not present. not crazy. not yet. not this way.

Avery Chase

The transition between bright midday sun and cool darkness: the interior of the castle, a stone hallway. His squire will --

bare feet on semi-soft sort-of carpet. The sort you lay down tile by tile. Easy to replace. Cheap, too. Better than concrete. It's a small room. No windows here, but he can faintly hear the city of Denver not too far away. A vent circulates clean air in. There is a narrow dorm bed. There is a small table and two chairs. On the table is a half-eaten plate of takeout. In one of the chairs is Avery Chase, Reverence of Dawn, Radiant Honor, Master of Challenges of the Sept of the Cold Crescent, Fostern Half-Moon of the Silver Fangs.

She wears pearls in her ears, and her hair is faintly curled and recently trimmed. French manicure on the hands that rest folded on her lap. Her feet are bare, and her toenails are painted a soft turquoise blue. She's wearing a pale yellow sundress with a white, three-quarter sleeved cardigan over it. No other jewelry, except for the engagement ring on her left hand.

As she watches him, she sees his eyes regain new light. She gives him a small smile.

"Welcome back, Rafael," she says. "How are you feeling? Is there anything you need?"

wolfman

Disorientation. Even gravity feels different -- and then he realizes he's lying on his back. Sleeping? No. His eyes feel gritty, like he's been staring. Blinks them now, rubs his thumb and forefinger across the fragile lids. Opens them again.

Sits up. There is Fair Sky -- no; not Fair Sky. Reverence of Dawn. Radiant Honor. Wasn't he going to consider packing with her? Strange that they meet now under these circumstances.

"How long?" is the first thing he asks.

Avery Chase

Avery does not look like she wants to answer that, for a moment. Her brow furrows.

"A few weeks," she says gently. "It's the middle of March."

wolfman

Breath does rush out of him then. Not a sigh of relief; just a stunned whoosh, like someone knocked the air out of him. Wolf stares.

Wolf sits again, slowly. Slumps back onto that dorm bed. Hands drift aimlessly up; he puts them to work, plows them through his hair. Thicker and shaggier than he remembers, because of course it is. Beard on his face too, because of course there is. It's been weeks.

Stares off past the Master of Challenges for a while. So long that maybe she thinks he's gone again; but no. Then his eyes come back, focused.

"Devon?" is the second thing he asks.

Avery Chase

No one has trimmed his hair, or shaved him. He does not stink terribly. There is no pile of filth in the room. He's been eating. He's been washed, or has been washing himself somehow. The bed is clean. He's been taken care of.

Avery gives a small smile. It's almost tender, though the furrow in his brow relates concern. She cannot imagine how hard this is for him. Watches him, waiting for him to go away again, or speak again, but it's the former.

So she nods, once. "She visits often. At first we could not let her see you, out of concern for her safety, but we have learned more about your condition and believe that, under supervision, you are no threat to her in this state." A moment, perhaps of decorum warring with honesty: "She sleeps here with you, sometimes. There is always someone close by."

wolfman

Observed. Supervised.

Always someone close by.

And from that morass, a third question: "What ... what am I like? What do I do, when I'm -- away like that?"

Avery Chase

A small shake of her head. "Sometimes you sleep, or what seems like sleep. You eat when there is food brought for you. Mostly you wander. You pace. You sit and stare. Occasionally you shift." She pauses, then takes a breath: "If I may venture a guess, I think your body is maintaining itself while you are absent from it. Making sure you use your muscles and inhabit your various forms. Because if nothing else, we have learned that you are not present."

wolfman

"Not present," echoes the wolf, softly. Has his hands clasped now, lips pressed against his thumbs. Pulls away just enough to speak, voice that dreadful thought they must've all orbited at some point: "Not crazy."

Avery Chase

At this, Avery's brow turns to wrinkles upon wrinkles. She rises, and crosses the room in three sweeping, quick strides, bare feet on tiles of stiff carpet. Her dress rustles. She smooths under her and perches right beside him. Does not hold up a pretense of propriety or carefulness: she sits right beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

It's instantaneous. It's animal. It's instinct.

"Not yet," she tells him, with honesty that is somehow gentle in its bluntness. "And not this way."

wolfman

Must have been so long since he's had a pack, or even the company of another wolf. She approaches and he flinches, almost; tenses, drawing in on himself.

Only to relax, a moment later, as she sits beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, warmth to warmth. A moment after that, he leans back into her. Drops his hands and turns his head and rolls his brow roughly against her shoulder. Brief, primitive, animal gesture.

"Thanks," he says, and gets up. Goes to the takeout boxes, picks one up at random, starts eating. "For watching out for me. And for saying that."

Avery Chase

His brow against her shoulder is shockingly intimate. Now it is Avery's turn to be startled, almost, to nearly flinch. Javed would have never. She is quite still, but does not jerk away. He lifts his head, then stands, and she has already resumed her composure. Ankles crossed. Hands folded.

"There are many who watch over you, Rafael," she says, like a gentle reminder. "The Guardians, of course, but you are my tribesman."

She is quiet a moment. Then: "The new Master of Rites examined you. He was the one who determined that your spirit was... traveling. We know almost nothing else. The kinswoman who attends you told us a little of what you told her. That is all we have."

Her head tips. "When do you think it will come to an end?"

wolfman

"I don't know." Wolf speaks through full mouth, turned back. Perhaps he too is unsettled by the intimacy; the implied closeness and familiarity they do not have. "When I've finished what I set out to do, maybe.

"When I go away, I go into the past. Live another life. Maybe a past life, maybe just some -- spiritual fantasy. I'm a Silver Fang. There are Fianna on our lands. It's the Rite of Reawakening and the tribes hate each other. A Fianna cub thwarted our Rites, then vanished into the Underworld.

"I'm going after her. I'm retrieving a Fianna cub, and when I do, the Fianna will settle her debt to the Silver Fangs with fair punishment. Maybe when that's done, the tribes will reach some sort of peace. And I'll be free to live my own life."

Empty takeout box goes clattering into the trash can. "Every time I seem to be gone longer, though."

Avery Chase

Avery is quiet. "Soon, then," she says. "The Rite of Reawakening occurs on the spring equinox. That is only days away."

wolfman

"Hours," wolf replies, "in the other world. I'll have to go back soon."

And yet -- he's walking toward the door. Certain tension in him, like he expects to be stopped.

"Need to talk to Devon first," he says.

Avery Chase

As he heads for the door, Avery rises. Senses his tension, raising hairs on her arms.

"You have to stay here, Bleak Dawn," she says softly. "I apologize, but -- this is how we keep you both safe. I can have her called."

wolfman

Wolf wheels around, stark anger on his face. Quivering through his body like the hum of an arrow landing. For an instant he looks ready to fight. Ready to kill, maybe.

It is restrained. His hands ball into fists and release, ball and release. He whips around, slams the heel of his hand into the wall, backs away. Looks at the door.

Turns back to the Fostern.

"Can I call her?"

Avery Chase

She stands beside his bed, and he turns on her with naked anger, and he sees her eyes visibly darken.

Avery does not shake with rage. Her teeth do not bare at him. Her hands don't even unfold. No, just:

her eyes darken.

Somehow, that alone is intimidating.

--

When he vents his frustration against the wall, Avery lifts her chin, but her own anger does not flit away, or smooth over. Her eyes are still hard when he turns to her again with a request.

She exhales. "Of course you may, Rafael. You are not a prisoner." She frowns at him, stepping over to the table, picking up her handbag from the edge of the table. Leather, white, Kate Spade, et cetera. Withdraws her phone -- new, wearing a blue and white chevron case -- and unlocks it, still frowning as she holds it out to him.

"Your body is not consistently or predictably under your own control," Avery reminds him, levelly. "If my theory is correct, it is exercising your needs as they occur. Hunger, evacuation, exercise. Rage," she finishes, flatly. "It is no glib thing to say we are watching you so closely out of concern for the safety of not only your friend, but all the kin and mortals in this building. We take it seriously, and it is not a punishment. It is a necessity."

Her phone is released into his hand.

wolfman

"Know it's not a punishment," wolf says roughly, impatiently -- and perhaps also: ashamedly. Starts to say something else, but then he clamps his jaw, dials numbers from memory. Who still does that: memorizes numbers. He does, apparently.

--

Devon's phone rings.

Avery Chase

witch
And rings. And on the third ring, is picked up. Must be late at night. Devon, blearily, muttering: "Hello?"

wolfman

Something in the wolf feels like it crumples. Shatters like glass. He turns away from the Philodox, turns his back and hunches his shoulders, folds his arms tight across his chest. Presses the phone tight, tight to his ear.

Several seconds go by and it's just silence. Then he manages, low and gruff, "Devon. It's me."

Avery Chase

witch
"Hello?" she says again in those several seconds of silence, sounding now like she's somewhere between bleary and annoyed.

But he says her name. And he says it's him, and he can hear her take a breath.

"Rafa?" And then, heartbreakingly: "Are you back?"

wolfman

He's acutely aware of the other presence in the room; a listener that makes him intrinsically vulnerable. Even if she isn't really listening. Even if she's trying not to eavesdrop.

"No. Not yet. Just here for a little while." Pause. "Just wanted to call. See if you're okay. Know I've been gone a while."

Avery Chase

witch
Devon yawns. She can't help it. She was asleep. She's trying to hide it. He can hear rustling: she's sitting up in bed. Sniffing. "It's all right," she says, as if he were apologizing. "I'm all right. I come and see you sometimes."

She's quiet a moment, but only just: "Are you coming back soon, though?"

wolfman

Stripped-down little laugh huffs from the wolf. Somehow the tense, hunched curve of those enormous shoulders eases a little. He straightens a little, lifts his head.

"I know," he says softly. "Avery told me."

And: "Yeah. I think so. Don't know when exactly. But I think it's almost over. And I'll come find you then. Okay?"

Avery Chase

witch
Devon exhales slowly. More rustling. She's laying back down. "Yeah," she murmurs. Hesitates, then sighs: "They told me... it isn't just in your head."

wolfman

Wolf's eyes close. He exhales.

"Yeah. Told me too."

Avery Chase

witch
She says nothing. He can hear her breathing. But after a while:

"Did you just want to talk to me?"

wolfman

"Wanted to see you," wolf says. Maybe can't help the hint of resentment there; but it too subsides. "Told me it wasn't safe. They're right. So I just wanted to hear your voice for a while."

A little later, "Maybe you can come over later. When I'm asleep and gone."

Avery Chase

witch
"I could come over now," she says, still sleepy. The smile that was in her voice a moment ago, when she started realizing in her half-dreaming state that he didn't need anything, wasn't asking for anything, just wanted to hear her voice -- well. It fades a little, as such things do. She sounds lazy, but it can't quite hide the thread of shimmering eagerness that lives underneath.

"Maybe you'll still be there."

wolfman

"No," quick to that. Maybe it hurts, how quick. But then he adds: "Not because I don't wanna see you. I do. But don't want you to see me slipping away again. Don't want to hurt you again."

Avery Chase

witch
Does hurt. Not as bad as him being literally checked out of his own body for weeks on end has hurt, but it stings. She has tears in her eyes that he can't see before she even really thinks of it.

"You are... dumb," she says, and sniffs.

wolfman

In spite of himself, her, everything, wolf huffs another bare little laugh.

"Maybe," he admits. "But still don't want you to see me slipping off."

Avery Chase

witch
"I'm ten minutes out," she says, sniffing again. "Less. Don't be an ass."

wolfman

Indecisive beat. Two.

Then he turns -- she hears his voice from farther away: "Can she come see me?"

Avery Chase

Avery is over in the corner of the room examining her nails. She has her back turned to Rafael and posture is as unobtrusive as she can make herself. When she hears his voice directed at her, however, she pauses, turns. Blinks at him. Frowns a little, just a tiny line between her eyebrows.

"Of course she can. She often does."

wolfman

Wolf frowns back at her. Well, now he just feels even dumber, doesn't he. Without answering he puts the phone back to his ear.

"Yeah." Even low, rough, gruff as he is, she can't miss that hint of anticipation; eagerness. "All right. Come over."

Avery Chase

witch
Is already up from the futon, is already tugging on old jeans and shoving her feet into flip-flops and grabbing keys.

"Stay on the phone," she says. Like a damn order.

wolfman

"It's not my phone," he says, "and anyway don't want the Master of Challenges here when you take a flying leap at me. Just come quick."

And he

HANGS UP.

--

Hands the phone back to Avery. Doesn't grin, doesn't smile. Just kind of shrugs, a touch awkward.

"Thanks," he says again.

Avery Chase

Avery does overhear this. Raises her eyebrows at him -- or is raising them, when he turns to her and hands her the phone back.

"Of course," she says mildly, slipping the phone back into her little handbag. Tips her head. "What was that, about a flying leap?"

wolfman

Wolf rolls his shoulders, affecting nonchalance. "Been known to do it before."

He goes back to the bed. Takes a seat again, sinking his weight down. Feels tired, somehow. Tired from resurfacing, tired from shock and anger, tired from relief, tired from anticipation both good and bad. Girl's coming over. Past's coming to get him. Quiet for a while in the room.

Then, "When this is over, we should talk. If you're still looking to follow a totem."

Avery Chase

This still makes no sense to her. And the blankness lives in her eyes. She watches him, instead, as he gos to the bed and sits himself down. Avery waits.

He mentions talking, and her brow furrows for a moment, then smooths. She sets that aside for a second.

"A moment ago, I meant: what you said about not wanting me here. Rafael, I'm not sure I was clear: Devon has not been anywhere near you in the past three weeks without a Garou close by."

The furrow deepens. "Is it me in particular? If you'd like someone else to come in, that can be arranged, but I would like to understand the distinction, if my presence upsets you somehow."

wolfman

"What?" Wolf's back straightens with surprise. "No. Not that. Just -- " he grimaces, "just wanted a little privacy with my girlfriend. Has nothing to do with you.

"If it's gotta be someone might as well be you. If it's not too awkward."

Avery Chase

Avery's eyebrows don't shoot up. It's not like Devon's attachment to Rafael is some secret. She came here with him. Comes here to see him almost every day. Sometimes spends the night. It's entirely possible that the Guardians who have been set over him know just as much about how Devon feels about him as he does. Avery has been delicate, calling Devon his friend, but she knows. He doesn't shock her by saying girlfriend. Or by wanting privacy.

She gives a little shrug, shakes her head. "I do understand. I hope you will forgive the intrusion. It can't be helped."

Not if he doesn't want to wake up and discover that his body has exercised his Rage while he was gone, and Devon there, and no one to help her. They all know that's the part that isn't being said aloud. The indelicacy of it. The brutality. The truth.

Perhaps a touch awkwardly, herself, she adds, fluttering her left hand a bit: "My intended... is also Fianna." Like that matters.

wolfman

For the first time, wolf's mouth flickers. Smile's so quick and fleeting one almost can't catch it -- especially with that beard, grown in dark and heavy.

"And I'm getting sent back in time over and over to make peace between Fianna and Fang," he says. "Maybe it's fate."

Avery Chase

"Perhaps," she says, with noncommittal grace. She smooths her skirt, sitting down at the table again. Opens her purse. Takes out a little tin. Opens it up, paper inside rustling, and holds it out in offering to him.

Breathmints.

wolfman

This time she gets an actual laugh out of him, faint but real. He reaches in with those big indelicate fingers; grabs a mint and pops it in his mouth.

Crunches it. Chews it up. Eats it. Takes another, and a breath with it, humor fading away.

"Hope I'll be back with the equinox," he says. "But if I'm not, if I'm gone a real long time this time, keep an eye on her for me. Will you?"

Avery Chase

Avery's mints are shaped like little square pillows and are stamped with a C interwoven with a W. They are white, with a faint pearlescent sheen, and taste like mint with the faintest whiff of vanilla.

There's going to be a little tin of them at every place setting at the reception. She still hasn't decided between Chase-White and White-Chase. Maybe just Whitechase. But then she'd want Calden to be Whitechase too, and she's not sure he'd go for that. Another discussion they have to have.

She clips the tin of mints shut and places it back in her bag after he's taken a couple.

"I think you will be," she says, with robust confidence. "The time you go to and the time you belong in are aligning." She's quiet then, closing her bag, twisting the clasp, thoughtful when she looks back to him. Thoughtful and a trifle uncomfortable; she does not want to promise anything that she cannot give. So she tells him, instead: "She will be all right, Rafael. And you will return soon."

wolfman

Truth is wolf doesn't much notice the details of the mints, only that they're rather fancy and rather tasty and rather good at getting rid of bad breath. He's watching the Philodox as he chews the first mint, watching her as he melts the second on his tongue.

She's given him a lot of hope today. Hope that this isn't madness. Hope that it'll end soon. Feels like he should thank her again, but then he's already done that so many time. He settles for nodding.

"Yeah," he says. "I will."

Avery Chase

Someone pounds on the door.

Avery blinks, looking up, and smiles. She rises, going to the door and opening it, stepping aside as --

witch

-- Devon takes a flying leap at Rafael. Nevermind that she's wearing flip-flops (purple) and jeans (several-day-old) and one of Rafael's t-shirts (it's plain) underneath a flannel (red and black). And she is bursting into tears as soon as she sees him, throws her arms around him, because he hung up and no one picked back up and she thought he was gone again. All of which she is saying, almost angrily, squeezing him hard enough to make oxygen struggle to get to his brain.

wolfman

Banging on the door and wolf's up off the bed. Philodox opens the door and girl comes running in,

takes a flying leap. This time he catches her. First time she did it, he didn't; she had to hang on herself. This time, his arms go around her, he squeezes her close, close, closes his eyes and buries his face in the curve of her neck.

She's saying something. He's not registering much of it. Mutters something against her skin, indistinct.

witch

This time she's not hopping up on him, nuzzling him, muttering something that equates to fuck me, no matter what she actually says. She just holds onto him, legs hanging down, taking big sucking lungfuls of air after she's reamed him out for hanging up on her.

For her part, the Philodox is off in the corner again, fiddling with her phone. Possibly texting her 'intended' about something or other. Wedding plans. Certainly nothing of substance, or regarding emotion.

Devon just holds onto him. She has nothing to say now. She just hugs him, tight. She hasn't seen him in three weeks or more. Not seen him, and felt him in there. "Hate your beard," she mutters, eventually.

wolfman

Been three weeks. Three weeks since she hugged him, three weeks since he kissed her, three weeks since she saw him -- really him -- and three weeks since they spoke.

Could be forgiven for coming together like opposing magnets. Could be forgiven for holding on to each other long after it's socially acceptable or polite -- but then, their chaperone is busying herself with paying no attention.

Eventually wolf backpedals, sits on that little bed. Keeps his arms around her though. Keeps her firm, tight, close to his body. Still feels warm. Still feels solid and strong.

Huffs amusement. "Didn't get a beard on purpose," he says.

witch

Devon just clings. They end up on his bed. He sits. She straddles. She holds.

Has no answer for him. Just buries her face against his neck. Holds on. And holds on.

And holds on.

wolfman

So humor dies a natural death. So his awareness of the Philodox in the corner, the strangeness of a room not really his -- it all dies away. Wolf's heavy arms stay around the girl. His hands spread over her back, rub, soothe. He holds her

and holds her

and holds her.

--

Quite a bit of time goes by. Seconds, perhaps a whole minute or two. Wolf takes a breath after a while, lifts his head a little. Nuzzles against her hair, side of her face, her ear.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "I'm okay. You're okay."

witch

He doesn't slip away. Not yet. Devon knows this, even without looking in his eyes. His arms would go slack. His body would retreat. He wouldn't hold her anymore. So she buries herself against him, determined to stay, even if wah wah, I don't want to hurt you, wah wah.

Her hair is thick and dark and loose. It smells like white tea. Like nothing else.

He smells this -- these scents that add to her but never blend with her -- as he nuzzles her. Okay, okay, okay, he says. Devon huffs. She says nothing. Just curls up, tucking her arms between their two bodies, laying her head on his chest, his shoulder. Lets him hold her. He's been gone so very long, as far as her life is concerned. So many weeks. She wasn't sure he'd be back. They kept telling her --

"Kept saying you'd be back," she murmurs. "Wasn't sure, though."

wolfman

Wolf's eyebrows pull together. He kisses her where he can reach her. He bites her too: a gentle grip of his teeth through her flannel, through that t-shirt he's quite certain she stole from him.

" 'Course I was coming back," he says. "Why wouldn't I?"

witch

The Philodox in the corner still has her back turned, but her ears perked. The room is small. She hears it when Rafael kisses Devon.

Devon doesn't notice. And neither does Rafael. Devon just feels him kiss her neck, bites her shoulder. His question, inexplicably,

makes her start crying again. Or at least: tears come to her eyes. She sniffs, and hides, angry at him for asking, caught suddenly in the wave of thoughts from the last... month, really. Since he started slipping away.

wolfman

No answer. Wolf doesn't know what to make of it; only knows not to push. Not now, anyway, when his hold on the present is so tenuous.

Makes up for that by holding her so tight. They cling to each other. He covers the back of her head with his hand. Girl smells like botanicals, herbs; never like herself. Wolf's never held that against her; never thought to do so.

Still surprises him, chills him, to think of that glaring wolf in the photo. To think of those suspicious, distrustful, hateful wolves in that other timestream.

"I'm coming back," he says again, low. "Promise you that. Okay? Don't cry."

witch

"I'm not crying," she says, right away, roughly. Lifts her face to prove it, shaking her hair back, looking at him with that makeup-free face, those sleepy eyes.

Glances past him, a moment later, at their erstwhile chaperone. Confirming that her back is turned, Devon looks back to Rafael. She leans closer to him, and kisses his mouth -- albeit lightly. Pulls back a moment, looking at him, her hand on the back of his neck. Kisses him again.

Hard not to hear their lips meeting in the room. Hard to imagine that Avery in the corner does not know exactly what is going on behind her. She would have to, to be an effective protector. But Devon kisses him anyway. She draws back again, though, picking something up out of her shirt pocket. It's a small vial, stoppered with rubber. Fits in the palm.

She puts it to his hand. "Don't drink it," she says, like he's an idiot who would down it at the first shot. "Drizzle it on your pillow. Or put it behind your ears."

wolfman

Wolf's eyes dart surreptitiously to their chaperone too. But then girl's kissing him, and his eyes are closing, and his hand threads through her hair.

He kisses her back. Lips move soft and tender together. When they draw back wolf's got this subtle burn in his eyes, but

they have a chaperone. And he has a past life to get back to.

Girl gives him something. Cautions him in the same breath. Wolf doesn't have the heart, tonight, to tell her he's not an idiot. Wouldn't drink something she brewed up without at least asking what it was. Lifts it to the light, though, curious. Dark eyebrows together, puzzled. He tilts the vial this way and that. Sniffs at it.

"What's it?"

witch

Slow, subtle burn. In his eyes. In hers. She hasn't had him in a month or so. It's not on her mind, but she feels it all the same. She's aware of it, even though she tries not to be. Touches his hair while he pushes his fingers into hers. Kisses him quick, soft, like sealing the others.

The fluid in the vial is milky grey, hints of green. Strange to look at. Bright, somehow. Refracts the light into rainbows.

"Brings peace," is all she can tell him. Shrugs. "I hope."

wolfman

Now wolf's eyebrows knit together for a wholly different reason. It's ache. It's ... well. Love.

Shies away from that word. Doesn't want it to make him soft, weak. Doesn't seem to know that softness and weakness is not in his nature; not in the fibers of his being. Not how Gaia made him, or any of his ilk. Maybe he's learning that, though.

Wraps his hand around the vial, and her hand. Touch is gentle. Palm is warm. He kisses her hand, then her.

"Thanks," he says softly.

witch

Thin smile. She closes her eyes, rests their brows together.

"Love you," she whispers, holding his hands, keeping their bodies close. "Do love you."

wolfman

Sometimes her smiles are thin. Sometimes they're small. Sometimes they're sly, or secretive; sometimes she actually grins.

Wolf traces his thumb down the center of her lips. Upper, lower. He seals that with a kiss.

"Yeah," he says quietly. Doesn't want to say more because there's a chaperone. Because it's private. Because it's his, and hers, and no one else's.

witch

The way he touches her. Sometimes it lights her up. Makes her skin feel... she doesn't know how to describe it. Like stars burst right under her skin. Like she's constellations. Like she's dust, floating above atmospheres, reflecting and refracting the light from a thousand suns.

His stupid thumb on her lip. His eyes, and his dumb jawline, and the curve of his mouth. She leans into him, wants to press him down to the bed, kiss him, open up her clothes and her body to him. Wants him, all-encompassing and entire, and her skin grows warm from it.

This time her eyes close when he kisses her. She can't remember the last time she kissed him and he knew she was there, feeling him. She does, however, remember the last time they were together. Before all this. Before he slipped away.

Chaperone or no, Devon aches suddenly, stingingly, at his yeah. Her eyes are bright, and then closing. "Say it," she whispers, because

it's been so long.

And she doesn't know when he'll come back to her.

wolfman

Wolf's eyes hood. He looks at her mouth, the shape of it forming those words. The sibilants, the quick touch of tongue to teeth. Say it.

Doesn't seem to matter that they have a chaperone. Philodox isn't an audience, anyway. She's not so rude as that. Wouldn't matter even if she was, because it's been so long. Because he doesn't know when he'll be back. Because girl asked him.

"Love you," he whispers. Kisses her as though to seal it: long and deep.

witch

Long and deep and forever, it seems.

Always seems like forever, in those brief-as-breath spaces between worlds. Between lives. Between purposes -- both unknown to him, both things he can only guess at. Worlds split apart, and he's found both the witch and the judge there. Not madness, he's assured, but

one

never really knows.

She seems real enough, this young woman in his lap. Devon in his lap. Holding him the way she does, demanding of him what she always does. His arms. His attention. His love. Kisses him back, unabashed, unafraid. She does not care what people think of her, no matter who they are. Kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, and he is lost in it,

but of course they both knew it was coming. Might have come before she even got here; strange blessing that it waited. What if that means something.

What if --

He smells apples and gardenias. He feels her fingertips touching his temples, smoothing along his throat. A trail of something soft, a wet oil that absorbs quickly into his skin. He feels it enveloping him, these scents and this awareness. Feels like sleep. Feels like something he can accept. Feels almost like forgiveness.

Hears his name, once,

the name only she calls him. It fades, though, along with everything else, including the material world. This realm. He feels himself being dragged far beneath consciousness, beneath earth, beneath life. He feels himself slipping onto the path that only the dead and the desperate walk.

--

When Rafael opens his eyes again, he still smells apples and gardenias. But these scents fade, as all senses fade in this place. Everything here is flat, and grey, and toneless.

He is in the Underworld.

And everything smells like ashes.