were incapable," she murmured. After all, she had spent ten minutes explaining the issue wasn't with his skills but with her own, a doubt that sank in and made her believe that perhaps she wasn't capable. Steam rolled off the soup in billowing wisps that were soon lost to the atmosphere. She soaked up her counter, taking it all in word by word, spoken and unspoken both. Her fingers brushed the crumbs from her leg. Steadying her hands against her knees, she swallowed a thought and instead offered a few quiet words. "I'll do better about keeping you in the know and letting you decide where to involve yourself. Deal?"

"Come here, Nicanora." There was the single, subtle crook of a finger.

"Our food's getting cold," she pointed out but turned toward him anyways, one knee drawn up beneath her to better face him.

"That's why we have a microwave." She turned and a hand was there to grab her, fingers hooking into the front of her jeans. Will was unapologetic in the way he pulled her forward with a jerk, yanking her across his lap. "And a toaster oven. And takeout menus."

The other hand found her hair, brushing it from her face and using the grip to turn her gaze up to his, their eyes mean with minimal distance between. "Sometimes what we do pushes the wrong buttons, picking at mnemonic cues that dredge up things up without intending. Your heart was in the right place. So's mine. Just let me love the **** out of you, **** the Hell out of you, and if Hell takes umbrage to that, we'll face it together. Maybe we'll let Crispin help. He'll have to wear the Mario Kart shirt."

Careful not to kick the table in the process of being hauled into his lap, she fixed him with an owlish look as he brought her gaze up to bear. "You know he won't do that. He despises the whole thing." She said with a breathy laugh. "He, ah, sorta helped me work through this whole thought process. I know you were upset with him too, but his perspective helped, I think."

"I'll send him a cake." Or maybe a text. Or both. It was hard to tell at this point. "Ronnie helped too."

"Did he?" She wasn't surprised. Will's partner was often a voice of reason when the paramedic refused to see the light. "What'd he say?"

"That I'd never had sex this good." He lied.

"I'm surprised you didn't realize that on your own." The full line of her mouth swung into a smile before she tipped her chin to kiss him on the forehead. "Ronnie's good people. I'm glad you talked."

"You should eat, Fanny." The rose was plucked from her hair and teased along her neck. "I need to go defunk myself."

"Fiiiiiiine," she said after a moment, lingering in his lap despite her agreement.

"You're not moving," he pointed out to her, giving her hair a hard tug and dropping his other hand to her thighs. "Maybe I should eat Fanny then?"

"I'm not." She confirmed for his benefit, fixing him with a level stare. "In the shower maybe?"

That grip on her hair was a handy thing. It made it so easy to pull her in closer, his mouth laying claim to hers with a week's worth of repressed hunger.

The indecent sounds she had been saving for the first bites of food were instead muffled against his mouth. Nica squirmed in his lap, her hand seeking his free one to see instead about tugging them both to their feet.

"Mm." Will rumbled his approval into her mouth before a slow play of his tongue on hers ceased and he was drawing back. "Up," he encouraged her and, one they were upright, slapped her on the ass. "Pack the food back up."

And then he was headed for the bathroom.

She was up before he could pop the 'p' in 'up'. On her feet, the smack to her ass garnered a heated look but she took her time bending over the table to close up soup and re wrap sandwiches. Once it was stashed in the fridge, she followed amidst a shed trail of clothing.