The present arrived late the next morning, around ten o'clock. A knock at Everett's door revealed a courier from the Lanesborough bearing a fine cut-crystal glass vase overflowing with snapdragons of every color imaginable, from pure, perfect white to a vibrant tropical magenta streaked with yellow. Attached to the vase, an envelope and inside a letter.

"...Joyous Love seemed to me
though while he held my heart in his hands,
and in his arms my lady lay asleep, wrapped in a veil.
Love woke her then, and trembling and obediant,
she ate that burning heart out of his hand,
and weeping, I saw him then depart from me. "

Poems for the poet... Come with me tonight and let me give you a garden of words.

~G

When opened, two tickets to the opera fell out from the folds of the letter, the writing on both revealing they were for a performance of Dante's Vita Nuova.

Later that morning the tuxedo arrived via the same courier, sized near perfectly to Everett's frame. It arrived in a fine, zippered bag, the hangers it hung on made of sweet smelling cedar wood, and when opened the bow tie that came along with it in it's own small box was made of the same fine, rare black silk as Gideon's had been the night before. The courier smiled broadly as he handed the package over. A gift, he explained, and not a rental so no need to worry about returning it.

"I saw my younger brother hurt, I saw him in anguish. I was not the cause, but I knew, in that moment, that if ever I were to cause someone to feel the way he felt, purposefully or not, I should have great difficulty in my own skin. Pain is life, I know this well. Still. I would not cause it, never if I could help it."

He would drown in it himself first. More reasons to leave England, never to return. More reasons to hide with his books. Gideon was not about to allow that, though. Everett could see it in between the lines, not just those passed between them, but in the long strange looks and the brief fire of contact.

"Well...we all try to avoid it, when we can. Most of us, that is."

Gideon himself was often guilty of going out of his way to hurt those around him, particularly before they could have a chance to hurt him. He drew the full flesh of his lower lip into the embrace of his teeth and sucked thoughtfully at it.

"Hmmn. How was he hurt? What happened?"

A bitter laugh. He was not the only spurned Ogden man in the family.

"He loved a girl. He told her so, they were dear friends, and she told him, unthinking, she could never marry a farmer."

A shrug. A dull old tale, but no less poignant to those involved. Everett had shared a room with William from the time they were both very small, and he had helped the lad pick up the pieces.

"Now he will not devote himself to anyone, but rather devotes himself to everyone. Like what Cassie does."

Only hurting himself, the poor thing, because that witless girl hadn't the sight to see the look in William's eyes as he poured his heart to her beneath a big summer sun one day.

"She was thoughtless, and it ruined him."

Gideon sat up slowly, releasing his lower lip from it's confines, leaving it glistening wet. He drew a slow breath and offered Everett an apologetic smile.

"Were all the women in Warwick such heartless, callous witches? I'm beginning to see more and more why you escaped from such a place."

It was not a serious question, but rather a gently teasing observation, softened by the smile that accompanied it.

"Just the one, I think."

A soft smile, in return. Everyone had a sad love story. He could not blame Anne for his own childish misconceptions. Everett had likely broken his own heart with that one. That wench that had harmed William, on the other hand, she was poisonous. How callously she treated the heart. How cautious it made Everett of Gideon, of his profession. He would do anything to spare the man, anything at all. At last another sip of tea, which he had forgotten long enough for it to be just warm, no longer hot. A sigh, and a smile.

"We must speak of something else. I grow melancholy, and make ill company for you."

Gid had surely not meant to spend his night with a person dripping in maudlin memories of broken hearts.

"If you would join me, perhaps, we would not need to speak of anything at all." Gideon suggested slyly, as he rested elbows on his knees, elegant hands dangling down between them slightly. "Otherwise you may choose the subject, Ev."

Everett blushed at the idea, not so much at the audacity of it, but more because he actually weighed it. Everett scratched at the back of his head with a funny little laugh.

"How is it that you are so bold?" It was a point of wonder, of envy. Patient Everett did not know how to be so forward. Maybe he would learn one of these days. He was so self conscious, he found it hard to look on Gideon, the elegant hands free of inkspots, the eyes that pierced him through. He found it just as difficult to avert his eyes, and again began that internal battle of wills. Want versus reason. Passion versus propriety. He made a compromise, turned scooted the chair a bit away from the table so that it faced the foot of the bed, and mirrored the posture of his friend.

"Because I have no shame in what I want." He answered simply. "There is no man or god who can judge my desires as the worst of my sins." He gave the poet an almost chilling little smile.

"And unlike you, my dearest friend, I have very little in the way of patience."

Everett?s brows both raised and he nodded once. That made a great deal of sense to him. Gideon was unencumbered in ways that Everett could not comprehend. Meanwhile, the artist was quite weighed down by his old ideas. The smile might have caused him to shrink had he not seen a similar expression.

"Fear does not hold you back, either." A thoughtful adjustment of the lenses, making them a good deal less crooked on their perch.

Gideon drew a slow breath and slid off the bed, moving smoothly into a kneel of both knees, his hands sliding up over Everett's knees to rest upon his thighs. Dark head tilted back as he looked up at his friend, a dark mystery written there upon his handsome features, steeped in sadness.

"I fear so much more then you know... but I will not let it hold me back while I am here."

Stained hands came to rest softly on cooler hands and sadness steeped with melancholy.

"It is what makes you extraordinary."

The smile that grew was hopeful amid the pitiful sentiments, though who knew for what it hoped. The poet certainly did not. He drank in the exquisite poetry of the sight of him, his strange generosities all juxtaposed against his many selfish ways. The darkness of the beauty of the man, and the light Everett could sense in it. Gideon was perfectly flawed.

Gideon smiled darkly and gave the thighs under his hands a light squeeze. He wondered sometimes which one of them would outlive the other, which one would give the other man immortality. With Sascha bringing the threat of the coven close once more Gideon's smug sense of indestructibility had been shaken severely. He released his breath in a gentle sigh and dropped his eyes from Everett's face, retreating inside of himself like a conch, that undeniable presence withdrawing against the smooth and slippery inner walls, into the dark of his own mind.

It was tangible. One could feel the attention slide from them, as plainly as one could feel a shift in the wind. It left him cold. The poet raised his right hand, still on Gid's left, traced the peaks and valleys made by all those bones and smooth flesh. Fingers reversed direction, back up the dip between knuckles, their tips slipping just beneath the cuff of that shirt, to trace tiny circles on his arm. Comfort offered there, and a fair amount of yearning.

"This silence rarely ends well." Someone always spooked and ran. Everett did not want Gideon to flee because things had gotten a little bit too serious, a little bit too real. It left him too cold, too uncertain.

Gideon's eyes drifted shut at the miniscule caress the poet offered him, the soft circles sending a delicious chill down his spine. He sighed lightly and opened those pale blues with a gently teasing smile.

"And yet you lay it so often at my feet. Would you not give me something warmer, and let me make the same offering in return?"

Everett?s grin was, yet again, self-effacing.

"It is only so because I never know what to say. What to do." His heart pounded. Maybe it knew. He raised his other hand to brush the hair from his eyes. It was getting too long.

"You do not speak of words." Eyes slid from pale blues to stacks of black and of white. "Or perhaps you do." A rueful sigh to match that smile that sat haplessly on him.

"I am hardly clever enough for this. And I ramble."

Hand slipped from the hair at his forehead to scratch at the back of his head, it would be amazing if he did not give himself a bald patch with how he worried at that spot.

"I ramble when my nerves are too... prodigious in scope."

Gideon couldn't help the warmth of the smile Everett constantly brought to his face, nor the laughter that bubbled up inside at the poet's sudden ramblings. He shook his head and withdrew back to his seat upon the bed.

"No I do not speak of words, Everett. Though I love your words, I am not a man of them. And I think you do know what to do, to say... you are just afraid of it. Don't be ruled by fear, Everett, or instead of giving you wings your words will build you the bars of a cage."

Gideon couldn't help the warmth of the smile Everett constantly brought to his face, nor the laughter that bubbled up inside at the poet's sudden ramblings. He shook his head and withdrew back to his seat upon the bed.

"No I do not speak of words, Everett. Though I love your words, I am not a man of them. And I think you do know what to do, to say... you are just afraid of it. Don't be ruled by fear, Everett, or instead of giving you wings your words will build you the bars of a cage."

Everett rose from the chair to take a seat beside Gideon, still lost in the woods where the battle in his mind was staged. No, he did not know the right thing to say, but so far, the truth had done nothing but help the both of them. Or so he thought. He kept his feet planted on the floor and his hands settled to each side of him, fingers curled relaxed against the ribbed texture of the heavy blanket.
"I am afraid to kiss you." His gaze rose evenly, from a soft focus on the vacant chair to a far sharper inspection of the man just to his left. "I am afraid I will only hurt you."

Gideon shook his head in amused exasperation at that and turned towards his friend, reaching out to stroke cradle his cheek gently.

"Everett...can't you understand that it is when you withhold your affection that you hurt me most?" A tender thumb traced the line of the poet's cheekbone. "Your touch, your kiss...that passion you hold so tightly leashed... that is what I want, what I crave. How can you not know that?"

"I suppose I do. Disbelief, perhaps."

Had anyone ever craved him before, longed so rapturously for him? In earnest, no. He knew what it was to have such ecstatic attention partly returned and then withdrawn for good. How it stung. Never did he wish to sing. Eyes and hands, always dancing. His reached up to cut in with Gid's, inky fingers would uncurl the ones they held. He eyed it at length, his thumb to find the major lines of Gideon's palm as his eyes did. Tracing life. Love. Fate. The major lines. With a deep breath, he leaned to the palm, to brush his warm lips across the expanse. They paused at the dip where wrist and hand collide, dead center, and he pressed a reverent kiss to that exceptional underused curve of the body.

The major lines that stood out in Gideon's hands were like a book of strange stories... lifeline with a break clean through the middle of it, love line made of many little fractions. Gideon watched the poet quietly, and felt another delicious tremor pass through him at the press of warm lips to his cool wrist. Every kiss given freely, every unsolicited touch wrung an ounce of pain from Gideon's cold heart and replaced it with joy.

Everett sat up, to clutch that hand between both of his and cradle it. Everett was very warm, probably due to the reckless drumming of his heart.

"No. This is not something that is easy to believe, at all."

How little he knew. That ignorance was painted in his eyes, sure as the earnest colors of him, of his fears and his guilt and the lonely yearnings of his broken heart. Most remarkable of all these things, however: his hope. A battered little thing that simply refused to lay down and die. It lived beside all the other things and likely was the only thing that kept him walking the world.

Gideon's fingers tightened reassuringly upon his wrist. He stood from the bed and drew Everett upwards with him, pulling him forward only to cross behind him. He disentangled his fingers slowly and wrapped both arms around the poet, drawing him in close, his head over the other's shoulder, cheek pressed to cheek.

"How is it not...when everything I do or say is an echo of how much I want these things from you...and to give them to you?"

His eyes closed and he leaned into Gid, his arms falling over the ones around him, feeling like he might fly apart.

"It is me. And it is you. To look on you, to think of myself. This was unimaginable. It still is, in so many ways."

He still harbored guilt in so many avenues. In some ways, that feeling made things more exciting. Every kiss felt stolen, giving them that electric thrill of the illicit. Yet he knew he was unworthy, and it caused this disbelief. He was just a man, barely more than a pauper, and this prince lavished attention upon him. A long sigh came for the thought.

"I do not tell you I feel undeserving to seek your reassurances, or your pretty compliments or your attention. I tell you because it still feels true, and what reason have I to lie?"

Everett sensed that Gideon knew him so well, he could pluck the eye out of his eyes before it ever crossed his lips, anyway. It was an intimidating sensation.

Gideon sighed softly and dropped his head to burry his face in the warmth of Everett's neck. Long fingers flexed against the other's chest and then curled into fists slowly. It would be just and fitting if the humble poet spurned him because he seemed to grand, to perfect a thing when in reality he was so base he did not deserve look upon the other.

"Please don't push me away yet Everett..."

Hands found hands again, and he sought to lace their fingers. His voice was a pained whisper in reply, an aural showing of all that tied him in knots within. It was no wonder his writing had grown so much.

"Even if it occurred to me to do so, I do not think that I could."

The taut grip of Gideon?s fingers released slightly to allow Everett's digits between his.

"I know you think I'm the sinner tempting the saint.. and perhaps you're right. But, god. Everett, this isn't so wrong is it? Can't we steal some kind of happiness and not be damned for it?"

"Forgiveness, to my thinking, is a cornerstone of religion. That I can seek. I do seek it."

God forgives, and Everett would not necessarily be damned in that fashion. His own personal hell was what damned him every day. It did so in the treason of his heart, still tied to a woman that he suspected now never loved him. It did so in the guilt he carried about his secrets and his inability to face them. Despite what he had been told, he worried, constantly about Illiana.

"I would never be able to forgive myself, however, if I were to cause some great harm in all of this."

And it was likely he would, he sensed it, he knew it was nigh impossible to be so close to someone and not cause them grief.

"I fear that I shall hurt you tremendously," said the tremendously hurt poet.

"You cannot hurt me more than I have already been hurt, Everett. I promise you." His fingers unfolded and stretched out slowly, still laced between Everett's. Both hands moved, slowly, to come together in the center of the poet's chest, and undid one button after another, moving slowly downwards.

"I tried very hard to keep myself away from you... so that I would not spoil you, ruin you... hurt you Everett. I cannot."

He peeled from his captor and turned, his shirt hanging from the shelf of of his shoulders with that split clean down the center. Lenses made just bigger the large eyes behind them, eyes that trailed up to seek the gaze of the taller man. Everett was looking for truth. He sought it from himself and his world in black and white. He sought it from Gideon in the expanse of that unworldly blue.

"Do not keep away." How cruel that would be. Never mind that it would probably be better for them both.

"No." It was a breath of a word as he pulled Everett closer with his grip upon the lapels of his shirt, and finally stopped the words between them with a slow, deep kiss. He drew the shirt back and down his shoulders, and down the length of his arms.

The old shirt pooled behind them, and then his lanky arms wrapped around Gideon, one hand to snake up and brush up the nape of his neck, the funny little trail that hair cut across the skin there. He pressed his palm flat against that spot and his thumb stretched to caress and tease at the tender flesh just behind one ear. The longer they shared that quiet space, the less hesitant he became, the more willing and even eager in the kiss. His own pulse thrummed in his own ears. Pulse for two.

Warm hands spread over Everett's sides, feeling every rib just there under the surface before the stroked upwards slowly along the gentle upwards sweep of his back. His mouth closed over Everett's lower lip, teeth settling into flesh and scraping lightly before his mouth moved on to steal a slow suck of the tender cupids bow of his upper lip. He felt as if he could have purred to rival the kitten as the poet's thumb found that ticklish, small spot behind his ear, his heart constricting in that wonderful, poignant pain that he so longed for.

A surge of pleasure was dampened by a surge of guilt. That awful bitter feeling, rainer of a thousand parades. Even as he cupped Gid's face to lock them together, he pulled his lips in on themselves and urged his chin away. The name slipped off the tongue, familiar and terrifying as that strange taste lingered on it.

"Gideon..." He shuddered, opened his eyes in the space but a breath away from the devil. Everett thought him an angel, and he was not entirely incorrect. "I am unprepared."

Disloyal heart sang the name of another, even though it sang of lies. She had no place in this moment, and he would not be disloyal to Gideon in that fashion.

"Stay here. Lay beside me." The last word was bookended in a pair of kisses, as his hands swept over the curves of the strange beauty before him. "Please."

Gideon nodded silently, and as the pair of them nestled down onto the bed, he curled himself against Everett, the pair of them facing, legs an entwined mess. One of Gideon?s hands rested gently against Everett?s cheek, thumb soothingly, hypnotically stroking his cheekbone as he watched the poet, pale gaze silently warm, echoing the gentle smile that curved his lips.

Everett Ogden had opted to stay in, there was simply far too much going on in his head to expose himself to yet more noise. Benny slept in the arm chair in the corner, a favorite spot of his clearly evidenced by the sheer amount of kitten fur one could find on the cushion at any given moment. He had brought a bottle of wine up from the common area and settled in for the night. Him, his books, his words, his sanctuary.

Gideon walked along the cobblestones, hand in hand with Illy, smiling to himself. Everett would be endlessly pleased to finally get to spend time with the lovely, delicate woman once more, and it had been forever since Illy had had the pleasure of Everett's company. Up the stairs of the inn they went, and he held the from door open for her before stepping in behind and moving for the stairs up to the rooms.

Illiana followed the elder vampire with the quiet smile of one reunited. Her eyes lingered at the center of his back as she drifted dreamily upwards to the hallway. The heat of the building coaxed her coat from her shoulders as she stepped, and she held the thin coat as a drape over her arm, pausing as Gideon moved toward Room Two Oh.

"He will be so suprised, Illy." He murmured happily as he trailed up the stairs after the beauty and moved down the hall towards room two-oh. A light rap of his knuckles at the door and he gave her cheek a soft kiss, his hand coming to rest gently against the small of her back.

Her smile softened and brightened at once with the words, and her lungs seemed to fill at the sense of his hand at her back.

"I am so fond of him, it will be lovely to see him again."

The sound caused him to look over his shoulder, a brow raising. There were not so many people that would call on him, so it would come as no surprise when he opened the door to see Gideon. However, it would come as a vast surprise to the rumpled, spotted gentleman to see that he had brought company. Everett grinned for her, despite that in a way, he still harbored some guilt about their unique situation.

"Illy! At last." He stepped aside, a toothy boyish grin for the both of them as he welcomed them. "Hello. And hello, Gideon. Would you like something to drink?"

Benedick proved definitively that he was a cat by half opening an eye to see those incoming and deciding that he frankly did not care. After a good stretch and a gaping yawn, he turned in the chair and returned to his kitty dreams.

"Hullo, Ev. I'd love something, thank you." He stepped in after Illy and moved to take a seat upon the edge of the bed, allowing Illy her choice of chairs at the small table.

How she longed to press his hand and whisper to him that his guilt was unfounded! But Illy steeled herself, resolved only to respect the poet and his mild manner which so happily mirrored her own sense of appropriate behavior. Her head dipped as she stepped past the threshold, the curl of her lips evolving gently from smile to grin and back again.

"It has been too long, Everett." She stared at the feline creature heaped so languidly upon his throne. "And you have acquired a family of sorts, I see."

She moved toward the table, then, and settled into a chair, allowing the fabric of her coat to pile at her lap. Her excitement and pleasure was evident: her hands would not stop their fidgeting.

"I'll have a glass of whatever you deem fit to serve Gideon, and thank you."

"Ah, yes. The work of Gideon." With a smile towards the cat in the armchair, he adjusted his spectacles and made introductions.

"Illiana, that is Benedick. Benny, really." He turned his face back to hers and sighed lightly, all warm regard for the exquisite lady. "You look so well. I have wine, and a little bit of scotch, though it would not be a problem for me to run down and find something else to suit your tastes." As he looked at the elegant pair, he was suddenly acutely aware of his own state, barefoot and less than put-together. He busied himself immediately with the business of tucking in the old shirt. Marginally better.

She could not help following the ink-stained poet's gaze toward the cat. Benny seemed an appropriate title. In truth, Illy had never cared much for pets. They seemed too willing to soak up affection and kind speech - there was no challenge, after all. But that haughty animal gave her a small sense of comfort, if not amusement.

"Scotch is just fine, Everett. Please don't trouble yourself at all. I believe we're unexpected guests, after all." And then she gave Gideon a conspiratory wink, primarily for Everett's benefit, as if to say all was well. To relax. Settle. Enjoy.

Gideon rose from his seat, opportunity presenting itself sooner then he had imagined.

"Why don't you let me? I'll nip down and get something nice, yes?" He gave Illy a grin in return to her wink. "I'll just be a moment."

A hand to Everett's shoulder, brief squeeze and a soft trail of fingertips before he opened the door and stepped out, leaving the pair alone for the time being while he made his way down into the evening's bustling tavern.

Before he could protest, Gideon was up and out, but it was just as well. Gideon had shoes on. Everett settled himself into the slight imprint on the edge of the bed, where his friend had just sat, folded his hands together and smiled for Illy.

"I really am so grateful that you decided to call. I have missed your good company."

Demurely, Illy shifted so that her legs could more comfortably cross beneath the fabric of the long skirt as she regarded the frame of this man. This wonderful man who had quite unwittingly captured the heart of her lover. A curious situation indeed. And there was nothing to be said, no tool with which to chip away at ice. Illiana decided that it would be better to melt that sheet than to hack at it clumsily. She nodded agreeably and moved so that her posture proclaimed her attentiveness: elbow at the table, chin at her palm.

"And I have missed yours, of course. You seem to have become quite comfortable here at the inn. I hope that means you'll be staying indefinitely."

"I certainly cannot imagine going anywhere else in the immediate future." He scratched at the back of his head. A gesture he always employed when his nerves thought to simmer over the edge of the pot. With a deep breath, he continued the game of polite questions. Working up his nerve. He had some nerve...

"You have been very busy of late, I understand. Anything of great interest?"

Breaking gaze only when she felt his discomfort swell, Illiana maintained the air of one close friend who had been away. It was exquisite, really, this dialogue: each of them bursting and for such different reasons. She, to cradle his fingertips and comfort him. He, certainly, to relieve guilt. To his question, she shook her head.

"I returned to Cambridge to collect some personal items and - well, this is between us, Everett. I was working on a second doctorate when I came to Rhydin. Such things were all but abandoned once I arrived, of course." She paused, her eyes wandering to the floor. "I had to see someone, to pass along my work. It has been a trying few weeks."

"I am ever so sorry that it has been difficult."

He patted the back of her hand, and how he felt worse! She had been away from Gideon and he had been keeping Gideon company, yes, but did she really know the extent of it? Gideon had said that she did, but Everett still had to wonder.

"Is there anything at all I can do to help? To ease you?" His brow knitted into an earnest pattern, deep lines and a warm gaze.

Her eyes wandered from floor to the place where his palm had been and then to his eyes, into which she smiled graciously. The touch had drawn her from a quick trip into memory, and her spine seemed to straighten as she loosed herself from that foggy place.

"Oh, Everett, I wish I could tell you how much your company alone comforts. There is something to be said for having very good friends, after all. But I will say thank you, because I know you ask in earnest. That, too, is rare."

She was an angel. He thought to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, but that would be silly unless he really knew that he had sinned in her eyes.

"A shame that it would be so." Everett took a deep breath. "You are so important to Gideon, and though we are not well acquainted, it makes you all the more important to me, Illy."

That lower lip tucked between his teeth for a spell.

"I would never want to do anything that hurt either of you." Every one of those words carried weight, he spoke them with all the reverence that he used to read his poems.

Downstairs Gideon took his time making tea. Alcohol might have been a lubricant in this odd little situation, but he highly doubted that it would truly make things seem easier for the one out of the three of them who could actually consume the stuff. Nonetheless he put a small bottle of whiskey onto the tray alongside the honey and milk as he waited for the kettle to boil.

Illy sat perplexed for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it was within seconds of his small speech's end that she'd risen from her seat, left her coat a liquid puddle in her own stead, and placed herself intimately beside the poet. She took his hand, then, and held it at some maternal angle.

"Everett, you are important to us both. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, my dear friend, and so I will say nothing to you without your permission to. But please," Her fingers gripped his, then, to emphasize her sincerity. "Please don't think of causing pain. You keep such things at bay. I give you my word."

She released his hand, then, because to hold it made her breast swell with the desire to betray all that she knew. But she would not allow it, not until Everett signaled that he would not suffer for the words.

Everett kept his eyes on Illy, utterly transfixed by her, hanging on every word and every gesture. Her fingers slid into his own, and he returned her grip with a gentle squeeze, and when she withdrew her hand, he pressed his into its partner. It helped to hold on to at least something.

"It is so good to hear it, I just..." Everett thought of what he and Gideon had spoken of, of the way he withheld things, of the fear that always held him back, and he willed himself to meet her eyes.

"I have worried about what you think of me. In context of Gideon. I have been unable to catch you at any hour, though perhaps I should have tried better." Another scratch to his head, and he looked over to study that kitten. "Though he assures me that it is not so, I have worried that I have hurt you, and I would never forgive myself if I were to cause you grief."

Those were the most honest of any words he had ever uttered. Everett strove to never pain another. It was an exercise in futility, but he would try all the same.

Her heart broke. It struggled to beat at all, to beat in time to the mortal's and its failing sent it into a swollen bursting. There was no grief, no sadness. It was not quite joy. The suffering of it was immense and beautiful, that this man would think that his intimacy with Gideon would harm Illiana in some way. Of course, it was the natural concern. In any normal group, such things would surely cause unrest and envy. She smiled for him, her eyes swimming suddenly with everything she could not say. Her words were uttered with the quiet reverence of a penitent. Absurd, perhaps, considering it was Everett who felt that he was confessing.

"Oh, Everett. You have brought joy to the one that brings joy to me. I could never thank you properly, there aren't any words in any language. You have nothing to fear, not from me. I love you dearly for your love for him."

Love. A powerful word, and one with which he took great care. His heart still recovered from his last bout with it. Ten rounds with it had left him sprawled and swollen and bleeding and gone. Maybe it was a kind of love, the careful way he stepped around them both, how profoundly difficult he found it to deny Gideon anything. His brain would run that one in circles later, but for the time being, he thought he might burst. Ev's eyes misted, though it was just relief. Nobody was being hurt, and perhaps he could look at himself in the mirror with fewer painful questions dwelling in his imagination. Impulsively, he placed a warm kiss high on her cheek and smiled for her. It took great restraint to not curl in her lap like a complacent cat and declare his eternal fealty on the spot. It was easy to see why Gideon loved her.

"You cannot know what grief you have spared me."

Balancing the tea tray in one hand, careful of its weight, Gideon gave the door another soft knock. He couldn't manage the knob and the tray at once, and wanted to be sure he did not walk in on an awkward situation.

But she could know, and that knowledge spread through her like baptismal waters. Blasphemous, perhaps, considering her lack of faith, and blasphemous because any gods would surely spurn her for her unnatural state. She said nothing, only placed her palm against his cheek for a brief moment, and she smiled again. At the knock, she glanced toward the door and then to Everett with question marks in her eyes. As if to ask if he was ready.

A watery smile for Illy. He was never ready for Gideon, but he always answered that knock. Everett rose and crossed the short distance to the door, pulled it open to admit Gideon, who had apparently gone all out with the fetching of drinks.

"You have returned equipped for any situation, I see." Good Englishman, brought tea to the party. Everett eyed the tray.

As the poet rose, the professor followed only far enough to return to her previous seat. Before taking her leisure there once more, she carefully arranged her coat so that it hung safely on the back of the furniture. Cool fingers smoothed the fabric. Her thoughts were scattered and focused at once, and the break for drinks was welcome. At last, she sat and found herself laughing softly at the two men.

"He knows how to prepare for a gathering, I think."

"I have." Gideon said with a small smile as he stepped inside and set the laden tray upon the table. Teapot, cups, whiskey, honey, milk and even biscuits... all piled there. Leaving the tray he turned toward Illy and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"Will you pour, luv?"

"Happily." She would have blushed at his kiss if she could have, but it was enough that her lips formed a girlish smile. She glanced up at Everett.

"For our poet first. What would you like, Everett?"

Everett pressed at hand to his sternum, drumming his fingers there as he eyed the tray.

"It all does look quite fine." A smile came, this one made him look as though he were beginning to feel comfortable in his own skin again. A good look on anyone.

"I shall take my tea with milk and honey, please, and I know of no Ogden man who would ever refuse a biscuit..." There was not a one of those in his bloodline, to be sure. Grandpa Ogden (still rolling in his grave, by the by) had been tremendously fat because of Grandma Ogden's biscuits.

The soothing did look delightful upon him, it was true. Illy prepared Everett's tea with care, pouring with all of the grace of a girl trained in etiquette. She placed a biscuit neatly beside the teacup upon its saucer and offered the package to the poet with a grin.

"I cannot abide biscuits, myself. The sugar goes right to my heart and makes it flutter. But you shall eat as many as you can stomach if I have anything to say on the matter." Glancing at Gideon, she grinned. "And you, love?"

Perhaps they would be fortunate and Grandpa Ogden might have had some manner of unrequited crush upon the local shepherd lad in his youth. They'd never know. Gideon resumed his seat upon the bed.

"With whiskey and honey for me, Illy, thank you."

It was charming, in a way, that they insisted on serving though technically speaking they were his guests, but he felt at ease in the situation. To be doted upon then was a very fine echo of what it had been to be in the bosom of his family. He took his cup and saucer and settled on the edge of his bed, balancing the dish on his knee. Benny heard the sound of dishes, and that almost always meant he was getting a treat. He stretched to his feet, hopped to the floor, and padded over to greet everyone at last. First, there was the customary weave between Ev's ankles, then he moved to butt up against Illiana and Gideon. His purr was a demanding one, used in only two important instances.

"Ah, young master." Gideon greeted the kitten warmly. He was naturally affectionate, despite his lack of experience with animals. Benny was easy to love though. He took the saucer from under his own teacup and poured a bit of the milk into it, then set that upon the floor for the kitten, running his fingers along the short, sleekly fuzzy back.

"There now, you can have tea as well I suppose."

Benny sat, little tail flicking out in elegant lines behind him, communicating his content as he lapped up the milk as though he were starving to death. Everett shook his head, a funny little smile as he watched the cat.

"He has quite a personality." Ev tried the biscuit and found that it suited him. He felt very much at ease in that moment, like the cat, and with any luck, like his company.

Illy stood, tidying the tea things, and moved for her coat.

"I'm afraid, my darlings, that I am becoming quite tired. I hope you'll forgive me if I return to the hotel and rest. Everett... " She smiled affectionately to him and bent to kiss his forehead - a most maidenly gesture that spoke volumes. "I will look forward to meeting you again, my friend. Until then, do take care of Gideon."

A low chuckle and she straightened, sliding the coat along her arms and buttoning it.

At ease indeed. Gideon took his tea after Illy poured it, and sank down upon one of the chairs at the table, the closer one to the bed, and took the smallest of tastes of the deliciously hot, honey-sweet stuff. He could not help but smile broadly at Illy's loving buss to Everett's forehead.

"Take care, luv. I will see you later tonight."

She nodded at Gideon, smiling, and then made for the door. Within moments, she was gone, the faint scent of books and feminine soap in her wake.

"It is our great loss to lose your company so soon." He felt a little surge of sadness at her hasty departure, but it could not last long, not with how she had made him so light with such ease.

"I shall do my best, Illy." A smile, and he carefully rose to see her the five steps to the door. He had to be a gentleman, after all. He set the saucer on the edge of the table and held the door for her, closing it gently in her wake. Smell of girl trailed behind her, brought a little flush to his cheek in its foreign yet familiar flavor. There was no smell in the world like that. Everett smiled to Gideon.

"She is amazing." Appropriately amazed, he crossed to the table to devour a second biscuit.

Gideon watched his lover go, a warm, wistful smile on his face.

"She is indeed, you have no idea how amazing."

Illy had saved Gideon from himself, she had forgiven the unforgivable, and she along with the gentle poet sitting by his side was working to grow the seeds of humanity, of goodness with the fallow feilds of Gideon's cold heart.

"I'm glad she was able to join us for a little while."

"As was I." Unspeakably so. He settled with his teacup back into that spot at the edge of his bed, and watched as the gratified kitten abandoned them both again for the comfort of his beloved armchair. Everett drew in a deep breath, how fine it felt to breathe, his eyelids shut a moment as the air filled his lungs and opened again. He was lighter, and for the first time that evening, he looked carefully over his friend.

"Have you been well, these past few days?" Ev had been in his room every night for the last few, and none had called. The quiet had greatly helped to center him.

"I have. I was about to ask you the same thing. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you." He replied. Thoughts of his confrontation with Viki ran through his mind. If Everett had known he would have despised the vampire, but that was the point of the while thing wasn't it? For his part he no longer loathed the little seer, though she was still a thing to be treated with caution. How she had come out of the entire ordeal not hating him was either a miracle or a by product of her fractured little fairy mind. Gideon was willing to place even money on both.

"Nor have I been to the Lanesborough." An easygoing smile as with a wave, he dismissed the unnecessary apology.

"Truth be told, the quiet has been something of a relief. Benny has kept me from loneliness, and my words have kept me from idleness. I have been quite well."

Another long sip of tea and the poet looked softly on the vampire, blissfully unaware that in some moments, he was indeed a demon?

Although he was exhausted from the incredible exertion of grief, Everett begged his hosts for some time to himself about an hour before sunrise. They had been up all night, sitting with him, distracting him with pleasant conversation on one thing or another, and forgiving him in those random moments when he broke down again. Gideon saw him to the guest room, closed the door behind him and Everett was again alone.

He needed to weep.

He needed to write.

He needed to strike something.

He needed to howl at the moon.

He needed revenge.

He needed to wake up in his own bed and find out that it had been a nightmare.

He needed to sleep.

It had been a long day, a longer night, and was looking like the beginning of a very long morning. The brokenhearted poet did not even disrobe before he crawled into the posh bed in the well appointed guest room. The concerned, empathetic kitten followed him, balling up in the hollows left by the curled form of the man. He watched with large green eyes as Everett, clutching the pillow, suffered an onslaught of silent sobs. Again and again he shook until at last, as the sun rose outside, his body gave up and sleep took him.

Everett slept well, and he slept for a good long while.

He awoke disoriented. As the fog of sleep trailed away from him, he remembered where he was and why. The gentleman also recalled that he probably was supposed to be at work at some point that day. He noted the time. It was nearly four o'clock.

Bollucks.

He had to at least send word that he would return to work... well. Of that he was uncertain. Weeping did not go well with his line of work, though at least, for the time being, he was numb enough to be spared the violent wave of emotions. Everett vaguely recalled Gideon mentioning something about the concierge being able to help him, so he left the room to seek that fellow.

Waiting for him just outside of his bedroom door was a trunk. He opened it and found everything he could have immediately wanted from his own room. There were a few changes of clothes, his sketchbook, his pen, Benny's things... everything important.

Huh.

He lifted it, brought it into the guest room, then moved along in his quest for the concierge. Out the door of the flat he moved to the front desk, still barefoot and wrinkled and untucked, and not giving a damn either way. He looked hung over, and in a way he was.

"Yes, Mr. Ogden?"

He blinked to hear his name, straightened his glasses and spoke to the gentleman who greeted him.

"I should like to send word to my place of employ, I did not realize that I would be away today..."

"The Library, sir? I have already been instructed to send word to them that you have endured a familiy emergency and they are not to expect you through the end of the week. A courier took the letter this morning."

"Oh. I. Er, yes. Thank you."

"Did you require anything else, Mr. Ogden? I could send for a meal for you."

Everett thought to refuse, but he realized that he had not had anything since his lunch hour the day before, and even that had been a meager meal. With a concilatory nod, he accepted the offer.

"That would be very nice, actually, thank you."

"If there is anything else, sir, do let us know."

The concierge went back to work and Everett went back to the flat. He had a very long shower, and then dressed himself in some clean clothes. Aware of the grandeur of his surroundings, he felt compelled to be sure his buttons were done up correctly. He rolled the sleeves in neat, crisp cuffs. When he left the room again, there was an elegant meal waiting for him in the kitchen, beneath a silver dome and still piping hot. Lamb, spring vegetables, and very excellent bread.

To his surprise, he ate every scrap of it. The flat was silent, and Everett supposed that Illy and Gideon must be at work. Some work might suit him well. He helped himself to a glass of wine, and retreated to his room.

At last, the poet began to write.

Up and down, up and down. The feeling in his chest reminded him of what it felt to be at sea, to be ill for months on end. Always it rolled, always reversing his states. The days of seasickness were not fondly recalled; he was ravenous one minute and retching the next. His heart did the same, starved for attention and help, then longing for solitude. Back and forth. He had tidied up a little, which was probably good - the papers were not quite as manically spread through the room, though he and the room were still strange twins. Both were disorganized with the capacity to be a hundred times worse or a hundred times better, depending on which way the wind shifted. Wild hair needed a trim as badly as his spectacles needed a thorough cleaning. In his half buttoned shirt, bare feet and linen trousers, he was curled in front of the hearth this time, obsessing over Dante for a few minutes, simultaneously reveling in and tormented by the genius of the man.

In through the great, glittering lobby, and into the elevator that soared upwards to the highest floor the unlikely pair went, until at last he was fitting his key into the lock of the penthouse and turning the knob. He opened the door and stepped back to allow Viki entrance, the expression on his face resignedly sullen.

Blue was at war with white, purple gobbled up green, and Gideon's red handkerchief collided with the rest of the colorwar as the seer hurried along, doing her best to keep with preternatural speed, taking in the scenery with saucers of blue. Somewhat hesitant, as if this was all some devilish trick, she paused in the doorway before spilling inside. Yes. The poet was here.

"Ev? We have company..." He stepped in after the seer and moved towards the hearth, passing the girl with his long strides, only to pause by his chair and bend to steal a soft kiss. It was claim and tenderness at once, and he drew back from it to give Viki a pointed glance.

"I found a wild thing in the streets and thought you might like to have it as a distraction."

?Brother?? Small voice of singsong, easily identified as the fairy belled gypsy, took flight and hearty sound as she wandered inside, under Gideon's sullen watch. If she was amused by being labeled a wild thing, it did not appear upon her face. There, there lay only concern.

?Went to your room and you were naut there and the door was cold and...? A swallow of words, a look to Gideon. They had gone through this already. No sense in making it news. Then again, the seer was one without common sense, and with a wholely other sort. She stepped forward, her breath matching his as she drew closer.

Everett was returning the kiss in kind before his sense caught the intrusion of the Seer. Everett's cheeks flushed as his eyes widened. Nothing could have surprised him more than to see the juxtaposition of that mad little thing against the back drop of the Lanesborough's serenity.

"Viki." A wearied smile, lean in brightness, though not for lack of trying punctuated her name. "No need to fret. I am here, but I will go home eventually."

Two oh was not much of a home, but it was certainly easier to bear than the farm might have been. He held his smile bravely in place until he could no more, fingers tracing the expanse of the open page on his knees as though to absorb each letter.

The hearth provided some distraction. A flicker of flame. Her skin aligned in temperature, like a cold blooded creature, save for hers never dropped below a certain degree. She breezed past it, and for the poet. She fell at his feet. An element of rainbow billowed around her. A cloud with no need for rain..

?But the flowers...? Bird-like tilt of her head, and eyes sought meaning for the words his fingers wept.

"They need the rain." She was a mad thing, but she spoke a language that Everett was certain he largely understood, the same way she seemed the only woman that could read the lines of his face as easily as most could read the careful lines of his script. He took a deep breath as his lower lip retreated between teeth, and offered the little thing before him a hand, that she might know he was still solid. This had aggrieved him, to be sure, but it had not made a ghost of the poet. A little mad, perhaps, but what artist had not been served well by some dash of madness in their world?

?I do fret.?

The seer leaned in, none too shy for sitting in the spotlight. She took his hand in turn, cradled it like something precious between her palms. Fingertips traced over the lines in his own, both life and heart and head, though perhaps the latter two were intertwined. She looked up, eyes forever searching, though made no notion of thievery. The poet could keep his secrets, as she was sure he would tell her in time. She drew his hand to her mouth, replacing the taste of iron with yet more poetry, a kiss planted to the center knuckle, and a hearty squeeze of fingers thereafter. Support and comfort wrapped and offered up to him in such a scattered little thing.

"Fretting never helps."

His brow knotted and he closed his eyes. Everett did not really understand how it was that she knew things, nor did he care to. He only knew that if he dwelled on his situation, he would lean back towards the less pleasant angles of his emotional seasickness, and he did not wish to feel that way.

"Hearts, they bleed." And rust and perish and decay. His words were more potent every day. Brown eyes opened again, calm like the summer fields of his once-home.

Gideon withdrew quietly, leaving the pair sitting before the heart to retreat to the sanctuary of his own room. One day, he told himself, one day he would be ready to let Everett go, to share him with someone who loved him. This was not the day. Someday he would let him go, back to loving other mortals as he should be. It was something he told himself to justify these actions he had taken that broke the very foundation of all the laws his world rested upon. He'd let Ev go soon, let someone worthy love him. Such pretty lies, and how he wanted to believe them.

"I am to take wine, then sleep, I think." That thin smiled was offered to her, and then his eyes, that worried but grateful hue, followed Gideon right out of the room. Indeed the hearts would bleed.

?Oh.? She nodded in recognition to her past prophecy, then killed the way to the poet, thin-limbed ring-round his neck to entrap him in a hug, one that echoed what was lost, love and solace and serenity. She held him for a time, allowing her warmth to invade, a natural source of illumination, though the hearth was a worthy adversary. She blessed the top of his cheek with a kiss before retreating, and eyes in turned watched the fall of Gideon's shadow as he slipped through the room and out.

?Be to spirit and sleep then.? A dancer's rise, a two-step for the door, a small smile awash with an echo of concern. The devil slept, and so would he, and she.. would wander.

?And breathe, Everett. Do naut forget.? She kissed at the air before her departure.

Her embrace was returned, though he knew that if he clung too hard, he would just tell her everything and become that pathetic thing again, all weakness and fear and doubt. How admirably Gideon had tried to reassure him that all would be well, and maybe he was right. For the time being, Ev needed to feel all of the terrible things he felt. It was part of the profound experience of grieving the very particular things he knew he would never have again. To the Seer, he nodded. He would breathe in and exhale his words, their apologies and daggers and hopes and despairs to scream where he would not.

"I will forget nothing." He looked after her, pale and ragged in contrast to the vibrancy of her, and he would close and lock the front door behind her.

Gideon came to the door of his room as Viki took her leave, watching her departure with crossed arms as he lent upon the doorframe. When the door shut behind her at last he turned his pale gaze on Everett, one brow arched lightly, his expression carefully blank.

"I hope you aren't angry with me. She asked about you. I thought you might like to see her. I know my company can be monotonous."

With a heavy sigh, Everett leaned on the door a moment. He was going to have to put himself back together soon, to get that stiff upper lip in place. The Seer could not have been the only one to ask questions, and he did not want to spend the weeks that followed providing the answers. There was no purpose to it. Gid's voice snapped him from his musings, and eyes fell back upon Gideon, softness there. Humor, even.

"I do believe that monotonous is the very last word in the world that could be applied to you, my friend." His lips dared to curl into a smile, one that came dangerously close to the large eyes behind dirty lenses. He peeled from the door and stalked to the kitchen.

"It was not bad to see her, but I do not think there is anyone else I would care to receive until I am a little bit better..." The poet stopped, sweeping his hand from head to toe in an indicatory gesture. "...composed."

Though no doubt Gideon would be able to help with that.

"Of course." He smiled at Everett's current decomposition, and remained leaning in the doorway of his room as the poet made his way into the kitchen.

"Wouldn't have brought her but... I know how you favor her." No bitterness there. He wasn't jealous, just possessive. "And she seemed so concerned."

Again that kind little smile.

"Does it not feel good to be so loved here, Ev? Soon I shall have half of Rhy'din knocking down my door and accosting me on the street for your supposed abduction."

Gideon rolled his eyes heavenwards.

"I can just picture the girls now...dragging me out into the alleyway and beating me black and blue with boards and bats until I swear to give up your location and release you from my evil clutches."

An Everett up to speed may have composed a lament on the spot for the poor Gideon, beaten to death by the girls and their frenzy. This Everett just cast a mirthful look towards Gideon as he reached for a glass.

"Perhaps I ought to have left a note or some such... I just..." He smiled that rueful smile that often preceded a statement that was both truthful and a little bit uncomfortable. "I cannot imagine allowing anyone else to see me in this state. It did not seem so mad to just disappear."

A little shrug, and he peeled his gaze away so that when he poured some wine into that glass, he would not spill and make a spectacular mess.

"Then no one else will. You came here for sanctuary and so you shall have it." He replied steadfastly. "Let me worry about the others for now."

"I thank you." Words spoken often, heavy words in that moment. Gideon could not know the depth of his gratitude. Were it not for this man, he knew that he would be alone in the moment, and in poor shape for it. He knew it as surely as he knew he must breathe. He tried to wash that emotion down with a long pull of wine, brought that watery smile to meet Gideon's. A laugh at himself, one of many, as bitter as many.

"I should go to bed. This... is all just going straight to my head." The wine, the warmth, the kindness, the grief.

Gideon reached out a hand warmly from the doorway.

"Then come to bed... I'm tired myself." Illy was away for the night, and Gideon disliked laying down to bed alone when the night wore thin like this and dawn was coming on, bringing with it that heaviness in his limbs that meant the sun was creeping nearer and nearer in its attack upon the horizon.

Everett needn't be told twice. He swallowed the rest of the wine in the glass and left it beside the sink, then bare feet, cold on the floor, carried him towards the outstretched hand. He clutched it, a lifeline, his fingers still warm from the time at the hearth. At the contact he nearly welled up again. Gideon really had no idea what he had done for Everett, not even a little bit.

Fingers closed over Everett's warm ones and he drew the poet towards him, into the softness of a slow kiss, his free hand rising to gently cradle the back of the other's head, fingers sliding through soft brown hair. He drew away only slightly, his forehead pressed against Everett's, the intimacy of blue eyes almost as warm as the kiss had been as he drew the poet into the soothing darkness and towards the bed.

"I've never been. You'll have to lead the way." He said with a smile.

Perhaps he worried over Everett a little too much, but it was hard not to after watching the gentle man go to pieces like he had. Always the picture of reserve, seeing Everett give ground to such violent emotions had frightened the vampire a bit.

It had frightened the poet as well. Growing up was never easy though, and the cruelest bit was that people never stopped doing it. Not those that bothered to leave the house. He was all reserve for that night, though, perhaps quieter than usual, but understandably so. To the bakery first, enjoying the smell of the rain and the sound of shoes on wet cobblestones- a very particular sort of sound.

"You've been writing like a madman. Anything productive come out of it?" He asked in interest as they walked along towards the delicious smells of the bakery. Even in the cold, damp rain the scent of baking filled the street that the shop was on with a warm, soothing aroma.

"I will not know for certain for a little while. I shall have to step back from it and read it later, but so far I do not think it utter tripe."

It was angry and passionate, and not too maudlin. A good start. The bakery smelled like home in more ways than one. Even as it comforted, it stabbed at him. Maybe it was not such a good idea, but he braved it anyway. Everett would not choose his usual favorite, though, he would opt instead for the chocolate with vanilla frosting.

Everett fished a few coins from his pocket to pay for the confection as the kind old lady asked what Gideon would have. The case was a treasure trove of goodies, each made with obvious pride. That couple had been working in that shop for decades and it showed in the artistry of their work.

As Everett chose his dessert, Gideon perused the racks of baked goods with silent wonder and more then a little envy. So many delicious confections, breads and other patisseries that tempted with both scent and appearance. If he could have touched a single one of them his mouth might have watered. Instead he settled for the satisfaction of watching Everett enjoy the sugary bit he had bought. He gave the baker and his wife a warm smile and a nod of his head as the pair of them left.

They strolled and he ate a cupcake, happy to speak of nothing at all, noting a few envious stares from some of the local girls as they passed store windows and streetlamps. With a bemused little smile, Everett commented in the phenomenon.

"You attract notice wherever you walk. It is something to see."

"Hm?" Gideon blinked in surprise and glanced behind them before looking back to Everett with a slightly sheepish smile. "How can you be sure they weren't looking at you?"

He gave the poet a slight nudge in the ribs.
His smile was knowing as he followed Gideon along to the haberdashery, one hand in a pocket now that the cupcake was history.

"Oh, I am quite certain that it is you. I walk here often in the afternoon. I walk through here everyday when I leave work, and it is never like this. You cannot help it, I am certain."

Gideon couldn't be ignorant of it, not with the way in which he dressed, the manner in which he walked and held himself, but it was something unique to have the attentions he brought upon himself pointed out to him. He laughed quietly and shook his head as he shoved the hand not holding the umbrella deep into the pocket of his trousers. It was a little embarrassing to have his own vanity and pride pointed out to him in so gentle a way.

"You are striking." Another smile as he paused in the street, the rain misting from above and hitting the shelf of the umbrella in gently percussive pelts. Everett looked to the blur that was Gideon over the top of his lenses for a second, then turned to continue along.

"People spend a lot of time wishing that they could appear as such, and do it in so effortlesa a fashion."

Recently changed and showered, Lydia ambled down the street, her destination being the baker. Raye's mention of cupcakes the previous night struck a craving in her. Long, lilac, thin fabric skirt swished and swayed about her legs as she walked. Top was lilac to match, with rather narrow straps. Green locks and wisps were up, and even in the rain, she was without umbrella, as she was one to enjoy rain a bit. She wasn't even wearing the usual boots as they had been partially destroyed by a certain little puppy. No, today she wore heels, lilac of course. She wasn't a *complete* fashion disaster.

Everett held the title for complete fashion disaster, especially in his current disheveled array. He did, however, don that blazer she had made just for him. The two men were walking away from the bakery, and Everett was looking steady, though yes, a mess. Three days growth was more than he had allowed on his chin in a long while, but he would take care of that soon enough. Perhaps if he was feeling so steady when he awoke the next day, he would clean up and try to go to work.

Gideon couldn't help but smile bashfully at Everett's compliment, and shook his head silently in amusement. He was used to being the one making the sharp observations, not having them made about him. He glanced up to see a green-headed elf coming down the sidewalk in their direction, strolling along happily in the chill rain as if it were a balmy, beautiful day. One brow arched and he glanced protectively towards Everett, knowing full well that this might be a train wreck in the making. He cleared his throat loudly and nodded silently towards the viriscent lady.

Hands were clasped behind her back, her movements slow, bordering on lazy. With such a hectic and energetic morning, it was nice to just wind down, proceed about more casually. With a turn to redirect herself towards the bakery, pale blues drifted aside towards the two nearby figures. That already slow walk slowed more as it sank in just who those two figures were. Attention moreso on the poet, head canted a touch, and a faint trace of a smile touched her lips. She was worried about him, and seeing him, even in his current company, helped alleviate some worries she had held.

?Everett. Hey.. it's good to see you.? She hadn't quite stopped just yet though, as she was still in 'fight or flight' mentality. To keep going or not... she wouldn't struggle with it so much if Gideon weren't there. But he was.

Everett looked up in reply to the sound, and steeled himself with a deep breath, thinking of all good things. The actor in him was not entirely without skill, and he smiled bravely, that boyish thing, teeth whiter amid the blooming scruff. His paces slowed carefully to a stop, a slow blink to his friend before he spoke only loudly enough to be heard.

"Good Evening, Lydia. It is good to see you, as well." He eyed her damp state, cueing the concern in his own expression. "Are you not cold? You are without cover."

With a little gesture, he indicated the umbrella he carried over his own head in his right hand.

Lydia did stop though, her expression sheepish given the lameness of her words. It had been a while and that was the best she had to offer?

?Oh, ah, no, I'm fine. I really like the rain.? She paused, looking as if she was considering her next words, ?How have you been? It's.. been a while, yeah??

Everett was studied a moment before her gaze moved towards his companion.

Gideon was stoically silent by Everett's side, and hung back behind him a half a pace as they slowed to a stop, lingering over the poet's left shoulder. He gave the elf a small nod of his head, but said nothing... for the moment.

A soft look to Lydia, and he offered the lamest explanation he could have mustered, but it was offered in a fashion that beg she not ask more.

"I will admit that I have been preoccupied, but there is not a need for concern. I am quite healthy." Free hand stole away from his pocket, his own fingers tangling a few times in the too long hair at the back of his head as he scratched there a few times. His smile for her was kind, though faint.

"And you, Lydia, are you well?"

It seemed to him a private discussion. Everett was a grown man, completely capable of handling himself, and should he need help Gideon remained close by. However, Gideon did turn back a pace or two and busy himself with lighting a cigarette, giving the pair a polite enough distance.

Head inclined, just a touch, before her gaze traveled back towards Everett. He looked more of a mess than he normally did, and if she had a guess there was more to things than his explanation. However she had a rough week recently and kept that rather close. She could appreciate and respect the fact he chose not to divulge every detail of his life.

?I'm very well actually.? Her smile remained, never waning, never moving. At Gideon's movement she glanced back his way before letting her gaze rest on the poet once more.

?Erin and Viki had mentioned to me that they hadn't seen much of you lately.? Hands that had been clasped behind her back slowly moved to her sides. ?I'm sure they'll be happy to hear you're okay. Life gets busy for us all sometimes.?

Everett Ogden: He felt guilt that he had not done more to communicate that he was not dead at the bottom of a ditch somewhere, the pangs of it ate at hinm, but not for long. He had needed the considerable space he had been afforded to do just exactly what it was that he had been doing. He knew, somehow, that even if he locked the door tightly and hid with the lights out, that he would not have had the privacy he needed. The company had also been nice, so graciously reserved, never over attentive.

"Indeed, life can get in the way of living now and again." Now, and again. His smile for the green haired elf was grateful, equally that she was worried for him and that she did not pry. He could not bear to stand in the rain and tell his tale of woe. It was far too appropriate. Dampened green wisps had started to plaster themselves to the sides of her face, so she reached up to brush them back and away.

?If you were going somewhere or.. doing something, I'd hate to keep you from it but?? Smile faded a touch, and her lower lip was taken between her teeth. There it was, that flicker of worry and concern in her gaze as she regarded him. Not for needing time away, because gods knows that's a feeling she understood all too well, but moreso for the company he chose to keep. She wouldn't comment on it however. Especially not now with that company so close. Erin kept company she found less than savory as well, and her concerns in that regard were for naught.

"But?" He frowned then, and leaned a little bit nearer the elf, his knuckles pale around the handle of the umbrella. "Lyddie, is there something that you need? I am certain that we could walk you somewhere or help with something..."

The wearied lines of his weary face furrowed so deeply, and coupled with that unusual bit of fuzz really did make him look older than his three and twenty years. He wished he understood what was causing the trouble. Perhaps her concern was just a reflection of his own woes. Her seeing him, and no more. Still he asked, because he cared.

Head tilted back to face him better as he drew closer, brows lifting just a touch at the name he addressed her by.

He sipped his tea, seeking the comfort of it as he too leaned back in the very fine chair, slinking down just a little in it. At least the onslaught had caused him to forget his woes. There was nothing quite like a full on scottish assault to reset one's frame of mind.

Gideon chuckled again at that and shook his head, lost in the humor of watching Everett's assault. He smiled warmly at his friend, pale blues crinkled happily.

"You'll forgive him once you see what he'll turn out for you."

Sure enough in a short while, just enough time for Everett to enjoy two cups of the good, strong tea, and for Gideon to fake enjoying one, MacDougal returned, bearing an armload of neatly folded clothes. Some things would stay behind, such as the blazers and a few shirts for more elaborate tailoring and fitting, but much of the clothing fit Everett well to start off with. These went into crisp paper bags and were followed by a heap of socks, ties, underwear and even two pairs of rather fine silk pajamas that the tailor slipped into the bag with a wink, gratis. Gideon left Everett to finish his tea and paid the tailor for the clothes as well as for his services, which resulted in another enormous hug and much incoherent but cheerful jabbering. Gideon was no doubt helping to pave the way for the old man's retirement in the south of Rhy'din's tropical islands.

"I am certain that is true." Perhaps he was a little hungrier than he had thought. He downed a second shortbread and polished off the rest of the tea, unaware of the few little crumbs that clung to his blazer. The poet removed his glasses to clean each lense before setting them back on their perch and casting a curious gaze to the good man in the other armchair. How kindly the haberdasher regarded him, and how effortlessly Gideon moved through this world, a generosity that was prodigious, to Everett's mind. With a little sigh, he observed and he thought. He mused on the strange nature of fate, or fortune and misfortune, and could not help but wonder if the misfortune of his family was somehow tied to the good fortune he had found in this strange country. Would he take it all back.

Gideon approached with the bags, and MacDougal with that finely made trench coat in his hands.

"Ready to go Ev?"

The elderly tailor waited for Everett to rise so that he might hold the coat for him to shrug into. It was chilly and damp outside, and he wasn't about to let the young man catch cold leaving his shop to go out into the rain. He gave Everett a broad grin from under thick brows and white moustache, and clapped him upon the shoulder good-naturedly whilst muttering some scottish epitaph about eating more haggis so that next time he had to let out the seams rather then take them in.

Everett nodded to Gideon, and looked to MacDougal.

"I thank you, Mr. MacDougal." Those words were never used too lightly and he carefully shrugged into the handsome coat, standing up nice and straight to give that garment its proper line. Admittedly, he felt a little taller once he has slipped into it. That bashful boyish grin fell into place as he looked to the scotsman and then to Gideon. He extended a hand for the bags, more than willing to be the pack mule for the unexpectedly fruitful expedition.

"Aye, I thank ye too lad! And ye tell whoever made that green jacket ye'r wearin' tha' they do fine work." The man exclaimed as he walked them towards the door. Gideon handed over one of the bags with a smile and took his umbrella from beside the door before he stepped out into the rain, exchanging farewells with the energetic scotsman before they started off back down the street. He glanced at Everett warmly.

"Well now, where else to? I hear there's a good bookstore one street over, and a stationary shop just a block down from that."

"Have you any errands to run this evening?" His bag was held carefully and he sheltered himself with the umbrella as he followed closely alongside Gideon's footsteps. There was a promise made to the little Seer, and he would not mind a stop by the stationary shop to fill it, but it could wait if his gracious host would prefer to return home.

"None at all. I'm yours tonight for as long as you can stand my company." He said lightly as they walked along, the others on the street hurrying by against the sodden downpour that made a misty light of the streetlamps and a wonderful music out of the gutters and drainpipes.

A little laugh, an almost bright sound, it would be the color of blue stained glass backlit by the moon, if laughs came hued.

"It may be a lengthy night. I do not find your company tiresome, Gideon."

He would lead the way to the stationary shop, he knew where it was. What use had he for a bookstore when he worked in a library and stayed with Illy's impressive collection.

"I have only one quick thing to pick up, and I would honestly be content to return home and share a quiet drink." His steps were careful in the rain as he did not wish to make too much of a splash. The smell of the wet streets was pleasant, one of a hundred tiny strange comforts to be found in the city.

"That's good to know." He replied with a smile as he fell into following Everett's eager footsteps. It was good to see the bounce back in his step somewhat, and a smile back upon his face. He ached for the old Everett, the one with only a touch of pain in his soft brown eyes rather then an entire ocean of it. He longed to touch him, kiss him, comfort him but feared rebuff as the other wrapped himself up in his worries like a blanket. The excursion had been a good idea though, and seemed to lend new life to the poet.

"I wouldn't mind getting home as well."

If nothing else, the excursion was distraction, a sorely needed one, at that. He was not long at all in the stationery shop, he picked up a pair of little journals, one white, and one brown, paid for each, and tucked the smaller bag into the bigger one. Finished with that, he smiled to Gideon.

"Home, then." He wanted to be back at the Lanesborough, where no other unexpected surprises could sideline him. They would walk a while, and Ev spent a lot of that time looking at the way the streetlights reflected off of the wet streets, casting their own particular night shimmer on the world.

Gideon walked alongside the poet in comfortable silence, pleased that he could have provided the man a relatively peaceful night out of the shelter of the apartment, not to mention furnish him with a new wardrobe fit for a lord's vacation to his country home. As they walked along Gideon's hand slid to Everett's back, coming to rest between his shoulderblades in a light, familiar press. The Lanesbrough glittered up ahead, the doorman already preparing to open the door for them with a smile. Inside all was warm and dry, and the elevator on its way down toward the lobby. As they waited Gideon peeked into the bag he was carrying, and lifted one eyebrow.

"You know I think MacDougal likes you better than me? He never gave me two pairs of free pajamas."

Everett leaned to peek as well, and blushed a little at the sight.

"Despite the onslaught, the fellow really does have a peculiar charm." Everett had been overwhelmed, yes, but perhaps the shortbread had really won him over. Brows raised gently at the sight of the silk, giving way to a smile every bit as soft. After a moment, as they boarded the elevator (a thing he still did not like), he gave his best guess as to why the pajamas had been twice gifted.

"I think he simply senses that I need a bit more help than most." That awkward, self effacing grin, a hapless shrug of slight shoulders. Everett could not help that it was so painfully true.

Gideon simply breathed a laugh and gave the poet a nudge with his elbow.

"I think you manage just fine on your own, Ev. You've just got that gift to you, people like be kindly towards you. I'd bet you could stand alone in the street and old women would come out of the wood work to give you a hot meal, or offer you a sweater, or offer you their daughter." He chuckled. "And its because they'd want to, not because you looked needy."

Everett nudged back, it was almost a fraternal gesture. Almost. That queasy feeling passed the minute he stepped off of the elevator. He could hardly wait to be in bare feet again, before the hearth. He may even indulge his curiousity and take the pajamas for a test run. Truly he had never owned anything made of such fine fabric. Everett was patient as ever as he waited for the door to be unlocked that he might be admitted to the stately place.

He needn't have been too patient. Gideon himself was also eager to be home, and after unlocking the door handed Everett his other bag before stepping inside and shutting the door after them both. He left the sodden umbrella by the door and padded towards his own room to change, the hem of his pants soaking wet from the puddles. He spent his time leisurely in his room, changing into soft dark blue draw-string pants and a fitted white t-shirt before he made his way back out toward the warmth of the hearth. He sank down upon the plush oriental rug and lent his back up against the sofa as he stretched long legs towards the fireplace, letting his head rock back with a soft sigh. The evening could have gone much worse, and he thanked whatever powers that be that it had not.

To their separate corners for a spell. The farmer's son took a moment to marvel at everything in those bags, and let the kindness cheer him a little. The trench was hung carefully in the closet, and he left most of the things wrapped up and far from the ink. Everett did slide into a pair of those pajamas, and he could hardly believe how wonderful silk felt on the skin. He padded back out into the kitchen, a little chilly, but certainly the hearth would remedy that, and perhaps a drink.

He called to Gideon across the space as he considered options to slake his thirst.

"Do you want a drink, Gid?" He had already enjoyed a spot of tea, thanks to MacDougal. Maybe something from a bottle would better suit the poet.

"Just a small spot of whiskey, Ev." He replied over his shoulder.

He smiled to see Everett in the fine pajamas. As much as Ev might have felt he was only playing dress-up the casually elegant things did suit him well. The poet had an allure he was completely unaware of, and the understated clothes only added to that je ne sais quoi. Gideon turned his attention back towards the fireplace and let his smile fall. Something had been bothering him all evening, from the time he'd awoken in his now usual panic. It had been difficult to put his finger on but it was gradually becoming clearer. His concern, his careful attempts at cheering the poet and giving him things to content him, it was not just about making Everett feel better. There was something Everett had said a few days earlier that had stuck in Gideon's mind, and plauged him still. He chewed thoughtfully upon his lower lip and brought one knee up towards his chest, feeling the plush pile of the rug between his bare toes.

Everett poured two glasses, the requested small spot for Gideon, and a little bit more for himself. Another version of distraction. It was not wrong to overindulge sporadically, Everett was a firm believer in this, and at the Lanesborough, he was quite safe. That had been a given from the moment he had crossed the threshold in his peculiar situation. He brought the drinks to the hearth and settled on the floor beside Gid, legs stretched out in a similar fashion. The small spot of whiskey was presented to him, and the guileless fellow made conversation.

"I know that I have said it many times this week, but I wanted to, again, express my humblest gratitude, for everything." As he held the whiskey in both hands, he looked into the glass, never raising his volume, never breaking that delicate country lilt of his. "I have not the words for the comfort I have taken here."

When I cry, I close my eyes
And every tear falls down inside
And I pray with all my might
that I will find my heart in someone's arms
When I cry, cry

When I cry
When I am sad I think of every awful thing I ever did
Oh When I cry, there is no love,
No there is nothing that can comfort me enough
When I cry,
Cry, cry

The salt inside my body ruins everyone I come close to
My hands are barely holding up my head
I am so tired of looking at my feet
Or all the secrets that I keep

My heart is barely hangin' by a thread
Hangin' by a thread

Oh look at me
At all I've done
I've lost so many things that I so dearly love
I lost my soul
I lost my pride
Oh I lost any hope of having a sweet life
So I cry,
Cry, cry

Oh the salt inside my body ruins everyone I come close to
My hands are barely holding up my head
Oh I'm so tired of looking at my feet
And all the secrets that I keep
My heart is barely hangin' by a thread
Hangin' by a thread

I miss you
I wish I was with you now
I wish I was...

It had been an early night for the pair. Dinner, the opera... and then Gideon had managed to entice the poet back to the Lanesborough with an offer of wine and one of those endlessly charming, winsome smiles. One thing had lead to another and now the pair lay in bed together, the rumpled shirts of their tuxedos discarded upon the floor, the ribbons of black silk ties strewn in the doorway along with a trail of shoes, socks, and jackets. Gideon now lay over Everett, propped up on one elbow as he brushed gentle lips slowly across the line of the poet's collarbone. One hand burried in Everett's hair, fingers curled as they drew his head gently back to arch his neck, the other cradling his side.

The poet grinned, a happy sort of groan slipping from him as lips met collarbone, the sound that begged for more. There was a look in his eye, a calm sort of mischeif that had perhaps never been there before. With his lip tucked between his teeth, he ducked his head to catch Gideon's gaze before his own trailed from face to the length of the body above him.

"I was just thinking of kissing you from here..." He brushed an Inky fingertip over Gideons' lips, then traced a trail over his chin, across his throat, collarbones, sternums, the dip between ribcages to linger so cruelly against a flat abdomen. "to here, perhaps." That boyish grin. He had been paying some attention to Gideon, of late.

"Oh, only to there?" He teased back. voice thick with lust. The poet's words sent a delicious shudder straight through him. He laughed delightedly as his hand released the poet's hair to reach down and span over a thigh, squeezing before curious fingers smoothed upwards in an inexorably slow path.

Neither of them heard the door to the apartment open. Neither heard the footfalls across the marble floor. It wasn't until the door darkened that Gideon lifted his head and craned a sharp glance over his shoulder. He froze for an instant. Ten, perhaps fifteen familiar faces crowded the doorway and beyond, all men. All sharply dressed, all sporting the same cruel, cold emotionless expressions of dispassionate contempt they had when he last saw them. He rose onto his hands over the poet, pushing himself upwards.

"What the-" He began in irritation. He never got to finish the sentance. The crowd at the doorway parted and one figure stepped through that stole the words right out of Gideon's mouth. He was tall, perhaps taller than Gideon by almost half a foot, older looking as well. A man in his mid thirties, brown hair cut forever in that style so essentially roman. He wore a black suit, black shirt, a glossy black silk tie. He paused in the doorway, not to stare in detatchment as the others did, but to bend, and pick up one of those discarded ribbons of a black silk bowtie.

The laugh was echoed by Everett, but only until Gideon's entire demeanor changed. His boyish smile faded into a look of concern, and then perhaps a thing of genuine panic as suddenly, they were the complete opposite of alone together. He scrambled to a sitting position, to peer with terrified curiousity over Gideon's shoulder.

The man rose, swinging the expensive thing from between two fingers as he stepped into the room and flicked on the light switch. The smirk that twisted his handsome face would have chilled the blood that ran through an arch-angel's veins.

"Gideon. You've been busy." The words dripped with sarcasm.

Gideon looked as if he was preparing to suffer a heart attack and die right on the spot. He felt as if he was drowning, a cold pit suddenly gaping within his guts, his panicked heart plunging headlong into that gaping maw. He could bearly get the words out, his voice breathless.

"Vincent..."

The devil laughed softly, a beautiful smile curling one half of his mouth. He was a breathtakingly handsome man, though his features were rougher than Gideon's fine ones. He was rough-hewn where Gideon was refined... yet there was something so undeniably, almost dangerously alluring about him that it was difficult to tear one's eyes away.

"I'm glad you can at least still remeber my name." The man said with false lightness, "Since you've seemingly forgotten everything else in your time here."

Gideon moved to sit up but the men in the doorway rushed in, rough hands grabbing him, twisting arms painfully behind his back as he was forced to a kneel upon the bed, bent nearly double to try to avoid the pain of the grip he was held in by four of the men. Others grabbed Everett, drug him off the bed on the opposite side. It only took two to hold him, their grip like iron, their strength unbelievable. They kept him captive, not three paces away from where Vincent stood.

Everett had a thousand questions, but something told him to hold his tongue. Instead, he just pressed a warm, reassuring palm to the bare expanse of Gideon's back, and willed his poor heart to stop its terrible erratic thrum. Everett could not see the individual faces well- his spectacles sat on the bedside table. He thought, quite blindly, that everything would be alright. And then they came. Heat rose in his cheeks. Everett was afraid, but more so, he found he was angry. He would have fought like a lion, but he hadn't the strength. Not against these two. He struggled in vain, no doubt yelling something silly. Unhand him, or release me, or perhaps something equally useless. Didn't matter. He fell quiet and wide eyes sought Gideon again. What in the world was happening?

"NO!" He'd made no noise as they had taken him, but when they lay hands upon Everett he cried out vehemently and struggled uselessly.

"Let him go! Vincent..." Pale eyes tore themselves from Everett's painfully confused face back towards Vincent, pleading.

"Vincent let him go, he's nothing to do with this! He.." Eyes flickered towards Everett momentarily and he swallowed hard. "He's nothing, just a toy. He's just a toy, Vincent. Let him go. He means nothing."

One little syllable, pained, and he stopped struggling altogehter.
"Gid?" Had his voice ever sounded so small? He canted his head, eyes narrowed, to help him focus. Everett was trembling then, and though he wanted to see the men that held him, he could not tear those earnest brown eyes and all that confusion, the pain at those last words, from Gideon.

Vincent heaved a long suffering sigh and moved towards the bed, knelt upon it with one knee as he lent over and propped Gideon's chin up with two fingers.

"Lies Gideon? Come, come. You know better than that. Clearly living here has made you stupid as well as foolish."

Gideon jerked his head away, his gaze in Everett's direction growing increasingly more panicked. He strained at the hands of his captors. Vincent moved off the bed to stand upright once more.

"I put you here in exile so you could learn why keeping our rules are important to our lives. I put you here so you could learn why you need me. Instead I come to find that you've broken every since rule of the trinity."

He lunged foward and backhanded Gideon, hard enough to snap his head to the side with a grunt of pain. Searing, white hot agony exploded against the side of his face, his eye felt as if it would explode. Breath he did not need came in shallow, hard gulps as he turned his face slowly back towards his master. Hatred glowed in those glacial blues, hatred and fear. Vincent smiled beautifully.

"You'll pay Gideon. God help me you'll learn the lesson I sent you here to learn. And it will start here."

"No!" Screamed the poet as Gideon was struck, loud enough to harshen and crack on the vowel. Ev felt the fight in him again, pulling so hard against the arms that held him that he thought he might wring his own from the sockets. Fingers dug into his flesh, and he worked himself into a a frenzied sweat with the effort.

"No! No, Vincent... He knows nothing, please."

The panic in Gideon's voice rose a notch at those words. Vincent's face took on an almost playfully amused smile as he glanced from his reticent fledgeling towards the captive poet.

"Oh he doesn't?" It was interest like that of a cat toying with a mouse. He crossed toward where Everett stood and regarded the poet thoughtfully.

"He has no idea you're a vampire? No idea that you'd just as soon as drain him dry as you would use him for physical pleasure? Not a clue that you'll outlive even his greatest of gandchildren?"

On the bed Gideon's head fell, shame warring with his fear and anger.

A deeply furrowed brow then, and Everett's gaze slipped at last from Gideon to Vincent. He was so confused, but bless him, he kept that fire in his tone.

"Ghost stories. Fairy tales. Allegory." The man was cruel and insane. The poet cast him his very best version of a defiant glare.

Vincent smiled broadly, those needlesharp fang teeth pushing down, suddenly very visible against the normal canines as he drew closer to the hapless poet.

"Oh no, quite real I assure you. Quite real indeed." He turned away, looked back toward Gideon, who watched the pair with a helpless distress that contorted handsome features, twisted them into something pitiful.

"You see Gideon, it doesn't matter that he isn't the one that you told... though I do know of the one you told this little secret to, and trust me, you'll see him suffer as well for your lack of prudence."

He turned to glance back at Everett thoughtfully, as one would examine a peice of furniture.

"But the fact that he doesn't know your dark little secret doesn't matter, Gideon, and it doesn't matter because you broke another rule with him. You love him. You love a mortal." His lips curled on the words as he spat them out in disgust, pacing towards Gideon once more.

He knelt upon the bed once more, cold, dark eyes examining Gideon's face. Something like pain washed across Vincent's own features, pain and disgust.

"I just don't understand. I love you Gideon. I'd give you the moon and stars if you let me. And instead you chose to throw everything I offer back in my face... and instead love something that should be your food."

Gideon glared balefully back at his creator, and Vincent shook his head sadly.

The sight of the teeth was jarring. Everett's eyes went wide and the red heat of the blood in his cheeks drained to pale. It was the look of reality tearing at the seams. That dreadful man kept calling him food. All the same, the fight had gone out of him again. He was already exhausted by what efforts he had already put forth. At long last, he looked to Gideon again, as though this could not possibly be true. Hadn't he seen everything from Gideon one should see from a human? He knew he had never seen those teeth. Not on Gid. Not on anyone.

"I know you think I'm some kind of monster, Gideon... That I'm so ancient that I can't sympathize with you... but I created these rules for a reason. And since you won't just trust me...since you can't just listen..." He rose up off the bed again, looking resignedly down at Gideon, "You leave me no other choice but to show you why these rules are important to us."

He crossed the room, moving slowly back towards Everett as he spoke, pacing behind the poet and them men that held him. He smiled at Gideon coolly from over the poet's shoulder. Gideon's blue gaze watched him warily.

Vincent moved with the speed of a snake striking. That black ribbon of silk fabric from the discarded tie he'd picked up went round Everett's throat, its ends held in both his hands as the silk tightened instantly about the poet's bare, tender throat, chokingly tight, unbearably tight. The pair of men that held Everett released him, stepping away. There was no way the poet could have fought against strength like Vincent's. That black band of silk creaked in protest but the strong fibers held, pressing agonizingly against larnyx and windpipe. No air could get out, and barely any could leave.

Panic set in and he grasped at it, scrambling, trying to free himself. Air was a necessity, and the ache and the need for it would soon bring him to his knees. A hurt sort of confusion in his eyes. What was happening to him? What was going to happen to Gideon?

"NOO! Vincent, god no!! Let him go, let him go!" Gideon struggled like a madman upon the bed, other vampire pileing on top of him to hold him. "Stop it!! For fuck's sake STOP! Vincent!! Kill me.. god...please!!"

He was begging, ordering, pleading, watching in horror as Vincent tightened that black silk garrott around Everett's tender throat, the fabric cutting do deeply into the skin the flesh tore and bled. The grim smile upon Vincent's face never faltered, watching the mortal between his hands fight out his last moments. There were no words to capture the horror that filled Gideon as he was forced to watch Everett's suffering. He wept, choking on the blood tears as he strained and thrashed under his captors.

"Stop, stop, god STOP!!"

Fingers went white with the effort, and his skin went from red to purple and beyond. A grotesque sight, him a mockery of life. Tears blurred the edges of his eyes, a physiological response more so than an emotional one. He was fighting too hard to realize it was over. He was too panicked to hear that voice in his head tell him he was dying. The struggle got weaker until there was nothing left of him but a slumped shell at the hands of a monster. The poet was gone.

"No... Everett! No!" He was weeping, choking, trying to get the words out, his heart broken, shattered. He was in shock, disbelief, watching Vincent release him at last, watch him let go of the silken tie and watch Everett slump over and fall in a heap upon the carpet, all disjointed limbs in a grotesque pile. He sobbed brokenly as Vincent stepped over the body towards him, that smile upon his cruel face implacable.

"Mortals can die, Gideon... mortals will always die. You're mine. You don't belong to any mortal creature. That heart of yours is mine."

Gideon woke up screaming. He was sitting straight up in bed, his face, and neck soaked in the watery blood of his tears. He glanced around in a panic, there was no body upon the floor, no Vincent standing over him... it had all be a dream, a terrible dream. He put his face in his hands and shook, rocked back and forth as he let lose one last horrified, muffled scream. Vincent's voice still rang in his ears, clear as a spoken whisper.

"You are mine..."

It had been too many days, and Everett had heard enough chatter in the inn about all manner of terrible and violent death to keep him in when the sun was down. Gideon had not been by, and the poet was a little worried on several fronts. Was Gideon ill? Was he cross? Perhaps things had not resolved so peacably as he had believed the last time they were together. Everett paid the coachman, a tall grim looking fellow, and headed into the Lanesborough. The elevator bore him up and up, and he moved to Gideon's front door. His usual knock in his usual rhythm. Nothing. His brow furrowed, and after a long pause, Everett tried again.

Gideon missed Everett's entrance by mere minutes. Much less concerned about what ghouls roamed the streets of Rhy'Din, he had wandered home in the dark, blissfully oblivious to any danger whatsoever. He looked as if he's sent the last few nights being tumbled in bed, and he felt that way as well. His clothing was rumpled and stale, his hair more mussed then usual. Though no love-mark marred his creamy, pale skin the scent of Malachi was strong and sharp on him and his mouth felt raw from kissing. He walked into the Lanesborough with a stupidly self-satisfied smile upon his face and took the elevator to the top.

Huh. Well, he supposed he could have the concierge send for a ride home, and go back to the usual routine for the evening. Write a little melancholy dreck, play with the kitten, have a nightcap and fall into bed, to wake early, to work all day. A slow gait carried him back to the elevator, where he pushed the call button, and marveled, briefly, on human ingenuity, and also.. laziness. How complacent he had become.

The elevator rose to the top and the doors dinged open. Gideon had been so involved in his own private world that he had to do a double take as he drew up short, gazing wide-eyed at the boyish young man in glasses blocking his exit. "Everett..." He breathed and felt the blood drain from his face.

"Gideon!" A little startled as he nearly walked right into the man. Ev backpedaled quickly, off balance, then righted himself (fortunately before he collided with a wall or.. a floor). The poet then canted his head to regard his friend. Within a moment, brow had knitted. It was all wrong. He was tousled and wrinkled and... something felt wrong. Repeated the name in a different color. "Gideon?"

He looked guilty as sin, and felt even guiltier. "E-Ev. What are you doing here?" He asked a touch too quickly. He could hardly bring himself to meet those soft brown eyes as he eased out of the elevator and into the hallway, edging slowly towards the door of the penthouse.

Body language was a great communicator, and when Ev got a look at Gideon's, he only grew more concerned, but he knew enough to maintain his distance. He fidgeted with a sleeve, feeling guilty all of a sudden. He assumed it was that he had been too presumptuous, coming up in the middle of the night. He ought to have made a date, perhaps, or just stayed in. That would have been proper. Still, it felt strange. Gideon usually seemed so happy to see him.

"I had not seen you in days, I came to pay a call." His reply was quiet, perhaps a little embarassed, He found himself gnawing on his lower lip, for lack of enough ways to deal with nervous energy.

"I know...I'm sorry, I..." How to explain that for the past couple of nights he'd been drowning his sorrow, and salveing his wounded pride at Everett's rejection in Malachi's bed? How to explain that he was not as strong as he claimed to be, not as capable of restraint and decorum as the poet? He gave Everett a cowed glance only to notice the embarassed, uncomfortable expression on that heartbreakingly handsome boyish face. He felt like an asshole, felt the shame of his shortcomings.

"I've... just... been busy." He chanced another look at Everett. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to bother you."

"Oh. I--" Trying to recover gracefully, though something nagged. Busy with what? It was that, but Ev tried to swallow it. He pulled the spectacles from the bridge of his nose to polish each lens, the hanky withdrawn from his pocket. One of his little calming habits. Blur out the world and clean up, just a little. His smile tried so hard to be present. Never quite got to those eyes, but he was looking down, so it probably didn't matter much.

"Of course. I have been busy, of course, and trying to stay in at nights. It is dangerous out there, of late. I did not mean to interrupt. If you have things to do, I shall be along as well."

"I don't...!" He almost exclaimed, drawing up short at the last second. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his rumpled, worn jeans.

"I don't have anything to do, Ev... you aren't interrupting." He sighed and pressed the fingers of one hand to the bridge of his nose breifly, pinching it hard.

"You don't have to go. I was... I was just surprised to see you, that's all."

The glasses were slipped back into place, careful movements of one hand as the other waited patiently for its mate. Reunited in their gawky dance, one set of fingers toyed with the cuff of the opposite shirt.

"Well, I must ask what you would prefer. It was not considerate of me to call unannounced, and I do not wish to place any imposition upon you." Painfully polite- his defense in a storm. Next thing they knew, he would probably be stammering.

Gideon felt a stab, like that of a needle, jab right through his heart. What was next, bowing to each other and engraved invitations? He took a tentative step closer to the poet.

"Jesus christ, Ev... don't talk to me that way...please." He begged quietly. "Don't treat me like a stranger..."

"You are not yourself." The reply was quick to come, defensive. That was not the part that bothered him, though. He knew that something was not right and Gideon was not telling. It unnerved him, especially because he felt that Gideon knew everything there was to know about him.

"Just wanted to say hello. Hope you are well. Really, I can go, you do not have to..." Waste your time? Explain yourself? Feel obligated? Everett had no good words for that, so he put them all away and let the sentence hang where it might.

Gideon had no defense for that. If anything he was exactly himself: a thoughtless, selfish, lust-driven cad. He was frustrated, blocked at every turn by Everett and his politeness, his stiff sense of propriety and his purity. He took a sudden step towards the poet, guilt dissolving into anger.

"Perhaps if I was allowed to be myself I would be, Everett." He snapped. This was not his fault... if he would only be allowed to love Everett, and to have his love back, if he they could just give each other physically what they both wanted then perhaps be wouldn't turn to another for comfort and solace.

Red flushed quickly into his face, and Everett actually took a few steps back, feeling very, very small, all of a sudden. He just hadn't anything resembling a fight left in him, not these days.

"I see." Fingers stopped the incessant fidgeting, and he folded his arms across himself, moving now for the lift. "I apologize." Quiet. Not cold, but most assuredly distant. The poet called for the lift, head bowed, wishing he could better understand this. He knew that he had taken a wrong step. Everett was just having trouble discerning whether it was a few nights ago in the garden, or a few months ago, when he allowed himself a confidante like this fiery thing. Lips pursed in a thin, worried line.

"Jesus, Ev..." He reached out and grabbed hold of the poet's arm to stop his progress. "Why does it always have to be this way? So formal, so stiff and nerve-racking and uncomfortable?" He asked desperately, earnestly, releasing Everett's arm, both hands held out in expression, palms out in offer.

"I feel like there's no air around you, I'm afraid to breathe too deeply. I can't keep walking on eggshells." Glacial blues gazed seriously at the poet. "This isn't fair..."

"I cannot give away something that is broken ." It was a desperate statement, it strained his voice and the lines of the brow and that red in his cheeks. Again the lift came, and left, empty of passenger.

"Would you have all of me? Would you keep it safe, could you place it somewhere dear? Or would you consume it all and leave me with nothing? Everything I have to give, in the now, I have given to you. I know it is meager, and I know it is lacking, and starved, but I have never pretended otherwise." Finally eyes lifted to the blue again, and the poet was shaking. Maybe it was fear or anger, passion, or some thing confused in the middle.

Gideon turned his face away to the side, brows drawn together over aching blue eyes. It was an argument he couldn't win, Everett's reasons were like a brick wall he kept running up against time after time. He cast those peircing eyes upwards deserately.

"Broken, Everett? Over what? A whore who used your affections and betrayed your brother's trust? Over a stupid girl who would rather ruin a family then own to her mistakes? She broke you?" He paced away a few steps only to round and come back, those undeniable eyes searching Everett's face.

"She owns you now Everett. As surely as she owned you when you used to close your eyes and dream of the color of hers. She's still got you, and it kills me." His shoulders slumped defeatedly. "Can't you understand, Ev? I just want you. Broken or whole, ruined or perfect."

"I suppose you have never erred in giving your heart, placed it somewhere it did not belong. I know she bloody owns me, and she will until I know my fate. You said it yourself, it is going to take time to hear back, and even then, there may be more to do." He scratched the back of his head, a long and heavy sigh to leave his lungs, dissipate into the awful space between.

"I tell you my secrets, and my fears. You have read my words, and nothing is more sacred, more guarded. You have seen my tears and tasted me and felt my breath, and you think you do not have me... Is it. Oh god, is it because I will not lay with you, now? Is that all that it is?"

"God, no Everett!" He exclaimed as he moved foward and took the poet's face between trembling fingers. "Everything you share with me, every secret, every poem, every kiss... they are treasures. But I have had to fight tooth and nail for every single one of them. You give me nothing easily save your company...and sometimes I wonder how long that will last." Trembling fingers stroked his cheeks. "Yes I want to show you love, but I'd settle for one kiss offered freely, one touch I didn't have to coerce."

He let his hands fall away.

"I'm sorry Everett. I have no right to ask you for any of these things... and less to be demanding. I wanted to believe that if I loved you, if I could just show you how much I loved you then you wouldn't be afraid of me, afraid of this."

As he was touched, his eyes slipped closed, he was accepting of it. Eager, even. When the talking stopped from Gideon, there would be more from Everett.

"Gideon. I am afraid of very nearly everything that happens to me." It was a terrible thing to admit, because it was so painfully true. The quiet words sounded patient, and he finally unfolded his arms. An improvment in body language.

"I would that I could change it all at will, but will alone shall not undo it."

Gideon was dying inside, caught between love and lust, between someone who knew him and someone who did not. Hands rose to cradle Everett's neck, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw slowly. He shook his head sadly.

"I'm trying Everett. I'm trying to understand, trying to be patient... but I'm not as good a man as you, I'm not as strong or as perfect. I think if you knew me, really knew me you'd hate me. But dammit, I am trying."

Everett gave Gideon what he wanted, at least, what he said he wanted then. Lanky arms wrapped around him and drew him close, and he pressed a careful, deep, passionate kiss to the mouth of the man before him, because he tried. Breath to breath, to take in that strange taste of him, to roll together in that terribly sensuous way that mouths do. It was broken the same way it started, with a tenderness that ached. Wordlessly, it spoke articulately of what lay between them. Before he opened his eyes, he whispered to poor Gideon: "I know that much. I know you well." Because he was a creature of faith, poor Everett believed it.

Gideon accepted the kiss, as he did everything that Everett offered him, with the gratefulness of an aching longing satiated for even the breifest moment. Their argument had been too hard, the words exchanged too harsh. He lost himself in the kiss, and when he drew back the thick red line of a blood tear had streaked itself down his cheek, unnoticed amongst the swirling confusion of emotion. He smiled weakly and pressed his thumb against the soft pillow of Everett's lower lip, wishing for once he could just tell him, tell him everything and be done with the lies. The words welled up, pressed themselves against his tongue and throat as he earched the poet's soft brown eyes.

He'd kept to himself, so much so that he'd very nearly become a recluse. After his last, and to his mind, failed visted to Everett during his unfortunate illness, Gideon had resorted to simply staying locked away at home, only leaving to feed and pace aimlessly through the unending streets of Rhy'Din. He'd debated leaving, but rustic travel for someone in his predicament was simply impossible, and he was not willing to go to ground come daylight. Until he knew more about the land they lived in, he was stuck here in the city... and for the moment here in his home. He stood by the enormous windows, hands laced behind his back as he gazed silently down at the world below. He'd only half finished dressing, and stood in black pants and bare feet, an unbuttoned crisp white oxford hung from his shoulders.

It had been too many days, and the poet was, at last, feeling presentable. Sakura had been a help in that avenue, she was so sweet, such a lady. It pleased him to be in such a calm situation, for once. Everett knew that in going to the Lanesborough, it would be one extreme or the other. He was admitted, and took the lift up and up, to travel down the hallway and knock gently at the door.

"Come." Came the flat voice from across the vast room. Surely just a maid or somesuch person there to change the towels or tidy up. He didn't even bother to turn around.

He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, adjusting his spectacles as he looked across the room. This place was so stately, and in ways, lonely. The sight of Gideon alone in it made him grateful for the smaller scale and far cozier scope of that little room where he spent most nights.

"I had worried. Perhaps the food poisoning had felled you, or perhaps something was awry. With as kind as you have always been to me, I would be quite remiss in my duties if I did not come by."

A canvas bag hung over one shoulder. The poet had not come empty handed. He favored Gideon with one of those awkward, boyish smiles. An echo of yesterday.

At the sound of his voice, Gideon glanced over his shoulder sharply.

"Everett?" He breathed the name and one corner of his mouth curled upward in suprise tinged with just the tiniest bit of hope - all he would allow himself. He turned and that smile crept a little bit bigger.

"You know you don't have to come see me because of any duty." He replied, watching that smile that pained him so wonderfully.

"I come for my own joy, in truth, though you know me. I am absolutely one to stand on ceremony and a sense of manners, propriety." He shrugged and moved over towards the kitchen, to remove and present the contents of the bag.

"I have missed you, my friend. Are you well?" He kept a light, casual tone to his voice, one that well matched his mood in the moment.

"You are." He agreed, and at last shared a remnant of one of his old smiles as he trailed Everett into the kitchen, pale eyes falling on the bag curiously as he drew up on the other side of the kitchen's long bar/island.

"Well enough. You look much better then the last time I saw you."

"Well, it is greatly helpful to ones appearance when one is not spending the better part of the day in bed, experiencing eating the wrong way around." He spoke with a good humor and pulled things from the bag. A fine bottle of scotch. A health tonic. A whole tin full of different herbal teas. A brown package containing biscuits from the amazing Daily Bread.

"It is not much, but I could not very well bring over a pot of soup or anything of the like. Not to mention that I was not certain whether you were in need of soup, or whether you were just hiding out for a spell. If it is the latter, I will leave the scotch and take my leave." He teased a little, a broad bright grin, trying so hard to be pleasing, the way that he did. He knew he had been a right moody bastard for months.

"I was just hiding out." He admitted quietly, and he hesitated before he came around the counter to stand beside Everett. His hand lifted, paused, and then rose to cup one of the poet's cheeks as he managed a shadow of a smile, those pale eyes kept low, preoccupied with the poet's mouth and chin. "But the scotch can go to the devil if you'd stay for just a bit."

"That would be a blasphemous waste of scotch, I think." Everett covered Gideon's hand with his own, speaking quietly. "Come here." It was request even as he was pulling Gideon towards him to wrap lanky arms around him and hold him near.

He propped his chin on Gideon's shoulder and sighed, audibly.

"This malaise doth not suit you."

Gideon let himself be drawn close, and wrapping his own arms around Everett tightly, pressing a kiss to his temple before resting his cheek against Everett's soft hair.

"I'm sorry." He intoned in that deepness his voice earned when he spoke softly. What he was sorry for wasn't quite clear. He drew back and offered Everett another attempt at a half-smile, his gaze on the offerings gathered on the counter.

"This was kind of you, Ev. And if the devil can't have the scotch then you may as well pour us both a glass."

Much better, thought the poet, and he moved to snag a couple of clean glasses from the cabinet.

"How does this week find you?" He opened up the bottle and served them both, pouring with a light hand- Everett had not been drinking much since his system reset itself. The little bit of sake had even been enough to cause him to seek his bead early.

Gideon frowned slightly, dark brows drawing together as he turned away and moved back towards the couches by the window expanse, buttoning up his shirt as he went.

"What week is it?" He mused before shrugging and dropping down upon the velvet.

"It hardly matters. Fine, I suppose." He watched Everett pour and leaned back against the couch, slouching in her nromal devil-may-care posture.

"Have you rejoined society at the inn yet? I've not been in months."

"I hardly know anyone when I go downstairs to get tea or prepare a little something to eat. Truth be told, most nights I am relieved. I did make the acquaintance of a woman called Sakura. She is what is called a geisha. She is both interesting and delightful..." He moved towards the couch with drinks in hand and extended one to Gideon. "Though I cannot tell whether you would like her or not. I find you difficult to predict." With a smile then, he settled into a vacant corner of the sofa.

He accepted the drink with a quiet murmur of thanks and began the ritual of pretending to sip from it, suprised at how long it had been since he'd last put on this charade.

"Sounds like we've both become hermits, Ev." He observed, only half listening to the poet's laud of the geisha. "Met a girl, hm?"

"I do not think girl is the correct word to describe her, she is far too calm, and I do not think I have ever met a calm girl." He took a healthy sip of his own drink, settling back into the cushions.

"Perhaps we shall be friends. It is nice to meet a sensible person in this realm. There is so much madness everywhere, it is, quite frankly, a relief that other artists actually live here, or to meet another person that can appreciate beauty and civility." He looked over to Gideon with a smile.

"I had begun to suspect that perhaps you were the only other person in this world with a genuine care for such things."

Gideon snarfed into his scotch at Everett's comment about never meeting a calm girl, and put the glass aside as he chuckled and wiped at his chin and lower lip with the sleeve of his shirt. He gave the poet a bemused glance and shook his head slightly.

"I'm afraid the appreciation of those things comes either with the money to afford them or else the ability to create them, Ev. All anyone in this town cares for is drinking, fighting and screwing each other behind everyone's back." He rose and walked the wall of windows slowly, like a lazy tiger pacing, one finger dragging against the glass.

"I think I'm well and truely sick of this place."

"It sounds as though that is incredibly true." He took a slow sip and watched Gideon for a long moment, worry etched on every angle of his brow, indeed even in the grim line his lips had adopted.

"A holiday, perhaps?"

"A perminant one." He agreed, stopping before the fireplace to lean against its mantle and gaze at Everett. "I think I'm ready to go home... to whatever I have left to look foward to there."

Until the words had lef this mouth he hadn't quite realized that was what he had been doing... accepting whatever fate Vincent had in store for him now, and debating asking Sascha to take him back with her. He could see no way out of the mess he'd created. He shrugged and tore his gaze away from the poet with a shallow smile, moving to collapse in one of the tall wingchairs that faced the couch, his slouch like that of a sullen prince.

"I don't know what's left."

He was silent a long moment, and he watched Gideon with the same brand of rapt anxiety usually reserved for public beatings or perhaps the final word of a judge. Where the hell was Illiana? And what could he say?

"When?" One mournful syllable, and he turned that look back on Gideon, rather stricken by the idea that his friend would just... depart.

He could hardly bear to look at Everett, and the sound of his voice cut like a knife. He flinched visibly and kept pale eyes on the ornate oriental carpet underfoot.

"Does it matter?" He lifted a shoulder. "Illiana's never here anymore... not since Lan- since someone who was dear to her died. She's like a ghost. I see her come and go but never stay."

He barely noticed he'd answered a question Everett didn't ask out loud. He turned that luminous gaze on the poet slowly.

"I've made a mess of everything here, Ev. Nothing's the same, nothing's right." Not the least of which was his foolish, idiotic, selfish forays with Malachi...whom he couldn't help feel he also failed, now that he'd lost his mortality to a fellow monster.

"Yes it does. It matters to me." He finished his drink and stood to pace, feeling rather caged at the moment, perhaps wishing he was in another time. Another place... not really, no, but a happier hour would have suited him.

"I hardly expect you to plan your life around my selfish desires, quite the opposite, but you cannot make things well and right if you just run away from them." He stopped dead in his tracks then, as though hit by lightning. He was, in a way. "Oh God."

Gideon opened his mouth to respond but instead watched mutely as Everett froze in the grip of some sudden epiphany. Dark brows drew together in concern as he sat up slowly.

"What?"

"I have to go back." He flushed at the idea of it, at the madness of seeing that woman again, at the look on his Gran's face, at the way John may mistakenly receive him. "It is the only way."

Gideon blinked, brow furrowed deeply, and blinked again.

"What?"

Everett had a gleam in his eye like a crazed missionary with a vision and Gideon was lost as could be suddenly. The conversation had taken an enormous one-sided leap foward and he was left in the lurch.

"To Warwick. I have to go home." He looked horrified at the idea, but the fire in him told him, unequivocally, that it was the right thing to do. "I can never sort out that which I ran from unless I am there, to do it, to face it..." His mouth fell agape for a moment and he paced closer to Gideon.

"And the only reason that I know this, is because of you."

Gideon's mouth dropped open slightly and his brows lifted as he gazed up at Everett, stupified for a good moment in what was perhaps the most comical look he'd ever worn on his handsome features. Lips worked to form mute words that came and changed too quickly for them to keep up with until at last he shook himself and rose to give Everett a concerned gaze.

"Ev... I..."

Quiet again as the words tangled around themselves and tripped him up, but he found a thread to pull at, and when he spoke again, it was gentle in volume yet so resolute in tone.

"How in the world can you believe that you have made everything wrong when you have given me this? I doubt that I would ever have been able to consider...I am changed. I am different. It is your doing and it is for the better."

It would be fitting that perhaps the one thing he'd done right would be the thing that led Everett away, so far away he could never follow. He reached out and let the backs of his fingers brush the poet's cheek before his hand came to rest against his neck, thumb tracing the fineboned line of his jaw. He gave Everett a sad smile.

"I'm...I'm glad I could help you then, Ev." The words felt like glue, sticking in his throat in an ever growing lump that became difficult to swallow against. He clenched his jaw and felt the muscles of his cheek flex hard.

"And when I come back... you will be gone then? Is that what you would do?" Earnest and sad under the touch of his friend, he looked up, tucking his lower lip between his teeth.

Gideon drew a slow breath and let his thumb trace the line of Everett's tucked lower lip until he drew it out from between his teeth and closed the gap between them to take it between his own lips. He could feel himself tremble as he had the night he'd first risked this kiss and again could not stop it. The kiss began slow, gentle and gradually increased as he lavished attention upon both the poet's upper and lower lip, teeth gentle, tongue light until he drew back breathless and pressed his forehead against Everett's.

"If you would have me stay, Everett, I would stay." He whispered. "I wouldn't leave you if you didn't want me to."

His hands came to rest, one curled around the back of Gideon's neck, the other curled tightly around the collar of the open shirt.

"I could not ask you to stay and be miserable. I would not."

Everett tilted his chin and kissed the man again, lips closing over lips with that dangerous rhythm to his heart, the one that meant something more than just the want evident in his kiss, his breath.

Gideon opened his mouth under Everett's kiss and felt that painfully sweet yearning that made his knees, his back, even his cold resolve go weak as water. His tongue touched Everett's softly and the caress took his breath away. He drew back an inch again and slid his hands up Everett's sides and over the slow slope and rise of his back.

"I would only go to keep you from being miserable, Ev. I want more than anything to just be near you again." He said quietly, glacial eyes rising to meet those soft, large brown ones.

"You are well out of your wit if you think that your absence could make me happier." He shook his head in disbelief and both hands then found a perch against the flat of Gideon's chest. "Stay if you would stay, go if you would go, but you must stop feeling as you do... If there is one thing that I cannot bear in this world, it is the suffering of those that I so care for."

Gideon exhaled a sigh through his nose and drew his head back to offer Everett a smile more sure then he had before. He pressed a kiss to the center of the other's forehead.

"If you have to go home to make things right, then I will stay here until you come back. I promise." He swore.

He'd missed the old Everett so much it ached now to be near him again, to have that scent of sandalwood, ink and old books surrounding him. He buried a ticklish kiss in the crook of the poet's neck, where his collar folded away and lingered there, grateful.