Topic: Silent Knight, Burning Bright

Will

Date: 2016-02-19 02:32 EST
02.18.2016

Rhy?din Action 7 News:

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news from Old Temple. Firefighters and emergency services are battling a five alarm fire at DeLancey Heights apartment complex. The first call was responded to at precisely 9:48 PM and crews have been on site since. More now from Darla Brinjak, who is currently on scene.



Thank you, Bill.

Local emergency services along with auxiliaries have been embattled for the last forty-fives minutes, working valiantly in rotation to put out a blaze that is consuming a local apartment building. So far, firefighters and emergency crews have been pushed to their limits, with their best efforts only containing the blaze and preventing it from spreading. The attempt to put it out is ongoing but as you can see, but the building?s poor construction and out of date fire prevention measures are doing more harm than good.



We haven?t yet been able to get a comment or status update from members of Rhy?din?s Fire Brigade but valiant efforts shown have seen a great many of the complex?s residence seen to safety and into the care of first responders, though we can?t even begin to imagine how many people might still be trapped within.



I? I can?t believe this, Bill. Are you seeing this? One of the paramedics is running into the building! Others are trying to stop him but, oh, there he goes! I don?t know exactly what we?re seeing here, but it seems as if? Oh. Oh! Oh, God.





(45 Minutes Earlier?)


?It?s progress,? Will said and shrugged, facing forward in the passenger seat but fixing Ronnie with a sidelong look. ?There?s a few that?re okay, sure. Two weeks tops, I hope, before I?m out of your hair.?

?Uh huh.? Ronnie seemed unconvinced, not unlike a father with a grown son that was expected to move out on his own but always had a reason he couldn?t. The notion was far from his independently-minded partner?s style, but it was fun to rib him a little over it and then change directions. ?What? Sick of me and my old lady already? And after we took you in??

Will feigned an incredulous look. ?Dude. Ronnie. Have you ever listened, like actually listened to you and your wife have sex? A room away you two sound like two greased up gorillas trying to shake bananas out of the trees. And seriously, people only play Barry White during sexytime in bad, bad romantic comedies.?

?Now you?re just askin? for an arse whoopin?, boy? I think I?ll have your pretty little girlfriend do it or me. She looks like she could put a beatdown on you.?

?My? what?? He gave Ronnie a wide-eyed look.

The bigger man just snorted. ?Uh huh. Like I don?t know you?ve been spendin? an awful lot of time with that tattooed girl you brought to the mixer. Long legs. Bright smile. Hidin? at least one blade.?

?Well, I, uh?? He could only hope Nicanora never knew talk of her had rendered him speechless. His partner?s smile was a knowing one. Point, Ronnie.

The banter was interrupted suddenly by the static hiss of the radio and a grainy voice. ?All available units. Fire Brigade responding to 10-80 in Old Temple, DeLancey Heights Apartments. Requesting available 10-45, Code 3. Repeat, requesting all available 10-45, Code 3.?

Both men exchanged looks.

?Ain?t that the place you just got evicted from?? Ronnie asked.

?Yeah,? he replied, nodding. Then sandy brown brows shot up. ?I wonder how big the noise complaint will be for this one.? Will reached for the radio and lifted it to speak. ?Copy that. Forty-two Echo en route.?

?Fire it up, man.?

?Your jokes suck, kid.? Ronnie rolled his eyes and flipped a switch, applying sudden pressure to the gas as the siren began to wail.

?Shit.?

?What??

?I think I still have stuff in storage there??




(Three minutes earlier?)


?There?re still people in there!? Will barked the words harshly at the senior firefighter on the scene. Before them, DeLancey Heights was a five story, rotund pillar of fire, contained but burning still with an intensity that had discomforting applications. They were a small number, in protective gear and EMS jumpers, discussing the options before them heatedly in lieu of making any significant decisions. Everyone standing there understood that the poor construction of the building meant that the fire?s continued burning increased the chance of a collapse, but it didn?t deter him from arguing in favor of taking the chance. ?We can?t just let them burn!?

?The risk is too great, son,? the portly lieutenant replied, shaking his head and frowning through the clear visor of his helmet. ?There?s nothing left we can do and I?m not gonna risk one of my men on a chance.?

?It?s not a chance,? he growled the words and, suddenly, everyone was taking a step back. Will couldn?t say how, but he knew there was someone still in there. Someone was still in danger. The certainty vibrated through his veins like the urgent strum of a guitar?s taut strings, over and over, pushing him towards the mighty blaze. He shot repeated glances towards DeLancey Heights, to a window on the second floor. ?I know. Someone needs us.?

?No.? The lieutenant said with a passive finality. ?No one goes in. We just try to keep it contained until it burns itself out.?

?This is bullshit.?

?You have your orders.?

Crack!

It was a heavy sound, reverberating off of the surrounding buildings and carrying even to the fringes of the perimeter. The first of the timbers that helped hold the structure up was starting to give. They were out of time. The lieutenant took a step back and began to yell to the others. ?Everyone back! Back! Get everyone behind the? son? Son, get back here! Damnit!?

Will had taken off across the pavement, vaulting the prefabricated wooden barricade like an Olympic hurdler and sprinting towards certain death. He ignored the shouts of those around him, giving the music some small modicum of control and letting it fill him until every other sound was drowned out. Someone tried to grab him and he dodged to his left, then juked to his right to avoid another set of hands. A quick leap sent him into a controlled slide across the hood of a sedan and he gained his feet immediately after without missing a step. The intensity of the music propelled him forward and made him heedless of the half-collapsed door frame.

He blew through it like it was paper.

The last things Will recalled were sprinting up the stairs, the sudden rock of the building as it began to collapse, and a sharp dirgeful note, before the world suddenly faded into black.

When he awoke a short time later, it was to the sound of voices. His skin burned, but didn?t hurt, and he was dimly aware that he was holding something. His surroundings were hot, choked with dust and ash, and most certainly not on fire. Shattered glass lay around him on the floor like a halo, fallen in jagged, uneven pieces but a perfect circle. It was about then that he became aware of two things. One, he wasn?t in DeLancey Heights anymore. A glance out the window showed him what was left of his old apartment building, a pile of smoldering rubble that reached as high as the second story window he had crashed through. It had to have been a twenty to twenty-five foot jump, at least, and bearing weight at that. Bearing weight? Second, he looked down again. Really looked down. There, clutched tightly in his arms was a child. Unconscious but breathing. The voices were growing closer, heavy bootfalls making a cacophony of sounds on the stairs.

He looked down again.

No burns.

The music was just a dull hum at the back of his head, present but not insistent.

?What in Heaven and Hell is going on with me??

Will

Date: 2016-02-20 22:02 EST
Every step was heavy as she left the Inn. It wasn't supposed to have been such a trying evening but she left feeling exactly two inches tall, her friendship called into question. She was halfway back to the inn room in Dragon's Gate when her phone rang. Without looking at the screen, she tapped the answer button and pulled it up to her ear.

"Digame," she drawled lazily, the disconnect already settling in. It always went that way when she was let down. When her blood proved to be thicker than water. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, family was not the one that you chose but rather the one in your blood. The Nephilim. It was simple to see how easy it was to fall into that pattern of thinking. When that came into play, what else mattered? Certainly not the Downworlder on the other end of the call.

"Nic! Where ya at?" Niamh sounded frantic.

"Mm, somewhere between the Red Dragon and the room. Why?" Lacking inflection, Nica's tone stopped Niamh short.

"Wha's wrong? Wait, ne'ermind that. Have ye seen the news lately?" From faltering right back to frantic.

"Uh. No?" Like duh. Why would she have seen it.

"Pretty sure I jus' saw Loverboy go slidin' over a car hood t'go runnin' inta a burnin' buildin' righ' on TV." Niamh's words rolled together in a slur of gaelic weighted tongue.

"What? That's insane. Will wouldn't do that. Are you watching one of those action movies again?" Nica kept moving right along, unconcerned.

"Naw, it's Rhydin Action Seven News. DeLancey Heights some'at or 'nother." Niamh reported. Nica's blood stopped cold.

"No... Nee, I gotta go. I'll call you later." Without waiting for Niamh to say goodbye, Nica pounded the end button, stuffed her phone into her pocket and turned about face, taking off at a run toward Old Temple. Sliding her stele from her sleeve, she Marked a hastily drawn Speed rune into her flesh. One minute, two minutes, three minutes. She was a blur of black and wild chestnut that came sliding to a stop just short of the barricade surrounding the mostly collapsed building.

"Will? WILL?!" She pushed through the throng of people watching the blaze and found herself blocked by a pair of Watchmen playing crowd control. "Look, I'm looking for a guy named Will. He's a paramedic with one of the Old Market auxiliaries. No, I don't...I don't know his last name. By the Angel, just fucking tell me where he is, okay?"

A lot of things weren't making sense for Will.

His head was ringing. He was faintly aware of hands grabbing at him, multiple sets that were heavily gloves and trying to haul him to his feel, even as others were prying the little girl from his grasp. The was five, maybe six years old, olive skinned, dark haired, and honey-eyed. She clung to him, crying, and for a fleeting moment she looked like... The first instinct was to fight, causing him to growl and struggle against against the assistance, the wild backswing of his fist narrowly missing the helmeted head of a firefighter and knocking a chunk of plaster out of the nearby wall. As quickly as the fit came upon him, is passed, broad shoulders sagging with a sudden, overwhelming fatigue that saw him stumble and nearly go down had it now been for the help. Paramedic and girl were separated almost immediately.

There were words, but they were a droning blur. There were pats on the back, but Will merely smiled weakly and let the unmemorable praise roll off of his back. He didn't do the job for the praise; he hadn't done this for the glory. The music had long since faded to a barely audible hum but, for as low as it was, it had the feeling of... satisfaction. Something about that daunted him.

The collapse of DeLancey Heights had seem a break in the blaze and from the sounds outside, it was becoming more apparent that the fire crews would eventually put the fire out. Will turned his back on the broken window he had lept through without looking at it. So did the others, more interested in getting hero and damsel back down to the ground level to be checked out than they were inconsequential details. No one saw the dark smudges flanking the window, twin scorch marks of indeterminate origin. By their shape, they could have been wings.

Some of Will's energy had returned as they exited the building and weaved precariously through other members of the emergency crews at work, his shoulders hunched and his head down as if doing so would keep any and all unwanted attention from being directed his way. Unsurprisingly, he was led to the back of his own ambulance, where Ronnie awaited him and only a hundred paces from where Nicanora was arguing with the Watch.

If there was one rule, it was that you tried to cooperate with local law enforcement before trying to take matters into your own hands. It was a tenet that had long been impressed upon her. Even Shadowhunters weren't above Mundane law even if they pretended otherwise. That said, while it may have kept her from laying the Watchmen out, it didn't stop her bluster.

"Oye, doughnut gobbler, it's well within your best interest to let me by. I'll find him myself if you aren't going to help me." Who said she couldn't be diplomatic. Once more she tried to push by only to be stiff armed back. A low warning growl rumbled in her throat, her hand twitching near her hip. Rather than grasp what she wanted to, she brought the hand up to point a finger in the face of the nearest Watchman.

"Touch me again. I dare you. Look, I got a call that the guy I'm looking for went running into that building over there. Just, you gotta tell me, did he make it out?" Though she had started with plenty of bite to her words, she trailed off into desperation, affecting a wholly unintentional pout that quivered her bottom lip until she nipped at it to pin it with her teeth.

"If you can't tell me, can you at least point me in the direction of his partner? Big guy named Ronnie, odd looking guy with," her fingers made a gesture near her mouth, indicating the orkblood's vaguely tusk like underbite. The two officers exchanged a look and the one she hadn't directly threatened tipped his head toward the remaining ambulances that hadn't taken the fallen and injured away.

"That guy?" He asked. Nica whipped a look toward the indicated pair and felt her heart leap into her throat. With the Watchmen distracted, she ducked their guard and bolted for the sandy haired and remarkably uncrispy EMT.

"WILL." Crash course set, he had exactly three seconds to either stop her or move or else she was going to run right into him.

For a man who loved to run his mouth and play a crowd (small ones anyway), Will was uncomfortable with so many eyes on him in the current context. He had very little to say during the trek to the back of the ambulance and answered most questions with a shake of his head and the occasional muttered response. The first smile came when he spotted Ronnie, who had him fixed with a stare that was equal parts amused and relieved.

"Sit down, smartass," he said, as if preempting anything his partner might be ready to say and gave a gentle push. "Let me look you over."

Will sat down hard on the back of the ambulance with a grunt and was just about to interject with something sarcastic when Nica all but knocked him prone on the vehicle's floor.

"See?" He managed to cough the words out, wheezing a laugh in spite of everything. "Get your face on the news and the ass just throws itself at you..."

Sorry Ronnie. Hurricane Nica had made landfall and needed to get at the smaller of the two paramedics first. He did an absolutely horrible job of catching her though she didn't exactly give him the time to do so, and so she crashed into him full force, the collision forcing the air from her lungs. It couldn't have been much better for him but he still had the wherewithal to laugh. She was less amused. Her hands pressed to the ambulance's floor to push her up off of him just slightly. A cascade of dark hair veiled them but still couldn't quite dim the glimmer in her gaze. For a moment, just a moment, it looked like she might kiss him.

Just a moment though. The relief quickly emoted itself into anger.

"WHAT." She smacked a hand against his chest. Hard.

"WERE." Another smack, lesser than the first.

"YOU." A third, losing steam.

"THINKING?!" The final word came with a final swat as her voice trailed off into a higher pitched crack, her hand settling against his chest, fingers curling as if to see if he was actually real. You know, as if the six foot something mass of a man beneath her wasn't enough proof.

"What were you thinking?" She repeated, softer this time.

"Oh ow-ow-ow-ow." Will groused and whined, laughing with the sharp exhale of each breath. "Careful. I think there's still some broken glass stuck in me."

Wide lapis blue was staring up into the Nephilim's beautiful face, the laughter faded and especially when he glanced over her shoulder to spy Ronnie's amused look. Not your girlfriend, the expression said. Right. But it was the soft quiver of her words that reeled him back in, sandy brows pinning together with what he felt in her tone. What he saw in her eyes.

"I was needed. I couldn't not do it."

"You're gonna have my boot stuck in your ass if you don't watch it." Growled words answered the laugh before she caught herself. Three seconds to breathe. It was all she needed to realign her calm. Not an easy task but something well practiced. She made a noise in the back of her throat, reluctant to get up but doing so begrudgingly. Pushing herself out of the ambulance, she hauled him with her, the interlacing of scarred fingers with his used to pull him back up into a sitting position. It wasn't the most conventional of ways to tug someone up, most would go for a cupping a hands or a wrap around a wrist, but the brief locking of digits helped bring her down from the panicked high. As soon as he was sitting up again, she let go and wrapped her arms around herself, hands tucking tight to her ribcage.

"You... you..." She fumbled for a rebuke, something to tell him that he could have stayed back, that he didn't have to be the hero. But to do so would throw her so far into the realm of hypocrisy that even she could see the folly of such a reprimand. Nica swallowed down everything she wanted to say, steeling her expression behind a smooth calm accented by only the slightest furrowing of her brows.

"You should try not to be so reckless." She finally said. Hello kettle, this is the pot. Here's some news, you're black!

"Hard to lap ride when I'm sitting on a boot." His smile was returning to its full strength with the passage of each moment, a curious hitch in it as she hauled him upright. His hands squeezed at hers, the pads grazing lightly over the backs of her knuckles. Will watched her when she let go of him and withdrew back into herself with a protective curl of arms, his head tilting to one side curiously. There was his calling. Then their was hers. One couldn't rightly judge or guilt the other without painting themselves a hypocrite. That Nicanora's worry and displeasure were evident, despite the admonishment he took, were more than a little heartening though he allowed her to keep her pride intact in the end by not pointing it out.

Instead, Will reached forward and hooked his index and middle fingers into the waistband of her pants and hauled her close again, forward and to stand between his parted knees. With him still sitting, she had the height advantage, but he didn't mind looking up into her eyes. "I do. I'm just terrible at it."

"Yeah, well maybe you'll consider that next time." Despite the bark, the words lacked bite and came with a huff of exasperation. The longer she had the breathe, the easier it became to tuck the worry away. All of that potential stuffed tightly into a neat little box and stowed away for another time. Another time being never, if she had it her way. With the ups and downs of the night, she was definitely leaning toward never, that was for sure. The tug at her pants drew her closer, the creak of protesting leather answering the call. It was hard not to wilt beneath his gaze, the dual pools of blue reflecting moonlight and dying fire both right up at her.

"You are." She agreed, her lips tugging to purse toward the left. "Niamh called me when she saw you on the news. I was in the area," not, "and figured I'd come see how much trouble you got yourself into." Freeing one hand from the tight curl around herself, she rubbed at a smudge of soot above his brow, trying not to frown.

"But if you've still got glass in you, should probably let Ronnie here check you out instead of me." Despite that, she didn't step away from him. Proximity was intoxication after all.

"The lap riding or the boot?" An idle graze of fingers lingered at her waist, darting beneath the leather of her jacket now and then to seek out warm skin. The touches were feather light and person, more meaningful than sensual, his gaze falling to half-mast but still very much intent upon her.

"I did what I had to," he murmured eventually, leaving the words to the intimacy of their close proximity and giving her an apologetic. Will wasn't sorry for being who he was or what he had done, but he regretting the faint traces of worry that still limned Nicanora's beautiful features. "But I'm also not ready to go anywhere, so you're gonna be stuck with me now. Ronnie can pick the glass out but just let me lose myself in your eyes first?" And he did so, his gaze steady on hers, his hands smoothing up over her stomach.

"Both. And how one would impact the other." She tried to scowl but the longer he came in contact with her, the harder it was to stay mad. He was okay, or at least that's how it seemed. Shouldn't that have been what mattered? Right, right. This shouldn't bother her, that's what she told herself. Every single day of her life, she had said goodbye to friends and family, knowing there wasn't a guarantee that they or she would come home.

"I know you did." Quietly conceding. Sucking at her teeth, she tried to ignore the inching of his hands across her body, the spread of fingers over familiar terrain. Finally she dropped her hands to meet his, guiding them away from their expedition. One hand curled into his and she stepped to one side, perching her leather covered backside on the very edge of the open ambulance's rear. She didn't let him go.

"Heard them mumbling back there about you being some sort of hero. Suppose that sort of offsets the ones saying you're a reckless fool?" Her hand squeezed his with the gentle tease, the opposite cross over to pinch at a glimmer of a shard in his hair and pluck it free. "Sooner he cleans you up, sooner you can get back to being a pain in someone else's ass."

As rare as it was, the paramedic chose to err on the side of caution and said nothing. He accepted her words in a companionable silence and when she finally finished, Will leaned forward and rested his forehead against her chest. The slow, steady rise and fall of his shoulders implied deep breathing and the slow descent of calm over him as the last of the adrenaline faded from him. It gave Ronnie perfect access to his back, a small flinch every now and then serving as a reminder of what was going on.

"I don't mind being a pain in your ass."

Nica was grateful for the silence. After all, she wasn't sure if he carefully collected calm would hold up in the face of him being facetious or worse. She didn't lean or sway as his head came to rest against her but rather she tucked her chin and inhaled a slow breath. He smelled like smoke and burning wood and beneath that, a touch of sulfur laid over something fragrant, pleasant, soothing. She was imagining things, clearly. While Ronnie tweezed bits of glass out of his partner's back, Nica slid her fingers up through the back of Will's hair, shaking free debris and offering a soothing rake of her nails against his scalp on each upward push.

"You're quite good at it, I'll give you that much."

Will was a mortal man, so far as he knew. But were the minutiae between knowing and feeling so different? If he'd been asked to confirm the notion a few weeks ago, he would have laughed it off and made some sardonic commentary about himself in relation to the more outlandish things in Rhy'din. If the question had been asked, he would have shrugged it off and left it unanswered, saving his philosophical musings on the matter for a night that involved alcohol, a well-rolled joint, and a heaping helping of boredom. Or for a time when he could have been alone with his thoughts; the paramedic had never liked showing a greater depth beneath scrutiny that was even remotely public. Better to be underestimated, laughed at, or to be overlooked completely.

After tonight, there wasn't a lot he was sure about.

There was a solace to be found in Nicanora's arms, ironic as it was. Danger was one thing. He had chosen danger, real, physical, and tangible danger before he was even old enough to vote. There was rarely anything safe about how he plied his trade, especially here of all places. It was the violence he ran from. His, theirs, everyone's. Yet here was this woman, this warrior princess, bred for the very sort of life he avoided. She was a creature of violence. And he ran to her. Well, sauntered. Masculinely. In a manly way. A very manly saunter. He consumed her like the best whiskey, got drunk on her. It wasn't just the sex (Note to Self: The sex was amazing. Stupid amazing. If it were part of the Olympics, this woman would have multiple Gold Medals on behalf of Funless Oligarchy of Demonslayistan). It was like the slow fitting of pieces to the most terrifyingly addictive puzzle in history, like knowing deep down that the pieces fit, but being being as excited as scared to put the last few pieces together because completely it meant you would never be the same.

He should be running from her.

He wouldn't.

Instead a wide splay of fingers melded to the contour of a perfect Spanish backside, holding gently in a gesture that looked like a classic Will Move. It would have been perfectly so if not for the lack of a squeeze, the absence of a raunchy suggestion. Instead he blew out a quiet sigh that confirmed that her steady presence was exactly what he needed right then. He wouldn't say that something had shaken him. He'd let her think it was just the harrowing experience.

For the next half a dozen shards, he didn't so much as move.



((With all the thanks imaginable to Nicanora for making this possible.))

Will

Date: 2016-03-17 00:42 EST
03.16.2016
Dockside wharf



In another time, another place, the mixture of red-versus-blue flashing lights and flickering torches would have made for an odd pairing. In Rhy?din it was just the standard multidimensionalism that was the Watch, the contrasting tools forming a loose ring around the large, metal-arched entrance to Beezlie?s Wharfside Cartage where cars, SUVs, and cargo wagons were used as covered by wary men and women armed with guns, bows, and other weapons. The raging gunfire that had rained down on them just an hour before had been reduced to sporadic bursts, serving little purpose other than to deter any attempts at rescuing the wounded who still littered on an impromptu battlefield of broken crates and overturned boxes ahead.

The emergency call about armed men and hostages had provoked a show of force, armed Watch officers storming into the foggy open ground with paramedics in tow. Humanoids with guns. No big deal, right? Six of the party had been gunned down in a hale of bullets on approach to the main warehouse, dead or injured as the survivors beat a hasty retreat to the line of vehicles that made for an adequate safe haven. Three attempts to reach the survivors laid out across the cold stone ground had resulted in two more injuries but no one else stranded. At something of a stalemate, ranking Watch officers and Emergency Services personnel were quite vocal in considering their options, and had made more than one call seeking higher caliber help within their ranks.

?Help is coming,? they had promised their subordinates, a disgruntled collection of men and women who wore frustrated expressions as they were forced to watch their friends and peers slowly bleed out on open ground.

Help was coming.

But when?

Many a furtive stare was traded between the large black building in the misty gloom and the authoritative men who were doing their best to keep the situation under control. Most of them didn?t see the lone sandy-haired medic, poking through a nearby garbage can and then picking a Watch officer?s pocket. The bendy strip of white cardboard and horn-rimmed glasses were much, but his eyes were afire with determination.

Only a lone dark-skinned behemoth with a slight underbite seemed to notice and all Ronnie would do was sigh, shake his head, and edge closer to the perimeter to watch the idiocy?




( Five minutes later? )



?Excuse me, sirs! Oh, uh, ma?ams!? Will?s voice rang out clear and bright through the gloom, almost cheerful. ?I beg your pardons, but if I could just have a moment of your time??

The paramedic had slipped out of his navy blue work jacket and untucked his pant legs from within his boots, letting the hems hang about where they should have. The long sleeved shirt beneath looked proper enough when smoothed over and, in the poor lighting, appeared every bit as black as the shadows that flitted around elsewhere. The flimsy piece of bright white cardboard had been slipped beneath the proper collar of his shirt so that only a sliver showed between where he had buttoned the lapels down. An armband showed a brightly emblazoned cross. The glasses settled on his nose were a nice touch, with or without their lenses, but the final piece was what really pulled the look together.

?... to talk about Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ???

With one hand and all the sermon theatrics he could muster, the paramedic held a ratty old book (he would never admit to having absconded with one of Ronnie?s wife?s crappy grocery store romance novels but you never know when one would come in hand, like now), its cover mostly blotted out with a thick tipped marker, above his head.

In the back of his head, he could hear crotchety old Miss Windsor sitting behind him during Sunday service, lamenting his existence with her often said ?Boy, you goin? to Hell!?. Will held the old book up and waved it back and forth as he advanced, the slow sway reminiscent of a mulleted hick at a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. His sudden appearance and advance through the archway had caused a collected cry from behind, as surprise gave way to concern and any number of voices tried to beckon him back. He didn?t listen and instead moved deeper into the perceived kill zone, each stride slow and purposeful, almost unconcerned as the slight angle of his path towards the first fallen body. It wasn?t moving.

?Jesus loves you! This I know! For the bible tells me so! Uh? Little ones to, erm, uh, him belong! They are weak but he is str--?

Crack!

A rifle shot whizzed past his right ear and ricocheted off of the stone.

?Hey! HEY! I?m preachin? here!? A threatening wave of the book was given once more. ?Last rights to the fallen you heathen dickbags! Respect for the dead! And the Lord! And the Scripture! And stuff.? The paramedic dropped down next to the first prone body to get a better look in the dark.

Dead.

?Damnit,? he said the word sharply under his breath, forcing a little more levity back into his expression. One never knew when they were being stared at through quality optics. Rising again, Will moved onto the next, waiting for the next shot to ring out in the night. Or shots. Maybe these guys were atheists. The area remained quiet save for the noise of the Watch and the First Responders far behind him, a second body revealing itself to be lifeless. Optimism waned, but he held the book above his head as if he somehow expected the false idol to worry the shooters into not perforating him with lead.

Fifty feet ahead, a pitiful moan broke through the quiet ahead and brought Will?s lapis blue eyes up sharply. Through the gloom, he made out two moving barely moving shapes, half hidden from whatever eyes lingered up at the warehouse by a giant crate gone gray from exposure to the salty seaside air. They were hard to make out, so he resumed his half-assed preaching and began to close the distance.

?Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound! That saved a wretch like? that dead guy over there. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind but? that?s because I?m not a damned owl! Damn, it?s dark out here. HAH!? Three shots rang out suddenly when he dove the last few feet, tucked into a roll, and fumbled his fake bible as the hard landing was made behind the crate. A wretched moan lifted into the air when he half collided with a supine body. The act was spoiled in all likelihood, but it wasn?t like Will to let a good bit go to waste. ?HEY!? He popped up, book in hand again and shook it at them over the crate, a sudden shot nipping one of its edges off. ?Freedom of religion, you heathen scum suckers!?

His attention shifted immediately after, falling to the two men, one laying flat and the other propped up against the crate. The former was breathing shallowly, with an ugly stomach wound that had been hastily patched up in a manner that was barely temporary, at best. The latter clutched at a bloody shoulder with his hand and had blood matted against one side of his face. Heady wounds were messy. One Watchman, one paramedic. Will exhaled a heavy breath and then smiled at them both. ?Hey, guys. Napping on the job? Well, I think union mandated break time is over, so what do you fellas say to us taking a stroll back towards our comrades and all the flashy lights??

?Ain?t no way,? the healthier of the two said with a choked sob. ?We run, they gonna gun as down. We?ll never make it.?

Will heard the words. Of course he did. They were a strong mixture of logic and panic. He heard the words, but they didn?t register. Because even as the doomsaying had begun, the sickeningly sweet ring of the music had started to fill him, to race through his veins and threatened to fill him head in a painful symphony. It called him to action and brought to mind urges that the wily paramedic had to force from the forefront of his thoughts with an act of ironclad will (no pun intended). But action, some sort of action; this was something Will couldn?t deny.

?Shhh. Guys. Guys. We?re good. You?re getting out of here. I promise.? He smiled. ?Trust me. Now up and at ?em. You, grab your buddy and get him on his feet. You guys don?t gotta be fast, but when the crazy starts, just get to walking towards our guys and keep this crate between you and the other side. We got this.?

?What?re you gonna do?? The Watch officer asked with a groan.

Will smiled and reached into his jacket, producing a thick, cylindrical object and started to wrap it in the open book paperback book he carried. The familiar ?rrrrrrppptt? sound of duct tape followed. ?Something stupid. Get ready.?

Both men barely had time to do what they were told before he stepped around the crate, darting to its opposite side to shout towards the warehouse. Two fresh shots splintered wood to either side of his head, but the former PJ didn?t flinch. ?Hey! HEY! Violence is not the answer!?

Crack! Whizzz!

?You assholes need Jesus! Or medication! So, uh, catch!? He pulled the pin on the fat cylinder and lobbed it overhand towards the windows he expected to be towards the top of the building. Turning his back on it immediately and throwing his shoulder into the massive crate. ?Onward Christian soldiers!? It seemed like the thing to say at the time, classic Will irreverence or no. With a groan of effort and the music pounding between his ears, he slowly began to push the crate backwards towards the entrance to the property, each heaving step bringing the wounded men a little closer to help. Behind him, the night exploded into a bright, blinding white when the flashbang grenade went off, a wild and continuous stream of gunfire following. He ignored it, even when stray shots bounced dangerously close, his body heaving beneath the exertion of strength a man of his size surely shouldn?t have had.

Closer.

Almost there.

From the other side of the crate he heard a sudden sob of relief and other voices blurring together, backed by a small resounding cheer. Will grinned and prepared to make an exhausted stumble around the crate when there was another burst of gunfire. It felt like a dozen golf balls were suddenly driven into his back by Tiger Woods in a roid rage.

?Uh. Hmph. Oh.? He remembered the feeling.

He slumped forward against the crate and then his head knocked hard on the ground.


Was someone laughing?

?Dude, it was one Jesus bit. Seriously??

Darkness.

Will

Date: 2016-03-31 01:08 EST
3/16/16

Pt. 1

The last time the Nephilim woman had been given reason to worry over the paramedic, the news had come third hand from Niamh through a breaking news report, creating an unfathomable amount of worry and offering up precious few details. This time, when the message came, it came from an unfamiliar number.

: Hey, it's Ronnie. Incident tonight down by the docks. Our boy took a little bit of a beating but he checked out fine. A little worse for the wear. Could use some TLC maybe if you want to come down to the stationhouse and collect him.

The big dark-skinned man was waiting for Nicanora outside of the station house, hunched down on one of the exterior benches and buffing away on a recently lit cigarette. He looked tired, worn out, ready for the end to a shift that was longer and busier than usual. Dark eyes were cast down at the concrete before him in introspection.

With training only six and a half hours away and Will still on shift for at least another hour and a half, Nica was well beyond the point of considering bed. The shared inn room was dark save for the glow of the old tube TV broadcasting something that Niamh had said was a classic called I Love Lucy. The pillow over Nica's head said she definitely wasn't loving Lucy, her arm pinning it down hard enough against her ear to drown out Lucille Ball's annoying voice. It wasn't until Niamh threw the remote at her that she realized her phone was going off.

"Lover boy must be off early, eh?" Niamh teased with a bob of her light brows. The Nephilim swung her legs off the bed and sat up, groaning as she squinting through the dark at the newly illuminated screen of her phone.

"Who... oh... mierda. ?Qu? hiciste esta vez, Will?" Pushing a hand back through her hair, she got to her feet and moved to strip off her pajamas, an airy tank top and shorts, in favor of something more fitting for venturing out into the cesspool that was Rhydin City. Par for the course, black on black found its way over her frame, denim and low cut tee both rolled on before heavy leather lined with the jingle of blades. "Este ni?o va a ser la muerte de m?, lo juro!"

Niamh stared at her, lost in the midst of rolling Spanish. "Uh...huh. Well, awrigh' then. Be safe out there."

"Yo siempre soy." Nica assured her on her way out the door, tugging it shut behind her softly enough that the next room over might not realize she was leaving so late.

: On my way. ETA 10m. Thanks Ronnie.

True to her estimation, nine minutes later she closed in on Firehouse 316, an auxiliary fire and rescue station set among the market's shops and restaurants and at ten minutes on the dot, she slowed to a stop.

"Does he give you as much crap for smoking as he does to me?"

"Yet he blithely ignores us both when he occasionally smokes." Ronnie snorted and lifted a look from where he sat, offering a slow and genuine smile for the beauty in black and offering the pack and lighter over. There was space on the bench at his side and he gestured to it with a hike of his thumb. "Pull up a seat. Kid's gonna be a few."

He gave her a minute, maybe two, before turning slightly on the bench and pinning her beneath the full weight of his attention. "That was quick. In a hurry to play nurse?" There was a mild amount of tease in his deep voice but it did nothing to disguise the concern for his partner and the growing affection he had for the burgeoning relationship with the pretty Spanish woman.

"Right?" Nica let a laugh free as she dropped into the spot beside him, smokes and lighter taken on the way. Pulling one of the sticks out, she pinned it between her silver ring wrapped middle finger and the scarred but jewelry free ring finger as she held it to her lips and lit it. Thin curls of smoke granted the half angel her very own halo, lost to the larger cloud that was exhaled as she passed the offering back over. Leaning forward into a hunch of rounded shoulders, she leaned her arms against her knees, the right of which bounced subtly with a less than inconspicuous anxiety.

"Mmh, last time I got a call about him playing the hero, it was because he ran into a burning building. Boy's a trouble magnet and I'm a sucker." Her laugh was self-deprecating enough, paired with a shake of her head. "So here I am. How's Lyna?"

His teeth flashed off-white the split of his lips in a smile, a stark contrast to his skin tone. Another drag was taken, gray smoke pulled into his lungs and then exhaled through flared nostrils, his big head shaking for the reminders of Will's daring do that he didn't need. Ronnie stole another drag before speaking again, the smile fading. "Closer call tonight. Too close but he's lucky he's only gonna be sore for a few days."

At the mention of his wife, he switched gears and his smile became a humongous thing, the pronounced underbite unignorable and proud. "I'm gonna be a daddy again."

"What happened? Or is this one of those where you let the kid tell the story of whatever lesson he learned?" They both knew that there were no lessons learned by the other paramedic, not in situations like this. Keeping her hand splayed over her mouth, she held the cigarette in place, drawing it away only long enough to exhale each time. As much as she worried, she kept it (mostly) tightly under wraps, hidden away for moments in which she could properly express it in private to Will himself. But no matter her concern, Ronnie's joy was hard not to reflect back at him.

"That so? Qu? maravilloso! Sounds like all that Barry White paid off." Nica bobbed her brows conspiratorially at the orcblooded man. It was in that moment that it was readily obvious why Will and Nicanora were two peas in a pod.

"Hey, hey! You go with what works." The overly familiar sort, the big man reached out and gave her a push, the sort that would rock her back in her seat but not throw her from it, though he did appear strong enough to succeed if he was of a mind. "I don't even wanna know what you and the kid listen to when you're gettin' down with your freaky-deaky new age sex stuff. Probably wild yaks and that garbage from one of those Top 100 stations."

The mention of Will and lessons caught up with him belatedly and wiped the smile from his face. Big, ridged brows furrowed. Better to get it out of the way now and spare his partner some of the tongue lashing he would have otherwise received. "Dumbass walked through a hail of gunfire to pull out some hurt folks from the Watch and RFD durin' a standoff with some crazies who had some hostages. He caught some of the gunfire on the return trip." Ronnie immediately threw a hand up to stop the rush of question he knew would come. Women were like that. Especially women in love. "He's okay. Just bruises."

Laughing right into the rock, she recovered with ease and straightened herself out. Ashing the cigarette to one side, she pulled it up for one more long drag, exhale, and another drag before flicking the dying smoke straight forward. Cherry red flared then died when it hit the ground, rolling off into the dark. "We prefer the agitated yelling of the neighbors actually."

Her snickering died out just like her cigarette had, a solemn look turning back to Ronnie. There was a bare flicker of conflict in the glance she tipped toward the station house, every muscle in her body wanting her to seek Will out, to find him and make sure with her very own eyes that he was okay. Instead, she remained cemented to the bench, her tongue running over the front of her teeth behind her lips.

"Armas. Cobardes malditos. Tsk." Nicanora shook her head, slowing her breathing with a deep inhale. She held it until her lungs hurt, the questions piling up despite Ronnie's reassurances. "Was he wearing a vest?"

"No." Somber, he let that sink in. Everyone close to Will knew he wasn't normal, even beyond his odd, off-putting but charming personality. "We don't usually wear 'em. So, no."

"Mmm. Iron Will's made of steel it seems." She left her questioning at that, sparing Ronnie from the barrage of prying questions that Will would almost assuredly be subject to before the night was through. Patting her pockets down, she found her own smokes and soon had a new one lit and pinned at the edge of her mouth.

"Boy's got a big heart, big mouth, and more luck than brains," Will's partner mused, the fondness briefly overriding his concern. His own cigarette was used to light another before the former was crushed out and tossed. "Weird shit happens with him. You know it. I know it. He doesn't wanna know it. Can't say why, but he don't want nothin' more than to be Joe Schmoe, even when he's walkin' into Hell to pull someone else out of it ."

"Big somethin' all right." She snorted twin curls of dragon like smoke from a flaring of her nostrils, glancing back at the stationhouse's entrance as if willing Will to emerge. But unlike the paramedic, Nica had crap luck so she turned forward again. "I can do weird. Weird is pretty much my life. What that boy's got going on is... something completely different. But if he doesn't want to deal with it, I'm not gonna make him."

"Gonna have to eventually," Ronnie murmured and then rose to his feet, shaking his head. "Better to have you to lean on than no one or someone he don't trust. About time he got himself a good woman anyway and Lyna, gods help us, likes you." It was said as if the big dark man didn't, but the subtle smile he offered in departing said otherwise. "Don't beat him up too bad, girlie."

"Eventually. Until then, let him have his blissful ignorance." Nica cracked the beginnings of a crooked smile that softened into a more subtly flattered curve. It wasn't the sort of praise she was used to, the normal kind that people got from the important people in their significant other's life, but maybe she could get used to it. "I'll try not to. Thanks for giving me the heads up, Ronnie. Really appreciated. Tell Lyna I said congratulations."

"Flick his bruises once for me. Little shit nearly gave me a heart attack." Smoke zigzagged a trail in the air when he gave a final wave, disappearing around the corner of the stationhouse.

Another few minutes passed before Will came slouching out through the staff entrance, his shoulders hunched up and his body tense, sort of like that look children affected when they were very small, sick, and their mothers had just stuff a thermometer up their butt. He hadn't planned of anyone being there to greet him when departing, but was quick to focus in on Nicanora and then pause. The paramedic had even managed the expression of a child who knew he was about to get quite the earful from an authority figure.

"Hi..." And nothing clever to say this time. Somewhere, God was laughing.

Jerk.

"Maybe twice, just for you." She grinned after Ronnie and settled in on the bench with her own cigarette. Here and there she slid the occasional look toward the entrance. The pass of her glance came about thirty seconds after he stepped out but it only took a fraction of that for her to get to her feet. Though only half smoked, she trashed the cigarette and crossed the distance between them with far fewer long legged strides than most would need. Her gaze, somehow golden bright even in the dark, swept over him from head to toe in a way that was less salacious and more assessing. Once within arm's reach, she swept him up in a hug that did little to treat him gently and likely accomplished the same effect that flicking his bruises would have. Ronnie would have been proud. But Will wasn't breakable and even with the number of questions bouncing around her brain, she wasn't going to treat him like he was fragile glass.

"You know, if you wanted my attention all you have to do is text me dick pics, you know..." She could make up where he lacked.

"Owowowshitdamnthathurtsthathurtsowow." The words were half smothered against her neck, just beneath the subtle curve of her jaw where his stubble rasped in a retaliatory manner against her skin. The protests melted away the longer she held onto him, the comfort found in her fierce grip significantly more important than the discomfort of disturbing his badly bruised back. He smelled like antiseptic cream and spilled coffee. And there she was, with that sense of humor, and by the Angel (channeling his Inner Crispin there) did it hurt to laugh. But he couldn't help it, chuffing warm breaths where his facial hair had just teased. "I only get hard-ons when you're giving me the bruises..."

"Know what hurts more?" She murmured beside his ear, her tone a subtle purr that under other circumstances would have been the sort of tantalizing tease that would typically lead to far more inappropriate relations. "Getting shot. Ohhhhhhhhh wait."

Nica held him like letting go would make him disappear, standing awkwardly in front of the stationhouse's employee entrance just shy of shift change. Not that she cared, really. After he had been sufficiently squeezed, she exhaled a breath against his neck and leaned back half a step, her hands sliding to his outer arms as her gaze set to roaming again. "Or when you're givin' them to me. Ugh. You did the reckless thing again, didn't you?"

"That too." Will was not, obviously, immune to pain. The low groan for the final squeeze said as much and he could only 'man' his way through the moment for so long before she was drawing away and his was sagging slightly. Lapis blue eyes were half-lidded and tired, but gleamed brightly as he drank in her lovely face, something he hadn't expected to see for another few days.

"I did the reckless thing again," he mumbled and nodded, his tone low but unapologetic. His own hands lifted so that the tips of his fingers could graze over her hips in a small amount of possessive affection. "Someone was gonna die. Someone had to do something and no one was. I could, so I did."

Nica stepped in until her hips touched his, well within the territorial touch of his grasp while keeping her torso leaned back just enough that she didn't get tempted to squeeze him and his bruises again. Tucking her elbows, she set her hands tenderly against his chest and bowed her chin toward her sternum. A soft sigh slipped free despite her best attempt at wrangling it before it could. "One of these days, Will. One of these days. Hungry? Or would you rather just go somewhere with a hot shower and a soft bed?"

"No lecture?" He asked, a touch wry. The smile faded and then returned, his head tilted to one side so that he could graze his teeth against the skin just beneath her ear and then nuzzle the offended spot. "Let's... let's just pick up something on the way and go back to my place. We can talk about it in the shower and in the bed. Then when neither of us can make sense of it, you can blow me and I can pass out. Sound good?"

"I'm saving it." She said earnestly, donning a short lived smile and a tip of her head as he offered her a little taste of activities best suited for more private locations...as if that ever stopped them. "My treat then, whatever you want. Even if you don't actually wanna talk about it since you're good at avoiding stuff."

Nica patted his chest and pulled away from his immediate vicinity, slanting him a slash of a grin and turning on her heel. "C'mon, before your coworkers get jealous."

"I... wanna talk about it." She had been earnest. So was he. He dropped it after that, for the time being, and moved to slip an arm low around her hips.

Nicanora

Date: 2016-03-31 01:11 EST
Pt. 2

For the time it took them to stop by Miso Hungry and hail a cab back to his place, Will was quiet, responding to the little commentary she often made when describing her training days with Daniel but without his typical flair for sarcasm and witty ripostes. He was a little more himself for the eventual trip up the stairs, allowing her to go first with their meal in her hands so that he could tease the generous curves of her backside with playful fingers.

Their meal he left to her, his progress towards the bathroom slow and ponderous as he struggled through the painful removal of his clothes. They made for a haphazard trail towards his bathroom and by the time the food was stowed, Will was sagged heavily against the light gray tiled wall of the shower stall, head leaning downwards onto braced forearms. He was gulping deeps breaths slowly.

Odd.

His desire to talk about things.

His quietude.

His lacking sarcasm.

Odd.

Near silent steps retraced his path of discarded clothing. Work boots cast aside and upended. His jacket, still in fair condition. Pants that were dirty but still whole. And then his shirt. Or what was left of his shirt. She bent down to retrieve it, holding it up with a frown that hung heavily on her lips. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, she lost count somewhere around there when the holes sort of melded together in one big scrap of fabric with long sleeves.

"By the Angel..." She muttered, dropping it with the rest of his clothes and continuing on her way to the bathroom. Somewhere along the last six steps, she shrugged from her jacket and peeled free her shirt. Black denim was discarded just past the threshold and the rest came soon after. While her arrival had been silent, she cleared her throat softly as she stepped into the shower behind him. Skirting his back with her gaze, her frown intensified. "Hey..."

His broad back was an ugly mess of purple-black welts, like someone who had been on the wrong side of terrible paintball fight. It was hard to imagine that a barrage of bullets had done so little damage, but the proof was there to see beneath the weight of her scrutiny. The worst of the damage, it seemed, hadn't been done to his body.

"I should be in a body bag right now," he said to the wall, to her, to whomever. "Or in a hospital bed, hooked to lifesupport. I'm not. I should be relieved. I'm not. I don't know what bothers me more..."

Purple-black welts and that ink, separate they would have been unsettling enough, but together they trickled a little shiver down her spine. That was not the back of someone who got shot a dozen times by real bullets, not by a long shot. Nica reached out to touch a hand to his side, avoiding his bruising in favor of a gentle palm against an oblique. "Remember those blanks we talked about? This is probably somewhere in that... and, I mean, I can't really tell you what to do here, because I've got no idea what I'd do, but I think the best thing you can try to do is breathe and relax."

"Not so Mundane," Will laughed humorlessly. "Am I?"

He blew out a low sigh and stretched briefly, one hand reaching down to put a claim on hers and draw it slowly around him. It was an invitation to come to him in whichever way she chose. "I was okay with being normal, you know. Okay with not being special. I think I like it better that way."

Nicanora sighed and set her forehead to his shoulder, touching down on one of the few patches of skin that wasn't a welted, swollen mess of black and blue and blooming bruising. "Silver lining, I guess?"

She took care not to settle her weight against him, one arm wrapping around his midsection carefully. "Because it's easier that way. But, something to consider, if you weren't...I guess, special, you wouldn't be able to do some of the reckless stuff you've been doing. You'd have gone the way of a couple of those guys tonight and you would have done it quite a while ago..."

"There's that," he conceded quietly, still staring blankly down at the tile until his lapis blue eyes, dulled with fatigue, finally closed. His hand reach back behind himself to stroke lightly along her hip idly. It felt good, her skin beneath his fingertips. "I'd be gone and there'd be no you. I don't think I like the idea of not having you..."

"You'd be gone." She repeated, her voice falling as the words sank in. It shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did. Every single day, Shadowhunters said goodbye to their friends and family knowing that there was always a chance that they'd not come home. Every. Single. Day. It had happened to her mother, to Christopher, to so many others before them, and so many after them. But he wasn't of her kind, he was different, whether he liked it or not. "Well... I'm glad you're here. And that I'm here. And we're here. Together."

"Me too." Though she couldn't see it, his mouth twitched, but she could hear the humor in his voice. "Where else am I gonna find sex this amazing?"

The mirth died away a little quicker than it should have, but that it had been there in the first place was something of a good sign. He shifted in his lean against the tile and lifted his arm, pulling her slowly beneath it and turning her into a bugger between him and the water heated tile. His forehead dropped against hers, their noses nearly touching and his eyes closed. Will didn't say anything else in the moment, merely soaked it up and wait for her to say something else.

"Impossible task. Just saying." She chirped, matching tone for tone so long as he had it. Perceptive of each stiff movement, she shifted to accommodate his whims and slipped beneath the raised arm. Though warmed, the tile against her back was still enough to make her squirm until she got used to the temperature. Her hands touched tenderly to his sides, not venturing back around him so that she didn't run the risk of touching the dozen welts that very well should have been holes right through him. Nails grazing along the tops of his hips, she hummed a soothing little note in the back of her throat while he settled in against her.

"Do you wanna talk about it anymore or do you want me to distract you with, I don't know, stories about how terrible Daniel is?"

"I don't know what else there is to talk about," he mumbled against her mouth, barely kissing her and keeping the words flowing through the touch of their lips. "I'm not normal. Things are probably gonna get weirder. Right now, all I can do is suck it up and see what happens. How things play out. Maybe try to sort some stuff out. Maybe catalogue some of the weirdness? Definitely as much of you as I can get. Think you can handle that?"

His hands had settled atop the crest of her hips, nails grazing over the sensitive skin there.

Each syllable thrummed across the bridge of their mouths and served to keep him talking when she was certain that he was in danger of sinking into the freefall of what-the-fuck that was his life at the moment. She understood all too well how easy it was to rock at that precipice, waiting for a stiff wind to blow you off the edge. It happened more often than she wanted to admit. Touching her mouth to his in the wake of his question, she traced her tongue along his bottom lip and exhaled a quiet sound, equal parts sigh and shiver.

"You hang with me, you're obviously not normal. But weird I can do, I'm actually pretty good at it. So," she paused to kiss him again softly, "what I'm trying to say is that yes, I think I can handle that. I'm in your corner."

"Okay, well," Will said quietly and took a deep breath. "That being said, I'm going to push you into this corner right here, screw you until you wake up someone else's neighbors, and then we're gonna go eat that chinese food we brought home. We'll worry about the rest after eggrolls and beef lo mein. Deal?"

His mouth had already dropped to her neck so that his teeth could go to work.

"That's... mmmph," she tried to form a coherent sentence against the distraction that was his overly talented mouth, squirming against the slick wall. "Probably not a... nghh... good idea. You need to relax... or something."

Will muffled her protests a moment later when his mouth covered hers for a heated, hungry kiss. A possessive claim on her hips by his hands saw her pushed into the corner and pinned there by the heavy lean of his body. For a battered man, he was very ardent.

It was difficult to judge which had been more gluttonous, the sex or the meal, but both had been enjoyed with a zeal that had come to characterize a great deal of the paramedic and Nephilim's time together. Sex, food, sex, sex, food, half of a movie, and then sex, all before Will was exhausted enough to sleep through the pain, face down on the bed with one arm draped lazily over Nicanora's supine body. He lost himself to a deep, restless slumber filled with twin streams of warring music that played a not so subtle tug of war with his subconscious and even slept through his early morning alarm.

He had tossed and turned all night, ignorant of the red, wet mess his sheets had become. He slept through the pain, through the twelve fresh holes in his back and whatever had caused them to open where the bruises had once been.

Their vigorous schedule was often enough to knock her out cold but seldom enough to chase away the nightmares that had a habit of sinking their claws into even the most pleasant night's sleep. Like so many nights before, death came to her subconscious, running roughshod over the people and places that happened to be freshest in her mind. What started off as an innocuous enough adventure with Christopher, Will, and Mace Windu soon became a veritable bloodbath full of demons made of smoke, Silvano's laughing face, and pistol wielding egg rolls. In a battle of angel blood, wit beyond measure, and purple lightsabers against evil, double evil, and just plain wrong, the darkness won out. As her imagination ran wild, her muscles twitched, limbs violently spasming with the need to thrash herself awake.

There was blood, so much blood. It warm stickiness and tangy metallic scent was so vivid that she was certain she could feel it on her skin and taste it in her mouth. As her mind tried to process the impossible, she jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in a way that wasn't wholly unfamiliar ever since Christopher's death. Bleary eyes tried to focus on the wisps of morning light that filtered through the blinds, chasing away the remnants of what, in review, was a ridiculous dream. There was no Mace Windu, no Christopher, no demons, no Silvano, and most certainly no gun-toting egg rolls. Will was still beside her, his familiar weight and warmth steady beneath a touch of her nearest hand. The opposite lifted to drag across her face, wiping sleep from her eyes. She didn't expect the subsequent smear of wetness, her eyes widening as she looked down at her hands.

Dreaming.

She was still dreaming.

So much blood.

"W-Will? Wake me up... tell me I'm having a nightmare..." In the dim light, the liquid looked almost black but it carried an undeniable smell that couldn't be anything but what she feared. Twisting aside, she looked down at the paramedic, resisting the urge to cover her mouth and instead reaching for him. Something was terribly wrong. "I'm dreaming... In Raziel's name, I have to be... Will. Wake up. Will."

It was Nicanora's voice that eventually brought Will back to the waking work, a usually soothing sweetness that was strangely frantic. Lapis blue eyes fluttered, his mind slowly coming into focus on the sound of her voice through the fog of a deep sleep. Mmm, there she was, naked and as gorgeous as the first time he bent her over the coffee table and...

The sudden, intense pain was almost enough to make him scream.

"Nica?" Always a fan of the full use of her name when he wasn't using the nickname Taneth had given her, it was cut short by a sudden gasp, a series of panted ones really, when the agonizing pain in his back forced him to roll over onto his stomach, writhing. "Man, ngh, fuck that hurts... I..." Blood. There was so much blood. The sickening mess of his back was on full display for his lover then, the flesh of his broad, toned back riddled with angry, puckered holes that still leaked blood. "Nnnf. How bad? Babe, how bad?"

She wasn't dreaming.

"By the fucking Angel, Will, you're bleeding." Thank you Captain Obvious. In the moment she couldn't think of anything better to say, the words tumbling free of her mouth before she could even think about how stupid they sounded. Not as though she cared, not at the moment at least. Her hands reached out for his back, one to the nape of his neck and the other to the small of his back, just above his ass. Another time, she would have been tempted to go lower, but f*ck that was a lot of blood. His blood. Twelve oozing wounds across his back were the source.

"Baby hold still. Dios f*cking mio." The sheets stuck to her legs as she sat up onto her knees, enough of his blood having dried that she could tell he had been bleeding for awhile. Peeling away the stained fabric, she gripped it tightly in her balled fists, reaching tentatively for the lowest of the open wounds. Her first instinct had been to find her stele, but he was no Nephilim and she had to move to Plan B. "Um. F*ck. Wow. The, uh, places... you know, um, your bruises. They aren't bruises anymore. I... I... f*ck, Will. Tell me what to do."

Nicanora was freaking out.

Will, strangely, was a sea of calm. There were wounds, a purpose in tending them. At moments like those, the paramedic was in his element. Even if it was his own blood.

"Nnf. Focus, Nicanora. Focus. Spare med bag is next to the dresser. Plenty of sterile gauze in the bag to stop the bleeding. Go."

It was times like these that she was incredibly aware of the gap in her training, her reliance on runes something that she would definitely need to work to overcome. They were the tool of the Angel but they were given long before the advent of guns. Though, assuredly, had these been proper gunshot wounds, he would have bled out completely by now. And he sure as hell wouldn't have been conscious. The more she rationalized, the easier it became. It all fell together with the ringing of Will's voice in her ears. At the core of her being, she was a soldier and his orders hit home. Without another word, she released her hold on the bloodied sheet and rolled off the bed with a neat backtuck. Two and a half steps crossed the room and two and a half took her back once she had the bag in hand.

"Okay. Okay, I've got it." Her dark skin was even darker when streaked with his blood, a macabre war paint that matched the smear across her face and the rest that had stained her side from shoulder to knee. Hardly the squeamish sort, she put aside the fact that it was his blood and yanked open the bag, snatching gauze pads in suddenly steady hands. Ripping off the sterile wrapping, she hesitated with the first held over one of the round wounds. Pressure. Pressure stopped bleeding. She cringed and took a breath.

"I adore you, please don't hate me for this." In rapid succession, she layered fresh gauze over each and held against half of them with a splaying of fingers and some creative hovering over top of him in case the pain proved too much.

"Ow. Oh, man. Oh, man." The paramedic coughed up a laugh. "That hurts like a bitch. Mff. Okay... Keep the pressure on until the wounds stop oozing. Damn, mff. Last time you straddled me like this was a few weeks ago, International Women's Day. Was, uh, hoping not to repeat that." He choked on the laugh that time.

The laughter subsided, as did his instructions and the pained rambling. For a time, all that filled the room was the labored sound of his breathing and the occasional groan when one of the wounds was given more pressure than the others. Seconds became minutes, the Nephilim's suddenly proclamation of adoration giving him something to ruminate on instead of the pain, until Will was finally able to focus again. "Okay. Time for the sucky part," he breathed out a heavy sigh. "There's some really high power disinfectant in the bag. It's called Battle Grease. Brown bottle, tape label with the words in sharpie. You're gonna need to clean the wounds out..."

"Nnngh, I know you're trying to laugh through the pain but try not to move so much." She growled through her teeth and jabbed her kneecap into the back of his thigh. Totally accidentally. Right. Twelve wounds and only two hands, why did he have to have such a broad back? Curse your genetics, Will. Curse them. She got her wish soon after as he quieted but he was still breathing, so there was that. Passing presses over each gauze covered mark in order, she winced with every flinch of the paramedic beneath her.

"You're shitting me, right?" Nica asked incredulously. Well, it seemed she was getting that mundane medical training on the fly then. Without dismounting, she kept one hand planted against one of the worse holes while freeing the other hand to dig through the bag for what he instructed. Ultimately, the bag's contents ended up tossed around but not upended and she finally found what she was looking for. "Got it. Okay, f*ck, this is probably going to hurt like a son of bitch, isn't it?"

"If I go into shock," he mumbled. "Call Ronnie. If my heart stops beating, rub your tits on my face. It's like a defibrillator for perverts..."

"I'll let Ronnie rub his manboobs on your face. I'm sure that'll wake you up. Or make you wish you were dead. Either way." She leaned down and pressed a short kiss to just behind his ear, mumbling something incoherent into his hair and then sat up, resting her weight on his thighs as she unscrewed the cap on the bottle and got more gauze out.

"One at a time or as quickly as I can?"

"Let's just get it over with." The words came out in a gasp. "Just... Nicanora?"

Dousing a thick pad of gauze with the potent disinfectant, she paused to look down at him. "...What?"

"If I cry... don't tell Cris, okay? I don't want to lose spirit animal brownie points."

Nica didn't answer. Instead, she peeled one of the existing gauze pads away from his back and pressed the disinfectant soaked one against the wound, cringing all the way. She repeated that for the second and the third but by the fourth and onward, she took to holding the gauze just to the side of each subsequent wound and pouring the aptly named Battle Grease just uphill so that it rolled over the hole for her to quickly capture the spill with a press of the soft white packing. By the time she made it to the ninth or tenth (she had lost count really), she leaned down to check on him.

"I'm almost done. How ya holding up?" Tenth, eleventh, twelfth soon followed.

By the eighth wound, Will had stopped making sounds and when she checked up on him, the paramedic was unconscious.

Will

Date: 2016-03-31 01:12 EST
Pt 3

"Nnnn, by the Angel, c'mon Will." With each wound fairly cleaned out, she pulled what remained of his gauze stash and laid new strips across them, unrolling medical tape to pin each down with a sticky X. He was a mess, she was a mess, the bed was a mess, and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep and hope that this had all been a nightmare. But with an exhausted sigh, she slipped off of her perch and knelt beside him, bending at the waist to position her mouth beside his ear. Fingers ran up the back of his neck and through his hair. "Wake up, hermoso. Open your eyes for me or I'm gonna let Ronnie teabag you??

Needless to say, her idle threats did little to rouse the unconscious paramedic.

?Damnit, Will.? Covered in the man?s blood, she rolled off of her perch and got to her feet, wiping one hand off on the already stained bed so that she could retrieve her phone from her jacket. Clicking through the relatively short list of contacts she had, she pumped the call button and stuck the phone against her face. Literally. The sticky smudge of blood on her cheek made the device catch against her skin, making her cringe. Gross. On the third ring, Daniel picked up.

?Nicanora? Is everything okay?? He asked, the worry evident in his voice. It was then that she realized that she should have been to training by now.

?Crap. Yes. Wait, no. No, it isn?t. I? ugh, you know how much it pains me to do this but--?

?You need to cancel training.? Daniel finished for her.

?No. Actually, I need your help. I? something happened to Will and I can?t explain over the phone, but take Fangor until you hit Wilshire North. Go left, it?s the warehouse flats on the corner. Top floor, don?t take the lift. It?s finicky. I can explain more when you get here but please, just follow my lead. I need your help.? She offered him her best plea. On the other end he sighed.

?I?ll be there in fifteen,? he said finally. She thanked him and they hung up, leaving Nica once more with her unconscious lover and what looked like it may as well have been a murder scene. Stowing her phone, she looked over the scene with an ample amount of dismay. When Will still wouldn?t stir, she took a deep breath and tried to decide what to do. Move Will out of all of that blood, maybe get him cleaned up, but at the very least, get some shorts on him, because otherwise that would be awkward when Daniel got there. Within thirteen minutes, she had fireman carried Will to the bathroom, cleaned him up decently, got some basketball shorts on him, and was in the process of getting him to the couch when she heard a knock at the door.

?Just? a second.? She called, dropping Will gently on the couch with a wince. It wasn?t the softest of landings but she quickly rolled him onto his stomach and stepped back from the couch, turning toward the door to swing it open. Daniel stood outside in full gear, heavy black leather covering him from throat to ankle. He looked ready for a fight. She, on the other hand, was wild eyed, dressed in one of Will?s shirts and a pair of shorts, dried blood still painting her tanned skin beneath the thin fabric. Gesturing him in, she shut the door behind him. Once she caught her breath, Nica launched into a long winded explanation of just what had happened. By the end of it, Daniel stood staring at her, breaking only briefly to eye Will warily.

?That?s? an interesting development,? he whispered.

?Yeah. You?re telling me. But regardless, it was a lot of blood? the mattress is toast though. Bedding too. I just need help getting rid of it. I don?t want him waking up to that. You know how to handle blood properly? can I count on you?? As she spoke, she watched Will, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip. While she did, Daniel watched her, his brow furrowing.

?You can. I?ll take care of it. Take today off, we?ll pick back up on Sunday.? He squeezed her tense shoulder and got to work, stripping bedding and hauling things out. Nica played watchful sentinel over the downed paramedic, watching as the mattress and a bag full of bloodstained bedding was taken away. Daniel would find somewhere that it could all be properly incinerated, destroying any trace of blood that could be used in a bad way. He stopped in the doorway to watch the pair before clicking his tongue to gesture her over. ?You gonna be okay??

?I?m? not really sure. I?ll figure it out though??

Will drifted through a sea of black for a time.

No light. No real darkness. Just black. An absence of anything. Of everything. Time seemed irrelevant, unimportant against the backdrop of Nothing that held him aloft, and it made his mind prone to wandering. He thoughts were like a hundred quixotic knights errant, scattered in dozens of directions, ranging wide and far through colorfully mundane subject matter. Burritos. Dodge Chargers. Nicanora's shapely posterior. Forrest Gump. Halo 5. Flowers For Algernon. Spaghetti. That weird little drain plug at the stationhouse bathroom. 8-Track tapes. Nicanora's backside. Snow balls fights. Surfing. Puppies. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Nicanora's ass. Pizza. Baseball. Sneakers.

Nicanora's... well, all of her.

Wait, am I dead?

No. No.

Am I in a coma? Is this like a bad soap opera? Is my attempted murderer crying over me waiting for the opportunity to finish me?

You're being dramatic. You're being droll.

Hey, it's my death, I'll quip if I want to. Quip if I want to. You would quip too if...

You're waking up now. Aw, don't go.

What?

"Nnnn, by the Angel, c'mon Will." That was Nicanora's voice. His Nicanora. He heard her calling to him through the murk, heard her plea. He was moving at some point and not under his own power. Man, she must be strong. Her quiet plea touched his ears again, an echo of the previous.

"Hngh, no. NO! No coming on Will, I-am-not-a-bukkake-showgirl...wha'?" He sat bolt upright on the couch and instantly regretted it, the pain searing freshly through his bandaged wounds, the perfect vehicle through which to everything came into focus. It brought the memories and the reality of things crashing back down on him. He was panting. "No, no, what the f*ck. No."

And then he heard Daniel's voice, muffled by the pending departure and a closing door.

"What the f*ck? What f*cking nightmare is this? I'm a freak and that dick is all up in my inner sanctum."

"What."

"The."

"Fu-- Hell. Heaven. Man, what the f*ck is happening to me?"

"Will!" She nearly tripped over herself to get back to him. Only by the grace of several well placed balance and sure-footed runes did she stay up on her feet. Dropping into a slide on her knees, she skidded across the rough, uneven wood flooring, tearing open her knees and the tops of her shins as she slid to a stop in front of the couch. Her hands rose for his shoulders to haul him back down out of fear that too much movement might reopen the wounds on his back. The last thing they needed was blood on the couch.

"Oye, m?rame. You gotta calm down, babe. Settle. Please, please, please." Nica seldom begged (except in their more intimate moments), but there were sayings about desperate times.

" Settle? Did Daniel come to finish me off? Is he here to gloat because I can't dodge bullets? What? What is it? I just.. what the Hell is happening to me? What am I, Nicanora? What am I gonna become?" Daniel was forgotten as soon as he had been noticed and the rambling madness of his worry dissolved into a harsh sigh and the heels of his palms being rubbed into his eyes in an attempt to scrub away this horrible dream.

"I don't want to settle. I want to scream."

"N-no! He came to help me... to help you... f*ck, Will. I don't know. I don't know, babe. Please just settle back down, you're going to make yourself bleed again." The desperation dripped from every syllable, her voice rising high enough to lift over his. Pulling her hands back from him, she sat back on her heels and frowned, the edge of her bottom lip pinned so hard between her teeth that she was in danger of splitting it. It mattered little to her in the grand scheme of things. After all, she'd not had time to clean herself up so what was a little more blood added to the mix.

"You can scream after a bit. I just... I need you to breathe first."

Prone again, he stayed that way for a time, palms pressed firmly to his eyes like a man wounded or deliberately blinding himself from the world. He didn't speak again but the rapid, labored breaths lengthened and deepened as the minutes dragged, until he was doing exactly what she had asked of him.

"This sucks," he said finally.

It was a night of stating the obvious for Nicanora but rather than point this out with a sarcastic quip, she simply found herself instead relieved that he didn't seem like he was on the verge of freaking out any longer. It had been bad enough that he had been shot, only to find that he had nothing but bruises. Whatever had happened in the middle of the night had taken them so far into the realm of what-the-f*ck that she couldn't even see "Normal" in the rearview. She reached out to touch him again, three fingers brushed a feather light graze along his arm. It was meant to be soothing.

"You're alive. There are worse things."

His hands came away from his face, one finding hers so that their fingers could lace together. Lapis blue eyes were dim and devoid of mirth as he stared towards the ceiling. "Worse things. Yeah. Guess there are."

As an afterthought, he mumbled. "You okay?"

Nica wanted to hold him tightly, to ensure that nothing bad happened to him. She wanted so badly to protect him and keep him safe and worry free, but she couldn't. Not right now at least. So she settled for a loose lock of fingers with his, her arm relaxing just enough to rest against the lip of the couch. "Much worse things."

There were a few moments of silence as she considered his question but without realizing it, she had nodded in response almost immediately. An itchy nagging feeling lingered at the edge of her thoughts, as red-stained as they all were, but she pushed it aside. Still nodding, she exhaled a verbal pairing to the affirmation. "Yes."

One tug became two, drawing her in slowly by her hand until she was closer. So close. His face tipped to the side so that he could pressed his face against the softness of her cheek. She could feel him breathing then, slow and steady, with a warm breath tickling her skin. "We're okay... right?"

The softness of her cheek wasn't so soft, coated with an intermittent and thin layer of reddish brown, long since dried by now, but no less gross. Still she kept her own breathing pattern slow despite the lingering malaise. Nica's eyes closed as she nodded, her cheek rubbing against his. "Of course. Por supuesto que estamos bien. Siempre. Eres importante para m? m?s de lo que puedo explicar." She took a deep breath. "Are you hurting?"

"I don't speak Sexese." It was a soft, grousing tone, feigned annoyance without any of the fire. "English, woman." He snorted a laugh, but there was little to no mirth in it. "I feel like I've been shot a dozen times, oh, wait... Nngh. I'm okay. I think. Feel like crap, but I'm okay. Totally losing Spirit Animal points with Cris..."

"I... sorry. I just kind of default to it sometimes. Um, I was just... I dunno. You mean a lot to me so I'm glad you're okay...ish.' Her hand tightened on his, her chin dipping toward her chest as she brought her gaze down from his. A small smile, barely there and easy to miss, managed to curl one corner of her mouth. "You didn't cry. So there's that."

"Thank your Angel for small miracles then, eh?" With a low, pained groan, Will rolled onto his side and pressed his face in close to hers. This time their mouths were dangerously close. "I guess... I guess if this didn't chase you off, that makes me a pretty lucky idiot."

"Yeah, we'll call it that." She summoned a soft chuff of a laugh that quieted as he rolled. Her other hand came up to press against his abdomen to keep him from rolling too far and right off the couch but he stopped before that point anyways. Nica's eyes, more brown than gold in the moment, came back up to venture a glance toward his own, ultramarine blue threatening to pull her in and drown her like they always did. "I think you underestimate me if you think a little blood would be enough to run me off..."

"Pretty sure that was enough blood to make the Red Cross or a vampire cry." And then he kisses her, soft and brief, a silent thank you that very quite came out in words but was no less genuine.

"Vampires don't cry but even if they did, I doubt it'd be over spilled dinner but--" She got the words out just before his mouth met her, anything else she had to say lost to the intake of air and the soft smile that followed in the wake of his mouth's parting from hers.

"Can we go back to sleep now?" The words were half muffled against her mouth, just barely understandable. "Just... come up here and lay on me or something and I'll make you french toast later..."

"You go ahead and go back to sleep." She pecked a soft kiss to his mouth before leaning back reluctantly. "I really need a shower. I'll come join you once I get out or something."

"Mm, no. I'll wait for you. Go ahead." Silent then, he searched her face, blue seeking out brown. The mildest hint of worry limned his features.

"Sleep. You need it." She said insistently, moving her mouth to squish a kiss to his forehead before leaning back and wriggling her legs beneath her in preparation to get up. Catching his eye, Nica tipped her head to one side. "Need something?"

"Just you." His eyes had drifted closed again after a few moments, his lips thin without a smile to keep them more naturally curved. Twin sets of fingers laced themselves together over his stomach and, for a moment, it was a very funeral-like pose.

"You've got me." Nicanora tried to assure him as she rose, getting to her feet with a groan and leaning to rub dirt out of the scrape on one of her knees. It wasn't as though it had been a tremendous energy expenditure but she was exhausted. Still she put on a smile that persevered through his posture, though likely more out of her lacking familiarity with so called mundane burial rites, but still.

"Durante el mayor tiempo vas a tenerme." With that, she trudged her less-than-happy ass off to the bathroom in hopes of scrubbing away every last bit of him from her skin.

"Taco, burrito, salsa to you too." It was a sleepy mumble, the paramedic only slightly aware of himself poking fun at the beautiful Nephilim's native language. They were second nature to him, playful barbs were. The subsequent yawn was choked off by a soft groan of pain but he was sliding deeper and deeper towards sleep despite it. The last thing he could remember, ominous as they were, were a few errant feathers, off-white and falling from the sky, and the image of big, furiously flapping wings.