"Until The Fall" - 2/?

[rissy_james]

Title:  Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, and some old & new OCs (updated 02.24.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". A year after returning to the Zone, DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 02.24.09)


Author's Note: Apparently I confused some people, so I'll be explicit: The first scene of this chapter takes place in mid January - the previous Az/Jeb scene at the end of the last chapter was The Annual (New Year's Day); the second scene is mid-March. Trying to take us up to August, and then the story goes chronologically ...

Chapter Two

Winter - Spring

The new annual opened with fierce winds, and numbing cold. Though the suns shone bright on mostly clear, cloudless days, they seemed to have no warming effect on the world they stood watch over.

It was well into January before Cain received any leads as to the whereabouts of Zero. One snowy evening, he finally managed to track down, not the Longcoat, but his second wife. It hadn't been easy. Aleas Forester had gone into hiding almost as well as her fugitive husband, living under a fake surname, in some Gods-forsaken corner of the Zone.

Settled now on her front porch, he listened before knocking. The sounds coming from within were entirely domestic, and nothing at all seemed amiss, except for the stranger standing in complete silence outside the door.

Wyatt heaved a sigh, and rapped his knuckles on the door. A few moments passed before the door was pulled inward, and he found himself looking into a pair of sharp, turquoise eyes, which widened slightly at the sight of him. The woman, beautiful, dejected, tired, shook her head, disappointed, before stepping back to allow him inside.

Cain smirked, and his feet stayed planted. “Hello, Aleas.”

The woman's plump cheeks quivered for the briefest moment before falling as her lips curved into a frown. “I was hoping they'd send someone else after him.” She waved her arm then, gesturing him into the small house. “You want to get in here before someone sees you?” There was a hint of terror in her voice. Obligingly, Cain crossed the threshold, and she closed the door softly behind him.

“You know who I am?” he asked, a bit casually. She'd been warned; it would make this more difficult.

“Of course. He made sure that I knew who you were.” Never in his life had he been spoken to so accusingly just for being himself. This didn't change the fact that she'd allowed him through the door without argument. Interesting. “Can I offer you anything?” She motioned for him to take a seat in an old armchair by the fire. Though he moved towards the mantel, he didn't take a seat, and with a shake of his head, he turned down her offer.

Pursing her lips together in an unhappy line, Aleas Forester surveyed her guest. “I don't know where he is, Mr. Cain.”

Cain smirked, and walked slowly the length of the mantel. A few faded photos sat in broken frames, faces he'd never seen before and would never see again after this night. He could feel Aleas's intense eyes biting into the back of his neck, but he made no move to indicate that he'd even heard what she'd said. But he had... he had.

“So, how're you holdin' up under all this snow, Mrs. Forester?” He bit his tongue to keep from calling her by her real surname, this new 'Mrs. Z.'

She surveyed him skeptically for a moment before answering. “I'm doing just fine, thank you. I don't see how my welfare is any concern of yours, however.” Her sneer, though genuine, was short lived. While he stood next to the fire, she collapsed into one of the chairs she'd vaguely waved him toward. She watched him expectantly, eyes searching, face impassive but for the tiniest of frowns tugging at her mouth. The girl was, at most, in her mid-twenties, and seemed to cement Zero's affinity for dark-haired, feisty women.

“I'm just tryin' to make polite conversation,” he said, seriousness etching into the corner of his mouth.

“I didn't know being a conversationalist was a requirement to become a Tin Man,” she snapped, a bit harshly. She was on edge and defensive; almost ready to tell him everything she knew.

“Not a Tin Man anymore, technically,” he said, trying not to be amused with her. Incensing her to rage could cause her to clam up, the last thing he wanted. He wanted to keep her talking.

“Then what are you doing here?” Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor a few times, and she sighed.

Cain took a moment to study the woman; she was Northern, he could tell by her accent, beautiful, with eyes that seemed to lash and bite. He'd been able to dig up very, very little on the woman, which only suggested that Zero had found her somewhere... unsavory. Her bearing seemed to suggest a rich, cloistered upbringing, but at the same time, as he watched her, she seemed to notice... she crossed her legs under her skirt, sensuality dripping from every pained movement.

Trouble.

“What,” she repeated, her voice dropping a dangerous octave, “are you doing here?”

He smirked. “I don't think I need to answer that. I think you know.”

With a sigh, she pushed herself out of her chair. She walked over to him slowly, circling him, her intense eyes following him as she walked the worn paths of the hearth. “I told you when you walked through my door, Mr. Cain, that I don't know where my husband is.”

Again, his smirk widened, and he suppressed an urge to smile. “Far be it from me to tell a lady she's lyin'.”

Aleas Forester raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You think I'm lying?”

Cain had to clear his throat before answering, to stop the chuckle that wanted to choke out of him. “Through your teeth.”

She shook her head as she studied him without speaking, her lips curving into an unhappy line before pursing together, almost disappearing. Tension was settling in her posture, and her eyes left him to search the floor for something that wasn't, couldn't be, there. Standing before her fireplace in silence, hands resting on either side of his belt buckle, he waited until she began to speak.

It took a while, but when she started, he wasn't disappointed.

“I haven't seen him since before the new year, and there's been no word. I can't tell you where he is.”

“He left you with no word at all?”

She shook her head. “No, and I only saw him for as long as it took him to bring me from Central City, here to Fog's Bank.”

Cain nodded. “How long've you been here?”

“Late October... just before the snow.”

Another silence fell between them. She was still standing too close. He tried to quell an anger inside, one that threatened to bubble up at the thought of this young thing protecting a monster, thinking him her hero. Impatience, or anger, would get him nowhere.

“Listen,” he said, after her strange turquoise eyes had found his, as she still stood so dangerously close. “You're not doin' anyone any favors.”

She smirked up at him. “I'm doing him a favor.”

Cain grimaced, trying to control the growl in his voice when he snapped at her. “He doesn't deserve any favors!”

Aleas's eyes widened for the briefest of moments before she sighed; frowning, she put her hands on his shoulders, gripping him hard through his service jacket. The contact he barely felt, but the raw emotion fanning off of her was hard to ignore. It occurred to him then that though she might have loyalty, she was just another lonely, abandoned girl. And those, he'd learned, were more than just trouble.

“He didn't tell me where he was going, Mr. Cain. Only that he was going into hiding. He suggested I keep my head down.” There was a twinkle in her eyes then, and he saw, the barest glance, where this was going. He caught her hand as it snaked down his chest, towards his belt. When he pulled her hand away from him, gripping her wrist tight, she grinned at him. “You don't think I should keep my head down?”

Cain looked towards the ceiling then, heaving a sigh. Women.

“No,” he grumbled, pushing her away to keep her at arm's length, though he didn't let go of her. With his hands on her upper arms, he wasn't about to let her go anywhere.

“John was right about you, you know,” she said, with a snort of contempt. “Once a Tin Man, always a Tin Man. Soul of steel, and heart of gold.”

Cain only smirked, unsure of whether to be insulted or flattered.

“Tell me what you know about where the Longcoats have headed.” His demand was firm; he wanted to convey that he was done playing her game.

Aleas quirked her head, a birdlike mannerism that reminded him, for a moment, of DG. Her eyebrows knit together, in amusement or confusion, he couldn't quite read. Then she smiled. “What makes you think I would know where the 'Coats went?”

Cain turned his head slightly, studying her. Before he could speak, however, she burst out laughing.

“You think he went into hiding with them?” He let go of her, and doubled over, she backed away a few steps. The laughing continued, uncontrolled. She watched him, almost having to hold her side in her fit of giggles. “I don't believe this. You honestly think...?” A sharp intake of breath, almost a snort, straightened her back, bringing her back to herself a little, but she couldn't hold a straight face. “I don't know why he thought he'd have to worry about you coming after him. You have no idea, do you?”

Wheels started to turn in Cain's head, and it didn't take much to figure out what she was talking about. Zero had gone into hiding, not only from the Army of Resistance, but from his former company as well. After all, if it had somehow gotten out just how much information he'd revealed during his 'torture'... the entire storm on the Tower had been based off what he'd told his captors.

She was watching him, glaring with her strange eyes. The laughing, whatever had overcome her, had passed. “If you've gotten all you needed, Mr. Cain, I think its time you were leaving. There are eyes everywhere in this village. I don't need you drawing any attention to me.”

Cain stood next to the mantel, staring down into the dying flames. With a sigh, and a tip of his hat, he walked across the small living room to the doorway. A waste of time, coming here had been nothing but a waste of time. He heard her let out a breath of relief when he reached the door, but then he turned towards her again, doorknob in hand. His blue eyes stared hard. “Did he tell you who let him out of the suit?” he asked, his voice low.

Aleas's eyes flicked nervously to his. This woman was incredibly cold, hard, but seemed to be relenting; she nodded.

He waited, but she didn't speak. “Well, who was it?” he asked, trying not to make the demand harsh.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but found the words wouldn't come easily. Sighing, she shook her head, cleared her throat, tried again. “Just some kid. A resistance brat, I think. Whoever he was, he's dead now.”

Cain raised an eyebrow. “Zero killed him?”

Again, the young woman nodded, her dark hair catching the light from the fire, turning the brunette tresses into a strange fiery gold. “From what I understand,” she said slowly, and Cain got the idea she understood the situation well, “he killed the poor little bastard before he'd been out twenty minutes.”

He closed his eyes as he let this information process. He imagined some innocent kid, too much like DG, wandering in, visions of heroics dancing in his head... unleashing a danger, Zero's crazy cold gray eyes, all pathetic rage, disillusionment, mesmerized by suit-induced insanity.

Jeb... they'd been wrong to leave it for so long. One more innocent body to top his conscience.

Again, he tipped his hat. “Sorry to bother you, Ma'am,” he said politely, as if the words and actions that had transpired between he and Aleas Forester was nothing out of the ordinary. He opened the door, stepped out into the cold night, turning up the collar of his jacket. The door slammed behind him, not another word spoken by Zero's young wife. On the porch, he stood for a moment, looking out into the still, snowy silence.

Shaking his head, he began to walk across the yard. They'd be watching the house, of course, now that they'd found her. But he wasn't to stay in Fog's Bank. There was always a rumor to chase... with a painful twinge in his chest, Wyatt Cain realized it was more likely he'd uncover every other Longcoat in the Zone before he found the one he was truly looking for.

“DG,” said Tutor, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking down at the floor. His tone was the most exasperated she'd ever heard him. She tried, tried, to look contrite, but she was having an awfully hard time taking the man seriously. In fact, she was having a hard time not outright hating him for his constant constructive criticism. The beaded, restrictive, long trained Titanic dress she was wearing might have had something to do with it, too. The ribs of the corset felt like they were tightening on their own...

“I'm really sorry,” she said, when she realized he wasn't going to continue speaking. “Lets try again.”

Hass, the poor man roped into being her dancing partner when Ambrose was nowhere to be found, was trying his best to look sympathetic to the old teacher's cause. Amusement was dancing in his eyes, however, as he stood back and surveyed the scene. To his credit, he was in no need of the dancing lessons. He'd even managed to catch her when she'd tripped over his feet - or maybe she'd tripped over her own feet.

Yes, blame the guard. Always blame the guard, DG thought as she watched Tutor expectantly, waiting for him to give the order to continue. It didn't come.

Instead, the old man heaved a great sigh. When he looked at her, his normally sad eyes were firm, serious. A little angry.

“Princess,” he said shortly. “Do you realize just how many patrons are going to be attending the Farine's Night celebration next week?” Though he paused, it wasn't enough time for her to give an answer. “Hundreds of dignitaries from across the country.”

DG frowned. She already knew this. Laying more pressure on her shoulders wasn't going to make her feet move the right way. An increasingly familiar heaviness was setting in her shoulders. When she opened her mouth to speak, Tutor held up an impatient hand.

“You are going to be expected to entertain these guests,” the old man continued. “All eyes will be on you.”

DG laughed. “No they won't.” It was highly improbable.

“Yes, they will, because unless you start to take this seriously, you're going to make a fool of yourself!” Tutor snapped.

She felt her anger begin to bubble, but even at his harsh words, her easily incensed temper did little to quell the fact that he was right. Both she and Azkadellia were going to be on display, showcased; it was going to be up to her to draw most of the attention off of Az, and her preferred way of doing that was not going to be falling on her ass.

“Now, are you ready to make an honest effort?” Tutor asked, noticing his point had been driven home.

DG opened her mouth to argue that she'd been making nothing but an honest effort when the massive doors at the end of the ballroom were thrown open. Ambrose broke through them at a full run, headed straight for the three people gathered near the ceiling-high windows.

“Finally decided to join us, Master Ambrose?” Tutor called out jovially, much more forgiving of the advisor than the princess.

Ambrose brought himself to a full halt once he'd reached them only long enough to grab DG by the hand. She didn't even have enough time to look or feel shocked before she was almost hauled off her feet. “I just need her for a few minutes, Hass,” Ambrose said apologetically, but firmly, indicated that the guard was to stay put. “I'll bring her right back.” The last part he called over his shoulder, as he'd already begun dragging her towards the doors.

DG looked behind her to see Hass and Tutor watching after her, dumbstruck, as she was pulled from the room. Her gown and heels didn't make running at his pace entirely possible, but Glitch didn't seem to notice. “Where's the fire?” she demanded as she nearly lost her footing.

Her friend didn't take the time to answer, only tossed her a patronizing look over his shoulder as he slowed only slightly to accommodate her.

Two corridors and several startled maids later, she began to worry. “Glitch, what happened?” she asked, breathlessness masking the fear that was beginning to creep up her pessimistic spine. “Is it Az? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she's fine. Why wouldn't she be fine?” he asked, a bit unconvincingly. His grip on her hand was tight, and she was completely lost, both in the situation and their surroundings. She had no idea where he'd led her; she hoped to hell Ambrose was the one driving, because Glitch's sense of direction was just...

“Here!” he exclaimed, jerking them both to a sudden stop. The unexpected cessation of movement sent her crashing straight into his back. Trying to catch her breath while wearing a corset was nearly impossible. Leaning against the wall next to the door he'd stopped at, she held a hand to her stitching side; she was seeing spots, that was never a good sign.

“Okay, crazy person,” she moaned grumpily. “Tell me what the hell your problem is.”

He was ignoring her. He threw the door inwards, grabbed her by the arm again, and moved her strategically, as one might a chess piece. She was of half a mind to clock him with some of the new moves he'd been teaching her when a movement inside the room caught her eye.

Glitch had brought her to an out-of-the-way room of unknown purpose. The furniture was mismatched, awkwardly placed, and the curtains were drawn. But, even in the weak light, she could make him out. She'd have known his silhouette anywhere.

“Wyatt!” she exclaimed, as Glitch let go of her arm and retreated. When she looked back at him, as he closed the door behind him, he gave her a sly grin and a wink, before his face disappeared and the door was shut.

A soft chuckle from behind her. “You're pretty dressed up for two in the afternoon.”

DG rolled her eyes as she turned to face him, unable to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. “I'm being taught to spin and twirl like a proper princess,” she said with a firm nod, as she took a step towards him. He began to move as well, and they met somewhere in the middle. His arms went about her waist, as hers wound their way around his neck, and they drew together quietly, saying nothing but feeling everything.

“I thought you weren't coming into the city until next week,” she said into the rough fabric of his service jacket. He was back to G.I. Cain, someone she was growing just as fond of as the Tin Man he always seemed to fall back into.

“Neither did I, Kiddo, until yesterday morning,” Cain said, leaning back a bit to see her face. Her hair was pulled back, none of it obstructing his view of her.

“How long?”

He frowned. “I'm gonna be headin' out within the hour.”

DG's eyes widened. “What?” Her demand was harsh, and she slapped a hand uselessly against his chest. She looked away from him, her eyes falling on his rough, stubbled chin, downwards to his neck, straight to the collar of his jacket, wide open, a few wiry, blonde curls peeking out from the top of his shirt. Refusing to speak anymore, she ran her tongue along her teeth, pursed her lips.

He stood and accepted her silence. After all, though she'd gotten upset, cried out, hit him, she hadn't pulled away. Staying beside her, his arms solid around her, was his next move; he waited for hers.

It came after a few minutes of their precious time had passed. A subtle shift in position, a sigh fluttering past lips still pressed against his shoulder; her arms about his neck tightened ever so slightly. With that, he knew he was forgiven, and without wasting another second, he moved a hand up to cup the back of her neck, giving her head back so he could place a kiss upon her mouth. She sighed into him, eagerly responding, gripping him hard and pulling him down to her. What had begun as something tender and sweet quickly became fierce and aggressive, until she was breathless, moaning soft and low, and he was forced to pull away before their kiss got the better of his self control.

“Sorry,” she whispered sheepishly, when she saw the torn look settling into his eyes. “I've just been waiting a while for that.” The grin that spread across her lips then was impish; she was delighted at the attention.

“Mmm,” he hummed, studying her face, her eyes, drinking in what he could while he could. Though she blushed, she shamelessly explored his face in the same hungry way, her hold on the back of his neck reflexively tightening, loosening.

“Will you still be in for Farine's Night?” she asked, and immediately wished she hadn't, when he sighed, and shook his head. “So I'm trading three days next week for an hour right now?” He nodded, not adding on that it was something closer to a half-hour. “So you're not going to celebrate next week?” she asked, following the train of questions, letting her mouth run on so her brain might not start, so that her lips were moving and not completely still, and aching for him.

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders, and the smirk he gave her was non-committal. “My family never celebrated Farine's Night anyway, its a Northern holiday.”

“Oh,” she said slowly. She extracted her arms from around his neck and laid her palms flat on his chest, tucking her elbows into the embrace still about her. She was looking up at him, straight into his face, his cool eyes. “Did you know its a holiday on the Other Side, too?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh is it?”

She grinned. He always seemed interested when she began to talk of the world that existed separate from this one. “Its a religious feast day, honoring a saint. Most people used it as an excuse to wear green and get drunk.” He was watching her now, amused.

“And you'd rather be celebratin' that?” he asked.

“Oh definitely,” she said with a laugh. “The gown I'm going to be wearing to the Farine's Night ball is green, in honor. I put my foot down.” Then her eyebrows perked, her eyes lightening. “And hey, now you're not going to be there to keep taking my champagne away. See? Bright side.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a delicious smile, his lips curving so sensually that she found herself biting her own with the thoughts that began to rove through her head about his mouth. Did her desire show in her eyes? His gaze seemed to turn to smoldering as he looked down at her.

“I'm sorry I won't be here to see you, Darlin',” he said softly; she could hear the regret in his voice.

With a sigh, she forced a smile, though the brightness of it seemed to falter. “Its not your fault, Wyatt. Its just the way things are right now. I know that; you don't have to apologize.”

Cain chuckled, and leaned in a little closer, so his mouth was next to her ear. “Doesn't mean I'm not sorry that I can't be there to peel that green dress off your shoulders.”

Her breath seemed to hitch once as she drew it in, a blush rising hard and fast. To be here in his arms, though she dreamed of it too often, wasn't enough for either of them, and this fleeting time together was nothing short of torture. Her body seemed to respond to him no matter how long or how short their time together was. Though she saw him every few weeks, as his promise from the very beginning had been, finding time to be alone was difficult, if not impossible. Though she'd settled into his arms, always able to find a secret spot for a clandestine embrace, to be truly alone, to have him press deep into her, to have the taste of him on her lips... it had been months. Too long.

If he noticed the direction her thoughts had taken her, that she'd stiffened in his arms, that her breathing had changed, he didn't comment. He only pressed a warm kiss to her temple, his lips lingering longer than they should. Disentangling themselves, the two heated bodies separated, the princess sitting down with an awkward flop onto a dusty settee, the Tin Man leaning against a desk, watching her.

“So,” she said, looking around, up down and anywhere but him; she tried to keep her voice nonchalant. “I heard you got shot again.”

Cain snorted. “During a raid, yeah.”

She still refused to look at him. The curtains were quite interesting, heavy and velvety-looking, and clashed horridly with the sofa she sat on. She wouldn't ask him about the raid itself, no never... she'd heard the details from Ambrose three weeks previous when it had happened. It had been enough to send her stomach reeling, and the lump in her throat had taken two days to go away. So, instead she asked him, “How many times does that make?”

His voice caused her eyes to flick inadvertently to him. “Makes five.”

She was about to ask about the two times she hadn't heard the stories for, but decided against it. Instead, she searched her brain for a subject change.

“Have you seen Jeb already?” she choked out, grasping at straws. Anything to distract her. She closed her eyes, and let her head fall into her hands.

“Yeah, he came to my office at the Armory this morning,” Cain said slowly. She could feel his eyes on her, she didn't need to open her own to know that he was watching her. “Look at me, DG,” he said, though she'd thought he was done talking. Acquiescing, she lifted her head from her hands and gave him a weak smile.

“Have you received any more news from him?” he asked, his voice too serious. The telegram, the Commander... from the bite in his tone she could tell it still bothered him, that lingering threat still not yet dealt with.

DG rolled her eyes, looked away, shook her head. This was the third time she'd been given only a short time with him. In the three months, she'd seen him only eighty-seven minutes. Pathetically, she'd counted. This little junk-room tryst would bring them to around one-hundred and five. Still less than two hours.

“Any more dreams?”

Not a simple yes or no question, damn him. “Just the same one,” she said dejectedly. She wondered how many of their stolen minutes had been used recounting, visiting these same old questions. “Everything's been really quiet,” she said, but immediately second guessed herself. There were the lights, strange, unrefracted, unreflected. Always unexpected, gone when she tried to get a better look. She'd begun avoiding mirrors, avoided the grand hall on her parent's residence floor altogether.

She didn't tell him. She didn't think she could handle the way his eyebrow would cock, like punctuation at the end of a sentence. She was done making the crazy-person comments when she had nothing to back it up.

“How is your sister holdin' up?”

She sighed, torn between annoyance that he wanted to talk about Az, and appreciation that he was concerned enough to ask about her. Only Glitch asked about the future queen with such disquietude. No one else asked at all. “I don't know where she gets her energy,” DG said, resigning and falling back into the cushions. She put her hands in her lap, worried her fingers together. “She goes all day. I don't know how she does it. One thing to the next, to the next, all day. And then she still can sit for hours with Ambrose in the study about how to run a federal government. I don't know how she does it.” She wasn't sure if it was pity or reverence in her voice just then, and she cast a side long glance at Cain.

He was shaking his head. “Guilt is a helluva drive, Kiddo. You know that.”

Guilt had driven her up the Tower to save her sister; guilt or love, or maybe both. Was it really that same sense of guilt driving Azkadellia into rebuilding the country? That same resonating call... like ripples in the water that carried you farther and farther on the momentum of one incident. The stone's drop, the two little girls wandering headlong into a cave without the common sense to turn around.

The next few moments passed in silence, as the two studied each other; blue met blue, time and time again skipping away, only to be drawn back; that was always inevitable.

Finally, Cain pushed himself away from the desk. “Walk with me downstairs,” he said softly, holding out a hand for her. Without hesitation, she used his hand to haul herself to her feet. She was getting pretty steady on the heels, she could pride herself on that. “I'll try to get some real leave next month,” he told her as they walked from the room together. Though his hand reached out past her to grip the doorknob, he didn't turn it, didn't open the door. Instead, he leaned in, backing her a few feet until she was sandwiched between the door and his solid, imposing form. She let a grin slide up to her face then. Oh, poor, poor me.

“That sit all right with you, Princess?”

She bit her lip. “That sits just fine with me.” She looked up at him then as he leaned over her, with that wide-eyed stare that she knew always got to him. “But Cain,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his waist, underneath his jacket. She dug her fingernails in, just enough to bite. “If you don't find a way to come to me, I will not be held responsible for my actions.” She mustered up her most innocent smile.

There it was, the eyebrow shooting up, creating the most intrigued look in his eyes. “Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, clearly amused. But there was an undertone of misgiving as well; he wasn't sure whether to take it as a joke or a threat.

DG smiled wider. “You can fret over that one, Tin Man.” She leaned up her toes and placed a small kiss on his lips, still quirked in their smirk. When she pulled away, he growled, yanked her hard against him; his lips crushed down on hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth, exploring, tasting. Clearly, he didn't like her having an upper-hand. Not about to let him tease her, change the rules of the game, she pushed on his chest, disentangling her arms from him, pulling from a kiss that could have easily tossed them into torrid waters had things been different.

“Now lets go downstairs,” she said placidly, like nothing had happened. It made her feel powerful, to leave him so exasperated. The unimpressed line to his lips was like some sort of strange vindication. “Unless you want Glitch to try and open this door.”

With a heavy sigh, he stepped back and opened the door for her. Feeling a little better, she walked out into the hallway, with Cain close on her heels.

Author's Note II: Hit that button! Comments are love!  Say "hi" and let me know you're out there!

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