Rory's eyes glazed over as he refused to focus on the trees that lazily rolled by. The jostle in the old truck's movements were clear signs of its suspension going bad. The old man certainly knew, and mentioning it would certainly come across as a complaint instead of an observation. So he kept his lips sealed, ran his fingertips over the tight muscles in his legs, and dissociated.

When the truck stopped, it took him a moment to register that they had arrived. It was that sudden absence next to him that registered action, and he instinctively used his arms to slide his body across the old bench seat. He swung his legs over the end, and eased his weight onto his legs. Pain shot through him, duller day by day but sharp enough to loose a strained grunt from his lips. Haven's fingers wrapped around his arm to help support him, as Rory flopped into the wheelchair. He felt the frustrated look from his partner, but shook it off.

He still didn't like the doting, but knew he'd be doing the same in her position.

While she admired the nature around them, Miller approached, holding out an old set of keys. The key-ring had small flecks of rust from years of wear and tear. Rory reached into his inner jacket pocket, feeling for the stack of cash he had counted and bound that morning. He had always intended to use his inheritance to begin putting down roots, but never expected it to be this soon and under these circumstances.

He was sure that his parents would be disappointed.

That made it all the easier to place the stack into Miller's hands.

Miller left, and Rory ran his finger along the keys the man had left him. He handed the keys off to Haven when she motioned for them, and he watched her enter into their new home. He sat in front of the porch stairs, a small smile on his lips as he saw the wonder in her movements. Her happiness was infectious.

Infectious enough that he couldn't help but shift his legs off the footrests, and plant themselves on the course gravel. His arms did most of the work in pulling himself to his feet, adrenaline working to dull the pain. His right arm rested on the bannister, and his feet took each step one at a time. It felt almost surreal to walk again, grounded only by the shaky pain that made him feel like he would keel over at any second.

Haven had rushed to his side by the time he reached the porch proper, and the feeling of her lips against his melted the world away for a brief moment. She moved to support him, and he wasted no time to settle his weight on his shoulders. It would take time for him to be back to normal, but he felt a surge of pride in his chest at the steps he had made.

Most folks wouldn't even be able to stand for a second this quickly from a fractured femur.

“Let’s walk inside together.”

Rory nodded at the suggestion, letting her take the lead in guiding them through the open front door. He set the pace, taking one step at a time in a slow marching rhythm. He resisted Haven’s urge to set him down in the rocking chair near the door, instead nudging them in the direction of the dining table. They lowered him into one of the seats, Rory’s labored breathing intercut with sudden inhales. His legs burned in pain, but he tried not to show it. Haven was already out the door again to grab the wheelchair as he took the moment to admire the space. It was much larger than their former accommodations, and had much more natural lighting.

Of course, next came all the small tasks that came with moving into an old, small place. Rory had plucked an old towel from one of his bags, and began using it to dust everything he could reach from the comfort of his chair. He gave the handle of the sink a quick flick, grimacing at the sight of sputtering brown water. Miller’s comments on the water heater now felt more like a bad omen than an off-hand comment. He shook his head, flashing a look over in Haven’s direction. She had taken the towel from him to wipe some of the harder to reach places. Her eyes met his, and a faint smile traced his lips.

Rory rolled himself over to the bathroom. It was modest, sporting little more than a toilet, bathtub, and sink. Except, of course, for a small door. Opening it revealed the water heater, along with a junction box. He opened the later up briefly, noticing the handful of switches and making sure everything was powered. He then turned his gaze back towards the water heater, fiddling around with the controls until he found what he was looking for.

”Dove… can you check the shed out back and see if Miller left a hose? I think we need to flush the tank.”

Rory powered off the water heater, listening as the screen door to the back porch slammed shut. His legs still ached, but he refused to let that stop him. He locked his chair's wheels, and slowly lifted himself up out of his seat. He tried lowering himself down slowly, only to lose his grip on the door frame in the process. He let out a sharp cry as he fell onto his tailbone, coupled with the newly fresh pain his legs were in as they had bent sharper than usual. He took a few deep breaths, centering himself as he pushed himself with his hands to sit near the base of the water heater. He turned off the cool water spigot, and leaned back to rest his head against the wall. Now, he simply needed to wait.

It took 3 hours of trial and error to finish flushing out the water heater and getting a nice, clean stream of water to come from any of the faucets. Running a hose out the bathroom window, fiddling with the water flow to flush water in and out of the tank to clear out the sediment buildup, and then letting the tank refill again while sprawled out on the bathroom floor had left him feeling somewhat satisfied. Haven’s relieved sigh at the sight of clean water sent a smile over his lips. His chest rose in a swell of pride.

Rory Tyler would be ok.

He would survive.

Immanuel’s eyes have only been heavier a few times before as his head up from the cushioned section of the head rests. He had never had the easiest sleep in general, much less within a seat stationed in a flying tube of metal with engines that roared with its hissing cylinders moving throughout and the screaming blare of the flames that left the back stood under the sharp whistles of the wind moving against and scratching the metal it passed. It was hard keeping a filter around him with such sounds pushing against his holds and the ungodly sounds of his fellow passengers made little help in his cause for the loving embrace of in slumber’s arms. His eyes looked upon the sleeping bodies of both Cleo and Lucas, as he checked his watch which read well into the AMs. Immanuel’s mind held it unlikely he would see another possibility of sleep upon this flight, flicking up the window to his left to get a sight of the night sky. The tints of purple darkness spread across the expanse as a view he had grown accustomed to during times such as these. Ones spent within his dorm room staring out into the star mind absent of thought. Ones spent staring out his room window in the Blaylock home hoping for a they never would abandon him. Ones spent staring out the window of his social worker’s car after another family had deemed his time finished. If anything, when there was no one left in his corner, but a single soul upon his side, the stars had always embraced his company with arms open unlike any other.

In the stars he found a shelter.

It was late. The dorms were quiet. As quiet as they ever got when the walls breathed around him. Some students had already left. Some had left weeks ago. Months ago. Years ago… But some lingered, holding onto hope, he thought, or just not sure what else to do, where else to go, if the world didn’t want them. And some were just waiting for a boat. He’d just been waiting. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to make a decision. It didn’t matter, anyway.

Well… It hadn’t, until he’d discovered something better than the only two he’d thought were on offer. He’d spent the rest of the evening smiling and agreeable and not altogether helpful in making any plans. He was just happy they weren’t leaving without him and there were places to go, people to see, things to do for distractions. Maybe that was all he’d wanted. Two constants when everything was changing. It wasn’t like they knew any more than he did, but knowing wasn’t the problem, was it? Spent the rest of the evening smiling and nodding and excited, until they went their separate ways to sleep. But he was too excited to sleep. Too ready to move on now they had even the semblance of a plan.

Eventually, when staring at the ceiling lost its charm and anticipation faded back to sombre quiet underlaid with creaks and cracks and creeping tip-toe whispers, he gave up. Got up. And slipped back down the hall, one hand sliding along the wall in the dark, dipping past doors and rising where the floor squeaked; he’d traced the line so often he didn’t really need to follow it with his fingers anymore, but the habit was hard to break. Ghosted past dark and open doors, some closed on quiet breaths and others still leaking the faint light of apprehension across the floor. He wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.

But he didn’t knock on any doors. Didn’t stop until he was back outside and caught out by the chill. Breathed in deep and kept going. Wandering. Like he had every day and night since they’d announced the school closing. Going nowhere in particular until he found himself in one or another place he hadn’t thought to miss. Empty classrooms with cold projectors and echoing lectures and heated debates. Locked labs where he sat with his back against the wall, feeling the gathered feet of students all watching a demonstration and listening to excited whispers, groans, and surprised shouts when things went wrong. Sat at different tables in the library and cafeteria, delving into layers of words and wishes and rumours, gossip, secrets, tutoring, weekend plans, and things no one would want to hear. Stood on the courts in the Recreational Center and listened to the echoes of fun and games and letting off steam. Looked into a pool so flat and still he couldn’t help reaching down to flick his fingers through the water. The faint splash came back louder as the ripples lapped at the edge, bouncing between nightly silence and daily activity, water dripping into a long-dried puddle behind him before they shouted, steps rushing under and past, leaping into the water. He felt the splash… But there was only a calm, widening ring across the surface.

He hadn’t taken half the classes he wandered through. Didn’t know most of the people he heard, only a few had names or faces, some had been there since he’d arrived, and others joined in after. He knew all their voices though. Knew all the corners where he could pause and hear a secret, knew which bench held the most saccharine moments and where the paths would make him sneeze come fall and all the leaves. He knew the roof pigeons liked best and the dares passed between friends on the docks. He’d spent the second night sitting against the brick of the Intake House and remembering all the speakeasy passwords he’d never used while counting the visitors. There’d been no one else in the building, though he’d found the newest voices full of hope and fear and wondering about their place. Wasn’t sure they’d had enough time to find the answers. Wasn’t sure any of them had…

There was one building he’d avoided, however. Whether or not its doors were locked or broken or barricaded. Whether or not it had mostly been set to rights. Whether or not he was allowed, though he was pretty sure he wasn’t. But he couldn’t keep stalling this time. He only had tonight.

Lucas wasn’t trying to find secrets or hoping to discover anything the investigation hadn’t, when he turned his steps towards the A.R.C., he just wanted to understand what had happened better. He wanted to see what Cleo had while he’d been hiding under the table with his eyes closed. Wanted to know what Manny had heard while he was covering his ears. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen the aftermath when he’d finally crawled out from beneath the table, but half of him had already fled back into the floor and the rest was in shock. Maybe it was guilt that he hadn’t done anything, pushing him to be a better witness, no matter how little he could have done. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. Maybe it was the way his ears kept ringing and how far away it still felt. But he wanted to know so he could help, or at least better understand the haunted look in so many eyes.

But when he finally worked up the nerve to set his hand against one of the doors, he found the ice blocked his view of most of the fight. As did the faces within it.



He hadn’t slept at all. Thinking of all those last moments, last breaths, last steps, last cries, last surprise… Thinking about the screams swallowed by open air and heavy walls and fear-closed throats and red-black streaks of lightning. Thinking about the girl kneeling in a puddle too warm to be spilled drinks. He’d never asked Cleo why she’d been reaching for her. If he’d helped at all before she’d been dragged across the floor and vanished. Never asked why she was screaming. She hadn’t been the only one. But… She hadn’t even been looking at the thing that grabbed her, had she?

Hadn’t slept. Just sat at the table wrapped in the blanket off the bed, not sure if he was more afraid of what had changed or why it had changed, playing with the bits and pieces of discarded memories he’d gathered over the years. A backspace key. A scratched lens off sunglasses that made everything sepia toned. A bookmark made out of ribbon and Bristol board. A mechanical pencil used so long it couldn’t hold the lead anymore. The handle off a broken mug. Threads from a blanket wrapped around an empty bobbin. The clasp off an instrument case. Half a bloodied scarf. A broken key chain. An earpad that had lost its shape. A small pile of stones and glass and clear crystal. And all the polaroids he’d taken down from the wall.

He’d already packed the rest. His clothes. His passport. Toothbrush. Brush. Jacket. Keys. The small box of mittens his grandmother had knitted and the stegosaurus toy… Couldn’t fit all his school stuff in the suitcase though. The inhibitor. Now all he had to do was tuck these memories into the cracks. Find a way to make sure the pictures wouldn’t bend. Close the zipper. Find his phone… Walk out the door and never come back.

Felt weird, thinking about it that way. He’d… honestly never really thought about what came next. Final year and he hadn’t known yet. But maybe, if he’d just kept going to classes, they wouldn’t tell him to stop. Hadn’t wanted to think about it. Still didn’t. But now he knew. At least for a little while. And he hummed along unevenly with Gladys and Ezra and Daisy as he finally switched from fiddling to properly relocating. It all had to go somewhere. All had to fit. Carefully though. Slipped between his clothes for cushioning.

The first alarms were ringing. Didn’t matter if he was too early. He could wait. Sleep on the plane.

The world swam as Rory wrestled with that liminal space between deep sleep and reality. It shook, but any sound that graced his ears felt muted and dull. He desperately didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt a little heavier, his brain only just recognizing the doubling of blankets that had been thrust over him.

What truly roused him was the sharp bang of the door as the handle impacted the wall. His eyes shot open, taking a moment to blink away sleep and process what he was seeing. The spot in front of him was empty. His heart sank, despite not being able to process the words and distinct thoughts on what might have happened to her. Rory flung the covers off as he rolled onto his other side, and slid himself to the edge of the bed. He moved his legs over the edge, and felt that warm sting.

Nothing quite wakes you up like pain.

Rory took a deep breath, before quickly pulling himself to his feet with his hands. The movement was quick, and ended with Rory falling back down into the wheelchair set up only a step away. Within moments, he was rolling back and over towards the open door, eyeing Haven’s discarded boots. His fists clenched the armrests of his chair as he stopped in the doorway, looking out into the night. He paused, his eyes trying to scan the tree-line in the moonlight. It was hard to focus on anything through the panic.

He rolled his way back towards Haven’s side of the bed in a frenzy, grabbing at the flip phone they had purchased on the road. He flipped it open, powered it on, and grunted at the one thing he was praying he wouldn’t see: no signal. He closed the phone and tossed it back into the bed. His eyes shifted to the fireplace, where he moved to grab the old iron poker from its stand. He set it in his lap, and wheeled himself over to the door. He parked himself near the screen door for a moment, eyes scanning the yard and forest. He slowed his breathing, the blood thumping in his ears making it hard to listen for anything.

But the shrill, primal laugh still reached his ears.

Rory didn’t know how to process it, reaching a hand for the screen door. He wasn’t going to be any use to her if she was taken again, but he had to do something. But as he listened, the tone of the laugh halted his movements. He remained sitting in wait, darkening the entrance, until he heard the soft crunch of footsteps breaking the tree line. Haven’s form sent a mixture of shock and relief in his system. She was nearly nude, sweat glistening in the moonlight, shirt clutched to her chest. Of course, his eyes only lingered on those familiar folded wings that protruded from her back. They were not the well-endowed pair he had grown familiar with, but they were recognizable all the same. Rory felt the tension in his body release as he focused on catching his breath.

Haven’s bare feet slowed to a stop just within the barrier of light that the fire behind her lover’s form cast on the ground. His shadow, and that of his wheelchair, ended just at the tips of her toes. The look on his face said everything she expected it to, and yet the shock displayed in his eyes as he took in the sight of her still left her speechless.

She wasn’t aware of how wild she looked until now. With her feet and knees dirty from the forest floor. The halo of hair around her head stuck to the sides of her face with sweat. Every inch of her skin exposed except for the parts covered by her sleep shorts. The damp shirt she now clutched to her chest with dirt-smudged hands was more for her comfort than the privacy it provided.

Her feet shifted in the leaves as she watched him stare at the freshly grown wings on her back. She had no words to describe them. So, she simply turned her body away from him so that she could stretch them out once more. They ached, as much as the rest of her body did, but a small pride still swelled in her chest as she displayed them. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she faced him once more, having completed a full 360 where she stood.

“They’re growing back, Rory.” She breathed out. Her words were puffs in the chilly night air, and her eyes still glistened with the tears she had shed. “It’s like I’m going through puberty again, but this time it’s fast and overwhelming. It’s…” She huffed another quiet laugh as she tried to explain it. There was no other word that came to mind but, “It’s incredible.”

Rory nodded along to Haven’s words, his eyes scanning her regrown wings. A small twitch formed at the end of the smile that grew on his lips, a feeling brewing in the back of his skull he didn’t want to give air. So he nodded, and lifted his hands up to wave her over. “They’re beautiful, Dove.” He took a deep breath, fully relaxed save for the chill of the night air. He wrapped his arms around his own bare chest, half-regretting not taking a minute to at least put on pants. He was glad he had at least worn boxers to sleep.

His smile, and his compliment, had her heart warming within her chest. Her eyes tracked the movements of his arms, noticing how he was hardly dressed himself, and she realized what it must feel like for him to be at the edges of the fire’s warmth. Her face fell. “Shit, you must be freezing.” She said, her feet moving into a fast pace across the ground. She quickly crossed the portico and stepped into the doorway, stopping just inside the house as her dirty feet rested on the warm wood.

“I… I left the door open. I wasn’t thinking right.” The words sputtered out as her eyes glanced between his. Her mind was still piecing itself back together as she tried to explain herself. It was as if the nightmare and the surge of power had left her out of her mind. Which, in all fairness, was probably true.

“You scared the shit out of me.” The relief and warmness had given way to a small swell of residual panic and frustration. The smile had dropped, and he just looked incredibly exhausted. Rory wheeled himself past Haven slightly, just enough so he could close and lock the door behind her. “Door was open, you were gone… thought you were screaming for a moment.” His hands rested on the deadbolt for a moment, before it dropped back to the fire poker in his lap. He lifted it up and gently rested it against the wall. “We don’t get reception out here… so I can’t even call for help.” He wheeled himself around, his eyes focused on the ground. “So please… don’t run off like that.”

Haven’s lips pressed together as she stepped to the side of the door. The deadbolt locking into place felt like both a comfort and a weight on her chest as Rory’s words settled in. Her eyes lingered on the iron as he set it against the wall, and she knew that she must have scared the hell out of him. Because she had been screaming, and she had run off thinking of her own peace of mind instead of theirs.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, the guilt audible in her tone. Her eyes fell to her dirty feet. She didn’t want to make a mess, but she couldn’t just go into the bathroom to clean up while he was upset. She had to fix it. She had to help him understand why she’d acted so erratically in the first place.

She swallowed and took a breath before speaking again as she moved to follow him.

“It was a nightmare. I was back at the dance.” She was past him now, and she could barely glance his way as she took a seat at the end of the bed. “I could feel its fingers–” She cut herself off as her hands released her shirt in her lap and reached to touch the sides of her face. A sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head, her eyes looking at her footprints on the floor as a distraction.

Rory sighed, shaking his head slowly as he continued looking towards the ground. “I know…” His grip tightened slightly on the armrests, as his mind replayed that same scene. “I know.” The frustration and panic had melted into exhaustion once again. He moved near the bed, positioning himself in front of Haven. His hands reached forward to grab the shirt from her lap, transferring it over to his own lap and folding it up carefully. His eyes remained fixed on the shirt as he worked with it. “I’m scared too.” His voice was flat, antithetical to his own words. His hands carefully smoothed out the shirt’s creases, before he set it on the ground next to her boots. It needed to be washed… he hadn’t had to wash clothes by hand before. Another fun challenge he’d have to get around to.

“It’s going to be ok.” These words were softer, coupled with the gentle touch of Rory’s hands cupping Haven’s as they clutched at her head. He lifted his gaze to meet Haven’s, the tiniest hint of tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “You should wash up while I get you a glass of water, ok?”

The tenderness with which he took her shirt and folded it, the movement of his fingers as they smoothed the creases out, was a strangely comforting sight. Her toes gently brushed against the sides of his legs where she sat before him. An absentminded connection between their skins. She wanted him to take those hands and smooth out her own creases, too.

It’s going to be ok.

She repeated his words in her mind, the simple phrase doing more for her than it should as she felt his hands cover her own. Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze at the same time he’d looked up at her. Fingers spread just to intertwine with his. Every brush of his skin against hers was somehow amplified, sending tiny caresses of energy along her spine. The ions that had been depleted in the forest had left her body raw and sensitive.

“Do you… want to take a bath with me?” She asked softly. “I know you’re tired, but I think the warm water will do us both good.”

Rory hesitated as she spoke, that air around the two seeming to shift. His eyes trailed down her face, resting below the collarbone. Warmth spread through his core, and he looked away to clear his throat. “I… guess we should try out the water heater.” Rory slid his fingers from Haven's grasp, and turned himself around. He tossed the dirty shirt into one of the chairs near the dining table, before moving his way over to the kitchen. He plucked an air-dried glass from the counter, filled it with water from the tap, and took a few gulps before refilling it.

The balancing act was difficult, as he rested the glass between his legs as he spun himself around carefully. The water swayed in the glass a little, threatening to spill out the top onto his thighs. He rolled himself carefully back towards Haven on the bed, and held out the glass when he came to a full stop. “Here, Dove.”

The glass was taken gratefully, a shy smile still gracing her lips until they touched the rim. Her head tilted back, greedily downing the liquid until the glass was empty. She exhaled as the glass was lowered, then, and she licked at the last drop on her lips. “Thank you.”

She leaned forwards to set the glass on the floor, and then stood with her feet placed between his. Her hand reached towards him, running her fingers back through his hair and down the side of his head to run her thumb along his cheekbone. Her breath stilled as the action sent tingles up her arm.

“I’ll get the water running.”

The few steps into the bathroom felt harder than they should have been. As if her body had gotten heavier after sitting down. She leaned into the tub to turn the faucet, and then plugged the stopper once her hand had felt the temperature. Her mind still lingered on the way his eyes had looked at her as she waited for him to follow her inside.

Meanwhile, Rory took a few breaths near the bed. Her touch had sent jolts down his spine, and his gaze had lingered on her lips as she drank. The exhaustion that called for him seemed to melt in her presence.

He slowly rolled his way towards the bathroom as he heard the tub beginning to fill. He parked the wheelchair in the door frame, resting his hands in his lap to hide what the thin fabric was struggling to. Rory’s eyes traced the tips of Haven’s wings and down her spine. He wet his lips subconsciously, still unsure on how serious his partner was on simply washing up.

He banked on that being a perk, but not the only intent.

He rolled himself further into the bathroom, coming to a stop next to Haven at the tub. “I'm… probably going to need some help.” His thoughts raced to find the connection, the innuendo he was attempting. He reached a hand up to Haven's waist, sliding his finger along the waistband of her shorts as his mind worked. He flashed his usual smirk as he hooked his thumb under the fabric near her tailbone. “Of course, I can help with yours if you help with mine.”

Her eyelashes fluttered with the movement of his finger along her skin as she stood from the tub, and she turned to him just as his finger caught her shorts at the base of her spine. The smirk alone could have melted her, but his teasing warmed her chest as much as it warmed her cheeks.

They’d shared passionate kisses since the night they were both rendered broken, but this kind of tension between them had been missing. Too caught in their own grief, too focused on the shabby locks of the motel rooms, and too worried about where their next destination would bring them to fall back into the banter and lust that had become a staple in their short relationship. This moment was wild and unexpected, and while they were both exhausted by the day’s work to get the cabin into working order, and drained from the frightening experience that had gotten them to this place, Haven was suddenly so, so grateful for it.

“That sounds fair,” she breathed, her lashes falling low to glimpse the boxers he wore and what was hidden beneath. A grin spread on her lips as she looked into his eyes, and she stepped between the footrests of his wheelchair. “Me first.”

Rory leaned forward in his seat, lifting his other hand to Haven's lower back. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against his partner's side. His fingers were delicate as they slid under the fabric, thumbs lifting to catch the shorts and slide them down in the process. His hands caressed Haven's most pronounced curves, slowing down to relish in the intimate moment. His torso continued to bend lower, leaving a trail of kisses down Haven's side until they reached her waist.

The shorts dropped to the floor unceremoniously as his hands remained cupped behind her. The warmth that spread through every inch of him yearned for more than his body could handle. He reluctantly leaned back, his fingers trailing up to the curve of her hips as he looked back up at her.

Her head had tilted back the moment his lips met her skin, eyes closing as her hands rested on his shoulders. Every aching bit on her body warmed with the caring act. A simple motion turning into something she craved more of with every passing second. If she weren’t so sore she would have crawled into his lap in the chair and made the most of this feeling. Yet the tub was filling now, and the urge to soak her muscles in it still outweighed the need that was building between them.

Her smile was kissed by a blissful joy as she brought her head back down to look at him again. Her earth laden hands began to slide down his arms, her body kneeling until she sat on her heels before him, and her hands squeezed his own for a moment before coming to rest on his knees. They traced remaining scars from his injury. Her smile fell as she focused on them, before she leaned to place a gentle kiss on the place where his femur had broken the skin apart. She tilted up to place a kiss on his lips next and her hands carefully began the process of pulling his boxers off.

She had to bite her lip to keep from grinning as she knelt back down to pull the underwear off of his feet. The sight of his arousal was hard to ignore, but she was doing her best to at least get them into the tub before it went any further.

Rory eyed the bathtub, sighing as he had to move a hand away from Haven to turn the faucet on the tub off. He dipped a finger in, pleased at the warmth. All the hassle was worth it for a moment like this. His other hand lingered on Haven’s waist, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh as he seemed to weigh his options.

He kicked his feet down onto the wheelchair’s brakes, placed his hands on the armrests, and hoisted himself onto his feet. The sudden pained expression that marked his face seemed counter to the warmth of his skin as he leaned his weight against Haven. His tender skin pressed against hers as he repositioned himself slightly. The pain in his legs was only mildly dulled by the endorphins rushing through his system. He didn't linger too long, before stepping one foot into the tub. As soon as the second was in, he crouched down and used his hands to support himself until he was sitting down. He looked back towards Haven, trying not to stare at what was at eye level.

He was failing miserably.

“Come on in, the water's fine.”

All thoughts were muddled and hazy as Haven stepped out of her shorts one dirty foot at a time. The flush on her cheeks only darkened once she noticed the direction of his eyes. She looked into the tub, eager to soak the soreness out of her body, but unsure which position to take when Rory’s legs took up the entire space. Should she face him? Should she…?

Words lingered on the edge of her lips that still tingled from their shared kiss as she hesitated to join him.

“Rory?” Her hands took his where it rested on the edge of the tub and she played with his fingers as she looked between his blues. It wasn’t a hard question to ask, and she was sure he’d say yes, but it was difficult to overcome years of avoiding another’s touch with just a few words.

“Would you like to… touch them?”

Rory audibly gulped, before confusion muddled his thoughts. His eyes moved from below her waist and up the length of her torso, before his mind finally hazarded a guess as to what she was talking about. He instinctively pressed his thighs together in a subconscious effort to hide his feelings. “Yes… Yeah, I would.”

Haven’s entire body perked under his searching gaze. The small wings resting on her back responded by ruffling, and she even shifted her legs as she squirmed. Still, she grinned through it because of the confusion on his face, as she realized she should have specified which part of her she’d been talking about.

Meanwhile Rory's eyes shifted to the bathtub, noticing how much space he was taking up. He slipped his fingers from Haven's grasp. He used his hands to help shift his legs wide, before patting the space in front of him. “Ummm… let's try this.”

Haven’s hands moved to pull the hairband out of her hair as he made space for her, her eyes greedily looking over his chest and into the water where the rest of his athletic form sat. She set the hairband on the edge of the sink with a nod. Her tongue traced the back of her teeth instead of responding. Her thoughts were just as dirty as the foot she lifted over the edge of the tub. Each hand rested on the edges of the tub, like Rory had done to get in, as she lifted the other leg inside too.

As she lowered her backside into the water, she felt an instant relief from the ache in her muscles when they submerged beneath the warmth. The dirty thoughts escaped her for one second as she audibly sighed in relief. Eyes fluttered shut, head leaned forwards as she wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them.

“This feels like heaven.” She murmured, one eye peeking open as she turned her head to the side to look back at him over the crest of a mini wing. She smiled hazily, and enjoyed the feeling of her muscles relaxing for a moment longer before she scooted herself backwards, closer to him. Her head turned forwards again as she looked into the water at her feet. Brown swirls of dirt were already lifting from them and spreading.

Her wingtips were already wet from sitting, and small drops of water fell from the longest vane as she slowly lifted them off of her back. Her breathing slowed, eyes falling shut once more, as she felt herself bracing for his touch. She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her– knew that it would feel even better than the massages he’d been giving her back since their last night on the island. So, the words came easy this time as she spoke. “I trust you, Rory. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. I want to know what it feels like for them to be touched by your hands.”

Rory nervously shifted in the bath, as Haven's proximity came dangerously close to invading his most personal space. Her words and moans sent shivers down his spine. They had shared a number of intimate moments since their night in the tent, but this moment was far more vulnerable than either had been before. His heart raced in his chest, and it was unclear if his palms were slick with bathwater or sweat as he cleared his throat.

There was something about Haven's words that didn't make sense to him. The trust and compassion of her words seemed far more serious than the action she had requested. More importantly, he had touched them before. Not as much as he would have liked admittedly. Unless that wasn't what she was asking for.

“Hey, Dove… what exactly am I touching here?”

“Hm?” She murmured, lifting her head again to really look back at him. Her wings shifted again with the movement, the tips drooping into the warm water once more. A slow blink was all she gave him, her mind too muddled by the relief that the warm water provided to fully understand his question. “My… wings. What else are you…?”

The words trailed off as it dawned on her. Her wings twitched, and suddenly she was giggling into one hand. “Oh.” Her eyes dipped south, and she had to bite her lip to keep herself from saying something that would fast forward to a mess of tangled limbs and heated breaths.

“I was asking if you wanted to touch my wings.” She cleared her throat as she tried to gather herself again. “I-I haven’t allowed anyone to touch them since I was young.”

The admission seemed to dull the light that had sparkled in her eyes as she giggled, and her fit quieted into something serious again. Her smile softened into something bittersweet as she lowered her hand onto her knee again. “I’ve forgotten what it feels like for someone else to love them, and I want it to be you that reminds me.”

Rory lifted a hand up from its position on the bathtub’s rim to gently brush a few strands of hair from Haven's face, nodding as he smiled softly. The electricity that seemed to spark in the air flipped off like a switch, replaced instead with a soothing coziness. “I'd love to… well, love your wings.”

He slowly moved a hand from Haven's face, his breathing slowing down as he was slow with his movements. He examined the small set of wings before him, weighing his options. He opted to start with the outermost feathers, her primaries. His fingers gently grazed the tips, brushing over a few one by one as he admired the feeling. A small exhale escaped his lips, a mixture of excitement and comfort. His other hand dipped into the water and rested against Haven's side, where he had kissed her earlier. His voice was low and soft, barely more than a whisper. “They're beautiful, Dove. Absolutely stunning.”

She’d watched as his hand extended towards the vanes, and was grateful that he was moving carefully. When his fingers first grazed their softness, she closed her eyes in preparation for that unsettling feeling that came with it. He traced the outline of her primaries, and the gesture felt tender and kind. Suddenly it was as if the tension that had built over ten years of protection and defense broke free from her chest. She found herself exhaling with him as her body truly melted into a form that hadn’t been seen since she was a child. Her shoulders lowered, muscles going as languid as the water that surrounded them, and the smile that crept onto her face was blissfully at peace in the space that they had created within the tiny bathroom.

It was everything she wanted it to be, and he had only grazed the tips.

Her wings responded as if they had a mind of their own. They stretched themselves out for him, opening to any further curiosities or strokes of his hand that he wished.

Rory's smile grew, as he leaned forward and craned his neck to press his lips against Haven's. It was soft and gentle, as his fingers slid slowly up the lengths of the feathers. They teased into the gaps, remaining gentle and stopping briefly in every new sensation. He listened with closed eyes, feeling for reactions in Haven's body or wings to guide his movements. He moved from the primaries to the secondary feathers, before further sliding his hand up towards even the coverts.

He stopped short, however. Instead of continuing to explore the wings, he settled into a gentle pattern of running his hand flat along the span of Haven's wings. His soft petting motion remained as he broke the long, tender kiss. His breath was a little ragged, as his chest tried desperately to contain the swell of feelings that surged through him. “Is this good?” His voice was small, wrapped in a slight air of uncertainty.

Haven’s eyes slowly opened as he broke the kiss, looking through her brown lashes at him as her breaths mingled with his in the air between them. Her chin dipped in a nod, yet the sensation that traveled across her integument and into her spine was so much better than “good.”

“It’s so much better than I remember.” She whispered, and a small smile spread as she leaned in to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “That feels… You know how I reacted when you touched my spine? It’s kinda like that too.”

Her wings adjusted themselves beneath the passes his hand made against them. Unfurling and furling as his hand reached the bottom and moved back up to the tops. Ensuring he touched each feather on the way down their length.

Rory closed his eyes, as the atmosphere grew electric once again. He had to will himself to lean back in the bath and away from the kiss. He knew it wouldn't defuse the situation, but it could at least delay the coming storm. His left hand moved up to grace Haven's other wing, petting both softly as his legs shifted slightly in the water.

A smile grew on his lips, as his soft tone had a hint of humor. “I take it back… maybe you should run out in the middle of the night more.”

Haven’s shoulders twitched as she let out an absentminded snort. She leaned back towards him after he pulled away, her wings splaying out just enough to feel every tingle his touch sent through them. Her head tilted left as she simply enjoyed the gentle caresses, blissfully lost to the sensations until the feeling began to build within her. Her toes curled in the water ever slightly as her back began to arch.

“I might fake it next time just to get us here again.” She teased.

Rory's breath halted for a moment as she spoke, his mind going blank. He felt almost magnetically drawn to filling what little gap there was between them. His right hand stopped its motion to swoop under his partner's wing and wrap around her mid-section. He scooted her back slightly in the tub, pressing their bodies close.

He kissed her, his left hand continuing the soft petting in a gentle rhythm. His kiss was the most passionate they had shared since the dance, greedily cutting off any more words or sounds except for the sound of sloshing water.

Her own breath was stolen the moment his arm wrapped around her and pulled her against him. Her head turned to meet the kiss that made every inch of her body melt, every place, skin to skin or palm to feather, igniting with a need to somehow get closer to him. Closer, warmer, more, more, more of this moment between them. A passion blooming in her chest that felt similar to that night in the tent, but much more intimate and tender than their first.

The kiss became hungry, every intent focused on merging their souls as well as their bodies. Eager to leave the fears and pain that had plagued them since the trial behind for as long as possible. Hoping that the release this would give them would mend their souls kiss by kiss, touch by touch.

A small noise was muffled by his lips against hers as she felt his toned frame pressed against her back. The electricity of his fingers running over the barbs of her wing ran down the length of her spine and settled in her stomach. Her legs turned to the side so that she could curl them up in front of her, and her hands grasped the arm that held her against him and squeezed it in a silent plea to turn herself completely.

He obliged, letting go of Haven and lowering a hand from her wing to guide Haven's hips in the motion. He refused to break the kiss in the process, matching her movements as he shifted his legs closer together. As Haven's entire body turned to embrace him more fully, he was careful in giving her space to settle into his lap. He kept one hand braced below her hips for support, while another reached up to run his fingers over his partner's wings.

The kiss was only broken for a few moments of heavy breaths and wandering hands as she climbed into his lap and pressed herself into him once more. Her hands roamed his upper body where they could. Their chests rising to meet each other with each heavy breath between heated meetings of their mouths. The need reached an intensity between them until she couldn’t hold back any longer. She claimed him for the second time since that fateful night. Each of them reliving the spark that had kindled the fire that kept them together.

They weren’t sure how much time passed, but neither minded. The bathwater had gone lukewarm by the time their bodies cooled down, and yet they still tended to each other’s bodies with soap and cloth until all of the night’s sweat and earth was washed from their skin. They helped each other from the bath, both bodies settling into a mindless exhaustion by the time Haven helped Rory back into the bed.

She took a moment to tend the fire before joining him. Her smile was happier than it had been in weeks as she crouched in front of the flames and fed a log into the hearth. Slowly, she stood from the fireplace and stretched out her body. Her muscles were deliciously sore for an entirely different reason now, which made her giggle softly to herself before turning to make her way back to him.

Rory was sprawled out on the bed, his eyes half-closed with a dumb grin on his face. Haven had sapped nearly all the energy he had this late at night, leaving him moments away from slipping back into sleep. He hadn't bothered to slip on boxers again, draped in only an old ship around his lower half. As Haven drew near, his smile grew wider as his head turned to face her. He held his arms out, beckoning her over with his hands. “Come to bed, babe.”

He didn’t even need to say it, for Haven was already nearing his side of the bed. She took his hands as she lifted a knee onto it and crawled up his body to lay with half of herself laying on top of him. A careful leg draped over his, her knee resting against the bed to keep most of her weight off of his healing limb.

The arm she didn’t tuck between them draped across his chest, fingers idly swirling against his skin while her head rested in the crook of his neck. Her wings settled onto her back, and the arm Rory wrapped around her back rested on top of them as he placed his palm on the side of her ribs. She kissed his pec, and lazily smiled up at him with the light of all of the love she had for him shining in her eyes.

“Goodnight, Rory.” She whispered, her free arm reaching up to trace a line down the center of his forehead and to the tip of his nose.

Rory closed his eyes as he enjoyed the sensation of Haven tangling herself with him. The last vestiges of consciousness were melted away by the warm and soothing feeling of his partner beside him. The few times they had slept apart in recent memory had left him feeling restless. Now, he couldn't imagine falling asleep without her. So it was, with barely more than a pleased grunt, he softly muttered his own goodnight.

“I love you, Haven.”

Haven’s breath hitched as those three little words filled her chest with an emotion she couldn’t quite pin. Lingering somewhere between heart throbbing joy and bitter sorrow, until the happier emotion overcame the other and her cheeks blushed with the warmth that spread through her. She tucked herself in closer to him, a soft smile playing on her lips, and murmured her own reply as she closed her eyes. She knew a nightmare wouldn’t come for her again tonight, and that the next thing that would wake her would be the light of the sun shining in their cozy cabin.

“I love you too, Rory Tyler.”

Before time began, there was only darkness, a ceaseless void until the Light revealed himself.

The Light became known as the One.

The One who has always been, who never ends and who never began.

The One who reigns above all.

From the One came a seed planted deep within the Abyss. There, out of the void, grew a tree, and upon its many branches, life began. The roots drew upon the primordial Abyss, siphoning energy from the void and from the Light. This energy, the Vis, rapidly accelerated the growth of the tree and led it to flower and bloom. Some branches flourished and grew strong, bearing fruit while others grew briefly before withering away, their fruit rotting and falling into the void.

There on the tree, the fruit brought life and the One cared for them all. He ruled with love and care and placed a Watcher over each branch, but his most trusted, he placed in dominion over the roots of the tree which provided the lifeforce for all the fruit-bearing branches.This Caretaker was above all the other Watchers and the was given dominion over them along with access to the Vis.

But the Caretaker drank of the Vis and soon began to think himself more powerful than the One. He began to see his position as servitude rather than a privilege. The Caretaker of Roots allowed his heart to harden and soon began to resent the One Above All. In his anger, he sought to bring others to his side and rally the Watchers against their master. Some sided with the Caretaker, and so war broke out in the heavens as the Watchers turned upon one another.

War erupted in the heavens, the Caretaker and his forces versus the One and his. But the Caretaker was caught off guard by the power wielded by the One, and those who followed the Caretaker soon found themselves defeated and fed to the void. The Caretaker’s rebellion was quickly quelled and he became known as the Deceiver for leading the other Watchers astray. Returned to the roots of the tree of Life, he was forced to remain deep beneath the sprawling tree, banished from the presence of the Light.

The tree's roots were the source of all life, but also a reflection of it, and within them grew the Deceiver's domain. A world beneath, quite similar to those above but yet different, twisted and mirrored. Imprisoned betwixt the roots, the Deceiver was unable to confront the One directly, but that didn’t end the war as he continued to use the Vis, to create, to mold and to unleash beings and creatures to his own end.

These Hellions posed a danger to the life spawned by the Tree and so the One put charge on a Watcher to protect the realms from the dangers that the Roots spawned. And so Samael became the Angel of Death, striking out against the forces of the Deceiver.

But, the Deceiver was no fool.

He knew the Light, the One Above All had dispatched forces against his creations and so he reached into the Void and drew back his allies, Watchers who had become so imbued with the Void they tarnished the Vis. With great satisfaction, the Deceiver watched the ancient force fragment and splinter, splitting into the Nox and the Lux. His Watchers became Mothers to this new magic, and it became part of their very lifeforce.

Mothers of Magic, witches, the Hexemalefik.

And the Deceiver's favourite of these was Lilith.

Taking on the form of the One’s created, Lilith stole away through Limbo, ascending the tree until she found a paradise where she met a man. So Lilith deceived the man, whom the One called Adam. And so Lilith bore Adam, many daughters, a witch’s brood and thus the Hexenbrut were created to spite the One.

And so like Lilith, her sisters followed to this paradise and the witches laid with the men and soon the Hexenbrut spread across paradise bringing with them the ancient magic bestowed by the Deceiver.

The Vis was a powerful draw for Man who inherently craved power and many sought to learn from the Hexenbrut and their mothers, the Hexemalefik. While most lacked the talent, some were marked from birth and others still were persistent enough to unlock the secrets of the Vis, mastering it and manipulating its forces through tools and other means. Thus, the Draoi were created, mortals who unlocked the secrets of the universe.

The One saw his paradise corrupted and he mourned. But Samael went to war and so, the Angel of Death descended upon the Paradise Lost.

The Watcher alone clashed against the Witches and their brood. As the war waged, the Draoi; afraid to lose their power, sided too with the Witches and slowly Samael found himself overwhelmed and driven back.

Wounded, the Watcher plummeted from the sky, landing among the humans of Midyeden. There humans saw Samael and in the spirit of their creator, nursed the Watcher back to health. But the Witches found Samael and razed the village who saved him.

Discovering a survivor, it was Samael’s turn to return the favour and he allowed his blood to grace the human’s lips. The infusion of Watcher strengthened the human far beyond what they had been before. Granted the Watcher’s sight and power, the human became a hunter and so Samael built an army more numerous than the sparrows.

The Witches were hunted to extinction and the brood purged from Midyeden, exiled back to Ünterland. Draoi were scattered and hunted like Hellions as Samael’s Sparrows and their kin pursued them for the next millennia until they too were forgotten like dust in the wind.

Forgotten, but not gone. This is the story of one such hunter, one of the last surviving Jäger. Come closer and listen awhile to a tale of her.

The steady hum of traffic eight floors below her bedroom echoed in the ears of Ellara Van Abrams as her tired eyes slowly opened to the dimly lit room. The blinds on the window adjacent to her bed were once again left ajar from the previous night and now allowed what little sunlight there was beneath the heavy cover of clouds to freely pass into the room. Letting out a loud, audible groan, Ellara pulled one of her numerous pillows over her face, groaning again as she rolled about restless, vainly trying to get comfortable enough to return to her slumber.

Unfortunately for Ellara, her bladder had its own demands and there was no way she was going to be able to return to sleep given the amount of bourbon that now required a release. With one final groan, the young woman reluctantly stood, wobbling slightly as she exited her room, making it halfway towards the bathroom before pausing to realize she wasn’t wearing any pants. Leaning against the wall, Ellara pressed a hand to her pounding head as she focused her hearing, listening to the apartment. While she could hear Mrs. Sinclair’s pot boiling three doors down, she couldn’t hear Natalie’s breathing which meant that in this moment, she thankfully had the apartment to herself.

Finishing her trip to the bathroom, Ellara stumbled her way back down the hall and into the kitchen. Rummaging through their admittedly lightly stocked cupboards, Ellara pulled out a package of coffee, looking down into as she noticed there was only enough left for one. With a shrug, she emptied the box, brewing herself a cup. Walking to the fridge, Ellara grabbed a pen before quickly scribbling ‘kahfi’ with a sad face on the roommates’ ‘Out Of’ list.

Sitting down with the freshly brewed mug, Ellara noted an open bottle of Jack’s sitting out on the table. Assuming it could only have been hers as she had never seen Natalie so much as take a shot in the eight months they’d been living together, Ellara absently poured a portion of the bottle into her mug before taking a long, loud sip.

The ring of her cellphone caused Ellara to jump as her hands immediately went to her thighs only to slap against bare skin as she was once again reminded about her current lack of pants. Honing in on the sound, Ellara slowly stood as she walked out of the kitchen into the apartment’s modest living room, a confused look crossing her face as she spotted her discarded jeans atop the back of the old recliner Natalie had somehow managed to bring up eight flights of stairs.

Grabbing the jeans, Ellara lazily flopped over the arm of the chair as she pulled the scratched phone out of the backpocket, quickly sliding her thumb across the screen pressing the device to her shoulder with her cheek.

“Hello.” She answered flatly, having not bothered to look at the number before doing so.

“Hello,” The familiar male voice replied as Ellara felt her cheeks flush, her hands curling into fists as the person on the other end continued to speak. “I’m looking to speak to Ellara Van Abrams, is this her?” He asked as Ellara quickly snapped back.

“What the hell do you want?” Even after seven years, the pain of being kicked out by her Uncle was still a raw nerve.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Her Uncle replied dryly, Ellara could practically hear his eyes rolling through the phone as she sat up in her chair. “Glad to see you’re as charming as ever.”

“You aren’t just calling out of the blue to banter with me, Uncle Thomas.” Ellara retorted. “If you could get to the damn point and quite wasting both of our fuckin’ time that’d be peachy.”

“Being rid of you was the best decision of my life, if I had done it sooner your Aunt, God rest her soul,” He paused as Ellara seethed, “Might still be alive today.”

“What do you fuckin’ want!” Ellara screamed into the phone, at this point she was now standing in the middle of the room, practically holding the phone in front of her. The man on the other end went quiet, several silent moments passing before he spoke again.

“Your father sent me something.” He stated, Ellara freezing as she heard the words. “Well, a whole lot of something and I don’t really want it. It rightfully belongs to you and the fewer things I have to do with you Van Abrams the better.”

“W-what...” Ellara paused, her voice cracking as she swallowed hard before speaking again. “What is it?”

“It’s a crate, large but still of a size I can fit it in the back of my truck.” Thomas replied, “I know you’re living in Seattle now, I can have it there by the end of the week.” He continued, “Do you have a place I can send it?” He asked.

“Yes.” Ellara replied flatly, her answer hanging in the air as Thomas waited on the other end of the line.

“I need the address, Ellara.”

“One twenty-” She started before suddenly pausing. “No, wait, actually can you send it to my work?” Ellara asked.

“If you give me the address.” He repeated once again as Ellara quickly punched the ‘Tír na nÓg’ into Google, selecting the address before dropping it into a text.

“I just sent it to you.” Ellara replied.

“I’ll make sure it goes out today,” Thomas said, pausing as he went to say something else before suddenly Ellara ended the call. Throwing the phone to the ground, Ellara screamed towards the ceiling before storming back into the kitchen. Throwing back her sour mash laced coffee, Ellara slammed the empty mug back onto the table before heading towards the shower.