Watching it All Fade Away; Tag: Hellboy

[LIZ SHERMAN]

Liz offered a quiet thank you to the two B.P.R.D. agents as they filed past her into the hallway and on with the remainder of the tasks that they had for the evening, or perhaps home to dinner with the family, or a night out on the town. She imagined some of the agents had to have some sort of life outside of the Bureau; at least, she could hope that it was so. There had to be at least one person in the entirety of the department that had friends, family, loved ones... partners that were accountable, reliable, trustworthy... someone that would remember important dates, perhaps even the occasional birthday or holiday. Someone that would remember plans, be it a dinner date, or a training session. She knew better than to think that Red would remember things like... anniversaries, or birthdays, it wasn't something that occurred to him, and she didn't fault him for it. She didn't care that he didn't remember Valentine's day. She didn't need a card, or chocolates, or a stuffed animal to remind her that he loved her, or that she loved him.

She had known him almost all of her life, as far back as she could remember, or wanted to most of the time. She knew he was rash, and headstrong, and stubborn, and rough around the edges. She had known who he was, what he was like, long before the two of them had been together. She knew it was never going to be the Prince Charming sweeping the fragile Princess out of her tower and carrying her away on his white stallion. She didn't want it to be. She was stubborn in her own right, she was volatile, and she had a whole slew of faults, which varied depending on who was asked, she was sure. But there was one thing that she was good at. And that was being where she was supposed to be. When she was supposed to be there. And that was a trait that Red failed miserably at, at least when it didn't involve smashing something, or beer. Or preferably, she imagined, smashing something while drinking beer.

Some part of her knew that her thoughts were tinged with more cynicism than usual, admittedly, but Liz was simmering beneath the surface, a fact that the agents that had been at the training session had not missed if she was to guess by their quick retreat once the session had ended. It had been one of the monthly sessions, it was not meant to be anything all that detailed or in depth; it was a chance for the new federal agents to get a feel for how Liz, Red, Abe, and the other 'gifted' agents worked together in a given scenario. And she had reminded him every day for the last week, and at least three times yesterday, and once this morning. And still, he hadn't showed. If it wasn't something that Red didn't want to do, Red didn't do it.

Collecting her jacket and sliding it on, she pulled it snug around her as she stepped out into the hallway of the bureau that had long been her home, forcing herself to run her mantra through her thoughts over and over again as she cut through the hallways to Red's room. The sounds of the dozen televisions, and the mewling cats met her first, though neither of those surprised her. Instinctively scooping up the first few of the kittens that skittered towards the door when she opened it, she curled them up in her arms, nuzzling into the largest of them for a moment and breathing in the comforting fresh scent of kitten, and milk before her gaze turned up towards the rest of the room. The door thudded shut behind her, and it didnt take her but a moment longer to find the massive and broad form of Hellboy. She almost smiled, reactively, when she caught sight of him, but it didn't take much to remind herself that she was upset with him, and she cast a frown in his direction. "You didn't show, Red." She settled for the blunt approach, not having the wherewithal or the patience to try and play the guessing game with him. "You promised you'd be at the training session, and I reminded you this morning, and you didn't show." Liz did her best to keep it from being entirely accusatory, but she really couldn't curb the agitation in her tone. "You can't do that, Red -- you can't say you're going to do something, and then not do it."

[HELLBOY]

He’d been dreaming about sand dunes and a red sun. The dream was vivid enough; he could feel a hard sun on him and winds that dried his yellow eyes. Rasputin’s voice echoed, repeating like a skipping record and then a high electronic breeping broke in. Hellboy groaned as he came awake to the sound of the alarm he’d set and Cops on the television. If Cops was already on he didn’t have much time.

Liz had mentioned she wanted him to be at the monthly training and he’d decided he’d do it even if he hated the damn things. Bureau brass liked to put things through their paces a hundred times to make sure it worked. Lately it felt like they were trying to drown him in a sea of red tape and manuals. Somewhere there was a writer cranking out manuals on anything they could think of from inter-species diplomacy to B.P.R.D. licensed combat maneuvers. Hellboy wasn’t going to read any of these and he didn’t feel like monkeying around with the new agents. Hellboy was more of an improviser. He worked best when he was under the gun, flying by the seat of his pants. Apparently that made Manning uncomfortable.

“’Hellboy, it’s very important that we maintain a bureau policy.’ Pah.” Hellboy mocked as he brushed his teeth. “I’ll show you bureau policy, Manning, you tie-wearing monkey.”

Hellboy knocked empty beer cans over with his whipping tail as he dragged himself to his weight set. Setting a heavy load on the bar, Hellboy rolled his head across his shoulders and started his morning routine. If it weren’t for Liz really counting on him to come through, Manning’s job would be a lot harder. Hellboy had been ecstatic when she’d returned from her time away and he wanted to make sure he kept things on an even keel. Lately Liz had taken a more active role in the team and try as he might most days Hellboy couldn’t match her enthusiasm for following policy and running drills. They saved the world in Moscow, did they really need that much training? No they didn’t. Maybe the new kids did.

The halls were quiet as he strolled after the new training run they’d installed. These halls were always under construction and Hellboy wasn’t sure of his heading any longer. He vaguely suspected all the corridor rearranging that went on was to keep him from sneaking out. Hellboy had crossed the same intersection of hallways when he finally stopped an agent walking in his direction.

“Hey, Meyers. Ugh You’re not Meyers.” Hellboy grimaced. “Sorry you’ve got that same squirrely thing going for you. Look I’m looking for Training Run C.”

“Just a second, Hellboy.” The agent put a hand up to the radio in his ear. “Get those people back. We’re short staffed today – well then seal off that subway sector until we can get someone in. A crowd has formed?!”

Hellboy got closer until he could make out the other side of the conversation. A couple of low-level uglies had gotten gummed up in the local Subway system nearby and technicians were in moderate danger. A crowd had formed and someone needed to get in there. What better training could there be?

“You better ask for the cross-streets.” Hellboy mumbled.

“Yeah exactly! What are your cross-streets? Hilgard and Loaming? Okay good. Seal that off I’ll see who I can get. Thanks. Okay Hellboy, training Run C is…” The agent turned to find himself alone in the hallway. “Hellboy? Damnit. I gave him the cross streets…”

The big gun belt came off as Hellboy returned covered in soot and slime. Two uglies had somehow become eighteen and though B.P.R.D. had gotten rid of onlookers by the time he’d emerged from the Subway system, he still felt pretty good about his moves out there today.

He removed his shirt and began turning on each television set when a warm tongue sent hot searing pain lancing through his arm. Hellboy gnashed his teeth at the cat that had innocently nibbled at a wound Hellboy hadn’t noticed. Fat circle shaped burns left by tentacles wrapped up his arm. He heard Liz at the door and then froze; memories of the training he’d ditched rushing back to him. “Oops.”

Hellboy nodded as she scolded. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as she squared off on him. He was immune to her flame but it stung more than anything when she gave him that look. That look made him feel like a clumsy red gorilla who would ruin everything before he figured out how to be the person she deserved. His yellow eyes lifted up at her.

“I know. But Liz, there was a thing downtown. You guys were running your training thing and I figured the best solution was a timely response. Doesn’t it say that in one of the manuals somewhere?” A cat whined up at him. “Stay out of this you. Look at this. Tentacled Ugly burnt me up bad. thirty-six stinging suckers right on there.”

He showed her his arm trying to incite her sympathies. Getting closer to her he managed a discreet sniff of her hair. He checked her expression and treaded carefully.

“You look great. I’m sure you broke a bunch of little B.P.R.D.-recruit-hearts tonight.” He said.

[LIZ SHERMAN]

When the first word that fell from Hellboy's lips was 'oops', Liz felt a wave of exasperation wash over her, as her jaw set into a firm line and her expression turned into a frown. Her arms crossed reflexively over her chest, her shoulders squaring off as her lips pursed, as she braced herself for another one of the common fights between the two. It wasn't that she didn't care for him, that she didn't love him, or even that she doubted that he returned the emotion, but there were times when they grated on each other's nerves, and when the differences in their personalities created inevitable friction -- and she was fully prepared to hold her ground on this one. Though... that lasted all of about another thirty seconds or so until he turned to face her, his own expression something between chagrined and sheepish, and as he offered up his injured limb in addition, pretty much any spark of outright anger that she had been fueling during the last hour or so of training dissipated pretty much instantly, quickly replaced by worry and concern as she assessed the damage.

"Damn it, Red." She said, trying to cling to some air of exapseration, though it was probably a good bit harder to discern than it had been in her last words that she'd uttered to the demon. "You should have radioed it in, or come and got me." Liz chastised, as she crossed the cluttered room to where he stood, her hands catching ahold of the uninjured sections of his forearm as she tried to tilt his arm down more to get a better look at the injuries. "Tentacled ugly, was it?" Liz questioned, as she tried to run through a list of what possible species he might have been talking about to catalogue what other sort of dangers the wound might present in the aftermath. "Why didn't you go to the infirmary? Someone should take a look at this," She fretted, even as she plucked a gauze pack from her loose hanging BPRD combat vest, ripping it open. He hated infimaries, and while he liked being fussed over, he had the worst patient-side manner that she'd ever seen, and he was more likely to fuss over a papercut than he was a full on gunshot wound, there was never any telling what injuries he'd consider 'worthy' of getting actually looked at. "Oh yes. I left a string of them in my wake." She replied, dryly, glancing back up at him with a shake of her head and a faint smile.

She had never been one to trust in her emotional response to people; she had withdrawn at an early age, and there were very few that had ever been brave enough, or comfortable enough with her and what she was, to try and push or worm their way through her distancing exterior, to try and actually involve themselves in her life on a personal level. She found it hard, sometimes, to connect to people, 'normal' people, at least. It was like there was some invisible barrier between herself and them, a glass ceiling of understanding, and like somehow people just knew that she wasn't like them. That she didn't belong. Well. She didn't belong out there, anyways. Here... she belonged. She was part of something, and Red was a big part of what that was, and why it was that she had finally come to think of the Bureau as home after so many years of yo-yoing back and forth. "Are you going to let me take a look at this, or do I need to call in Abe for reinforcement?" Liz questioned as she took a look around the room to see if she could make any sort of educated guess as to where the first aid kid, or whatever was left of it, would be in the tornado zone that he called his rooms.

[HELLBOY]

Hellboy continued to admire her as she looked over his arm with genuine concern. It wasn't a big deal to him. Tentacled uglies with stinging suckers didn't phase him. The wounds would heal on their own but he was charmed every time Liz fretted over him. It felt like one of the old movies Broom would show him; where the hero only really let himself hurt around the one lady that cared about him. Problem was this lady could burn the place down with a thought and was already primed to do so.

"Hey, alright. Abe has got nothing to do with this." Hellboy mumbled. "I'll never hear the end of it if you bring him in here. The first aid is... under the bed. By the case of Pabst I snuck in here."

When Liz joked about the broken hearts she'd left in her wake Hellboy's expression quietly shifted. For all he knew every guy in the Bureau had eyes on Liz. And why not? Liz Sherman was an elite B.P.R.D. agent. She knew her stuff and was fiery enough to hold her own in love or a fight. Hellboy worried quietly that he wasn't enough to hold her affections. A girl like Liz, all pretty and not horned probably deserved a lot more than him. Sitting down for Liz to inspect his arm he moodily shoved a cat from his desk and set his arm across its surface.

"Hey Liz." He said in his gruff straining, 'apology' voice. "Sorry I didn't make it to your training thing. I know it meant a lot. I had another one of my freaky dreams today. It put me in a bad mood. Hey if you're going to use the first aid kit - none of that disinfectant-stingy-stuff. I hate that stuff."

He turned to watch her look and caught a glimpse at himself in a reflection off of a television monitor. He puffed out his cheeks and then checked his profile. His eyes were too yellow and his face was too red. He sighed and his tail whipped uncomfortably behind his chair.

"Was Meyers there tonight? At the training thing?" he asked, trying to make it sound casual.

[LIZ SHERMAN]

Liz shook her head with a sigh as Red waved off any assistance from Abe – it was not surprising, honestly. Red presented a tough and indestructible face to the world. And, truth be told, he very nearly was exactly that. She’d seen him survive hell and high water, rather literally on both counts, rather, and she could not imagine anything that would ever be capable of really bringing him down. He was her rock. He had saved her, and others in the B.P.R.D. so many times she’d lost count, and that was excluding the times he’d saved the world in all of its entirety. And yet, if he had the smallest injury, he could become the biggest baby she’d ever met. ”Don’t fuss at me, then, and maybe we can leave Abe out of it,” She conceded, stepping up onto the low dais that held the sturdily built, hay-filled bed, crouching underneath to rummage around and try and find the first aid kit in question. ”Those are my fingers, not chew toys,” She chided, her head tilting downwards even as she wrapped her hand around one of the younger kittens that had made a nest under the bed, tugging the critter out and plopping it on the top of the bed. The next to be discovered was the case of beer, which she tugged out, long enough to pull a six pack out of to set beside her, until at long last the first aid kit was discovered half buried under a still damp slightly mold-like smelling towel.

She pulled it forward, inching it to the edge of the bed, pushing the towel off of the first aid kit with a tentative touch, before snagging both the kit and beers and shoving herself up to her feet. A booted foot nudged the case back under the bed, and then she was back on her way to where it was that Red lurked. Tugging one of the beers off, she handed it to him even as she pulled open the first aid kit. It looked like it had been rummaged through already, half of the supplies were missing, or had been opened for whatever use, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know but she was fairly certain it hadn’t been for any sort of medicinal treatment. ”So, what was this thing – any stingers, or poison that you need to worry about later?” She questioned, piling up what supplies were left, snapping on a pair of pale purple latex gloves, just in case, laying her hands carefully on either side of the suckered wounds, studying the injuries more carefully. ”It looks bad, Red.” Liz murmured, concerned, pressing a careful thumb against the edge of a pucker, gauging just how much of difficult time he was going to give her about bandaging up this particular set of injuries.

”It’s okay, Red, business called, I get it. Just… try and let me know next time, okay?” Liz requested, giving him a frown as he tried to convince her to skip the first step in first aid; cleaning the injury. ”Not going to happen, but not bad for an attempt,” She said, tearing open one of the disinfectant swabs. ”What was this dream about? Liz asked, hoping that she would be able to keep him halfway distracted through conversation and keep him from paying too much attention to the task at hand. She unfolded the disinfectant cloth, laying it over one section of the wound and pressing it down lightly. She didn’t know what to make of his dreams as of yet, there was very little for point of reference that they had to use for comparison or research. Broom had been the specialist on all things Hellboy, and she hadn’t gotten clearance to his personal research or his library yet… and in all honesty she felt a little off trying to access it at all. He had been as much a father to her, in his own way, as he had to Hellboy, and neither one of them liked the reminder that he was gone. ”I don’t think so,” She replied, a little absentmindedly, as she swabbed at another of the pucker marks, glancing back up to him as she did. ”I haven’t seen him in a few days, actually.” She commented, a fact that she hadn’t put together until just about then. ”Why?” She asked, her tone slightly suspicious all of a sudden as she studied his expression.

[HELLBOY]

"No reason. Hey easy with that..."

Hellboy's eyes were fixed to the tentacle burns as her fingers pressed toward them with disinfectant. Although he could take existential poundings from monsters that shouldn't exist the anticipation of the cleansing sting was almost too much for him to bare. He gnashed his teeth and shut his eyes as she worked.

"The tentacle uglies were probably Baku demons. So just the burns." Hellboy cracked open the Pabst with one hand and drained it. "I tracked their path back to a shipping yard. Seems like they were stowaways on a foreign import tanker. Didn't find anymore of them on board."

When she asked about the dreams he set his mouth in a slant. They weren't something he knew how to talk to her about. Everything Rasputin had done to them left a large mark on the team. Getting over Broom was one thing but facing the fact that he was a demon with a very serious ability to set the world on fire in a bad way was quite another. It was hard to know what to do without Trevor Broom.

"I dunno, Liz. The dreams are always the same; Rasputin's voice, places I've never seen. Kind of a blur. Good wrap. Thanks."

He withdrew his arm and looked over the job she'd done with his yellow eyes. He blinked up at her and took her in; always here sitting, putting up with all his curses and cuts. Liz Sherman had been the one for a long time and she still was. But he worried about them. Something had shifted; the dreams or the Bureau. Lately it felt like he was on the edge of somewhere high and he was going to pull her down when he fell.

Hellboy reached out with his left hand to touch her face. Red fingers probed her soft skin; tracing the delicate contours of her face into her hair. He didn't have words that he could use to express how she made him feel; usually he just got quiet and she'd do the figuring. Humans had so many delicate expressions for romance, Hellboy only knew that Liz Sherman made him feel nervous and brave all at the same time.

"You shouldn't worry about me, Kid. I'm a big strong guy." He whispered and then kissed her face. "I like the short hair."

[LIZ SHERMAN]

Liz frowned visibly at the mention of the Baku demon, or the possibility thereof, pulling the roll of gauze to a final resting position around his arm, plucking up one of the strips of medical tape that she’d torn off and stuck to the side of the desk before beginning the process of wrapping his injuries. ”Do you think that there might be any connection between the Baku demon’s arrival and your dream?” She questioned, as she studied his expression. The chances of a connection seemed minute, especially since the demon hadn’t appeared in the B.P.R.D. center, and for all intents and purposes, Red shouldn’t have been out to deal with the situation, but she had learned a long time ago that there was rarely anything that actually passed for coincidence when the supernatural was involved. And many of the things that had their sights set on Hellboy for one reason or another often had a scope of patience and time that the humans could rarely compete with. There were some advantages to being immortal, or close to it, she had to admit to herself, and being able to outwait and outlive one’s enemies often fell into that category.

She hated the idea of there being yet another thing out there that had some great scheme, some plan, some hope of tempting, tantalizing, seducing, or otherwise stealing Red away from the Bureau, or her, or his humanity. It was so odd to so many that met Red, that knew of what he did, and why, that he could, in his own way, be more humane and human than any number of the humans without horns or tail or bright red skin could ever lay claim to. To her, it was simply the way he was. He had always been kind to her, in his own way, even when she didn’t always agree with the interpretation of the end results, she could almost never deny his intentions. And she was not one that believed that good intentions paved the pathway to hell. She had seen hell, or something close enough to it, on enough occasions to know that it was malice, and true evil, that walked the path to the place.

Her frown only deepened when he replied to her question about his dreams, her gaze tinted with a fresh wave of concern as he spoke of the fractured contents of them. She suspected that there was far more to them than he was willing to admit to, whether for her sake or his own she wasn’t entirely certain. There was the faintest sign of a flinch at the mention of Rasputin’s name, which inevitably seemed to bring the dancing of ice down her spine, and a tinge of nausea to the pit of her stomach from the flash of memories, faint and intangible that rose every time he was mentioned. The scent of blood, and fire, the taste of smoke and a rawness in her throat and chest, as if she had been screaming for… hours… days, a lifetime, were the only things that she could remember, and even those only in fragments, of the time that she had been… ‘gone’. She was not certain where it had been, if she had even been dead, as the classical definition, or if it had merely been her soul that had been swallowed, siphoned away into some other realm, some other dimension. She only knew that it had been… terrible. And that seemed such a naïve descriptive. She pushed the reaction away, focusing her attention on Red, and her worry for him, and her hand rose, to brush gently along his cheek and jaw, before settling at the nape of his broad neck as she leaned in and up to press a warm kiss to his forehead.

”It’s going to be okay, Red.” She said, quietly, but firmly, her eyes meeting his brightly colored ones, her frown slipping into an easy smile as his fingers pressed against her cheek and head, encompassing nearly the entirety of it, and she leaned into the touch. ”And don’t tell me not to worry,” She chided, again, a hint of a smirk bleeding into the smile that met his words. ”It’s in my job description, didn’t you know?” She teased, lightly, her hold against the nape of his neck and shoulder tightening briefly as he leaned in closer, his lips pressing to her cheek. She breathed in deeply, reflexively, taking comfort in that moment of silence, and safety. She wasn’t certain that there was any place in the world that she would ever feel safer, ever, than right here, in his arms. So many would condemn… so many would be horrified, at the relationship between demon, and human – but she didn’t care. She had loved him, for longer than she might admit, especially to him, when he started on one of his tirades, or spouts of jealousy like where Meyers’ was concerned. He got her, in ways that no one else most likely in the entire world ever would, and he would never be afraid of her, or her power, and not just because he seemed inevitably immune to the fire that would explode from her, eradicating everything else in her path. He was everything that she could ever want to strive to be, and he didn’t ask anything of her, except for her to be whom, and what she was.

”Yeah?” She murmured, her head tilting upwards after a long moment of silence, a smile tugging again at her lips. ”It seemed… appropriate, somehow, I guess. It’s a new start…. I thought it should be met with… a new ‘me’, as much as any such a thing is possible.” She said, her tone dry. It was true though; she had changed, in the months since the encounter with Rasputin, and since she and Red had set themselves on this path together, despite their false starts and stops, and rounds of fights that often left the Bureau worse for wear. She liked to think that it was for the better, that she had gained some degree of confidence in herself that she hadn’t possessed before, that she had continued to gain some manner of control over herself and her ability, even if it didn’t always seem so to those around her, or caught in the aftermath of a fit of temper.

Video for Liz & Red; by me!

[HELLBOY]

Hellboy held Liz close and didn't forget that not long ago she wasn't his to hold. Not long ago Rasputin almost took her with him Broom. Hellboy didn't know what was on the otherside; he couldn't remember but he could remember lifting her cold dead body off the slab in Moscow and knowing she was gone unless he could find a way to get her back. They had been saving each other a long time. Moscow was a sick sinking feeling and Hellboy secretly hoped he never had to go back. He ran his hand through her mop of hair with a wry grin.

"I'm glad I'm part of your new start. These dreams - I don't know if the Bakus are to blame. I think I might just be getting antsy. I'll let Abe take a look... tomorrow."

Hellboy lifted her without warning. The cats mrowed quietly at the spectacle. He carried her first to the turntable cluttered by crushed beer cans and comic books. With a smile he cleared the music machine, setting the needle over the spinning vinyl. Ray Charles hummed the opening for Georgia. hey weren't often intimate, not with the wild schedule B.R.P.D. kept them on but it didn't take long for quiet moments together to bloom. The air was electric between them, or pitfire warm for that matter. Hellboy hummed along, tail whipping as he swayed, Liz scooped in his arms.

"You're bunking with me tonight, Agent Sherman." he said with a smirk.

Yellow eyes gazed at her with sincere longing. Meanwhile the older cats perched on shelves calling for a piece of the affection that was going around. Hellboy's focus was Liz now.

"Secretly I love that you worry. I don't ever want that to go away." he smiled. "Every time I look at you it feels like the first time again."

He set her on the bed and his lips brushed her's. The large stone hand propped against the bed's backboard as he leaned over her. Pulling up the sheets he climbed in with her. Ray Charles' song swelled to a quiet yearning from a simpler time when Hellboy had been of age but was too red and ugly to be in love. He liked to play the old records when she was around, making up for lost time he thought. A slinky puffy black kitten landed between them. A whole troupe of felines watched from the foot of the bed.

"No." he said. "No furballs sharing in the bliss right now. Scram."

[LIZ SHERMAN]

His fingers ran easily and with a gentleness that would have been surprising to anyone that did not know him as well as she did. It was the instinctive reaction and assumption of pretty much everyone that met him that he was rough, bulky, maybe even clumsy – and that was generally the better of opinions, and that wasn’t even getting started on attributes other than physical. The truth of it was, is that she had seen him pull off leaps and twists that she wasn’t sure the most dedicated and experienced ballet dancer might be able to do, if they had his strength. And while it was true that his right hand was at times awkward, when it came to clothing, he had always had it – it was a part of him as naturally as her eye color was to her, and he had never known anything differently. And he was always very aware of his strength, even in the worst of moods, or the most passionate of moments, all too aware of the fragile nature of his human compatriots. It was always some inanimate object (or a big ugly, as he had called the supernatural opponents they all too often faced) that carried the brunt of his anger or frustration – and while the bouts of temper were fairly frequent, she couldn’t really say she was the best at keeping a calm façade either – though she liked to think that she had improved somewhat. Her studies with the monks had given her more control over her emotions, and with it, her power, than she had ever possessed, but she was still human, and prone to fits of her own temper. And as things usually went with emotions, as deeply as she cared for Red was equally and directly proportionate to how much he could make her angry. Sometimes without even trying.

She had expected this to be one of those times… but she was pleasantly surprised to see that it was not going to be. She hated arguing, though she was sure that the other people at the bureau might disagree – though likely not within her hearing range. ”There’s a chance that could’ve been drawn here because of the dreams – I’ll go with you to talk to him, if you want.” She suggested, with a smile. He and Abe had been friends as long as she had known either of them, stemming from the rescue of Abe from the laboratory under the hospital all those decades before. Despite the obvious, and not so obvious differences between the two, they were good friends, and with Liz throw into the mix, they made a formidable team. What one lacked, another made up for in spades, be it a particular area of knowledge, skill set, or ability, and after several hits and misses, they had found a comfortable pace that made it easy for them to anticipate the others’ reactions – for better or worse.

Most of the time, at least, she thought in amusement as his arms curled around her without a thought to her weight or his own injury, which she started to fuss at him about, but then decided the better course of action might be to let him have his way for the time being. He had been, after all, rather well behaved for the treatment. He hadn’t even swatted her away, or spilled the iodine, and it had been thirty seconds and the bandages were still on. The music swelled, bringing a smile to her lips as she curled an arm around his neck, the fingers of the other hand curling lightly and teasingly along the sideburns that were trimmed with immaculate precision. ”I am, am I?” She questioned, her smile creeping into a hint of a smirk for a moment. ”That’s good, then,” Liz murmured in reply to his next comment, her smile fading just slightly, a sigh slipping from her. ”Because I’ll always worry.” She said, her tone vaguely rebuking, the topic being one that in another time or place might have sparked another fight about how he was not, in fact, entirely invincible, and that he could still bleed and break. But this wasn’t another time, or place, and so she let it go.


She could feel the hunger inside of her reacting, easily, to the same that she saw in his eyes, that she could feel in his touch, and her lips curled upwards again as her arms tightened around his neck as he nestled her onto the bed, refusing to let go, tugging him towards her. She could feel the heat burning in her stomach and in her veins, the fire that was waiting for the moment to escape. It was a good thing that he was fireproof, especially in times like this. Her lips met his eagerly, her body curling into his as the rest of the world faded away, even the cats that stared in all too open curiosity.


OOC :: For the pg-13 rating on the site, I figure it should be faded to black there – we can either pick up later that night, or start another scene at this point? Let me know!