it's the season of grace coming out of the void
where man is saved by a voice in the distance
it's the season of possible miracle cures
where hope is currency
and death is not the last unknown

time begins to fade
and age is welcome home

it's the season of eyes meeting over the noise
and holding fast with sharp realizationit's the season of cold ( Read more... )

[From here.]The loft's exactly as he left it. A few more disbelieving seconds tick by before he can close the door; the light of Milliways spills out around him, tinting the bare floor and sparse furniture a pale yellow-orange before it narrows to a sliver and disappears. Roger moves as quietly as he can manage, stripping off his shirt, jeans, and ( Read more... )

He goes upstairs to room 525 like he's been doing every night for the past seven days, thumbing his key out of his front pocket, hoping (but not expecting) that maybe the fucking thing will work this time and he won't have to stake out the couch for another night. When the deadbolt slides back with a loud thunk, though, Roger actually twitches back ( Read more... )

It'd only taken one more cautious venture downstairs to figure out that the Bar could supply food as easily as it'd supplied his key. Immediately, Roger had requested several boxes of cereal, a small bunch of bananas, and some milk to drop into the mini-fridge in the corner of his new room.

He hadn't been lying to Angel: it was a hell of a lot ( Read more... )

Beepbeepbeep. Beepbeepbeep.He can't sleep like he used to anymore, hasn't for five months now -- when all you've got is a beeper, your body'd better fucking well learn to wake up to it when it's time for your four AM break. Roger doesn't like it any more than he did the first time it happened, and, groaning audibly, he swats a hand at the beeper to ( Read more... )