Title: Drink Deep
Author: Garnigal
Era/season/setting: Season 6
Rating: PG
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She fought viciously, with a speed he’d never seen. He threw himself at her with a manic grin, absorbing her attack and battering her with his own blows. They were both bleeding, but his grin remained intact, even as her breathing grew laboured and her eyes glittered with pain and panic. He pulled her off her feet, dragged her to his chest, and broke her neck.
He drank deep.
She fought fearlessly, with an arrogance that matched his own. He’d stalked her for days, watching her dust vampire after vampire, never faltering. She knew he was there, just beyond the reach of her human senses, tingling at the edge of her supernatural ability. He matched her style, savoring the battle and letting it last, watching her eyes as she realized he was merely playing with her and the end of her life was mere moments away.
He drank deep.
She fought gracefully, with a confidence that demanded attention. He watched from a distance, admiring both her fluidity and her banter. He savoured the time before their battle, assuming it would end as the others had, with her eyes going dark and her blood on his lips.
She survived.
He didn’t enjoy the axe to the head, no matter that it wouldn’t kill him. She took on a new significance in his eyes, the one that got away. And so he kept watching, kept fighting with her, kept coming up with new, more convoluted plots. They fought and bled and snarked, and he expected every day to be her last.
She survived.
They fought side by side and back to back. They made temporary truces based on the foundation that they both wanted the world to keep turning (and the unspoken agreement that the world couldn’t end until one of them had killed the other). Their truce ended and they fought face to face, in moonlight and sunlight… and they both bled, and they both bruised, and they both limped away, but they both survived.
She survived.
He suffered and begged for death. She was merciless, and bestowed only life. He fled town, and returned with elaborate, violent plots, but her draw was unmistakable. Implacable. Like a meteorite, he fell into her orbit, unable to escape her inexorable pull.
She died.
He was as free as he could be, still hobbled by science. Still hobbled by love, and the need for love. He lived by his promises to her, trailing at the edges of the crowd, used and misused.
And she returned.
He thought he’d already suffered.
He thought he’d suffered when he loved her while she used him as a strong defender.
He thought he’d suffered when she died.
Those were the good old days.
He watched her face as she lost herself in passion, using his body, his love, to dull her pain and misery. He watched her momentarily bright eyes dim, as she came back to herself and to the unceasing demands upon her. He took her blows, verbal and physical, a willing sacrifice to her sanity.
He watched her leave, shoulders bent under an unseen weight, loss hanging about her like a miasma. He wiped blood from his lip from her parting punch, vowing to give her all he had until…
She survived
Or
He drank deep.
Originally posted at: https://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/761402.html
