emptynight | We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

It was the dreams really. The dreams that chased across her mind. Bringing not the normal blood and death, but the snippets of happiness and tranquility. Stupid. How could she have been so stupid? Always opening her mouth. Like the maws of a giant shark gobbling up all the little lies. Truth in water.

It had felt so natural, to wrap the world around Lacrimosa. It had been necessary to do all the things she did the night before, but they haunted her. It all caught her fast and held her so that she turned round and round down rabbit holes of her own making.

Until it stopped. Thomas' touch had been a gentle press on her subconscious. A warm reminder of a very needed silence. Drusilla remained curled in his arms, not warm, but certainly no longer twisting. Her hands were pressed against his back, and deeper she fell into sleep the looser she held him.

The sun was higher in the sky when it started all over again. Screams. Straight jackets and needles in high hips. Words tumbling over and criss crossed doors. So many. So many called to her for help, and she was shackled.

Not in the way she was to her lovers. There was something blocking her. Forbidding Drusilla from reaching out her hands and silencing the voices that whispered her name without knowing what it was. It ached. She ached to help. To heal. Drusilla couldn't fix what she had torn from Lacrimosa. She couldn't fix those who called to her. She could only mess things up.

Drusilla messed everything up.

She whispered half heard phrases on pale lips.

"Jen the knife does not cut-Why must that be my gifts? Why must this be for me? Carriages go round in soft patters-Why must I tell anyone anything? Why have I not bottled things up- Adam not the shoestrings they snap when connected to the pipes and you must not..."

Drusilla woke with a start, her dark hair in her mouth. It surprised her to find Thomas there, and suddenly she felt a rush of guilt. Drusilla never felt guilt. Not for murder, not for torture. Except now she felt it. She felt so much more now. She felt nearly all the things she should not.

Pressing her check to his chest, she struggled not to shiver. Why did everything smell of evergreens?

It wasn't the shivering that woke him up but the sudden torrent of guilt where before there had just been unconscious unease. "Dru?" he asked, voice still thick with sleep. Blinking rapidly to clear his mind, Thomas shook his head. One hand immediately began to caress her hair, thick dark locks sleep tangled and still smelling of starlight and pine.

The Hunger's first instinct was to soothe her, to brush away the guilt and uncertainty with a velvet touch until she was contented, quiet. But Thomas refrained, instead kissing her forehead with warm lips and concern.

"Dru, lov-- Dru, what's wrong?"

"I feel... things."

It was probably the most nondescript thing Drusilla had ever voiced. And she very often voiced nondescript things. "This is not how things work. The voice aren't supposed to work this way. Everything has gone pear shaped hasn't it?" The question was asked more to herself than Thomas.

She tugged at the elastic which still held her hair in now unruly pigtails, and didn't bother to wince when they pulled at her more than they should have. "I hear new things. I feel guilty. I remember guilt and it's rather nasty and it had lead to everything being so loud in between all the spaces that are supposed to be quiet and I-" Drusilla took a breath.

Her thoughts were all out of place. They were having such a hard time staying together these days. "I think I have done something terribly wrong."

It must have been a bad night if Dru were that incoherent, and a faint frown of concentration appeared as Thomas tried to look past what she was saying. But it didn't seem to help. Dru's emotions were noise. Guilt and confusion, frustration and hurt, all chased each other like some demented emotional merry-go-round. Even if he wanted to make them go away, Thomas wasn't certain he could catch any of those threads long enough to dissipate them.

"I think we all have," he said quietly, memories of a dark, tin ceilinged bar drifting back to his consciousness. He kissed her, a light, hesitant touch. "I'm sorry, Dru. What can I do?" To make it go away? To make things better? To fix it so it didn't hurt like choking brambles and thorns?

This was not the way his day should start. Thomas didn't need to carry the burdens she felt being heaped upon her shoulders. Her eyes closed when he kissed her, and she felt it again. Guilt. Terrible guilt.

She thought about the vampires she killed last night. Nothing. Not a shred of remorse. Then she thought of Lacrimosa, curled up and screaming. Guilt. Massacres in far flung lands? Nothing. Thomas clawing at his own throat? Guilt. She clung to him at the realization, "I have been terrible haven't I Thomas? I have been a terrible Drusilla. I should have-" Drusilla fought for the words, as she lifted her head.

When they would not come she kissed his chest and remained silent and cold until they did. "I think I should learn to keep my feelings to myself. Things go topsy turvy when I don't. And everything becomes-" Drusilla wriggled her nose. It would have been adorable if she didn't frown. Honestly, why did the room smell of forestry? "Have you been in the woods?"

"It's not you to keep things like that to yourself," Thomas said. "It's not what Drusilla does." 'It's what Thomas does,' went unsaid but probably unheard.

Whatever else Thomas wanted to say stopped short at Dru's question. "No..." he said, confused. "Edward and I went to a coffeehouse and a frat party. Do you want to go in the woods, Dru?"

"No. I don't want to go into the woods that is for Edward."

Drusilla had lots of things to say. Lots and lots of things but they were all going to come out sooner or later. Except perhaps after now. One bonus of dissolving your self into the very night and then putting yourself back together was that your no longer smelled like blood and bikers. Just like nighttime. Thomas apparently did not have that effect. Drusilla wriggled out of the covers and abruptly straddled him. Leaning forward, her lips brushing against his neck, she blocked everything out as well as she could and smelled him.

"Thomas. You smell of pixies underneath all that sex and sin.Why do you smell of-" She sat up, but did not get off of him, instead Drusilla looked down wrapping her dark hair around her finger. "Sssh. Don't talk. never mind that I have asked. You only went for a walk with Edward in the cold cold woods."

When Dru straddled him, her lips against his neck, Thomas couldn't help the faint pleased sound from rising from the back of his throat. "If you--" The sight of her above him, a lock of dark hair curled around her finger, stopped him as much as her words. His arms wrapped around Dru, hands skimming soft curves as he kissed her, tasting pure distilled night on her lips.

There were a thousand things in the touch of Thomas' lips against Dru's. Apology. Affection. Concern. Hurt. Guilt. Desire. Promise. Silence. Everything he could give her was on his lips, offered for her to take if she wanted it.

"You don't have to hide your feelings, Dru. I want to hear them, even if they hurt."

She was going to have to fairy proof the house. Iron nails in shoes. Horseshoes over the door. Nasty little bastards when they wanted to be. And those were the small ones. She didn't want to think about whatever Thomas had found. Whatever could be attracted to him.

There was a large part of her that wished she could continue to talk of them. She'd rather ask why he rolled in around in fine pieces of pixie dust than continue to feel the pressing guilt she already did.

Kissing Thomas was never just a kiss. it was never a simple meeting of lips or exploration of wants and sighs. Even though he said he had nothing left to offer he served it up on his lips. Silently. There were never words with Thomas, and now that she knew not to look for them, it made swallowing what was offered, easier. Perhaps for both of them.

"I was very very bad to you. I shouldn't have been all snarls and denial. I should have fed you when you- Things were very confused." Her hands brushed against his neck and down his chest. Fleeting cold bits of electricity giving everything back. Her lips skimmed his jaw, "I feel guilt, Thomas. I did not remember how much it stabs and tears into you. How it nags you until it is all you can hear. But I cannot go back and unsay the words I said last night or any other night. I am filled with it Thomas. I am filled with guilt, and-"

Drusilla took another breath, whatever stopped her mouth from racing along with her mind. Now was not the time to say that word again. "Feelings. I am filled with feelings. I think it is very unfair, to- to feel so many things all at once."

Words lied, but emotions never did. Thomas could feel it, knew what Dru felt despite her attempt to hide it. There was silent thanks on his lips as he kissed her temple, feeling the cold bite of electricity that her touch left on his skin. "I know, Dru, and I shouldn't have lost control like that. I'm sorry," he said quietly, fingers combing through her snarled hair. "We always hurt the--" He shook his head.

"Never mind. But..." He trailed off, staring at Dru, as his fingers continued their paths through her hair. "Without them you would not be Drusilla." His lips touched Dru's throat almost reverently. "You'd be delicious still, but not Drusilla. Not beautiful Dru trailing starlight and roses, who sees plate armour and swords where there is only brokenness and Hunger."

Her eyes closed. Not because she didn't want to see Thomas, but because all of his touches brought some new feeling to her. Some new taste of emotion she didn't have, but now had.

The way she kissed him was often as if she drowned. Because in a way she did. Being close to Thomas meant being closer to a side she would never have admitted to missing. To wanting. To touch him was to drown in it. To remember what it was to feel something other than her own deep mad desire to wreak havoc. A desire that was not completely her own.

Resting her forehead against his she caught herself. There it was again. A torrent of emotions that forced her to feel everything. Even feelings that weren't hers.

"Thomas, you make me good. All your whispers and kisses are nothing compared to what you pull from me." The kiss at her throat made her wish Thomas had fangs. He could bite in other ways. Her lip trembled. She knew what to say. There were other words she could say.

Opening her eyes, Drusilla looked at Thomas with sincerity. "You make me good. You strip me down and make me good."

It was hard to respond, to even look at Dru when her eyes shone with such sincerity. This wasn't the time to disagree, to protest that he couldn't possibly inspire good when everything inside him wanted to consume, to take and drown it all in pleasure and fire. He kissed her again, throat to jaw to cheek to forehead to lips. Every kiss a word he couldn't ever say.

"If I make you that way, I hope it makes you happy," was all he could manage, "to be good."

Blood and pain had been Drusilla's calling card for so long, and she loved it. It was apart of her as much as her voice. There wasn't much room in her world for a vampire who was kind. Those vampires became minions. And then they became dust.

Everyone knew that Spike had killed Slayers, and Angel had laid waste to countries. But Drusilla was the nightmare vampires dreamed in the day. She was utterly evil.

It was ingrained into her heart. The easy desire to bring ruin. Her hips shifted, rocking forward. She wanted to trace poetry across his chest. She always did. She wanted to unleash every one of his darkest thoughts and drown the world in blood and disaster.

But she also wanted to send warmth and gentle happiness to those who had nothing. She had had nothing for so long. No one should feel less than for the evil that lurked in every heart. There could be balance.

Thomas' kisses didn't feed a Goddess. His kisses fed Drusilla. She knew what they said. What they meant. No amount of things bought by his credit card compared to the the feeling of being accepted. He didn't need to say anything. She would never require him to say the words. Through Thomas she could be sweetness and light.

But more than that, with Thomas she remembered what it was like to be that way. Not just cheerful. Thomas made her benevolent.

His words had been so long ago she realized. She should say something. Explain. "Do you know what they whisper about me Thomas? Demons quake when I entire the room. Before Wolfram and Hart ever touched me. They fear me, more than they ever feared any ancient dragon. Just one mad woman with the potential to warp minds."

Gratitude took over the guilt. For now. For now she was ready to give him anything he asked. Anything he wanted in return. Drusilla kissed him lightly at first, and deepened it when she could not stop herself. She could taste it on his lips. Drusilla truly believed that if he wanted, Thomas could rule the world with his kiss.

When she pulled away, panting with a curious mix of joy and desire, she smiled. "It does. What you do to me. What you help me do. It makes me more happy than any pressie you will ever buy me." Drusilla pressed her body along his and whispered softy in his ear, "But do not tell anyone that I am light beneath all my darkness."

Being kissed by Dru always felt like swimming in dangerous waters, never knowing when the whispering siren call of madness would sweep him away even as he wrapped himself in it. When she pulled away, Thomas was breathing heavily, his hands running over Dru's body even as she pressed against him. It wasn't desire for feeding that spurred him, but simply the desire for closeness.

"It will be our little secret," he assured her, kissing her again, lips, jaw, throat. His lips lingered at her neck, tasting soft skin, catching vulnerable flesh between teeth and tongue. "But Dru, they are fools if they can't see your light."

There was no need to say that he was relieved that she could be happy with what change his presence wrought in her. She was changing too much, too fast, but if this one change could make her happy, perhaps it would be enough. Still, he changed the subject, wanting nothing more than to back away lest either of them said something else that couldn't be taken back.

"Shall I tell you of our adventures last night?" he asked instead. "How Edward and I found a present in a frat house and made it sing?" Hell, he'd tell her about the fae if she asked. Just anything less uncomfortable than what had already been said.

Words. Thomas was always running from words. It was in her nature to chase him, make him see what was behind the pretty phrase. Accept the tones and syllables of them. Except for today. Today Drusilla trembled against him, a laugh on her lips.

They needed a rest from her ability to show them the power of words. Her emotions were still a torrent, but she pushed through them to rest against his chest with half closed eyes. "Edward had been looking for a present all night. Were they pretty?" If he liked she would tell him about her night. It had been more than beautiful until she mentioned-

Drusilla sat up again, her palms pressed into the pillow on either side of Thomas' head. "Thomas," she said, her voice lilting in the way it often did when she knew she was about to say something that made near to no sense to herself, "I think Lacrimosa and I own a bar."

"They were very pre--" Thomas had started to answer when Dru pulled away. She spoke again, her voice lilting, the words singing some unknown melody that made no sense to anyone but Dru herself.

This time, the words didn't sound mad, which was a plus. They just didn't seem to make normal sense. "You and Lacci own a bar?" he echoed, perplexed. "Is it a nice bar, at least?"

"I don't know if it's a nice bar. I don't even know where it is." Thought she was sure she could remember if she asked the right parts of her mind. Not that she was going to do anything of the sort.

She frowned and tried to work through the process. which often meant feeling everything all over again. "We stole a car which had a Greg inside. Then we slaughtered all the big bad vampire daddies. Lacrimosa was beautiful, all knives and soft breaking limbs. And of course we had to bathe in the blood and dust of our enemies and kiss like starved demonesses with slick hot bodies but-" Drusilla pouted, "I think we own the bar now. The bar with all of our new pet bunnies. We have pet bunnies now Thomas. I am unsure of their care and feeding."

The thought crossed Thomas' mind that maybe he had gone insane, that those twisting sirens songs had in fact dragged him out to sea while he hadn't been looking. He blinked hard, shaking away the enticing mental image Dru's words had called forth. "The bunnies will be able to feed and take care of themselves," Thomas answered, going along with it. "After all, Spoike's doing well on his own, isn't he?"

Thomas' eyes were drawn to said hamster's cage, which was steadily becoming more of a hamster palace with carved wood ornaments hanging from the corners. "It sounds like a fun night, lovely," he said, shifting so that he sat up as well. One hand began combing through her hair again, while the other danced up the bare skin of her arm. "All Edward and I did was hunt. And almost get eaten by a faerie cat."

"Of course Spoike is happy. I feed him all the time..." Drusilla looked over to the cage with Thomas. Spoike was currently snuggled under a quilt that looked suspiciously like it was made of leaves. Well, he did always have an easy time making friends.

Drusilla was perfectly ready to explain how she was slightly worried about the humans left satisfied in a heap, but he had gently turned her mind to other places. Her face went from slightly pleased to worried in little time. "You didn't bring your knife did you? If you did I would be wearing a new fur collar."

Her words were met with a laugh, warm and affectionate. "I think I will be carrying your knife all the time now," he said, hands idly parting her hair into two pigtails. "Did you know you'd be protecting me from kittens with big green eyes that smell like snow and peppermint when you gave it to me?"

The question had not been sarcastic or condescending, just curious, and Thomas' hand stilled for a moment as he cast about for the elastic that had been in Dru's hair only a little while ago.

Thomas was a rather comfortable seat. It was the only reason she wasn't telling him off. Or shaking off the pigtails. Her large eyes did not help the image, and her tone was quiet. "No. Not big kitties. But I smelled them on you, Thomas. When you came home and said nothing. I saw things. Little snippets. I worry. I always worry."

Drusilla plucked the elastics from the pillow and held them out to him. "Snow? It smelled of coldness then? I must sew washers in your jackest and put nails in your boots. They are all nasty nasty things...the cold ones."

((Desquish like a fox))

Taking the elastics from Dru's hand, Thomas tied the pigtails, taking the opportunity to nibble at her now exposed neck. "I'm sorry for making you worry," he murmured against her throat. His hand twined through one pigtail, wrapping the dark silky length of it around his fingers.

She seemed fragile to his eyes, even more than normal, and Thomas kissed her cheek. "Your knife and I will take care of the faeries," He paused, wondering how to word what was bothering him. "Is there anything-- Do-- Is anything wrong, Dru?"

Despite the subject, these times were her favorite times. The ones where life seemed normal, and she was just herself. A dreamy girl sweetly ensnared by her lover. It was a nice spot of pretending. She yelped at his nibble, and unsuccessfully batted at the hand that wrapped around her pigtail. She tilted her head to favor it, and her smile was mildly stern. "Of course you are sorry you naughty disasterous thing. Kisses and light bondage will do you no good with me."

It was true though. What he thought. In the face of questions about the Fae, Drusilla looked more than fragile. It hid the hard steel underneath. She had seen him hurt, and would not stand for it. She liked the pixies- to a point. "Are you asking me to See for you Thomas?" She trailed a finger down his throat and over his chest, watching the invisible pattern she traced. "Or are you asking me if I have Seen?"

"No!"

The answer came out perhaps a little more vehemently than Thomas had intended but there it was. He caught Dru's hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "No," he repeated, softer this time. "I don't want you to See for me if you can help it." His fingers twined with hers and Thomas looked down at their hands. "You just looked... sad when I mentioned the pixies," he explained. "I didn't want to think Edward and I being gullible would make you upset."

At his words she rocked backwards, her eyes just a little shocked. Drusilla hadn't expected Thomas to be so adamant. Not that she wanted to See for him. In fact she wasn't even sure she could if she tried.

"I do not trust the ones that are cold. Or the ones that are- Nevermind. You both should have known. Could you not taste the air?"

It tastes like sticking ice on your tongue. It tastes like frost in your heart. Beautiful frost that stops the world. And they whisper when you are lost and so far gone. Drusilla unwound their hands to press them to her temples. The thoughts were coming far to fast again, and she had to concentrate on what she wanted to say.

"I do not want you to be hurt Thomas. I would be very upset if something were to happen to you. It would hurt me." The thought seemed to send her adrift for some time until Drusilla took up his hands again. "And then, I would have to hurt other people. A lot."

"The air tasted like blood and desire and Edward," Thomas said with a hopeless little shrug. Then Dru pulled away, pressing her hands to her temples as if physically blocking the voices, the thoughts, out.

Her words sent a chill down Thomas' spine and he looked at Dru as if seeing her for the first time. Beauty and danger, a blood red rose with shining steel thorns. He shook the image away and rested his forehead against hers. "Maybe I should let you choose who I feed from," he said, keeping his voice light. "The Drusilla approved ones can wear those "Safe to Eat" stickers."

There was a moment of silence in which Thomas felt flickers of emotions against Dru's skin. "If you want quiet, Dru, all you have to do is tell me," he said softly.

If they touched him again, she'd strip their pretty wings and wear their pretty claws as a necklace. If they touched him or anyone else he adored. They adored. It was important to keep him safe. Drusilla had the feeling that he never really felt safe.

"No," she said with a wan smile. She slid down so that she could lie on his chest. "You may eat whoever you like however you like. I only worry Thomas. I worry because you seem so hunted sometimes. Like when-" She heard voices. Or felt colors against her face. Or when her madness seemed ready to swallow her. And tonight she was ready to let it.

When Thomas spoke it cut through the vines with a clear sharp slice. Drusilla looked up and almost could not say it. She could not ask. "Please," she began tugging a little at her own pigtail. "It is very loud and it is hard to chide you when all I can hear is the whisper of walls and the chatter of the book beneath the bed to the very nice- Nevermind. It is just very loud."

Something inside him twisted at the sound of her voice, so nearly overwhelmed by things he couldn't see. The Hunger pooled in his fingertips, on his lips, and Thomas pulled Dru to him, kissed her with light touches and slow exploration. With every touch of lips and hands, one tracing the curve of her neck and the other ghosting up her spine, the Hunger peeled a thread away from the cocoon of madness that wrapped around Dru.

It had been a long time since the night Drusilla spun flame and heat from her madness. She had been more than happy to invent something for Edward out of the fabric of her mind. But she never thought to do it for Thomas. His mind seemed so closed, and Drusilla wouldn't dare pry. He enjoyed his secrets, or rather he did not.

As the threads of madness wrapped away from her, Drusilla struggled not to think. Lest last night repeat itself. With the dissappearance of each shimmering whisper of bars and blood, another replaced it, wrapping around her tighter.

Everything has been so light, she wanted everything to be light. Didn't want to tie him up in things that threatened to spill out of her mouth. Visions and words. Bits of the future he didn't want to know about, events she didn't want to know about either.

So she kept things light, struggled to focus on the way Thomas' lips felt. Drusilla became conscious of his flesh hard supple. Tried to and succeded in delighting the feel of the crook of his arm, the bones of his hips. Dreams of cups and spilled wine tore through her, and her mind threatened to retreat to its familiar tower, ivy clogged and whispering things she didn't want to hear. Threading her fingers through his hair and over his cheek, she sighed on his lips. Drusilla would let Thomas ground her, and spin silk for them both.

Every thread of madness dissolved into power as it touched Thomas' skin, sinking into his veins. It was hard not to play when so much power sang beneath his skin, so he did. Every touch coaxed calm and tranquility to the surface. His fingers touched dissonant strings of worry and guilt and their melodies faded away. Threads of warmth and affection appeared beneath his hands and Thomas urged them to sing.

It was a war Thomas knew he could never win, but he fought it anyway, just trying to stay ahead, spinning emotions to desire and quiet before doubt and fear could intrude. Resting Dru back against the bed, her dark hair spilled across the pillows, he played for her, affection singing contralto with desire in alto harmony. And something more, something quiet and warm that he could never name, something he didn't even know he evoked, trilled soprano to send her soaring.

The gown would have been inconsequential. Her fingers barely remembered how to shrug it off. Sliding the silk off her shoulders. Wriggling out of it while softly arching. Drusilla dropped it into a puddle of sunlight.

And it ceased to be. Melted away exactly like the threads of madness Thomas pulled from her. She did the same to his boxers. Just to see if she could. Twist them away like Thomas twisted away the dead clutching vines that choked her throat. They curled and dissolved like opium smoke.

Everything about Drusilla was warm and hazy, slow and heady. It took more than skill to make her that way. It took care.

It never occurred to her that anyone could use that ability for harm. Not when he played upon her skin and on her heart. Coaxing out beautiful moans with the briefest of touches. It never occurred to her that anyone was watching. Recording every sigh and bitten lip.

How quiet everything seemed. How soft and subtle the music in her ears. Not a din of crashing cymbals and nasty little mismatched notes.
The kisses here were not devouring. Drusilla had no need for them. Or wrenched skin. It was shocking that she could be so gentle. Not weak, never weak. There was power spiraling out of her with no sense of stopping. Begging to be taken. To not just be had, but to be shared, willingly.

Her legs were wrapped in the white and red sheets, and for the life of her she felt nothing but pleasure and an unquenchable desire. For once Drusilla's hair did not cover her face when she opened her eyes, but the pigtails had become messy, and she pulled them from her mouth to bring him closer. Slim pale hands hands wanted to pull his hips toward her. Ask very politely to be sunk into. But she had the feeling he already knew. Thomas never needed the words.

There didn't have to be words. Just pure decadent silence.

If Thomas' mind had been filled with anything less than Drusilla, he would have noticed the fact that his boxers had just dissolved into smoke, and that would have bothered him. As it were, all he was aware of was Dru, inviting and heady. Quiet was stretching, a song sung by a hundred voices blended into one fluid tune, and everything felt slow, indulgent. Thomas sank into Dru with a barely heard sigh, feeling her soft and pliant beneath him, and knew that this wasn't a mindless keening docility of his making.

The knowledge strengthened him and Thomas moved against Dru slowly, hips rocking against hers in counterpoint to the touch of her lips against his. This was a moment to be savoured, remembered. Silence reigned and power curled around him like sweet, intoxicating smoke. Every stroke, every motion was its own song of desire and silence, of beauty and goodness, yet it was a metronome, a timer ticking down to inevitable end, to sweet release and the moment when silence would begin to fade.

There was no need for her to rend. To slice his back with sharp nails. There was no desire to mark or be marked. Just an easy quiet pleasure. Drusilla paid careful attention to every stroke and touch of finger tips. She thought. Catalogued care in every quiet breath.

It was brilliant, this brief touch of silence and near sanity. There was rawer pleasure most certainly, in the thrusting of hips and the feeling of being filled. The languid smile on her lips had nothing to do with that.

It had everything to do with Thomas. And when the song began to end, and the world began to unravel again, Drusilla did not bite. Blood would taint it, and all she wanted to do was laugh. It couldn't be helped. It was a sweet tripping laughter without a hint of madness. No screams, no rending just satisfied delight.

She watched him with words often said and danced around obviously in her eyes. The only thing the sunny depths lacked, was insanity. The tiny glint of a bramble filled mind.When Drusilla blinked, her mind was tangled, but peaceful. Words tumbled towards her lips, but in the interest of preserving the moment, she kept them to herself.

No screams. No blood. No keening release. Just a near-perfect moment of sweet completion. Thomas smiled and kissed Dru again, swallowing her laughter like some shining thing to be savoured. His eyes met hers, storm grey dancing with flecks of metallic silver, and he smiled wordlessly, holding onto the silence.

His hands caressed her cheek, traced the curve of Dru's jaw and twined into her hair as the silence faded, like fog evaporating in sunlight. "I--" Something flickered over his face and Thomas shook his head, banishing some secret flight of fancy. "Will you still chide me now, dear Dru?" he asked instead.

It was gone. Just like that. But the world wasn't clambering in. the visions weren't stealing her thoughts. It wasn't so loud. Her body arched to his fingers, like one getting pretty discordant notes from running over the strings of a harp.

Fancy was her specialty. Especially now that she looked more sweet than terrible. A sigh escaped her lips before she dared respond. Coherency was struggled enough for that she bit her bottom lip.

Stars in the daylight. Milk and cream. Laying here tastes like milk and cream and sweetness in my mouth when there have only been ashes. Ashes. I should not taste of fire and ashes. That is not for me I think.

Her hands brushed against the tops of his thighs, and thing felt a little more in step. "I cannot chide you Thomas, look at me. Do I look like I have any harsh words for you on my tongue? Shall I stick it out? Show you that nothing is written there?"

Her laugh was small, and held a touch of the bittersweet. "I only want you to watch yourself my darling. I care for you."

His laugh echoed hers, soft with a touch of melancholy. "I--" Thomas shook his head; the words were so small, so inconsequential almost, and yet he couldn't say them. "I'll be careful," he said instead, kissing Dru's forehead.

A glance at the window showed Thomas that the sun was still high in the sky. "Shall we sleep again, dear Dru?" he asked, fingers dancing over her skin, pale and soft like milk and cream. "Quiet and dreaming of nothing but things that make you smile?"

"You always say that Thomas. But we still worry." Drusilla pulled at a pigtail, chewing at the end. She slid over just aa bit, grateful for the large circular bed. Her hands moved through the fabric from the canopy, taking in the fleeting feel of of the guaze. It was so light. Tonight must be lightness. Had to be.

The sun played pretty havoc on her features. The tempered glass allowed Thomas a rare glimpse. Drusilla looked rather pretty in the sunlight. Eyes already closed, and body languidly stretched out. "Of course Thomas," she yawned, pulling him down to her with a sleepy laugh. "I feel I will dream many more things in the warm sun. Though they may not make me smile." A noticably wamer hand wrapped around his waist, and despite her words, Drusilla looked at peace. "But at least they will be quiet."

We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

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