Hayden Maragos

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Message in a Bottle

There were consequences for forgetting your place.

Heaven or Hell, angels or demons. It didn’t matter where you went or whose robes you tried to touch. A human was only meant to go so far. To know so much.

And when they knew more, little mercy would be shown.

He hit the wall hard on the way back out. He hit it soaking wet and freezing, with arms too stiff to reach out to soften the blow, and a forehead that went unprotected. There was water in his lungs. Something was ripped inside the fleshy part of him, too; a wounded organ inside his rib cage.

Blood leaked from under the black-wet of his pant legs. It dried on the balls of his bare feet, and in the creases of his heels. Somewhere in his shoulder, one bone grated against another one. It felt wrong. Out of joint. Jagged. It throbbed in the makeshift sling from his pack. It screamed when he dragged himself out of the mines. And now his body doubled in pain every time he tried to swallow.

Hayden knew more than he bargained for. He saw the snake in the weapons closet. The flick of a switch that put Searchlight under darkness on the fourth of July. The invisible force that pounded a knife into the back of his own hand. The spirit that a witch accidentally channeled, and unleashed a mass murder on Wolfram and Hart.

Power that great was ugly, no matter its intentions. Light or dark didn’t matter. It was unforgiving in its quest to get what it wanted. And it wanted him gone. It had since the start of his snooping around. The Exile had secrets. He wasn’t meant to tell.

The bag he packed was small. He couldn’t carry more.

But he left a loaded note, amidst all the research that Alexis and Corbett could have if they wanted it, or leave and it wouldn’t make a difference to him. Hayden was done. He had gotten what he came for.

He dragged himself into the Jeep with one thing on his mind: to get to Kris, before he could be punished for it.

‘Like a leach it feeds on the blood we spill. In chaos we’ll break the lock.’

Getting What He Came For

The mineshafts were just like Hayden remembered. Dark and cramped, choked with dust, filled with a silence so unsettling, every shift of his feet or jangle of his equipment seemed like it screamed. Quiet was important here. There were demons that used the man-made caverns for shelter, and others that gathered and made a stronghold in a central place deep underground. He had worked for them once, and sneaked out on breaks to learn the cuts in the rock. That was before he was forbidden.

Emmeline’s cloaking spell was in place, but he didn’t know how long it would last. Best to treat this trip like the ones before.

Walk soft. Move fast. Get what he needed.

Hayden remembered the hills like an old Quartette miner might. He understood the significance of the place. For months he held on tight to the memories. He crawled through the tight spaces when he shut his eyes at night. He felt the grit under his fingernails when he smoked his cigarettes.

What he knew was useful now. Hayden made steady progress through the corridors that spread out like a hive. He used the map when he needed it. Some turns and descents could be made by memory, and other places still bore marks he made on a former trip in.

Twice his shoes disturbed the rocks. He cut the light when he heard demons coming, and waited while they looked around. Hayden held his breath out of habit. He squeezed his eyes shut when they moved so close, he could hear the air whistling in and out of their nostrils.

When the coast was clear, he flipped the light on and kept going, sometimes able to stand and other times forced to stoop or turn sideways just to squeeze through.

As he got farther in, Hayden’s heart thumped faster. So close to finally getting where he needed to be, it was impossible not to worry he’d get cut off at the pass. The watcher picked up the pace and got a little careless. His right calf bled from a skid on loose rocks. By the time he got to the place Elfleda pinned him to the wall, Hayden had half-convinced himself the spell would run out before he got to the Exile.

When he arrived at the wide chamber that hid the Exile’s rift from wandering eyes, every hair on his arms and legs stood on end. Suddenly he would’ve given anything for a line out to Kris. His parents. Even Sonya or Quinn. Anybody that mattered to him.

The rift looked as benign as ever-- a tiny, suspended marble reflecting light back from his caving gear. If he stood there long enough, magic would happen. The little sphere would burst outwards and flatten, becoming a window into another place that he once thought of as a ‘hell dimension’ but now understood was just a fancy prison someone had made to keep the Exile locked away. Purpose unknown.

It took only seconds for the rift to open this time. The gust of air was cold and wet, and it blew the hair back from Hayden’s face. The ‘look’ of the place hadn’t changed. Just inside the barrier that crackled and warbled, there was a wide river, its surface broken by the constant tumult of pale arms and legs writhing under black water. Beyond that, hard ground and a rock cliff that stretched high.

Most important, though, was the light that came closer and only stopped when it reached the far edge of the water.

This was as far as their contact with the Exile had ever gone. A literal face-off between the thing inside, and whoever was staring from the mines. Hayden. Matthew. The demons in the stronghold nearby. Perhaps even Elfleda, but he had no way of knowing that. Always before, he took off before things got unpredictable. Jotted down notes and filed them away.

It wasn’t enough for him anymore.

Nothing was.

Not being a watcher who never had a slayer to train. Not observing things like some kind of scientist with a clipboard and no tools. Not standing around with a stake in his hand, a regular guy who could only do so much. Not being the left-behind boyfriend of a woman whose shoes no girl could ever fill. If there was one purpose-driven thing he could get out of life, this might be it.

He wanted answers, and he’d get them even if it killed him. What was there to do if the Exile couldn’t get out?

Hayden would have to get in.

He unstrapped his gear and set it down. Tried not to think about how it would feel if he hit the barrier and it bounced him back into the wall. Hayden crouched and just sat there for a minute, taking breaths to ease the nausea that had taken over his guts. He rubbed his eyes.

Elfleda might be right. The Exile might be an entity so powerful, so terrible in its might, that it was worse than Leviathan. Worthy of containment. Or it could be exactly what she least wanted him to see. That in itself was enough.

He took off his shoes and shed his coat. In his bare feet, the cold was almost unbearable.

That was nothing compared to the water.

He went through the barrier like a knife slicing butter. Perhaps it had always been open to crossing, or maybe this particular man the Exile had channeled through was welcome above others. But the running leap he took didn’t get him more than a few yards across the ‘moat’. He hit the inky water hard, a solid body landing in the breathtaking cold.

The channel wasn’t more than six feet deep, but it teamed with river dwellers. They had the arms and legs of humans but were faceless in the dark. They slinked beneath the surface, flopping and cavorting in an indefinable mass that could’ve been an orgy had it been sexual. When Hayden’s warm body hit, they grew interested hands. Hayden swam hard, kicking out against the ones that tried to hold on with slick fingers, like underwater weeds wrapping around his body, trying desperately to bring him under.

They gouged at the skin on his shoulders. They hooked fingers into his ears, his mouth, his nose and eyes. They pulled on his hair and clothes, and anything else that might keep the watcher down. In the tangle of bodies, Hayden stepped on whatever he could to keep his head above the water. He bit and scratched and punched to get himself free. On the other side of the water, the light was still there. He filled his eyes with it whenever he came up gasping for air.

The last time under, he reached out a hand, and waited for someone to take it...

On a Mission

Kris,

Here’s hoping the address you left is good, or I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if anybody reads this. Sometimes I think we’re all about one word away from getting locked up over the things we talk about, around the ears that might hear it. What would people think if I never made it home one night, and all there was to say about me got said by a pile of notebooks full of monsters?

But you know the whole story. You lived with that for seven years, just worse. For you its the unexplainable weapons, the scars inside and out. All the time we were together, I knew you were lonely. No matter how many other women were fighting, or how much your boyfriend knew, it could never take that feeling in your gut away. You felt alone when you patrolled, alone in a room full of people on your side, alone when your family couldn’t know the truth about who Kris is. You had secrets. No watcher in the world can walk side by side with a slayer and really get it. No boyfriend or husband, either.

By the way, my ‘marriage’ with the half-demon doesn‘t exist. Neither Sonya or me know what happened, and the place got shut down for doing dirty business, so we can‘t ask. All we know is we were drunk and there wasn’t any license. If I said I was relieved, it would be an understatement. No matter what your father does, I’d rather have him for an in-law than a demon named Devora. One day I’ll show you I mean it.

Now that you’re gone and the fiasco with Sonya is over, I’ve got time on my hands. You know what’s staring me in the face? How much work I started and never got to finish. It’s been eating me up inside but I couldn’t make a move on the research, and all this time I couldn’t tell you why. The only reason I can now is because Emmeline worked a spell. She’s hiding me and my thoughts, so nobody knows what I’m mailing to you or where I‘m going when I‘m finished.

You already know there’s something down in those mines. I told you it was a rift, that I saw it. But the truth is, it’s more than just a rift or a portal. It’s a thing. The rift is just protection... It‘s a prison cell to keep us out and this thing locked in. The demons building that stronghold down in the mines know about it. They call it ‘the power that’s lost’. Elfleda calls it The Exile.

It’s been there thousands of years. It was banished under the desert by the forces of light and dark. Not people like us, but forces much stronger, higher up the chain than Elfleda. The real kicker is that they did it together. Whatever the Exile is capable of, Elfleda claims that both sides are afraid of it. Maybe they don’t know which way it’ll tip the scales if it’s free, or maybe Elfleda’s lying through her teeth.

All I know is we were drawn here, and when we noticed why and started asking questions, we got the silent treatment. The Council ignored us, or something bigger than them told them to. I asked Elfleda why she didn’t warn us off. She said that would’ve been too conspicuous, and we’d have just found it sooner. She threatened to kill me if I went back to the mines, and she said she’d kill you if I told you.

So what do you know. Looks like two sides of the coin have the same orders. Bring them in but don’t say a word about why. Ignore or kill them if they get suspicious. It’s just a different modus operandi. I guess some conspiracy theories are legit.

I’m tired of waiting around, Kris. If I was meant to do one thing in this town, it’s figure out what I’m looking at when I go down in those mines, so I’m going back again. This time I hope she won’t see me. I don’t know what it looks like down there or if I can even get to it. Just in case you don’t get a letter or a phone call from me, I wanted to tell you one more time that I love you, Kris.

If I do get back alright, if I find out what I need to know, I promise you’ll hear from me soon.

Hayden

******

To: Alexis Devereaux
Cc: Matthew Stone, Corbett Renfroe
From: Hayden Maragos
Subj: Research Materials

Alexis,

I got your message about the new training facility. Sounds like the kind of place the town needs, if we can rally them to work on things side by side. Despite how things splintered in the past year, I’m optimistic that it’s possible.

I want to apologize for how I acted in meetings we’ve had. If it seemed like I was reluctant to share information or resources with you, I was, but it’s not what you think. There was a crucial piece of information I withheld out of fear for someone‘s safety. I think I found a way around that danger, so secrecy isn't my concern right now.

Emmeline Keddle, the shopkeeper at Unseen Insight, has a key to my apartment. If you don’t hear back from me in a couple of days, go there. There’s a stack of research and notebooks on my coffee table. You’re welcome to it. I also left a copy of a letter I mailed to Kris Michaels. It’ll tell you where I'm going.

H.

The Plan

The apartment was a bad place for Hayden’s frame of mind. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with it. The trouble was with space. Suddenly there was too much of it. Every time Hayden went still for a few minutes, he was struck with the overwhelming absence of things. Women had a way of taking up rooms and really filling them. When they left, a vacuum got left behind, along with the lingering smell of their skin and hair, the echoes of their voices, and forgotten items that you stumbled upon when you least expected it.

Like the razor Kris used to shave her legs. Insignificant in meaning, but it still had weight in his mind.

He could get sucked into that void for hours if he wasn’t careful, so he got out whenever he could. He played pool outside town. He ate dinner in the diner. At night he slept on the couch.

On this particular afternoon, he wasn’t in the mood to avoid. He had things to do, and that meant walking into the building where Kris wasn’t and getting his job in order. Now that the crisis with Sonya had been averted, Hayden needed another thing to occupy his brain. Work was the perfect excuse, and besides, he knew the town could only dodge bullets for so long.

Time to work on one particular piece of the puzzle; A piece that had been his alone, and would continue to be until he found away around it.

So he went looking for Emmeline.

Emmy liked to think she was a decently generous person.

She let nearly everyone she met, who seemed kind enough and trustworthy, borrow her books without charge. She kept expensive herbs and charms on hand on the off chance a friend might need them. She lost money on most of the in-store merchandise, feeling terribly greedy when she sold the needed items at market rates.

But at times like these… when she wanted - no, needed -- a particular item from her inventory, only to find it either missing or nearly out of stock, she could very well scream with the frustration.

"Damn it, Aidan," she muttered to the empty shop. After all, who else would have taken a half pound of whole star anise? There were few real practitioners stopping by the shop as of late, and Emmy herself hadn't used any in ages. And even that had only been to put a bit of spice into her tea.

"I'd better have some left in the jar at home, or he's in for it," she grumbled to herself, the noise of her own voice filling the quiet of the shop front.

The sound of feet interrupted the relative calm. Hayden came down the stairs in a rush because he had something on his mind, and was hoping to catch the shopkeeper and landlord before she took off for the day... Or before he lost his nerve to ask this favor of her. It had to be that same anxious edge that made him move faster than typical.

“Emmy, you got a second?” He put his hands that smelled of cigarettes on the countertop and looked around. The shop was nearly silent, but it wouldn’t pay to have townsfolk -- or really anyone -- hearing this particular conversation.

Once the coast was clear, he shifted onto his other foot and added, “I hate to even ask.” She could say no. That didn’t escape him, and then he’d be back to square one.

Emmy glanced up with a friendly smile, annoyance dissipated. Anxious though Hayden may have seemed, it was always good to see a friendly face in the shop. Hands full of varying herbs, she busied herself braiding them into a thick, rigid stick for later burning, tying the ends and middle with a soft twine.

"Hello, Hayden," she said, affecting a somewhat cheerful tone in response to his edgy demeanor. "Sure, I've got nothing but time lately. Ask away - what's on your mind?"

No sense beating around the bush. “Cloaking spells.” He watched what she did with the herbs for a minute. Given the confidence in her hands and what he knew of Emmeline’s gift, he figured it was safe to ask. As far as Hayden knew, the shopkeeper had the most magical know-how in the area. Which made him lucky.

Hayden scratched his temple and leaned against a stack. He crossed his forearms and made himself slow down and think through the conversation before he blurted out words that could send red flags to anything listening to the airwaves. No telling if Elfleda had managed to get her invisible friends into the place to keep tabs. “Temporary ones. Do they work... Can you do them... And would you do one for me?”

Emmeline blinked. Nothing quite like getting straight to the point.

"Cloaking spells," she repeated. A hundred different ideas popped into her mind, of different spells and varieties of charms, but one stuck out more than the others. The real question was whether or not it would work.

"I've done something near to them," she admitted after a long moment. "So I could probably manage. What are we cloaking? A person? And if so, in the physical or mental sense? Or maybe both?"

Hayden could feel the buzz of anticipation in his chest. It wasn‘t a guarantee, but she hadn‘t shut him down, either. Steps in the right direction. He pushed ahead. “I’m looking for something that can wipe me off the radar screen,” gesturing widely with his hand, “Gone missing. At least for a couple of hours. I didn’t realize you could block out mind reading, too. But that’s good. There’s something I’m looking into -- it’s legit -- but I don’t want any outside forces trying to beat me to the punch.”

He rubbed his elbow and looked around them, hoping there was something he could point to and give Emmeline an idea where he was going with all this. When nothing jumped out at him, Hayden took a calculated risk and went on quietly, “I ran across it in my research, but I got warned off. Right now I can’t look into it, I can’t speak about it, I can barely even think about it, if I want to keep the skin on my back.” Hayden went back to the counter and dropped his voice even further. “Emmy, if I figure this thing out, it‘ll be big.”

"It can keep an empath out of your mind until revoked, but anything else… anyone stronger, it would only be temporary," Emmeline replied cautiously. The sudden need for a cryptic explanation was overwhelming, and Emmeline believed she had a fair idea of what - rather, who - Hayden was to be hiding from.

But she dare not even think of it. Too much of her was still open to all that darkness.

"I can make you disappear - figuratively, at least - for some time. I can guarantee up to a day, though not much more than that. How soon?"

Naming a time was what made Hayden’s stomach drop into his shoes. He could remember a time when he felt fearless; like he didn’t have a thing to lose, just pieces of himself to give to a cause he believed he was meant for, job title or not, even if it meant jumping into the unknown, or leaving behind people he cared about, or dying. Now he thought about damage control. He thought about a woman he didn’t even have anymore. He thought about making it count.

There wasn’t really a thing Hayden could do to prepare. In fact, the quicker he did it, the less likely someone might figure out his game before he got to roll the dice. He squeezed the counter while he made up his mind, and once the answer was there, some of his tension melted away.

“How’s tomorrow sound?”

Emmy made a quick check of her other herbal stores; she would be needing arnica, and a whole lot of it. Seeing the canister full to nearly the brim with the wispy dried root, she knew she had more than enough.

"Tomorrow, then," she agreed, unsettled by the apparent gravity of the situation. It was difficult not to ask, the curiosity and her old friend fear pushing at her every nerve, but she knew better than to bother. Hayden needed secrecy here, and quiet; she would give him that much, at least. "You needn't be present for the spell, so long as you leave something of yours behind for me to work with."

Hayden took off his watch and laid it on the counter. Then he felt around in his pockets and came up with something else. It was his apartment key. “Do me a favor and hang onto this for me. I’m going to leave a stack of notebooks on the coffee table. If you want to know what’s going on, look there after I’m gone. If a woman named Alexis comes by, she works for the Council. She can get copies of whatever she wants.”

Emmy nodded, a worried frown creasing her brow as she collected the items that Hayden laid out; the key went into the cash register drawer, and the watch into her sweater pocket. She went over his words in her mind, making notes of what she would need to remember: notebooks on the table; Alexis - council.

"I suppose it's almost redundant, but… Hayden, be careful. Whatever it is, be careful."

"Yeah.” Agreeing seemed like the right thing to do, even if this was the most uncareful thing he’d ever done in his life. Hayden took his eyes off the pocket of Emmeline’s sweater, where the watch had gone. “You, too. Thanks, Emmeline.”

My In-Law, the Demoness

Hayden Maragos was more than a book guy. He was a real guy’s guy. It was written all over him, from the two-day old beard to the crumpled pack of Marlboros always bulging in his breast pocket, to the t-shirt that never got tucked into his waistband. He typically had the look of a manual laborer about him, even when he hadn‘t done any.

When he wanted a beer, he went to a bar in town and made small-talk with his neighbors. If he wanted wings with it, he’d hit a sports pub where he could catch a game while he ate. Then he’d go home and hit the books, or take a walk around town to see about a vampire or two.

But not once in his testosterone-laden life did Hayden want to hang around demons, just to prove he could. Particularly not in a bar called The Basement, where they served up blood alongside the beer. The thought of it turned his stomach. You couldn’t move in the place without bumping into a vampire. His hand itched toward his jacket pocket so many times, you would’ve thought he was a slayer.

Except he was a man. A man who apparently had responsibilities, and he was going to stand up to them.

The wedding band was chaffing a red ring around his finger. He had put it back on for Sonya’s sake, and now he couldn’t stop messing with it. Turning it relentlessly. Making sure it didn’t get stuck again.

"Sonya is not be wantings the marrieds, Mallory Quinn! Tell marrieds to go away!!!"

Sonya had calmed down a little since that telephone conversation. Time was often a great healer, although when having a literally demonic mother like Devora, it could also be fraught with agitation.

This was just about the only place she felt relatively at ease with taking her little jacket off and stretching out her wings from their cramped hiding position. It was a marvel how she even managed it, such were the dimensions, but manage she did and was always grateful for the opportunity to not have to do so.

Sonya appeared to have two basic modes of personality she showed to the world: Brazenly confident and watchfully suspicious. It was the latter on display here and, catching sight of her... Husband - husband! The girl wandered over, her body language conveying extreme caution and emphasized, like a pair of huge canine ears, with the posture of those very wings on her back.

Gingerly, she made a silent nod to the man, not quite feeling comfortable enough for body contact. Her own ring had yet to even be taken off. She did, however, recognize there was a need to talk and that was why the meeting had been arranged.

That and a third party's interest.

"You... OK?" The young hybrid asked, doing her best at small-talk, such as it was. A pause being given. "We should be findings table? For 'chit-chat', da?"

Hayden did a double-take when the Russian girl arrived. She looked the same as she had in the hotel -- granted she had more clothes on now -- but he didn’t expect the wings to be out in full force. Jesus. For one thing, the two of them were in public. For another, they were even bigger than he remembered.

How the hell did she fit them under her shirt?

As Sonya made her way across, he took a cautious look around and noticed the ease with which the crowd parted to allow the redhead and her wingspan through. A variety of facial expressions were directed towards her, ranging from curiosity to appreciation.

He settled back and remembered the obvious. It was a demon bar. He was probably the strangest thing going in there. So he swallowed some of his beer and leaned closer to hear what she said. With an idle scratch of his head, he surveyed the room. “Yeah... yeah, I’ll get one. You want a beer or something?” Now that the jig was up about her heritage, Hayden clung to the hope that she’d order vodka and not a pint of the red stuff.

[Thread: Open to Sonya, Hayden and Devora]

On the Warpath

The midday light was a harsh reminder to Hayden that he was hung over. He lurched to his Jeep with a hand over his eyes. They were already red and burning from undesirable tears just like ones stuck in his throat. Swallowing was going to be a challenge. He hoped it wouldn’t stop him from pouring another gallon of alcohol down his throat to take the edge off the worst morning of his life.

After fumbling for his pocket, Hayden realized it was empty. The car keys were upstairs where he dropped them coming in. The hounds of hell couldn’t chase him through that door again. He had a feeling that watching Kris pull a suitcase out might be the last straw.

Before what?

It was a measure of his self-control that Hayden hadn’t driven his hand through a wall already.

He put his palms on the scorching hot hood and let pain run up and down the stitches in his left hand. He ground his teeth together. Kept his mouth shut tight so he wouldn’t scream and let her hear him.

Where were you supposed to go when the woman you thought you’d have forever was up there separating your things, drawing a neat line down the center of your life together? Hers into this box, yours left hanging in one half of the closet. One set of the drawers. One side of the bed.

Christ, if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was having an aneurism. The pain behind his eyes was unrelenting. Hayden pounded his fist on the scarred hood. He needed to pull himself together, fast. If the knot in his chest kept redoubling, and it wouldn’t bode well for anything that got in his way today. Pocketing the ring, he started off down the sidewalk.

All she wanted was to know where Sonya was. That was all.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she'd believe it.

Mallory went by the diner first and poked her head in, but the lack of Hayden's presence there had her walking again in less than five minutes. The bookstore, then, since she remembered seeing him there quite a bit. This couldn't be as bad as it looked. She hoped.

The redhead walked purposefully towards Unseen Insight, hands jammed into her pockets. Hayden was a nice guy. Hayden was a friend. But Sonya had been clearly panic-stricken over the phone, and it had Mallory struggling with the whole benefit-of-the-doubt thing.

She spotted the Watcher across the street, and she crossed the hot surface with a slightly stiff-legged stride. Cool it, she ordered herself, but she didn't want to cool it. Between Sonya's apparent crisis and her own concerns about Boden, she was stretched just a little tight emotionally.

In full stomp, she approached Hayden, pointing a finger at him. In a tone of voice that was generally reserved for a soap opera character about to lay a verbal smack-down, she said, "You."

Well that was a different approach. Generally Mallory just shuffled up and said, “Hi.”

Regardless of method, Hayden wasn’t in the mood for it. It might’ve been obvious from his physical cues -- his strides were tense and quick, his shoulders stooped, his head down -- but there was no guarantee people were paying attention.

Because Mallory had apparently missed the memo, Hayden directed his boots in a wide arc around the redhead and put his hand up between them. A vague ‘stop’ sign indicating that this was a really bad fucking time.

“Whatever it is, Quinn... It can wait.” His tone was clear. Get out of my way.

“No, it can't wait. Where is she?"

She let him pass by, but then turned to face his retreating back. Her voice was lower now, but not by much. Worse, she could feel the urge to yell hovering impatiently beneath her breastbone. Swiping at a sudden droplet of sweat that wandered down the side of her neck, Mallory shifted her posture.

"You didn't just leave her there by herself, did you?" she barreled on doggedly, taking a few steps until she'd fallen in on Hayden's left. Plucking at the sleeve of his shirt, she tried to get him to stop walking.

"Did you leave her on her own? Is she by herself?"

Hayden swung around and roughly flung the hand off his sleeve. “Get the fuck off me, Quinn!”

Who the hell did she think she was to grab him? He was so goddamned tired of shouting to himself all the time, nobody listening or giving a damn what he had to tell them, until the instant he had an answer they wanted.

He had no way of knowing that Mallory was referring to someone other than his girlfriend. Especially considering that Sonya was anything but a damsel in distress in his eyes, and the only thing running through the watcher’s head, over and over again, was the image of Kris on a bus headed in the wrong direction.

In no time flat, his face had turned beet red, and it was obvious when he stuck it into hers and yelled, painstakingly slow in case she didn‘t get the point, “You want to know where she is? Upstairs in my apartment, packing!” His arm pointed back in the direction he came from.

“That’s the only thing I give a shit about right now, including you. You want to convince her not to leave me? Be my guest.” A vein was starting to throb in Hayden’s temple. The vague scent of alcohol was still on his body. Anger was what everything boiled down to now. He was so furious he could barely get the oxygen in and out of his lungs.

Having Hayden suddenly in her face made Mallory flinch backwards, but she steeled herself against his anger with her own sudden bad temper. She could smell the booze, which meant that he was either still drunk or freshly hung over, and she raised her voice deliberately.

"She's not at your apartment," she blared back. "If she was she would have told me. Where did you leave her?" God, did he even remember where he'd seen Sonya last? The redhead's mouth tightened as her jaw set.

"She's confused right now, confused and scared," she continued, her voice still rising. "And apparently she's your responsibility now, which is why I'm asking you." Had the day been this hot when she left the trailer, or was it just her? "Where. Is. Sonya?!?!"

He visibly flinched.

“...Sonya?”

It took him a few seconds of decompression to realize that Mallory had somehow gotten the news. Wedding bells were in the air, along with a shit load of blame being thrown in his direction again. So much for the concept of marital bliss.

“I don’t believe this shit.” Hayden took a short, foul-tempered walk in the other direction, and then came back out her to yell with his entire body, “How should I know?! The last time I saw her, she was in a hotel in Vegas,” he pointed randomly at the horizon, “Yapping to all her Russian friends on the phone about the grrreat news. You want to know who’s confused?”

He waited a beat and jabbed his chest erratically. “Me! I’m the one who got dragged into some orchestrated green card scheme last night! I’m the one she was howling at because I... what the hell did she call it... right, spurned her! I’m the one she got drunk after the whole,” he lifted his hands into quote fingers, “ ‘misunderstanding’! You know something, her family liquor recipe packs one hell of a punch, Quinn, because the last thing I remember is her dragging me down the sidewalk toward some chapel and then waking up in a hotel room, and she’s half naked and screaming like a banshee.”

He went into his pocket and pulled the inscribed ring out for her inspection. “Let me ask you something, Quinn, do I look like a Roscoe to you?”

Mallory looked at the ring, her posture still tense with annoyance. Cooling off a notch, but only a notch. "I don't know, I never thought about it," she responded in a lower voice, then added, "And don't yell at me, you..." With an eyeroll, the redhead threw her hands into the air, then let out an exasperated sigh.

"And you don't believe this shit? You're not the one who was listening to her talk about 'dirty sex-touchings' and how you wanted her to make your babies. I thought she'd been sold into white slavery, for God's sake!" Her voice was rising again, and she blew oxygen out through her nose. Raking one hand through her hair, she realized with a sinking stomach the other thing that Hayden had said.

'She's half naked and screaming like a banshee.'

Which meant....damn it.

"Panic's catching," she told Hayden sourly. "I guess its communicable by phone, not just face to face.”

Unlike her, the more Hayden heard, the more pissed off he got. It was changing though, going from the loud, explosive kind of anger to the quiet seething rage that meant trouble. Like he was boiling on the inside, and it wouldn’t be long before the steam needed a release.

Some very un-Hayden-like things were about to get said.

“Mallory,” he started off low, with a hand on the back of his neck. “Your ego is unbelievable.” His fingers gripped tighter every second he stood there, staring at her shoes, about to blow the lid off everything he‘d been holding in for months if he wasn‘t careful.

He gestured widely with that hand. “You know what... you’re right! I wasn’t the one on the phone, listening to my good friend Sonya talk about dirty sex. You know why? Because I was at my apartment, trying to explain to my girlfriend how I woke up hung over in a hotel room with a demon and a wedding ring on my finger!”

Hayden gave an un-amused laugh, the kind that usually meant that a mental snap! had taken place inside someone’s head. There wasn‘t a part of his body that Hayden couldn‘t feel his pulse in, and it was throbbing as if he‘d just run a marathon.

“But this isn’t about you, is it?” he asked. “Having a friend who misconstrues everything and then exaggerates until it doesn’t even make sense doesn’t give you the right to act like a renegade with a free pass to chew me out without asking questions. As we speak, my girlfriend is packing her things to move to Chicago. Alone. There are thirty-five stitches holding my left hand together!”

Regardless of whether or not she cared, he held his palm up so she couldn’t help but see it. “I don’t even know how those cuts got there in the first place! But I have a feeling it has something to do with the fucking Bride of Leviathan being on my back, saying she’ll rip my girlfriend to shreds if I tell anybody what’s going on in those mines. You’d probably know more about that if you and the rest of the people in this town got your heads out of your asses and answered a goddamn email. You don’t know from stress. But if you blame me for another thing, you’re going see what it does to somebody. Do you understand?”

[Scene Continued in Thread: Open to Mallory and Hayden]
http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/998430.html?mode=reply&style=mine

Apart at the Seams

Kris was doing mundane, boring tasks like cleaning the bathroom or neatening of the living room to take her mind off the phone call she'd had from her mother and the decision she had to make, for the sake of her family.

Eddy had been following her at her heels all day and Kris felt like she was running on auto pilot, like she couldn't quite feel anything because if she let herself think too deeply she'd end up crying or screaming. Neither of which seemed like a good option at this current point in her life.

Sighing, she eased her weight down onto the bed that she shared with Hayden and tried desperately not to think about saying goodbye. She got teary just thinking about it and she was sure she'd never find another guy like Hayden. She never wanted to. He was her heart and it would seem that home was right where the heart was but family wasn't, family was back in Chicago.

Inhaling a breath, she curled up against the wall and just took to resting her chin on her knees as she closed her eyes and breathed. Eddy appeared in the doorway, making this pathetic whining sound in the back of his throat which Kris peeked her eyes open at. Rolling them slightly, she got up off the bed. "Fine, I'll give you something to eat and then you can go back to ignoring me."

Padding through the apartment Kris rummaged in the kitchen looking for Eddy's dog biscuits.

Hayden wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked down and found lead weights strapped to both ankles. Proverbial ‘ball and chain’ jokes aside, it took him an inordinate amount of time to climb the steps to the apartment. What was he going to tell her?

‘So, babe. I got drunk in Vegas last night and woke up married to another woman. Want a beer?’

The truth was, Hayden was an ordinary man in all respects except for three.

He had a moral code that was stronger than average. He wasn’t crippled by fear, the way some people could be. And lastly there was Kris, his girlfriend of two years, who by the simple fact of her extra-ordinary presence made Hayden a better man. To think of losing her over something like this was enough to make his knees go weak.

Seemed like all those ‘better than average’ qualities of his were on the line today.

He went into the apartment quieter than usual. The ring was in his pocket. He dropped his keys and wondered if she was home. If she knew that he hadn’t been. If she would smell the liquor in his sweat.

He scrubbed at his hair and listened out. Heard rustling in the cabinets.

“Kris?”

Kris turned her head at the sound of Hayden's voice and yelled, "I'm in the kitchen." She left Eddy to his food and walked to the doorway to regard Hayden as he appeared at the door. Her eyebrow arched. "What in the hell happened to you?"

She glanced to her phone which lay in a broken mess on the floor and stepped rather casually towards it to try and slide it under the nearest available chair. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd been but right now I'm not sure I want to know."

Also perhaps now was the wrong time to bring up the fact that her family was ...well for lack of a better word, struggling. All because her dumb-ass of a father had ditched and run, just like she knew he would.

All he could do was wait there, stranded in the living room, and do what Hayden always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. Rub the back of his neck and look down. “I got drunk,” he admitted, sounding tired and blank. Why his eyes were focusing on Kris’ kneecaps was a mystery, but he couldn’t seem to work them any higher.

“There was a misunderstanding at a restaurant. Some Russian guys thought I was somebody else, tried to set me up with a mail-order bride. After it got cleared up, I let somebody mix me a drink to take the edge off. Mistake.”

With effort, he dropped his arm and focused on her moving foot. Hayden couldn’t figure if he was projecting, or if she was standing a little shiftily, too. “You okay?”

Kris blinked her eyes at what Hayden had to tell her. Drunk? Russian guys? Mail-order bride? What in the hell?

"Um," she managed in a really articulate response before furrowing her brow, "Mail-order bride?"

At his question in regards to her own mental state, she just sort of swallowed and stepped in to wrap his neck with her fingers. She didn't even seem to care he was all sweaty or reeked of alcohol. "I'm really not okay," she managed as she tried for a brave smile, failed miserably and just sort of looked at him with watery brown eyes.

Come on Kris, say it already. She could slay vampires and demons all night but could she actually say the words she needed to say? No, never.

“Hey..,” he bent his knees to get on level with her eyes, “Hey... It’s okay.” Usually Hayden didn’t have a problem spitting out the things that would dry her eyes, make her laugh or give him a hard nudge instead of crying. Maybe it was because Hayden knew there wasn’t much point -- he’d be tripling the load in a few minutes, if he could get up the balls to show her the ring -- but his mind had run out of comfort.

He ran his hands through Kris’ thick hair. Noticed how it smelled so good, whenever he tousled it. How heavy it was, but soft, too. Remembered how it looked fanned across his chest. Little things would kill him later. If she didn’t do it first.

“Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” He put his forehead on hers. God, he hoped it could. Hayden had been operating as Kris’ personal soldier so long, he didn’t believe there was something he couldn’t make right if he needed to.

"I don't think you can fix this," Kris whispered desperately as she clutched at his shoulders.

She inhaled a breath, wet her lips and watched him with an intense focused gaze. "I love you so much, Hayden. I do." She smiled now because she meant every word that she said. "I'd die for you, without question and without hesitation and I'd do anything, anything for you."

She smoothed her hands across his shoulders then curled them in the necklace he always wore and swallowed hard. "My mother called me. My um father, he ditched and they're struggling to pay rent because my mum can't work as she's got a baby now so um..," Kris inhaled a breath and practically forced herself to look into that beautiful hazel gaze she'd fallen for two years ago, "...I have to go back to Chicago."

Kris wrapped his shoulders with her arm and dragged him closer. "I don't want to, I really don't but it's my family, Hayden." She closed her eyes, scared to look at him and see everything she had never wanted to cause him to feel. "Wouldn't be forever, don't even know for how long but if I don't go then I don't know what will happen."

All the air was slammed out of his lungs. Sudden and hard, like a punch that never landed, but did its damage just the same. His fingers went rigid in her hair. They were probably pulling it, but not because he told them too.

It was just the automatic reaction to getting his life’s light ripped out of his clutches. He held on.

He got the message. Loud and clear. Family, the same thing that always reared its ugly head, every goddamn time Kris turned around. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but the first thing that came out of his mouth was pathetically simple.

“What?”

No time for her to answer before the next line was already out of his mouth, forced from between teeth that clamped down to stop something ugly, and failed miserably. “You’re leaving the job... leaving me... to go be somebody’s meal ticket? Fuck, Kris, we’ll send them a check!”

"Don't think a check will cover the bill my father's managed to rack up," Kris managed with a weak smile as she slid her hands up into Hayden's hair and she curled her fingers around it. "It's just family, Hayden. I know what it's like when you've got people slamming on your front door because the rent's not been paid and I know what it's like when people come looking for your father and he's not there so they take something else that'll just about cover what he owes."

She combed his hair through her fingers and pulled him closer, like if she let go he might disappear. "I'd ask you to come back with me but I know that you have work to do here and it's my family's fuck-up. It also isn't fair." She shook her head, swallowed hard and wondered if the tears had started yet. Judging by the heat on her cheeks she was willing to wager on yes.

"All I've thought about is you and having to tell you and having to say goodbye, I don't think I can even..." Kris shook her head, the words clogging up the back of her throat.

The mixture of disbelief and anger had quickly gone to something else. It happened when she started to cry, and Hayden knew she wasn’t kidding. She wasn’t exaggerating, and she wasn’t considering either.

Kris was leaving.

“Baby.” He groped for the back of her head, to keep Kris’s face in front of his. “Don’t.“

If eyes could drill holes, then that’s what his were doing right now, even as his feet shifted to get closer to hers. Like he could stop her walking away if he refused to move. Desperation wasn‘t making him logical.

“You can’t fix this. What’re you going to do, leverage yourself to pay the rent? Let the goddamn courts go after your dad, take him for anything he’s got.” While the words came out, he already knew what she’d say to discount them. His head was spinning, and it didn’t have anything to do with a hangover.

Ever since he laid eyes on her, Hayden knew that she was for him. Fate’s answer to his questions, not about why he went to Searchlight but about why he’d stay. All this time, he’d been protecting. Regular, useless hands trying to stop the gaps, and when Hayden wondered what he was trying for, all he had to do was look at her.

So he did look, and he didn‘t care what was in his pocket because that was a mistake. One he didn’t even remember making. But Kris was it. He pulled out all the stops.

“Erastis... Please.”

"I have to," Kris managed in a choked up voice as she held onto him and she closed her eyes as he pleaded with her. Tears continued to track in long salt lines over her face and she held onto him with all the desperation, anguish and grief that she was feeling. "I have to fix it, I can't..." She shook her head, pulling him down and pressing her forehead against his as if it would make all of this easier if she just didn't let go.

"Hayden," she whispered his name and opened her eyes. "You're my everything, you are. You've kept me standing when I should have fallen, you've made me laugh when I should have cried and you've saved me so many times." She worked her fingers through his hair, letting its familiar weight and texture soothe the obviously frazzled emotions coursing through her.

She shook her head. "I just can't let my father destroy..." Kris was struggling with her words, tears and pain making it hard to speak let alone look at Hayden. He made her want to stay, made her want to say ‘screw you sort out your own problems’ but Kris, she'd always been the one to take on responsibility. Bear it until her shoulders couldn't take any more.

Kris wound her arms around his neck, arched her back and covered Hayden's mouth with her own. She kissed him like a drowning woman, like he was the very air she needed to breathe, the very thing that made her heart beat day after day and night after night, and he was. Hayden was her soul mate. She'd never believed in those until she met him and he'd talked about fate and one morning she just woke up and thought, "He's mine."

She pulled away a moment later, "I'm yours, now and always."

Kris intended on holding to that, no man could ever take Hayden's place and she never wanted another and she hoped and prayed she'd be back one day but she wouldn't ask him to wait because that wouldn't be fair. He deserved to be loved and he more than deserved a woman that could appreciate him for the brilliant man that he was. She was still crying, this felt worse than any injury she could have taken and she wasn't afraid to show just how much this hurt. She'd never been afraid of showing Hayden how she felt.

“No.” Swallowing, he rocked his head back and forth against hers. Calloused fingers pulled a handful of her hair around and he let the fragrance wash into him. Hayden’s insides felt like they’d been stretched until ripping point. “I only had you when they let me.”

Seeds of guilt were sprouting roots in his gut, and spreading out hungrily. He wondered if he was supposed to let her go. Maybe he should’ve pushed her away to start with, when Elfleda threatened him. If this last catastrophe with Sonya wasn’t another sign that Kris was supposed to leave him there, Hayden didn’t know what was.

He put his mouth on her lips and kissed her. With his vocals shredded by the lump in his throat, he muttered, “I love you. Any day you want me, for the rest of your life, call. I’ll be there. I don’t care what you want me for, I’ll do it. But don’t wait for me. I’m stuck here.”

This was going to kill him. He knew it.

Hayden dug the cheap ring out of his pocket and held it up. “All I can say about this is I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I woke up with it on. I don’t remember anything. There was nothing physical, I know that” He shook his head. “Maybe she drugged me... it was a demon.”

"There's never going to be anyone else, Hayden," Kris answered honestly and truthfully. "Not after you." That was the God's honest truth.

She toyed with his necklace, wound it tight around her fingers. "If you find someone that makes you happy, someone that loves you, don't think about me... just go for it." Hard to fucking say but she meant it, all she ever wanted was his happiness.

Now her brow furrowed when he presented the ring and she looked at Hayden. "Is that a wedding ring?" She took the ring, looked up at Hayden and blinked. "You got married?" He got married to someone else who wasn't me? Kris quickly ignored the voice; she had no right. She was after all ripping out his heart and doing a dance all over it, now wasn't she?

“Kris, I would never--”

Hayden’s head ticked to the side, and he closed his mouth. He could hardly say that, could he? Apparently under the right circumstances, he would. So he tried again, and took hold of the back of her neck to keep her close.

“I don’t know what happened. I let her mix me a drink... a couple of drinks, in a pub after the mail-order thing. I thought it was a misunderstanding, they called me another guy’s name. But I don’t know now, because I woke up in some ... fucking hotel room, and she’s shrieking at me in a pair of demon wings, and speaking Russian in a cell phone.”

Humiliating as it was, Hayden’s eyes were full of salt water. It was getting worse by the second.

Leaning closer, “Kris, you know... you know I would never cheat on you. You’re the only... god... I can’t count how many times I wanted to ask you to marry me. I don’t know why I didn’t.” He cut himself off before he said anything worse.

Kris’ eyes burned into Hayden's and she curled her hand around the ring. "Guess you thought you had all the time in the world," she offered up weakly as she glanced to her hand and unfurled her fingers. The ring clattered on the ground.

"I know you Hayden, you'd never..." Kris shook her head, adamant that he would never do that. "I love you, Hayden Maragos. And if you had asked me, I would have said yes." A bittersweet confession, all things considered. She'd never imagined herself as the marrying kind, hell her parents hadn't inspired a great feeling of hope but Hayden, he'd made anything possible.

She licked her lips, moved her hands to cradle his face and then pressed her lips to his eyes.

Hayden laughed under his breath, but it was an ugly sound. There was restless energy crawling up and down his arms. Energy that made him want to punch the wall, or break glass, or pick her up and hold on so tight he’d never forget what her body felt like.

With his stomach shuddering and his arms unwilling to be still, he bent down and picked Kris up under her hips, then just held on. Hayden’s nose sought the crook of her neck. Trying to get some relief from how bad he ached, he grumbled, “Now you tell me,” but by the time he finished, he was torn up all over again.

Damn it. He didn’t know whether he wanted to get out of there fast and not come back until every trace of her was gone, or take her into their room, strip her clothes away, and memorize every inch of her until he could have her again.

[Post Continued in Thread: Open to Kris & Hayden]
http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/996476.html

$@*%!

"You! You are late!"

Minding his own business, Hayden Maragos was to find that he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The restaurant was small, but the couple of men who grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him through the nearby doors, could not have been described as anything other than large.

The third, speaking with a Russian accent and tutting with a conspicuous repetitive glancing at his wristwatch, led on, yanking out a chair and ordering them to virtually dump the poor guy down in it. A red rose being thrust into his hand.

"Here! You buy!" The man demanded. "She be here - any second!"

“What the fuck are you doing?” Asked in a bewildered tone as the man with the five o’ clock shadow and a head full of tangled hair pushed up against the resistance holding him on the tiny chair.

It had started out all right. A guy’s night on the city, with Hayden flying solo and feeling slightly out of it. His body was full of chain-smoked nicotine and a couple of beers that he drank over a game of pool at some sports pub with peanut shells on the floor. Fifty bucks richer in one back pocket, but too mentally bent to really care, Hayden had ambled his way to the next diversion.

And here it was. A just-bloomed flower lurking a few inches from his face while a fat European got a little too free with his personal space.

The would-be watcher swiped the back of his hand at the Russian’s grip. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” His scowl looked harder than the words sounded; Hayden’s characteristic vocal minimalism didn’t really cover it. It wasn't every day he got bodily yanked off the street and set in a chair by a stranger.

There was some consternation between the men, with only a smattering of English being observed. Mostly in the shape of, "No flower!" Being said in befuddled curiosity, as if refusing it was the most bizarre thing in the world. But before further discussion began, in through the doors wandered one Sonya Ramius.

"Ah! She here! She here!"

She looked like the photograph, anyway. They had a lot of girls on the books and couldn't afford to meet every single one of them. Sonya was a casually-dressed female of the right age, complete with long, red hair. It had to be her and, when she frowned with a puzzled expression, muttering something in Russian, they knew they had got the right one.

Or at least, they had thought so.

Telling Sonya in shared language that everything would be OK and that it had all 'been arranged', the redhead was no wiser than before, but who was she to turn down a free meal? Her appetite had demanded that she at least check out the food here and she had the money to pay for it. Still, why not?

The original man, meanwhile, nudged Hayden's shoulder. "This night go well, you marry! All paper work done! Your new wife, yes? She make good fun in bed! Thank you for choosing your Russian bride, please shop again!"

With no opportunity for Hayden to refuse or set them straight, Sonya was ushered before him and seated. A big thumbs up being given to Hayden by one of the men from behind her back.

"Ehhh..." Looking at Hayden with a vague sense of recognition, Sonya shrugged and looked at the menu. "We are be having, uh... The soups first, yes?"

In the deep recesses of Hayden's brain, a record scratched noisily.

So he blurted out, "Wife?!"

All around them, people went dead silent. Some froze with forks halfway to open mouths. A waiter with a tray full of drinks nearly let the load slip.

With heat creeping up his collar, Hayden looked around suspiciously, and half-expected Ashton Kutcher's face behind the nearest artificial plant. 'You've been Punk'd!' Only he wasn't famous.

What the hell was going on? He would've gotten up and walked out right then, except that he avoided public scenes like the plague, and he had a feeling if he moved too fast, he might piss himself on the way to the door.

Also, there was something about the redhead that triggered his memory. The 'eh what the heck' manner she adopted once sitting down. The strangely out-of-date fashion sense (whoa... denim jacket). The exotically slanted shape of her eyes looking at the menu hungrily, as if she might lick the laminated pictures...

Yeah...

The menu! He'd seen this girl before. Maybe a year ago? Surprising he placed her at all. Then again, there weren't many Russians hanging around in Searchlight, and even fewer that got trapped with him in a diner. During a freak sandstorm. Along with a vampiric 80s pop idol look-a-like.

Hayden leaned forward and snatched the menu out of her clutches. Dangling it way overhead like this was Tartarus, he hissed, "Who put you up to this?"

Sonya looked up like someone had just shot her pet dead. Why was she being accused? Poor Sonya never did anything against anyone!

Well, not unless they gave her good reason to, but that was different... Here, the Russian was sure, she was innocent.

"Shto sloocheelas'?"
What's wrong?

Looking genuinely hurt, the girl felt embarrassed and glanced sheepishly around herself, hoping to deflect the attention they had attracted if she, like some wild animal under attack, were to adopt the smallest profile she was able to.

"I... I let you order," she allowed, thinking the man was annoyed by her initiation of looking the menu over. With food available, a hungry Sonya was at least willing to compromise and fidgeted with hands on the table. "Sonya is meaning no harms."

"Sonya is meaning no harms."

He deadpanned it. Hayden was nothing if not level-headed, and while the imagery in his brain spoke of overturning tables as he pawed his way out the door like a reluctant bridegroom, it was apparent that some kind of diplomacy was needed here.

Alright then. He could do that. A regular guy he might've looked and once been, but he was a regular guy with training now! Yes! A watcher's training, completed via coffee stained manuals sent FedEx and ill-fated emails. 'Welcome! You have no new messages!' Come to think of it, his training was eerily similar to online ordainment.

"Listen..." Hayden brought the menu down and leaned closer, to try and keep their exchange private. It wasn't easy with the Russian mail-order mafia standing a few feet away, still winking and giving 'ok' signs with their fingers. 'You can do it!'

No. He definitely could not.

Hayden propped the menu up as a makeshift shield between them and everybody else.

"Sonya--" He broke off when he saw the redhead eyeing the food selection again, and biting her lip. He whispered vehemently, "Forget the food already!" Then he rubbed the back of his neck, hard, getting more awkward and flustered all the time, and speeding up to get the whole bullshit over with.

"I ahh... I... would never marry you... Not even for a green card. Don't get me wrong! You're not bad... Looking. But you're not my type, that's ah... Brunette... More--" He brought his hands up to vaguely indicate the shape of his girlfriend's torso, thinking Sonya might know her, but stopped when he realized how it looked. "You know what, never mind. Christ, if I'm even seen with you, I might as well kick my own ass," he laughed under his breath, thinking of Kris, and then scrambling for cultural literacy, "Never," he swiped his hands back and forth, "Ja?"

If normal circumstances at somewhere as innocent as Searchlight's diner were a breeding ground for Sonya's paranoid suspicions, then Hayden had just given her a veritable adoption agency of the same. The poor girl was as much of an innocent as he was in all of this.

As he tried to clarify matters, Sonya only rose one eyebrow higher and higher, until facial muscles prevented it from going further and she began to rear head back, instead.

To Sonya, this man was not only volatile, he was a lunatic. Worse than that - he was a German lunatic.

Was he a spy? Someone sent to observe Russia's pride and joy? She was sure she remembered him from somewhere... Had he been trailing her? Or had she been correct about Elvis' diabolical plan to steal all her food away for his own greedy plan to consolidate his Kingdom of Rock and Roll? Was this man, in fact, an agent?

No, wait... Marriage? Her mother had sent him, surely!

Or...

"No... Marry Sonya...?" She asked, looking forlorn as could possibly be.

In reflection of that, redhead suddenly hardened features, taking his unexplained dislike of marriage as an affront.

"Then you spurn Sonya!" She accused, stamping foot under the table. "And you are making babies with girls I am not knowings! You say this! I know!"

Evidently, his attempt to explain his relationship to Kris had been communicated about as well as Sonya taking would-be elocution lessons.

As if to soothe over the lovers' spat, a violin player suddenly began a musical rendition of 'Some Enchanted Evening' in Italian - getting right in Hayden's face, with the biggest fake smile imaginable.

Explosions were, at this point, expected.

"What?"

He was still wide-eyed and reeling from the 'making babies' comment when the violinist swept in. Unable or perhaps unwilling to control his temper any longer, Hayden ripped the bow out of the musician's fingers and sent it whoosh, whooshing through the air. Where it landed, the hell if he knew.

All he registered was the entertainer's outcry of, "Eh!! Vaffanculo! Non mi rompere le palle!" Trumpeted with the typically associated gestures.

Now Italian, Hayden understood well enough to get the gist. 'Eh!! Go fuck yourself! Don't break my balls!'

Standing up now, Hayden was about to go toe-to-toe with the restaurant employee, and it was obvious that he was truly at his wits' end. Enough so that he bunched up the guy's vest in his fingers. "What did you say to me?"

Nearby, a restaurant manager weaved his way toward the table.

"You buy flower now, yes?"

It was one of the Russians again and, either in the interest of making a few extra bucks, or defusing the present situation, had pressed his luck - and the accompanying flora - against the man's chest.

All too quickly, the room was descending into pandemonium and the violin player seemed to give Hayden the finger, just as the manager came up to try and sort things out. There was all manner of things being said and argued over, all kinds of things being said here and there.

But it was the distraught cry from a redheaded female which seemed to grind everything to a screeching halt. Sonya pointing an accusing finger at the man in question.

"HE NO MARRY ME!!!"

"Hey! She good stock! Why you no marry?" Said the biggest, only to lead Sonya to growl in his direction, too.

"I am no... No stock!" She protested. "Sonya is no meats!"

"'Sonya'?"

There was a hasty referral to some notes and a great deal of scratching at heads.

"Tasha Virenko?"

"Nyet! Sonya Ramius!"

Then a look at Hayden, just as confused.

"Ehh... Christian Smith?"

Hayden turned his head in disbelief, and was still clutching the ruddy-faced violinist by the lapels. It was quiet enough in there to hear a fork scrape.

He let go abruptly. “Man, I don’t believe this shit.” Got right up in the nearest Russian’s face and jabbed at his own chest. “Maragos. Hayden. Not that fucking desperate.”

Turning to Sonya a second later. “No offense. I‘m sure your stock is..,” gesturing at nothing and everything about her body, “Prime.” Then with a hand combing through his hair, “I need a drink.”

The door tinkled, bringing attention to a blonde- and red-haired couple walking through the door.

"Christian and Tasha for a table for two?"

Quite clearly offended at the entire debacle, Sonya voiced a firm, "Hmm." She had just been regarded as unsuitable for marriage, seen as breeding stock and yelled at. All in all, she felt sincerely rebellious.

"Sonya, too," she remarked and virtually marched out through that same doorway, pausing only to collect thoughts, while she took in the night air to try and calm down.

"Eh... Apologies," said the Russian man to Hayden. A thumbs up gesture being automatically given again. "Thank you for coming! Please shop again!"

“Never shopped in the first place.” For some reason, grumbling felt good.

After lumbering out on the sidewalk, Hayden reached up and laced his hands behind his head. If he leaned back far enough, maybe the tension would snap out of his back. Although it seemed kind of unlikely.

Directing gaze up to the blackish-orange haze of night sky, he wondered what karmic screw-up he had made to get himself into this. Out of the corner of his eye, Sonya was visible. Feeling like amends needed to be made, he called out, “Hey..,” and then wandered over. Sheepishly swinging his arms back and forward. “You uh... You’re fine. I mean,” Hayden hunkered down and made a show of checking her out with a crooked, easy going smile, “If I was in the market for a Russian bride, I’d be a satisfied customer.”

Sonya regarded him with suspicion. It was in the narrowness of her eyes and limited turn of the head. She was distrustful.

Of course, Sonya was distrustful of virtually everyone.

"Hmm," she said again, twisting mouth slowly to one side and then the other, internally debating how best to then proceed. Even she, however, could see by now that he had been just as much of a victim as her.

So, turning more fully, the young Russian nodded slowly. "OK," she voiced, seeming to register his words as an apology. "OK," she said again, that time more accepting and breathed out an understanding sigh of freedom. She was out of the frying pan and, so far, had successfully navigated the fire.

"You are betting your buttocks of this, yes!" She admonished with good humor, even if her sentence structure was left as far behind as usual. "How am I knowings you? The face... We have been of the talkings, da? Before of this time."

With thumbs hooking into pockets over the buttocks in question, Hayden did the inane but normal thing and nodded toward the southeast, as though Searchlight was visible on the skyline. “From the Nugget... the sandstorm?” Maybe she would put it together, or maybe all the Russian would remember was her fan-girlish almost heart attack over ‘Billy Idol’. Either way, he’d given her a familiar restaurant she could grab onto.

In an effort to keep the mood light, he raised his shoulders and gave her a bemused look. “I dunno, Sonya. Keep getting stuck in weird situations with me, I might think you’re doing it on purpose.”

In the back of his head, Hayden had to admit this was the least weird thing he had going. Compared to the lines of stitches on both sides of his left hand, Sonya’s unintentional involvement in a transatlantic green card scheme was light fare.

Felt good to laugh, though. Maybe he needed it.

With the mood having lightened, the redhead could afford to hit his arm, smiling in knowledge of being teased. "Sonya should be saying this of you!" She replied and looked back at the restaurant for a moment.

"Billy Idol man..." And as she reminisced on her meeting of Spike, an even wider smile showed. "But he was not! Oh... This was sad day for Sonya... But I was be teachings you dirty Russian folksong and all was being well," the girl nodded, recollecting the events in almost picture-perfect fashion now.

"I was workings there, you know... At the cards. Sonya very good at cards! But more good at drinkings!"

“Like any self-respecting Russian,” he acknowledged, with good nature and more of the situationally-imposed stress melting off his shoulders; shoulders that had a habit of carrying too much weight. Research, the Exile, threats on his life, his girlfriend’s occasional disasters that came with the territory of being a slayer. Not to mention temporarily losing his mind, a few weeks back.

In the back of his brain, Hayden had a fuzzy memory of being a happy-go-lucky man in his early twenties. Only responsibilities, to prove himself as a researcher and to give a little faith now and then to the gods. What happened to all that?

When did he get so sober?

Hayden rubbed at the back of his neck, gave her a baleful smile. “I’m a beer man. Sometimes the hard stuff. Never been much for vodka. You going to tell me I’m missing out, or is that a stereotype?”

"Americans are not knowing how to make this," answered Sonya with a knowing smile. "Vodka... Just the right cold, this must be! Or else? No good! This is why you are having dog piss in the bars...!"

There was a certain way to serving vodka in Russia, which tended to demand it was at such a low temperature as to be almost viscous in its consistency. Whether or not that actually made it better was probably open to debate, but as someone who had come to appreciate it in such a way, the variations of how it was to be found abroad were less than intoxicating.

In a manner of speaking.

"So!" The redhead announced, agreeable, as always, whenever the subject of alcohol and company was on offer. "You point where and Sonya will be follows."

Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, now, Hayden found himself under the determined stare of a redhead who wanted her drink -- wanted it now -- and seemed to want it with him. “You want to drink with me.” When he was checking for clarification, the watcher had a way of stating the obvious instead of making a question.

Hesitating, he looked up the street behind him at the variety of establishments, all open and most inviting alcohol along with gambling.

They would make an interesting pair of carousers. Sonya, a foreigner who kept a fiery temperament in the most casual of conversations, everything emphatic and usually mispronounced, and never lacking in enthusiasm. Hayden as easygoing in appearance as they came. Shredded jeans worn out by rough use, an untucked tshirt, two days’ worth of beard on his jaw and his hair in some need of a comb. The quiet seriousness he displayed in recent years (at least, when not mercilessly teasing or flirting with Kris) kept trying to crop up around the edges, out of habit.

A trend which he noticed in himself, and wanted badly to reverse.

“Uh..,” deciding as he turned back around gamely, “Yeah... Okay.” He scraped his boot against the pavement. He almost asked where she wanted to go before remembering she’d left it up to him. “Come on, I know a bar.” Gesturing at her to walk northwestward.

“Mind if I smoke?”

Sonya made an uncaring sweep of hands loosely away from herself, shrugging at the same time to indicate an, "Eh!" Of quick agreement. If her physiology avoided the sort of damage it so far had done, then second-hand smoke would certainly be something it could deal with. Sonya, herself, had frequented an awful lot of places where smoking tobacco was the least of potential concerns.

For her part, she either didn't smoke very often or just in general. Either way, she had yet to ask for one, seeming rather unbothered about it.

When they at last entered the required venue, Sonya appeared to show off her confident side and took the initiative in casually ordering a number of beverages. When Hayden attempted to do so, however, she put up a hand and smiled. "No, no, no, no!" She exclaimed, waving him off. "I show you! Old family recipe! Is very good!"

“Here’s where I ought to get worried.” Tapping cigarette against a glass receptacle, he watched whatever the redhead was about to do with narrowed eyes. Hayden hadn’t let somebody mix him a drink since college, back when he had an ill-fated idea about joining a fraternity. Unfortunately ‘brotherhood’ took on a different meaning than he was willing to go in for.

With something nearing fascination, he indicated to the bartender that he was good, and leaned on the counter. “My family has a recipe, too... for souvlaki,” he told her, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they did when he was chuckling on the inside. One hand rubbed at his forearm while he waited for Sonya’s next move. “I should probably keep an eye out for rohypnol.”

Sonya had suddenly got very busy, but in the way of a professional croupier shuffling cards; her head steady and given to a knowing smile, while hands moved this way and that, measuring out quantities and pouring one into another. By the end of it, a suspicious brew was swirling away in two respective glasses. After all, Sonya was hardly going to let it go to waste on such a cause as friendly generosity.

"May your bottoms be up!"

The very essence of a dare was written clearly on her face, holding aloft her own contents in a toast. She would down her own just a fraction before Hayden would.

And when he did, the Watcher would discover it to be the most potent mixture of alcohol known to man or demon - able to strip paint at twenty paces and probably advance the age of taste buds a good fifty years. If anyone wondered what it took to get Sonya drunk, then this would be it and, as Mallory had once discovered, such a veritable liquid enema had an even greater effect on a human being.

Not being one to back out of a toast, Hayden held his drink up between them, and then down the hatch it went...

Down... down like a tankard full of lighter fluid, chased by a struck match. Or maybe it was liquid Drain-o, or a gut full of battery acid. But no need trying to describe something that was formulated to defy description.

In a nutshell, it went down rough. Hayden came up choking and his complexion went bright red, like a cartoon hero going steam-engine hot until his hat blew off and vapor came whistling out of his ears. He could practically feel the capillaries bursting in his eyeballs.

“Jesus Christ,” he coughed, too unsettled to bother acting manly about it. No amount of acting expertise could hide the sweat that had instantly formed on his brow and started rolling down, anyway. And Sonya had taken the brew like a champ.

He stared at her in disbelief, looking for proof that she'd tossed hers over her shoulder before tipping her head back. "Family recipe..." Whatever was in it, Hayden had a feeling it would turn him into a lightweight in five minutes flat. The Russian girl went up a few notches in his estimation.

Sonya was staring right back at him, tongue lolling happily out of one corner of her mouth in an almost post-coital manner, once her own brief coughing fit was done with, albeit of a shorter fashion. The word 'more' was shouted eagerly in Russian and she poured out another two glasses for both of them.

"Drink! Drink!"

Whether he did or not, Sonya was quite happy to consume her own, inadvertently proving that she had, indeed, swallowed precisely the same substance as he had done. She creased into giggles soon enough, but even Sonya, demonic physiology and all, required a number more before she would get a genuine case of the squiffles.

And when she reached that magic number, she was hanging arm around Hayden's shoulder, reciting a full chorus of the Russian national anthem - in death metal style.

Somehow, in the madness of it all, doing so actually managed to improve it. Either that or the virtually toxic level of alcohol made it seem as if she had. Either way, it was fun!

Hayden, a self-professed beer guy now out of his league, was oscillating between laying his cheek flat on the bartop to stop his head from ‘spinning off’, as he claimed it was about to, and rising up in sudden bouts of euphoria, where he would join the Russian for parts of the sing-a-long.

It had been kindly translated to sloppy English for his benefit, of course, and was further butchered by his blood alcohol level.

Wildly slinging his cigarette hand around, he shouted, “Wide sh-paces for dreeeeams and life! You promise us yer cumming! And... legions of our Father’s land... maaaaakes you strong! So’s long as it always’ll be! Praise... Praise long-lasting unions of brothers an-- ahh fuck.”

The cherry had fallen off his cigarette and was now resting brightly on top of Sonya’s red hair, and smoking merrily away. One or two pieces were already turning into little burnt-up curly cues that smelled worse than the liquor tasted.

Hayden took a swipe at her head.

And promptly batted a handful of red tresses...

Sonya, for her part, seemed to swish her cranium in the same direction, going with the inertia, as her own hands batted in mid-air, in front of her, in a sort of slow-motion affair. With crimson fibres now covering her field of view, she was disorientated enough to think that she was being caught in some sort of swell of scarlet fog, puuushed over to the side, while the object of Hayden's random annoyance dropped to the floor like the ash it was.

She had drunk about a third more of the noxious beverage than Hayden had, but it was no less effective than the very first time she had tasted it. It had brought her, however, to the same level of drunkenness as he, which meant that, once she had successfully fallen on her arse, both hands began to conduct the invisible 'orchestra' of Hayden's choral imitation. The redhead swaying head rhythmically from one side to the other.

"Ssssooonya does nyet belong on... Fffflllllrrrringsss..."

Slurring the words, her attempt at body language seemed to indicate that Sonya had realized she was now on the floor and needed helping up. Realizing this, she made a grab for one leg of his jeans, pulling herself up Hayden like he was a human tree trunk, singing all the while.

If she had been sober, it would have been gratuitous.

Tawny Kitaen had nothing on Sonya Ramius in that moment. A fact which registered on Hayden's awestruck features as she clawed her way up his pant leg and serenaded him. It was the stuff of masculine fantasies until her fingernails came just a little too close for comfort in the crotch region...

Watch my nuts! was what he thought, but slurred instead,

"Washh my n-n--!"

What transpired was a blur of back-pedaling arms. Hayden sucked in a breath and scooted back to avoid her grope. First his ass went off the stool, and then his body careened away from her in a slow-motion lean.

Hayden, unlike Sonya, didn't make it to the floor. The base of his skull 'thwapped!' against the bar and left him slumped like a rag doll, with his calves draped over the seat, his head on the wooden surface behind him, and the rest of his body hammocked between.

He blinked, and the world went kaleidoscope crazy, all segmented into four separate parts, each piece rotating around the others.

At least his balls were safe. A fact which he made sure of by reaching down and cupping a hand over his inseam.

Sonya was too busy bursting out into a mixture of incomprehensible Russian and laughter, to be able to lend a hand. When she did, however, she seemed to possess an above-average strength, basically manhandling him up, with an arm dragged around her shoulders. In an unconscious defiance of gravity, they seemed to see-saw this way and that, as the deadly combination of inertia and lack of balance took over, once they had made the transition to something resembling feet.

"You crazy! You crazy, drinkings fool!" The girl chastised, prod-prod-prodding one finger into his chest. "Come! We flyyyyy...!"

Sonya was dead set on doing so in a literal context, but first she had to try and navigate them both out of the bar. Making her way to the door without crashing into too many other customers might yet turn out to be a feat in itself.

The watcher stuck his stubbly face up to her ear. "Dint... didden bring a plane," he told her seriously, and gave her a troubled look when the syllables didn't come out right. Each step he took was wooden and lumbering. There was no telling how much damage had been done to his noggin, bruise or concussion or what.

And that wasn't accounting for alcohol poisoning.

Dimly he noted they were on the way out. The ball cap-covered heads along the way served as balancing posts under Hayden's left palm. He was too blitzed to feel the pain. "Wa-wait... where we goin?"

There was a strange numbness to most of her face which seemed to accompany the alcoholic intake and Sonya was just as uncertain of her directional instinct. All she seemed to realize was some sort of primal homing instinct towards what was vaguely recognized as a destination called 'door', whilst stepping over chairs and tables should be considered as 'bad', for some reason.

Under that coat, those large wings of hers had been getting less and less controlled and, by now, it would have been obvious that she was either hiding or carrying something on her back, but her partner was not nearly observational to yet notice it.

When they made it out onto the street, though, rather than attempting to take flight, the drunk half-demoness found her wandering attention caught by a neon sign in pink. "Heh..." She pointed out, swinging aimlessly over in that vague direction. "Looks! The mens... From before the drinkings... They would put us there, I am thinks...!"

Try as he might to focus, the letters kept zooming out of focus quicker than Hayden could read them. He lurched under the awning of a pawn shop and collided with a newspaper stand, which held a skimpy supply of yesterday's Clark County Beacon. Then wrestling with the slippery thing called language,

"Webbing chopel."

It was the best he could do. With a spirit of game exploration, Hayden shoved off the metal contraption and propelled himself in the direction of...

... the toilet.

He had to get there, and man, it needed to be fast.

A mass of something unsavory was churning and bubbling its way up the poor guy's esophagus. An encore performance of the number it had done last night, only in reverse. It was with mild alarm that he rolled off the mattress with a clumsy thump and started crawl-stumbling his way to the tiles that glowed promisingly in the distance. The off-white sheets that tangled around his bare foot were like a cotton-vised monster that he tried in vain to kick off, but ended up dragging off the bed with him.

Hayden made it just in time to yank the lid up and flip his entire digestive track inside out with a pitiful sounding, "...mmbleh...," to corroborate with his defeat.

Mt. Saint Helens hadn't blown so many pyroclastic chunks. Sonya's paint-thinning alcoholic brew was diluted now, but he was still surprised when it didn't eat through the porcelain.

The back of his left hand swiped across Hayden's mouth, and he pawed at the flusher exhaustedly, then staggered to his feet.

For Sonya, the previous night's festivities had all gone past, as ever they did, in a whirl of technicolor haze and a severe lack of awareness as to how she had even managed to have survived it. A small miracle, in and of itself, but one which seemed to play out with quite some regularity in the youthful hybrid's life.

Unlike Hayden, she had somehow made it to a hotel room. A television or radio could still be heard in the background and it was that which managed to gradually pull her out of that well-deserved slumber. Her head was pounding, but Sonya was blessed with a quicker recovery from such events, compared to most human beings.

What time was it, anyway? Cracking one uncertain eye open, followed by the other, Sonya cringed at even the small amount of light trickling its way out through the curtains, but managed to drag her wrist up to view the small digital display of a watch.

Hmmm... Some time in the afternoon. But she wanted to stay there for a while, curled up and most definitely not yet having any lunch.

With a mind full of mental cotton, the girl did, however, decide that if she wanted any peace, she would have to turn the electronic contraption off, so, pulling herself up, she reached out for the remote control, failed to locate it, then realized, with a pained moan, that she would have to get up.

With wings literally dragging on the floor behind her, like some cross between cloak and hang-glider, Sonya half-looked, half-felt by touch, as she waved one uncertain hand in front of her. While she still had underwear on, the air was not at its warmest, so the other hand held the sheet loosely around her, as if a synthetic cocoon. Russian was being muttered to herself and it was mainly because she was not finding the right controls.

Oh... Of course. The television wasn't on. OK, the radio... Now, where was it? Ah, there you are!

Mashing several of the buttons down at once seemed to do the trick, for a pleasant silence swiftly followed and Sonya, with a dazed smile and glazed-over eyes headed back towards the bed, mindful for anything discarded on the floor, such as potential empty cartons, packets or cans. There weren't any, of course, except for the pair of-

A frown.

What were feet doing there?

"AGH!"

"AGH!!!"

"AGH!!!!!"

"ARRRRRGH!!!!!!!!"

That was no television. It was no radio, either. It was one Hayden Maragos standing in the doorway, who had been suddenly confronted with the sight of a winged demon-girl, immediately ceasing his moans of sickness out of utter shock.

Instantly retreating, clutching the sheet around her torso for dear life while they both entered into a panic-stricken girly screaming contest, Sonya made for the pillows and immediately began hurling them in his direction.

A strange man had seen her! Her and her naughty parts!

"...What the fuck?!"

Sometime between his last memory -- wobbling outside a pawn shop with his new drinking buddy -- and now, the cheerfully exuberant redhead of before had transformed into a...

A...

What the hell was she?

Hayden's mind grasped for answers... It dug through watchers' memoirs, religious texts, classical mythology and demon lore... and then it hit him. The cawing, the protruding eyes and flapping mouth, the enormous wings. Holy shit.

A MOTHERFUCKING HARPY!

The only thing worse than her noises was the sound of his own voice. He bellowed from the bottom of his soul, the very essence of a man trapped in a 'coyote ugly' nightmare, and then clapped both hands over his ears. The assault kept on coming, but after the third or fourth pillow, patience was shot to hell.

Grabbing up the nearest potential weapon -- an ice bucket -- he shouted, "EASY!!" and held it up in a threatening manner. Why he was bare-chested was a mystery to him, but at least Hayden had his pants on.

He put his hand out like a stop sign, and that's when the flash of tarnished yellow-gold caught his eye.

Sonya was in mid-throw of the table lamp. A moment more and it would have left her hand at full throttle. They were frozen in some kind of ad hoc truce. Each as confused as the other and only a hair's breadth separating them from sense and a return to total and utter pandemonium.

Talk about generating a cure for a hang-over...

Carefully, slowly, the redhead flexed wings, unsure of herself but alert, all the same. The elder male's identity seemed hazily familiar and she winced in hopes of recognition, finding none immediately.

"Drinkings..." She murmured, seeming to relate one concept to the other, yet still having no apparent clue as to why he would be here.

None which she fancied would be wanted to remember, at any rate. There was only one scenario running around her head and the only reason it had not taken complete hold was their mutually intact underwear.

Had they returned here, attempting to try something, only to fall asleep?

Then it struck her... The ring on his finger! Oh no! Scandal!

"You are the marrieds!" She accused, one hand clamping over her mouth in a gasp and scuttling even further back. "You are the marrieds and you try to have the dirty sexings with Sonya!"

Then a most peculiar thing happened. For the other hand which was pointing directly at him also seemed to be sporting a...

A...

"Uhh... I... Ohhh... Ehhh..."

Keeping her own ring finger it at a full arm's length, Sonya was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Nyet... Nyet... Nyet...! No marrieds..." She pled, looking back at him now with pure terror in eyes. There was no melodrama in Sonya's world. Only a genuine, horrified panic. "No marrieds for Sonya...! Please! Make the marrieds go away!"

"No marrieds for Sonya...! Please! Be making the marrieds go away!"

Hayden was outraged at the implication. Oh, there was blame in her eyes, no doubt! His own were bright green and bulging out of his head, by this point. Hayden jabbed a finger at his chest and verily exploded, "You think I had something to do with this?!" No telling when was the last time he had shouted at anybody quite like he was doing with Sonya.

"I have a girlfriend!" he hollered on, gesticulating wildly with the ring-fingered hand. Catching sight of it again, he tried to pull it off and throw it at her, but the stupid thing was stuck. Half-distracted now, and glancing between her and the ring with a constipated expression, "You're the one who was pouring the drinks last night! What, you couldn't pull it off with your countrymen, you had to get me drunk out of my mind? Fuck!"

Kicking the sheet off his foot in a tantrum, Hayden stomped into the bathroom and cranked up the cold faucet. In a frantic maneuver, he stuck his fingers under the stream and started twisting and turning at the faux gold ring, which was already turning his knuckle a grotesque shade of green.

Where had the damn thing come from?

Gods... the pawn shop.

If he ever got the thing off, Hayden was likely to discover an inscription done on the inside by its previous giver. 'To Roscoe With Love, From Bertha'.

Meanwhile, Sonya was sitting on the edge of that bed in their hotel room, worrying her lip and in a critical stage of intense panic. She had begun to bite her nails, but then realized that such an action only brought the ring nearer to her face and, therefore, most clearly into view.

With a start, she pushed the offending hand away, trying, with some considerable desperation, to do as Hayden was, in an attempt of removal. Then, however, she realized how important clothes were and, at breakneck speed, yanked on what she could. At least so as to appear presentable. An actual wash could wait for later on, when she was-

Oh...

Oh!

She was married now. He was her... Her husband! Now her place was his and... And did he marry her to get at her new money? Was this all some... Some... Some ruse?!

Sonya didn't know. She was at her wit's end and had started to pace up and down the room. Hayden knew about her wings, too. Even with them now folded and compacted away under her top, their presence could hardly be mistaken for anything other than what they truly were.

Intensive muttering could be heard under her breath. He had a girlfriend already! Well... Well, all that would have to change now, wouldn't it? She would have to settle down with him and...

Have babies.

Eek!

Then, hearing her mobile telephone ring, Sonya fished it out, glad for a distraction and answering it - only to squeak with mortified surprise. She was trying to sound calm and was speaking in fluent Russian. The words got charged, more emotional and then she broke down into tears. The stress had all got far too much for her and, by the time Hayden reappeared, Sonya was quietly sniffling, her face turned away and, with conversation having now ended, the telephone held in a virtual death grip, close to her chest.

Bad news had just been delivered.

Very bad news.

Having given up on the ring, Hayden was now busy snatching a shirt roughly over his head. Backwards. And inside out. That much was evident by the tag tickling the underside of his chin.

“Well don’t cry about it! You don‘t even know me.” Coming back into the room, Hayden could only guess that the Russian exchange had been with her partners in crime, whom she’d probably told about his unromantic reaction to their supposed nuptials. So far as he could tell, all they’d done was rented a room to pass out in. No swapping of any bodily fluids, and no foreplay either.

Annulment! They could have this thing annulled like that, and no one would be the wiser. If it had even happened...

“Wait a minute.” Pushing at the nappy morning mess of his hair, Hayden started scouring the room for a marriage license. If this woman was trying to take him down, it wasn’t going to happen without a fight!

“Where is it?” he demanded frantically (and what man wouldn‘t, knowing that a fiery Latina with kung fu skills waited for him in Searchlight...). Hayden roughly pulled open nitestand drawers and tossed blankets around on the bed. He even went so far as to rip the mattress cover off, right from underneath Sonya’s rear end.

Nowhere to be found. Blast! The minx had hidden the thing!

Sonya, still shell-shocked, seemed to just allow it. Her entire world had just fallen down and all she could do was to just sit there - having the proverbial tablecloth snatched away from beneath her or not.

All she could do was to look up with a solemn gaze.

"Is mother. She say to be the meetings you soon."

Alone With a Knife

In the long, silent afternoons while his girlfriend slept and sun baked the desert dry, the watcher sat outside and smoked his cigarettes. The best place for it was the hood of his Jeep. Heavy brown boots braced against the front bumper, his posture slumping easily while he worked to get his head clear. This time sharpening a blade, that time carving a stake. Mindless, like he wanted to be whenever he thought of his situation. How unfinished his business was with Elfleda; how helpless he was to go after the truth, as long as Kris could be used against him; how he had been made into a liar.

The burnished edge of his knife shaved splinters off the wooden peg. He turned it slowly between his fingers with an eye for rough edges, places that could abrade the palm. When he found them, he scraped them smooth, and rubbed the sensitive pad of his thumb up and down to make certain.

Today the cigarette went to ash before more than a drag was taken. He had set it down by the headlight, in the crease between hood and quarter panel. Each bladed stroke was done on autopilot. Hayden’s mind, it seemed, was somewhere else. Or simply not present at all. Somewhere between the heedless toss of lighter and the onset of his carving chore, a switch had gone off in Hayden's head.

He put the stake in his lap.

A car rolled by at a tired pace, and the slight wind of the day rolled his Marlboro to the ground. Hayden stared at the empty place at his side for minutes, contemplating the old red hood that would feel hot under his palm if he stretched it flat. His face registered nothing when he finally settled his hand.

The blade reflected that same tired red as it went down.

The sound was worthy of recoil, a tooth grinder that would’ve sent goose bumps down the back of a listener’s neck, had there been anyone there to hear it. It was the noise of a whetted tip slicing thru flesh until it hit fiberglass, and then scratching against... Digging... Slickly retreating, and then again, this time bending with the driving force behind it, so that when he pulled it out, it tore the slice ever wider. A bit of tendon popped up to show.

From underneath his palm, wide rivulets of the watcher’s blood followed the sloping hood and then pattered onto the gravel in wet bursts of color. He was making a veritable mince of his left hand, and there was nothing to show for it except the battered bonnet of his car and the empty set of his eyes.

It was a rhythmic assault on skin and muscle, carried out by a creature who got at the watcher by going through him rather than toward. It wanted to muddy his mind, to play with him until every question that dogged the man and kept him meddling was wiped away. On it went until a sudden shout. Not his but belonging to a motorist who had run up the curb when he saw. “Hey, buddy... What the fuck are you doing?!”

The pain was horrible, and so was his hoarse bark at the sudden, agonizing waking-up of hundreds of severed nerve endings all at once. Hayden flew off the hood like there was a fire underneath him. The stake bounced off his lap and hit the rocks.

He clutched frantically his palm into the long shirttail, and hunched over to protect it. “Shit!” Sweat rolled off his face and into his eyes, the salt-burn making him blind. Even as the driver inched away, Hayden’s head darted left and right. He was uncomprehending like a man coming out of a bad dream, his breath whistling in it out while he searched for something to blame. A monster that had sneaked up and carved his palm to bits while he dozed, but there was no one.

The halting gulps of air slowed down. So did his heartbeat, and the rocking from foot to foot, a motion he hadn’t known he was doing. Hayden’s eyes were on the mess of the hood, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a flicker, not a recollection of what happened but tactile recognition. The familiar weight in the unimpaired palm of his right hand.

The hilt of a knife.

Hayden's Not Home

Hayden was an easy mark. For one thing, he lurked. There was a time when the Watcher had gone into the mines to work, or to explore. He actually stumbled onto the mouth of the prison once, and after that he hung around wanting to figure things out. Making notes, taking pictures, brooding.

The run-in with the meddler, Leviathan’s Bride, had changed all that. Now the man kept himself at a reasonable distance from the mines and observed them from another gravel-covered hilltop, wondering how to get back inside without drawing her attention. Wondering how to get closer to the Exile and figure out why it was such a source of irritation to her. Trying to ignore the temptation to go in anyway, and risk the safety of people he loved. Namely, Kris.

It was a shame, really, that the Watcher had no idea how close he was about to get.

Fingers of energy unfolded from the entrance of the mine and sought him out. They were invisible to the naked eye as they shifted and stroked through the air like a monster’s tentacles, until one lucky reach had the Watcher by the balls.

Metaphorically, of course.

It was a mind-wipe. Conscious thought fading, put on pause, long enough for the Exile to have its way with him. All that Hayden needed to know to accomplish the task -- the mischief it had in mind -- was fed to him and would disappear the moment that arm of energy let go. Left behind would be the memory of driving home, and that was all.

All the way to their little apartment, the brown sack writhed and hissed in the backseat. It was cinched at the top so that his gift wouldn’t get free and ruin things before they got into motion. Hayden ignored it, and seemed to be on auto-pilot. He stopped at the right signs; he even put on his blinker. On his trip up the stairs, the sack continued to thrash and rattle at his side.

It didn’t still until he left it on the floor of her weapons closet. An unfamiliar bag that would beg to be opened.