back from the past.

witch

Could have, didn't.

Something took him there, and something brought him back. It would take a lifetime, two lifetimes, a hundred, for him to understand the scope, the impact, the full resolutions promised by the journey that he did not will to happen but

stubbornly

refused to ignore.

--

Devon wriggles. She's wearing pajamas, more or less: a soft grey t-shirt edged in that pink lace, a pair of capri-length pajama pants. More decent than a little nightgown or something. He can feel her socks, though, fuzzy things, resting against his shins. He's hugging her more tightly and it wakes her up and she kicks her heel against his shin. Sort of gently.

"Stoppit," she mutters, not really awake, not realizing that he's back. That he's been gone for weeks off and on and now he's back. She just yawns, and nestles down further in the blankets, hugging his arms tight around her even though she JUST TOLD HIM --

Her eyes open a little. Blearily. Slowly. Her back is to his chest. She exhales, roughly.

"Rafa?" she asks, turning, quickly, looking for him.

spiritual wolfman

Wolf makes this sound -- whuff almost, but no. It's a laugh, low, joyful.

"Yeah." He nuzzles the back of her neck. Draws back a little. She turns. He's looking at her. Beard and uncut hair, yes, but: his eyes, sharp and present, focused on hers. "Back now."

He gathers her close again. Closer, closer. Lays his brow to hers, closing his eyes.

"Devon," he murmurs. "Missed you so much."

witch

Skinny arms around his neck, holding him suddenly and tightly, crushingly. Thick hair everywhere, all over his dumb face.

"Back back?" she insists, shaking a little.

spiritual wolfman

Skinny arms around his neck. Almost called her skinny thing, truth is. Almost called her that affectionately, fondly, adoringly; as if he didn't have a better name for her.

His arms wrapped tight around her. Biceps against her sides, forearms folded over her smooth back. Her hair's everywhere and he buries himself in it. Laughs again, soft, maybe a little unsteady.

"Yeah. Promise."

witch

Holds him tighter, for that. Guardian watches impassively through golden eyes in the darkened room. Devon doesn't like this. Has trouble sleeping here, hates eating here, isn't a fan of any of this. It's late March and she's tired of visiting Cold Crescent to see her possibly-gone-forever boyfriend.

No wonder she shakes. And exhales unsteadily, unwilling to say or do more at first. Swallows, instead, says nothing for a few moments, until: "Let's go. They said if you came back you'd have to get checked out by a theurge or something before you could go, but... let's go."

spiritual wolfman

"If," wolf mutters, derisively. Guardian with his golden eyes gets a foul look. Never mind that he's there to protect them both. Nevermind that he was girl's first and last line of defense if wolf decided to flip out in his time-traveling trance.

Wolf sits up, then. Body feels weak and new. Covers collapse under their own gravity and he discovers he's stripped bare. Sends the Guardian another uncharitable glance as he swings bare feet off the bed, rumples sheets over his bare lap to conceal some modicum of modesty.

"They got my clothes anywhere?"

witch

In the car, Devon doesn't have to adjust the seat, but the passenger seat is still pulled forward. He slides back, and Devon pulls out of the garage, and takes him back to his place.

Which is dark, and cool, and empty. She hasn't been staying here. She hasn't come here while he's been 'gone', unless she had a good reason. And she hasn't really had a good reason, except to bring something for him. Not that he asked for anything. But fresh clothes, occasionally. Sometimes he would mindlessly change into them, if there was nothing else available.

There is no dirty laundry. The maid has come and taken care of that.

Devon has the keys in her hand when she exits the car. Watches Rafael carefully as he comes around, like he can't just wait for her at the door between the garage and the house, has to come to the car door. She's uncomfortable; he knows that. Can sense it, almost smell it, even though she has no scent at all. This time she doesn't take his hand. Maybe digs in her backpack to pretend she doesn't see it. Maybe just hesitates, discomfort written across her face. One way or another it gets across that she doesn't want to take his hand right now.

They go inside.

wolfman

They go inside --

they don't. Wolf arrests there at the door. Girl's digging in her backpack. Wolf's frowning now. His hand remains there, outstretched, for seconds on end before he lets it fall.

Quiet: "What's wrong?"

witch

So they stay in the garage. Colder than inside. He reaches for her and she looks down, getting chapstick out of her backpack. Zips it up and his hand is still waiting and the shadow of a wince passes through her eyes, but she doesn't take his hand. They stand there. She's waiting for him to just turn an walk inside. The fact that he stood there waiting to take her hand and isn't walking now feels like the schism has already happened. The crime's been committed.

Devon's eyebrows draw together, painfully. "You've been gone for a month."

wolfman

Wolf doesn't quite understand. Eyebrows knit; that's a human expression. Head tilts; that's not.

"I'm back now," he says.

witch

"You are," she says, and exhales. "But it was a long time, and it was weird, and --"

Devon cuts herself off. She closes her eyes a moment, reaches up, rubs at her brow with the heels of her hands. "I just want to go back to sleep, somewhere that isn't that shitty little room again. Can we just talk tomorrow?"

wolfman

Girl rubs at her brow. Both hands. A moment later wolf puts his hands on her face too. Takes her face between his palms, pulls her closer. Wraps one of those heavy paws behind her head the way he does, like he's trying to shelter her from some unseen storm.

Touches his brow to hers. Exhales softly.

"Sorry I left you alone," he says. "Didn't want to. Glad I'm with you again." Lets go. Lets space open up. "We'll talk tomorrow," he adds -- agrees. Reaches for the door.

witch

Devon doesn't want to be held, though. Not right now, not standing in the garage, agitated, things stirred up that she wanted to leave alone -- at least for a night. She exhales, reaching up, taking his hands. Removes them from her, but holds onto his wrists, his hands, looking up at him.

"Please don't right now," she says, very quietly, when he says he's sorry he left her alone. Cuts him right off. "Don't... talk about it right now. I just want to leave it, all right?"

wolfman

Truth is that strains his patience. Wolf doesn't have much to speak of anyway. There's flexion in his jaw; something taut about his face.

Backs off, though. Nods, wordlessly. They come apart. Last point of contact dissolves. Wolf pushes the door to his house open. Smells clean in there, but unlived-in. Dark, too, though the lights come up without a flicker when he hits the switch.

witch

She can sense his anger. Is exhausted by it right now, feels attacked by it, and unfairly. But just looks at him, aching like that, until he nods. Steps a little bit away. She doesn't let go of his wrists at first. Lets go of one, and slides her hand into the other. Stays close, resting against his bicep and arm wrapped around his arm, walking inside with him. Into the kitchen, which he lights up.

Can see obviously that she hasn't been here. No pot of herbal goop anywhere, none of her laundry sitting on top of the washer. Devon reaches out and flicks the light back off. They go toward the stairs, and as they start heading up she thinks to ask:

"You hungry?"

wolfman

Wolf finds himself missing those signs of her presence. Goop. Laundry. Faint herbal smell in the air, which takes the place of her actual and nonexistent scent. Hell, he even misses the giant mess she'd made of her room.

Lights go off again. Girl stays close to him, which soothes him a little. Calms that howling beast inside that wants to know why, why, why, why is she so far away. After so long, after so far, after all those lifetimes they might've lost. His hand on hers is strong, grip firm.

"Yeah." He is hungry. Realizes it as she asks and as he answers. Pauses, one foot on the stairs. "Probably no leftovers in the fridge. Think I've got frozen pizzas and ramen though."

witch

She's a step over him on the steps. He's down there and he's hungry and a faint flicker of a smile half-shows on her face in the darkness. She squeezes his hand. "I'm just sleepy," she tells him, soft. "You mind if I just... take a shower and get back in bed? You can eat in there. I don't care."

wolfman

"Naw. Go ahead." His hand squeezes her back. Means something, that. He thinks it must mean something: that soft physical communication, one hand to another. "I'll be up in a second."

witch

She breathes in deep, nods. "Okay," says Devon. Squeezes his hand one more time, lets go. Heads upstairs.

A few minutes later he hears his door open. Hears the window crack open as well, fresh air circulating into his bedroom. Hears her backpack thump down. Hears the shower go on. She knows her way around his place. She lived here for months, after all. And nearly every time they had sex in this house it was in that bedroom, in that bed.

Been a month. A few days for him. A month for her. No wonder she feels so far away.

--

Shower goes on, lasts maybe five or six minutes before Devon gets out, drying herself off. Hard to hear anything past that, but easy to imagine her getting back into her pajamas, climbing into that bed with its clean sheets and smooth covers, fixed that way by the maid who knows how long ago.

He can hear her sneeze, once.

wolfman

Wolf stays downstairs. Heats up the oven. Rips two DiGiornos out of their boxes, claps them into the oven.

While she showers, and while the food heats up, he goes upstairs. Maybe she hears the bedroom door open. Certainly, if she looks, she can see him. Walks into the en-suite. Goes to the sinks. Some strange shyness keeps him from looking at her in that spacious glass cube of a shower, though he's surely aware of her. His cheeks flush. She can see that too because he starts shaving; running the same electric buzzer over his jaw, and then -- dialing it just a touch higher -- over his head.

Leans over the sink. Shears off all that extraneous hair, all the detritus built up from a month out of sync with his own body. Inspects his reflection afterward. Almost hard to recognize him like that, hair and beard both mowed down to a bristle. It'll grow back.

Wolf gathers up all his discarded fur. Scoops it into a wastebin. Walks out of the room again, shutting the door behind him.

--

She gets out of the shower. He hears her footsteps light overhead. Hears that little sneeze that makes him smile. He's still waiting on his pizza; wishes he'd just put it in the microwave instead. Peeks in a couple times. Gives up, eventually, and goes back up the stairs. Looks at her in his bed. Strips off his clothes and steps into the shower, stays in there longer than she did. Steam filters into the room. Slow-growing smell of pizza, too.

Clean, when he comes out. Wolf's skin tans easily enough, but he's so fair now after a month without the sun. Warmth and scrubbing has made him flushed and rosy. He wraps a towel around his waist, inspects his new reflection again. Brushes his teeth and then pads out of the bathroom.

"Pizza's about done," he tells her, if she's still awake. "Gonna go bring it up. Enough for you, if you want some."

witch

Devon does see him. She's unsettled, but he isn't staring at her, looking at her. She sees him not looking at her. Sees him just shaving. And a faint smile tightens her lips. She goes on showering. When she comes out, wrapped in a towel, she reaches up and touches the hair on top of his head. Shakes her head.

"I could have just trimmed that, you know," she says, but that's all. She goes to put on her pajamas, and he goes back downstairs.

Truth be told, Devon falls rapidly asleep once she's in bed. Her hair is still wet, thick as it is. She's dressed in a pair of his shorts and one of his shirts from the closet, because all she had to change into were her pajamas from Cold Crescent and she changed into those after working all evening. But as soon as she lays down, and sneezes, she's falling asleep within moments.

That's what he sees when he comes upstairs. The shower doesn't wake her. She turns over when he comes nearby, but doesn't wake.

wolfman

Wolf catches her hand on its way down. Gives it a squeeze. "You're tired," he says,

as if she couldn't have done it tomorrow. As if he couldn't have waited.

--

She's asleep when he gets upstairs. She's asleep when he gets out of the shower. So he doesn't talk to her. He goes downstairs and he turns off the oven. Takes the pizzas out, puts them on two large plates. Carries them upstairs, along with a 2-liter coke. No cups. Apparently intends to drink from the bottle.

Bed dips as he climbs on. Sits crosslegged on the mattress, one pizza on his lap, the other nearby. There's no TV in here. He doesn't know where his phone is. He just sits and eats, silent and ravenous, while the girl sleeps nearby.

Nice to have her near. Reminds him of the sixth gate. Reminds him of how it was before they fought, and she moved out. Wolf thinks again of that life past; how he never even knew her. How they never found each other.

witch

The bed's motion does wake her a little. She makes a noise, not quite a protest or an acknowledgement but... just a noise. Sighs and rolls over, facing him but not looking at him. Sleeps in his bed, comfortably, in her own thoughts, her own dreams.

Eventually he finishes eating. Probably eats it all. Devon stirs here and there, but never fully wakes. But he pushes things off the bed, sets them aside. Eventually, after whatever other tasks he wants to complete as he re-settles in his own body, he comes to bed. Gets under the covers.

Finds her rolling toward him, half-awake but not really, eyes half-open but barely seeing. She flicks them over his face. She closes her eyes again, arm over his chest, tucking herself against his side.

"Love you, Rafa," she mutters, drifting away again.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't eat it all. He's a wolf, not a pig.

Does eat most though. Eats a whole pizza. Eyes the other. Tears off half and eats it. Puts a napkin over the rest; sets it over on the nightstand in case girl woke up hungry. Guzzles coke from the bottle. Screws the cap on, puts that on the nightstand too.

Goes to the bathroom. Brushes his teeth. Washes his hands. Comes back, tossing his towel on the floor. Girl sleeps through it all, deep and complete. Eventually, wolf turns out the lights. Eventually, wolf gets in under the covers.

Lies on his back, looking at the dim shadows on the ceiling. Girl rolls over. Moves close. Her arm wraps over his chest. Skinny arm. Skinny thing. He wraps his hand over her forearm; his arm around her. She tucks herself against his side, near the warmth of his body.

"Too," he whispers. Closes his eyes.