and i've been dreaming of revenge to make you love me more

[smithnjones]

But I don't want to play God either. I can't do that. I don't want to pick and choose.

But you have before.

Martha Jones is seated at a cafe, pouring over notes that her wedding planner gave her. There are choices she has to make even she told the woman that it doesn't particularly matter to her as long as she marries her fiance, as long as the

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[thrillofthekill]

Vincent stops in front of archangel and monster. He stares at Danny. He stares at the sky to see if he's anticipating an attack from above. He... Stares back down at Danny.

"...You gonna be okay?" He asks. Strictly speaking, that is never a good look to see from an injured angel... Or an injured anything, really.

[ohboythepipes]

"Just admiring the scenery, boss," Danny says without looking away from the sky.

It's possible that he's spent enough time in the hotel (sneaking about) to know who Vincent is and recognize his voice even though they've never met. No, he's not creepy at all. Not that he considers Vincent his boss but the nickname seemed appropriate anyway.

He looks at him finally and smirks.

"Thought since I used up all this energy and time slaying the damn beast, I might as well use him as a pillow. Least the damn thing owes me, right?"

[thrillofthekill]

Vincent's staring continues. It's not that Vincent doesn't pay attention to the people in the hotel, it's just that he usually recognizes the ones under his own command and... He doesn't recognize this one. So either he's getting senile or that was sarcasm.

He frowns and holds out a hand. "Fine as that may be, but you're drawin' attention to yourself."

[ohboythepipes]

Danny insists through the narration that it's both.

He pushes himself up, only wavering slightly. It's no offense to Vincent meant. Danny just don't need no help. It's nearly impossible for him to accept it in whatever form it comes in even a hand to help get his ass off the floor.

"I can deal with attention," he says with a little smirk. He pulls the sword out of the beast, cleans it quick on the grass, and puts that away too. "Never did bother me but I guess the last thing the angelic world needs is one of their own on the 5'o'clock news explaining away the white blood and the monster under him like its yesterday's news."

[gotbottle]

The first night Rachel spends in seclusion at Rusty's apartment is not a restful one. That's nothing against her location or the company; she hasn't had a restful night since she and Wes were plucked off the street and plunged into hell. She closes her eyes but it's hard to fall asleep; when she does finally fall into exhausted, spent slumber she's lucky if it lasts two hours before some dream of half-remembered horrors has her awakening with a scream stuck in her throat, her limbs flailing and caught up in the sheets

[trivialsublime0]

Rusty can tell when she wakes up even if it's a milder reaction this time. He's paying attention to the sounds of her breathing, to the feel of her beneath his hands. There are subtle differences, and he's never been perceptive before but he can tell when it comes to her, when he really tries. The truth is that he's never really tried to pay attention before, never really cared to try before.

There are things he needs to say before she leaves because those complications sank back into him throughout their time together, and he can't get it out of his head. He won't say them until the time comes though because he'll do anything she wants, be anything she needs right now without hesitation.

And he's not sure what to say with her awake so he shifts in the bed.

"Morning," he says, softly, slipping her hair away from her face and ignoring the heavy thudding in his chest.

[gotbottle]

Rachel shifts enough so that she can look up at him. A very faint little smile turns her lips.

"Hi," she replies, her voice just as soft. One hand drifts up to Rusty's face, her fingers resting on his cheek. The illusion that she'll be safe here isn't broken yet--if it's left up to her it might never be, she feels that secure with him.

"Hope you managed to get some sleep even with me all thrashing around. Sorry."

[trivialsublime0]

"Don't be sorry for that or nothin," Rusty insists, pressing his hand against hers and slipping his thumb down the side of hers. "I slept fine."

He didn't sleep at all but she doesn't need to know that. She has enough that she feels guilty about already, and it was his decision to stay awake so he'd be available for her the moment that she needed to know she wasn't alone and she wasn't back where her nightmares brought her.

"You want food or...?"