birthrightgreen | (no subject)

(no subject)

It had been a pretty room before she started throwing things around it. If she could, she would have hurled Craft to shred the rest of it to bits, but even in her hurt and fury she had a care for her child. A human doctor might tell her that such upset wasn't good for the baby either, but there were none of those around.

Vases had splintered and mirrors were shattered in every direction. She was sobbing her fury now, at a loss for what else to do. A knife in his back, or across his throat, seemed like a plausible solution, and she wondered how much it would hurt him. If he would bleed out and have to be resurrected.

He'd promised. He'd promised. And she'd given up everything to come here. Her home. Her family. Daemon. That she could go back was no matter. She'd moved to his world, brought her Jewels and her knives and her wolf and taken up residence. She'd allowed him to seed her, when she'd fought conception every other time it seemed imminent. Trusted him enough to be here, vulnerable without her powers for nine months.

And now he was inconsolable because the bloody Watcher hadn't cried on his shoulder instead of some blue girl's. It was a slap, painful enough that it hurt to breathe. She'd been there for him, all along. Done everything she'd known to do. Been willing to be his whore, accepting Luella's position as primary in his life. And he'd made her believe...

A home. A family. Him, as her own. The two of them trying something different.

But nothing changes and it was stupid of her to think that someone like her could have those things. She smashed a piece of a mirror into smaller bits, heedless of the cuts on her hands. Without her power, without a target, she didn't know what else to do. Couldn't go home and face them. Not again. Not after Falonar. But she wouldn't be tossed aside again either. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, protective of the child growing inside, not caring about the blood she stained her skirts with. She never should have come here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He wondered if he would get slaughtered for asking her to prop up her feet.

"Are you getting enough rest?"

She nodded. "I am. I've even taken naps." She was annoyed at the weakness.

"A nap, you say?" With a small attempt at humour, he looked around the room. "Do you have pen? Paper? I need to remember that. It will be of great interest to everyone back home."

Her eyes narrowed and she swatted his arm, playfully, but hard.

"You mention a word of it and you'll be hurting."

She meant more than the nap, and her eyes made that clear.

He was fully aware of how strong she was. And that referred to more than just the bruise forming on his arm.

*Not a word.*

She nodded slightly.

"What else do you need?"

She needed to request more of him.

"I wasn't able to eat much this morning. I think I can, now."

Finally.

Because if not he would be in seek of Sam, and he would be in seek of him soon.

"What would you like? Eggs? Toast? Jam in every flavor imaginable?"

She smiled at that. "No eggs. But bacon would be nice. And toast."

Ne nodded, and then went to take control of the kitchens, and whatever those things were that posessed it.

Surreal found a book she didn't really read, but she did curl up with and pretend to read.

He returned with everything she had requested, exactly as it had been requested. He said the tray table on the bed next to her, and began to rearrange the pillows around Surreal for better support.

"Breaskfast," his voice regained some of its old, teasing tone. "Is served."

"I'm not an invalid," she said, irritated at the pillow fussing, no matter how much she was determined to let him serve.

But she smiled at the teasing tone. "Thank you."

He simply eyes her, and fussed with the pillows some more. That one needed -- yes. To be there. Right there. His hands moved with quiet elegance.

But then there was his grin.

"You're welcome."

She hmpfed grumpily, but there wan't any bite in it and she slid down under the covers a little bit, reaching for the plate.

He could not help but continue to smile, for this was the Surreal he knew. It was almost worth touching her pillows again.

She swatted his fingers away. "I left the tea on the sofa table...."

He knew what she was saying. He pretended he didn't and managed to fluff another pillow or two. Then he dutifully went for the tea.

She rolled her eyes, but really, it felt good to be fussed over. She nibbled delicately at her bacon, watching him.

He presented the tea with a small flourish, ever the dancer.

"How is it?"

"It's good. Thank you." She gave him a grateful smile.

He sat down on the bed next to her.

"Just, exactly, what are those things in the kitchen?"

"Sam calls them majordomos? I don't know what they are."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "It was very disconcerting."