This will get a real title someday

[Desdemona]

but for now this is what there is. It's coming out of hiding because I'm working on it again, and commentary really isn't needed. Dunno if anyone will enjoy reading it, but I kinda had to write it. This segment would be considered early-middle part of a full story, not a beginning and definitely nowhere near the ending.
~C.

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He stood there, his jaw dropping slightly in shock as he watched the others fall, one by one. Some fell slowly, thier eyes rolling back into thier sockets...while others simply dropped to the floor between one heartbeat and the next.

As if hearing these events from within his self-claimed 'Sanctuary', Marcus was suddenly there at his side, the shorter man's eyes sweeping the area.

"Don't just STAND there!" a definitely female voice rapped out from across the small, enclosed garden. "Help them! Get them inside! Now!"

From around the shelter of the fountain darted the shape of the one they called 'The Cat'. Vincent was hard-pressed to remember her name, but as Marcus was already moving forward to do as she bade, he had no time to ponder the issue further.

"Why are you not like they are?" Marcus demanded of the woman, his normally quiet voice harsh in the too-still silence of the outdoors.

"Nobody EVER said I was normal!" she retorted, a slight grunt sounding from her as she struggled to lift up the stricken figure of Beth.

"I'm serious!" Marcus insisted, lifting with ease the fallen figure of the one called Jermie. "Vincent and I SHOULD be the only ones unaffected by whatever caused....this."

From his approach to the small veranda, he could see her eyes roll briefly in an expression of exasperation as she managed to drag Beth into the relative safe shelter of the house.

Vincent easily shouldered the burden of Ian, stepping past Marcus as he, too, moved towards the house. "Better yet, what's happening to them?" he asked practically, his wary gaze travelling over the shape of the woman as she moved to step past him.

"It starts as a headache." she stated briefly, sidestepping around the taller male. "A blinding one, at that."

She kept moving, her strides steady as she moved towards the next victim of the unseen assault. She bent over the figure of Mia, blinking her eyes rapidly in an effort to clear the grey haze from her field of vision. No time for that just yet, thankyaverramuch She told herself as she slid her hands under the slender woman's armpits. Just as she had done with Beth, she half-lifted the prone victim and began to drag her burden carefully towards the house.

She could see, from the corner of her eye, Vincent and the other man bringing the remaining shapes indoors and she was able to breathe a bit easier. Some small voice in the back of her mind was telling her that once they were all inside, out of the open air of the small garden, that they would be safer...

"How are you resisting it?" Marcus persisted in his inquiries. He settled Sammie on the small sofa before standing upright to pierce the still-moving woman with his bright blue gaze. "If it was bad enough to knock everyone else out, why didn't it wipe you out, too??"

Mia was resting next to Beth, which is how she knew they would both want it and she, too, straightened up to her full height to meet the man's eyes with her own.

"I've had worse headaches than that AND gone through natural childbirth." her reply was short as she spun on her heel, striding back out into the small garden, the scene of such an unsettling incident. She had to make sure that everyone was accounted for...

"Hey, don't go back out there!" Vincent blurted, moving forward to intercept her. "I think we have everyone---"

Marcus sprinted forward, moving after the woman as she stepped back outside. How long could she continue to resist the effects of whatever caused the collapse of everyone else??

The answer was Not Long Enough, as she reached the graceful fountain that was the centerpiece of the garden and turned in a slow circle, her greenish eyes searching the area as she mentally counted the afflicted versus the not-present and still coming up with a handful of people unaccounted for...

"Milady." came the diffident voice from behind her. "No one else is out here, and you shouldn't be here, either. Let's get back inside before anything -else- happens."

She was in the process of turning around, her lips parting as she started to speak to him in response when she staggered slightly, the remaining colour fleeing from her face, highlighting the shadows beneath her eyes. Her green eyes widened significantly as the ferocity of the assault tripled in strength, threatening to overwhelm even her own mental barriers. It was almost as if the attack had centered itself solely upon her, now that everyone else was safe within the sanctuary provided by Vincent's surreptiously-wrought Wards, now punishing her for her actions.

Seeing this, Marcus stepped forward again, instinctively reaching out for her as he watched her shudder and then stagger again. Almost close enough to grab ahold of her and catch her before she fell...

...almost.

She hunched her shoulders and sidestepped, edging herself just out of his reach, her head shaking as her hands came up in front of her in a negating gesture.

"No, no...that's alright." Her voice was already fading. "I-I-I just need to sit down for a minute, I'll be fine, really I will..."

"Yes, milady." Marcus' normally abrupt tone of voice was gone, softening to a soothing lilt as he took another two quick steps and was at her side, already grasping her arms to steady her.

"Don't 'milady' me!!" her voice held a faint note of aspersion "I'm fine, I tell you!!" before it died completely as her knees buckled beneath her, sending her sliding to the ground.

"Suuuuuure you are." his tone also held the faintest note of humor mixed in with the calming sounds as he easily swept the stricken woman up into his arms. He was sincerely impressed, actually, by her words and deeds during the crisis that had just besieged the small party.

Vincent met him at the edge of the veranda, shaking his head ruefully as he observed his partner and his burden.

"Knew that was gonna happen." he stated laconically, stepping back out of Marcus' way.

Both men looked around the room. Every available surface that could be used as a cot or bed was already occupied by the other victims of the silent attack.

"Where---" Vincent began to inquire.

Forestalling further debate over the issue, Marcus shouldered past his friend, still bearing the brown-haired burden in his arms as he strode down the shadowed hallway towards his own suite of rooms. Alesh sat calmly before his door, his golden eyes blinking solemnly up at his companion as Marcus approached the doorway. Rising to his paws, the cat turned and nudged the door open ahead of the man, disappearing into the shadowy recesses of thier shared rooms.

Shrouded in shadows and silence within the small chamber that served as his version of a 'parlor', Marcus carefully settled the stricken woman down upon the simple futon that rested beneath the deeply-recessed covered window. Arranging her limbs as comfortably as he could, he found one of his hands lifting of it's own accord, his long fingers gently sweeping stray strands of her hair back from her forehead. Bemused by his own actions, he remained crouched at her unconcious side for a long period of time, his blue-eyed gaze turned inwards as he mulled over the strange series of events that had plagued them this day. Alesh leapt up onto the slender arm of the futon and perched gracefully there, fastening his luminous golden eyes upon the pensive face of his chosen companion.

From the half-open door came the soft sounds of a series of knocks upon it's wooden surface and Vincent's voice was heard: "They're waking up, Marcus."

"Understood. On my way." Marcus' words were brief and economical, as always, as he stood up in a seamless motion. Before he left the room, he unfolded a small knitted afghan and draped it over the unmoving figure of the woman upon his futon. Alesh waited until the last fold was smoothed out and then delicately stepped down from the armpiece, padding lightly across the warm wool to settle himself against the indentation of the woman's waist, where he promptly curled up, settling his chin upon his crossed paws in a pose of 'waiting and watching' that Marcus knew all too well...

A wry smile twisted at his lips as Marcus strode from the room, his long legs carrying him towards the tidy veranda that now served as a crude infirmary for those that had been stricken in this afternoon's assault.

"My fuckin' head hurts!" Beth's voice carried well through the area and Marcus noted, with a small modicum of amusement, that now that she had spoken of her discomfort, the others did as well.

"Holy shit, what WAS that?" "Who has the Tylenol? We better have Tylenol, don't ANYONE dare tell me we're out!" "Relax, Cel has the Tylenol, we NEVER run out!" "Whew! Cel, hit me with some Tylenol, woman! You would not believe my head right now!"

......"Cel? Where the hell are ya?"

Vincent just turned his stare towards Marcus, who shrugged his shoulders.

"She's fine." the darker-haired man spoke up, lounging carelessly against the arcing doorway. "She's still out, she held out against it longer than the rest of you, may just take her a bit longer to snap out of it."

"That's all well and good." Beth pointed out. "But WHERE is she?"

Vincent laughed out loud at the point, shaking his head in amusement.

"My room." Marcus stated matter-of-factly. "There was no room for her out here by the time it hit her as bad as it did, so I put her on that flip-floppy couch-thing in my room until she's able to come out of it on her own."

Beth blinked at him. Jermie blinked at him. Mia and Ian both blinked at him. Sammy just looked bewilderedly from Vincent to Marcus back to Vincent again.

"That's the most I've ever heard you say at one time." Jermie burst out in a chuckle. "Leave it to Cel to be the cause of it, too. But what the Hell happened to us??"

Marcus and Vincent exchanged a long series of looks, silently communicating between themselves just how much they could and should share with these people. They both had deep-seated feelings that this particular group of strangers could handle more than the usual amount of strangeness without panicking...

"You all came under attack." Vincent began to speak, clasping his hands behind his back as he started to pace the length of the room, his path taking him past each and every person there as he tried to guage thier physical condition now that the effects of the assault were dissipating. "I already told you that things were not as quiet and benevolent as they seemed out here."

"Who attacked us?" Jermie, the practical one.
"How do we get even?" Beth, vindictive now that she knew they were all alive.
"Will they try again?" Mia, ever-cautious.

[Desdemona]

"Kill 'em all, let Rodcet Nife sort 'em out later." spoke a wavering voice from the hallway just past Marcus' shoulder.

"Wrong game again, Cel." a chorus of voices rang out in thier typical response to the woman's comment.

Marcus spun around, concern tightening the features of his face as he looked at the now-concious woman standing behind him. A small part of him noted that she was as pale as water as she stood, swaying slightly, the afghan wrapped around her shoulders.

"Milady, you shouldn't be up so soon." he was speaking before he knew it, already stepping towards her.

She shivered within the depths of the blanket, her too-wide eyes fastening on his face. "I don't need much rest." she gave her customary lie to him from force of habit.

Something told him otherwise, yet he only reached out to grasp her elbow in support as he guided to her towards an empty chair.

"Cel! Tylenol?" Beth's voice was plainitive.

"Don't leave home without it." was the response as she dug her hand into one of her many pockets and withdrew a small white plastic bottle.

With ease, the bottle was tossed to Beth, who caught it without even needing to look at it, her hand grabbing it out of the air. That small task done, the brown-haired woman eased herself back into the chair she had been directed towards, a soft sigh coming from her as she settled. The Tylenol-bottle was passed from person to person, the small capsules swallowed whole, and dry. Her stomach cramping viciously, she wrapped her arms around herself under cover of the warm afghan and she hoped no one would suggest any strenuous activity or notice that she was still pale and shaken.

There was a faint mew and suddenly, the golden-orange tabby cat appeared on the arm of the chair she sat in, it's almond-shaped eyes looking at her almost reproachfully. From onerous force of habit, she mewed back at the cat, who, in turn, looked almost smug at the woman's reply.

Marcus started, stiffening slightly and he felt Vincent's gaze fastening upon the woman in the chair.

"You speak thier language, milady?" Vincent asked smoothly, the light in his eyes intensifying.

The relative silence within the room held for the space of 2 heartbeats before laughter broke free from the strangers.

"Cel has a language all her own." Beth chortled.
"You have become better at Cel-speak!" Jermie literally giggled.
"Can ya repeat that in Common, this time, Cel?" Mia piped up innocently.

"Screw you all." Cel stated succintly, each word annunciated clearly. The cat moved down from the chair-arm, settling down into her lap and curling up.

They settled down gradually after that, dealing with the aftereffects and discomfort of the headaches they had suffered from the assault. Thier voices were low-pitched as they talked quietly amongst themselves. Occasionally a comment or question was addressed to Cel, who responded appropriately, her voice the quietest amongst them.

Vincent and Marcus were also communicating between themselves, via thier low-grade telepathy. Until they were able to figure out the group-dynamics of the strangers, they would not be able to plan thier defense, and ultimate offense, against the Darkers. It would seem that one of the strangers had abilities that would almost Name her Kith, if not Kin. Marcus' blue eyes were resting steadily upon the bowed brown-haired head of the woman they Called either Cel or The Cat, as if she were a new puzzle for him to figure out.

"Supper should be next on our agenda." Vincent announced, breaking off his 'talk' with Marcus. "I hope nobody has any serious dietary restrictions..."

"Nah, Pokie's not here, so we're safe." Beth commented.

"I wouldn't go -that- far." Cel spoke up, her tone of voice dark. "Ya never know just WHEN we may need someone to distract the enemy by running in lil circlies."

Six pairs of eyes swung around to fasten upon the brown-haired, green-eyed woman ensconced in the chair in the corner of the room.

"Nah, we're good." Jermie disagreed. "We can just throw out the Dwarf as a speed-bump, slow 'em down a bit while the rest of us scatter."

"The Hell you can!" Ian expostulated, shaking his head vehemently. "I am NOT cannon-fodder on this campaign, dammit. I told you that!"

"Ah, tell it to the DM." Mia said derisively.

Again, they all blinked at one another, save for Cel. She was sitting still, with her head leaning back against the chair, her eyes closed. A quick smile dashed across her features.

"Once ya'll figure out who the DM is this time, send me a memo." she commented softly, making no move whatsoever to leave her chair.

"Alright, Vincent. Feed us." Jermie directed imperiously, getting to his feet. "Or at least lead the way and let us see what ya have."

Without further ado, they moved as a whole, leaving the veranda through the double-hung doors that led into the massive dining-room as they headed for the cavernous kitchens inside.

Everyone save for Cel, and Marcus. He had chosen to remain wherever the woman was, for various reasons.

"Ya better go with 'em." she spoke finally, her voice weary. "Bethie will burn whatever she has in her hand, Mia won't stop picking at the veggies, Ian will drink the cooking sherry and Jermie WILL cut himself. Please don't let Jermie cut himself, I'm TIRED of fixing up the boo-boos."

Marcus tilted his head to the side a bit, studying the tired woman. Alesh still rested in her lap, the cat looking perfectly comfortable and relaxed.

"Is that your job?" Marcus asked quietly. "Fixing thier boo-boos?"

Her eyes opened and her head lifted up from the back of the chair as she swung her gaze up to meet his.

"I have the honour of being the Healer for this group." she stated. "I am thier Cleric, thier Slayer of Undead. I'm the one who says 'Bring it. We'll kill it or die trying.' I'm the one who cures the poison and disease, cleans the wounds and kisses it all an' makes it all better, amen."

"Who fixes your boo-boos?" Marcus asked seriously.

"A good Cleric doesn't get boo-boos." she parried.

"Are you a good Cleric?" he asked in all honesty.

"No." she admitted. "I'm told I'm one of the worst, actually. My Calling is to Heal, which is what I do, even at great risk to myself. I stand there and take the beatings while they try to taunt it off of me, even though there are times they can not save me and I fall, casting my spells of Healing on the others who are wounded instead of myself. What good is a Cleric if she has no one to Heal, I ask of them. And they say: But you will be an ALIVE Cleric, Cellice. Yes indeed, say I. I will be alive, but my friends will be dead and I will be all alone. And for me, that's the worst possible fate."

He stood there quietly, watching her steadily for many long moments, turning her words over and over within his mind.

"I know...something of the Healing Ways." he said abruptly, moving from his place against the wall and holding out his hand towards the woman. "While you keep -them- alive and well, I will watch out for you, as is right."

She blinked a bit at that, her hand emerging from the blanket to grasp at his. Her fingers were small and chilled within his grip as she found herself moving the orange cat from her lap and standing up.

"Famous last words." she commented whimsically, letting herself be guided from the veranda into the dining room.

"Nay, milady." Marcus' tone of voice was perfectly serious as he ushered her into, not the kitchens but the small den-like room where flames were already dancing within the grate. "I believe those words would be 'Whoops'."

She giggled softly.

"Only if Jermie is out there, pulling." she argued mildly. "He should be known as The Conductor, on account of how many trains he has brought us throughout time."

"What are these trains you speak of?" he inquired, just to keep her talking as she sat down in one of the chairs closest to the hearth.

"A train is what you get when Jermie goes out in search of suitable opponents for us...and finds them." she explained earnestly. "Many of them. And he brings them, all of them,back to us."

"Ah, I know what you speak of now." Marcus understood completely. "Vincent does the same thing. Quite often."

"I heard that." Vincent commented, entering the room just in time. "Just for that, you get dishes tonight, brother. And dinner is served. I hope you're all hungry, it seems Jerm got carried away while cutting everything up and didn't quite know when to stop."

"Did he cut himself?" Cel was moved to ask, her head already resting against the back of the chair, her eyes half-closed as she studied the dancing tongues of flame within the grate.

"No, he did not. However, he almost did cut Mia's finger off when she was sneaking veggies from his pile." Vincent smiled winsomely at the weary woman. "Purely by accident, I assure you."

"Hah. That's what he -wants- you to think." Cel corrected him gently, making no move to get to her feet just yet.

"Shall we, milady?" Marcus offered his arm, a teasing note in his voice as he stood before her chair.

Her eyelids had drifted shut and she now pried one open long enough to peer up at him.

"You go on ahead." she half-mumbled. "'m not hungry right now, think I'll just sit right here and take it easy for a while, if it's all the same to you."

Marcus' eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stared at the woman. Vincent chose that very moment to make a silent, quick escape, heading back to the kitchen while this situation sorted itself out. Marcus was notoriously stubborn and somewhat over-bearing. If he was going to insist that the woman accompany him into the other room and eat, it could get...messy.

"I'll bring back a plate for you, then." he grudgingly compromised. "That way you don't have to leave your spot here and you still get something to eat. We both win."

Her eyelid slid shut and she nodded her head a few times, warm and comfortable within her afghan and chair by the fireplace. The remnants of her vicious headache had finally dissipated, taking the spiking cramps from her, as well, leaving her with naught but a slight queasiness. She heard footsteps cross the room and disappear down a nearby hallway and she allowed a small smile to form upon her face. For all of his abrupt words and mannerisms, he was...nice beneath his brusque exterior that had annoyed Beth and Mia already. It was a good thing he was clueless as to just what type of 'boo-boos' Cel was capable of achieving, or he never, ever would have offered to watch her back.

In the midst of her mental meanderings, her lap was once again claimed by the small orange tabbycat as Alesh leapt up and joined her in the chair. Kept company by a small, purring cat, Cel soon slept deeply by the fire.

Balancing a pair of plates, Marcus returned to the small den to the sound of soft, even breathing serenaded by a quiet rumble of a purr. He set an untouched plate of food onthe table closest to the chair that the woman dozed in and claimed the other chair for himself, settling within it's depths from where he began to tuck into his meal.

[Desdemona]

A small amount of time had passed when the peaceful tableau within the den was broken by the appearance of yet another member of the group that had travelled to these wilds. This was the youngish man Called 'Finny', if Marcus' memory served him correctly.

...Marcus' memory ALWAYS served him correctly.

"I didn't see her come to supper." he explained haltingly, his accent very different from the ones formed by the others. "Vincent mentioned she may still be here."

"She sleeps." Marcus stated quietly, his steady blue gaze sweeping over the younger male.

"Would she not sleep better in her bed?" Finny challenged mildly.

"If I thought she could be moved without waking, I would do it myself." Marcus met the challenge in his usual manner. "As I doubt it, she will not be moved unless she requests it personally."

Finny nodded his head a few times before replying: "Good call, she always DOES wake up rather snappish."

Marcus merely quirked an eyebrow and showed his teeth just the slightest, his words mild: "Is that what you've been told?"

At that point, Finny's features flushed in a rather unbecoming manner and he spun on his heel, striding quickly out of the room. Marcus laughed softly, shaking his head at the folly of the younger male who had just sought to issue some small Claim upon the slumbering Cel. He found himself wondering how she would have reacted had she been awake to witness it...

She didn't wake up snappish. If anything, she woke up silently and actually more tired than when she had first dozed off, and the pallor of her face sharpened Marcus' concern to the point that he found himself crouching in front of her chair, studying her face intently.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" he questioned her gently, his eyes fastened upon her green orbs.

She just shook her head wordlessly, unable to formulate thoughts, much less words.

"You haven't eaten, Cel." he hated pointing out the obvious. "Would that help you feel better?"

Again, another wordless shake of her head.

"Some broth?" he persisted, keeping his voice soft, his words calm. "Or some tea? A toddy, mayhaps? Just a hot bath and into your own bed? Talk to me, Cel. Tell me what you need."

Ah, finally. Something she could respond to, someone who was asking her, instead of trying to tell her... She pushed herself a bit more upright in the chair, blinking her eyes clear of sleep's clouds while she mustered the energy to speak.

"Fresh air? A walk if there's any place safe?" her voice was thin but definitely there, much to Marcus' relief.

Alas, he hated wholeheartedly to disappoint her when he had just finally gotten her to speak up...

"If not for what happened in the garden earlier, I would say yes, Cel." he replied regretfully. "I don't believe you could handle another assault such as that one so easily, so soon." I don't want to see you hurt like that again. was the small thought that ran counterpoint to his words.

Resigned, she nodded her head, drawing her legs up underneath her in the chair as Marcus watched, silent as he pondered how best to give her what she had asked. Recalling Vincent's words of two days ago, he spoke again: "Everything beneath the roof is safe sanctuary. Some of the balconies are overhung by the roof, some completely. My brother's Wards would be enough to keep out any Darker intruders, turn back whatever magic they sent at us should they be active this night."

Startled, she looked at him, her eyes questioning. And again, he rose to his full height and held out his hand for her to take as he said: "There is a room upstairs that the Estate Agent referred to as a Ballroom. It is rather...large, and has a long stretch of balcony that wraps around the manor on three sides of the room. Most of it is covered by the roof, therefore Vincent's Wards would maintain a safe haven for us to walk on."

Blinking a bit, she took the offered hand and let herself be drawn to her feet, the small cat jumping down out of her lap as she stood.

"If you want, just show me where it is." she offered him a perfectly acceptable way out of her boring company. "I can stick to the walls and make sure to not step out of range of the roof."

"If I wanted to free myself from your side, I could cite the lengthy research we still have ahead of us and take my leave of you, milady." he pointed out to her gently as he found himself adjusting the edges of the afghan where it draped around her shoulders. "As it stands, I'm certain you would be perfectly safe out on the balcony without me but then I'd be without you, and that just doesn't appeal to me at all."

She was reduced, once again, to blinking up at him, in a manner reminiscent of an owl. Uncertainty battled exhaustion and illness and she knew she was running the risk of making a fool out of herself. She had already done enough of that, thankyaverramuch and Sunny was here, as further proof of that.

With a faint smile, he drew her hand through the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

She stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway to the grand ballroom, speechless once again as her eyes drank in the sight of the lustrous marble floor, the sweeping, elegant tapestries and draperies and the graceful crystal and golden chandeliers that soared overhead. Marcus actually grinned at her, looking down to catch her gaze with his own.

"Great waste of space, isn't it? I'd prefer the library, myself. But Vincent won't let me in there just yet, blast it." he was positively cheerful at the moment. He was rather relieved that the ballroom had remained empty, having half-expected to find various members of the small expedition already exploring thier environs.

"Why not?" she asked, frowning slightly in puzzlement. "I mean, why won't he let you in the library yet? Where IS the library? Is the door locked? If it's locked, I can maybe, sorta, kinda help get it unlocked if you'd like..."

"Because Vincent knows me all too well." Marcus declared as they began to walk across the ballroom floor. "He knows full well that should he let me into the library now, none of the other tasks would get sorted out properly first. And I didn't realize you had talents of the roguish variety, milady."

"Stop calling me milady." her rebuttal was automatic. "Call me Cel, call me Cat, call me almost anything ya want but late for dinner but do not ever call me milady. And Beth's our rogue. But I've learned a few things in my time with 'em all. I only LOOK like I'm sleepwalking."

He found himself chuckling under his breath, perversely enjoying her company and her sense of whimsy.
"Yes, mila---Cel." he teased her lightly as he reached out with his free hand to open the delicate doubledoor in front of him that led out to the balcony he had promised.

She huffed at him for an instant, only because she knew he was expecting it, and when he laughed at her in delight, she grinned faintly at him. As she stepped out onto the balcony, suddenly finding herself a half-step behind Marcus without even realizing that he had slid her behind him in a protective manner, she was caught between gasping in awed pleasure at the view before her and thwacking him on his arm for being a male chauvinist.

Instead, she just held on to his arm and took a series of deep breaths, inhaling the heady scent of the rosebushes that lined the terraces below.

"Does this serve your purpose and meet with your approval, Cel?" he asked her formally.

Oh. Yes. It served admirably. However, her voice did not serve anyone, especially herself, at this moment. She nodded her head several times in a row, unable to speak, as she drew in lungfuls of the night air, inhaling and exhaling in an effort to cycle the fresh air throughout her system. Her knees threatened to buckle on her again and she found herself tightening her grip on Marcus' arm, drawing his concern for her fully to the forefront.

"I don't think you're up to much of a walk this night, Cel." he pointed out gently, already turning her around and directing her to one of the low-lying stone benches that dotted the balcony along the exterior wall of the manor.

She lowered herself down onto the bench, shaking her head twice before leaning back against the wall. The cool stone of the wall penetrated the warmth of the afghan and her shirt, chilling her slightly. Marcus settled next to her, his hand already lowering down to circle loosely around her wrist as if to take her pulse while his shoulder gently bumped against her's in a companionable gesture.

"What was it? An injury or illness?" he asked quietly, dividing his attention between the heartbeat he was able to detect beneath the flesh of her thin wrist and the green of her eyes.

"Both." her voice was just the slightest bit breathless. "I was injured in an accident and required surgery which lasted for hours, and during the surgery, I picked up a staph infection from an unclean instrument."

"You are lucky, you lived." he observed calmly. He found her pulse accelerated and rather weak, and he was debating whether or not to attribute that to the events of today in the garden coupled with her rejection of food. He was also struggling internally with himself over how best to broach the subject of returning her to safety on the outside of this expedition before she was injured further.

"I can do what needs to be done, Marcus." she spoke in a low-pitched voice, ducking her head a bit. Swaths of brown silken hair swung forward, veilling her face from his eyes. "And it's really getting close to being Too Late, isn't it? There's really no one else who has worked with all these people, either in a game or on the outside, no one else like me. You can't afford to send me back."

[Desdemona]

What he thought was No, there's definitely no one else like you, Cel. What he said was: "Will you promise to let me help you in every way that I can, Cel? No fending me off with words, saying you aren't hungry or you don't need to rest when we both know you DO need to eat and you DO need to rest."

"I don't like being a burden." the words were clipped and when he angled his head to the side a bit, he could see past the strands of hair, he could see the fires rising in the eyes of green.

"You don't have a choice here, Cel." he hated having to do this, hated having to be the hard-case, knowing that he was driving a wedge between them before anything else had a chance to develop. "Either you give me your word that you will let me help you or I go straight to Vincent and have him arrange your transport back to where you belong."

"I don't belong anywhere." she shot back, two blotches of hectic colour flooding her cheeks. "And if you have me sent back, you won't have a Healer for this expedition and you KNOW how much one will be needed. Even -I- gleaned that much from reading the initial reports."

"I told you before, Cel." his tone was implacable, his eyes hooded. "I know a bit of the Healing Ways. Granted, I'm not as adept as you are, but we WILL manage if you do not promise me and we are forced to send you back."

"This is extortion." her tone of voice lowered in pitch.

"Call it what you will. Will you promise me?" his voice matched her's tone for tone.

"Do I have a choice?" her voice taking on a note of despair.

"Yes, Cel, you will always have a choice, I promise you that. Do you promise me?" Internally, he was infuriated with the twisting turn of events that was making this conversation neccessary.

"Yes." she all but literally spat the word out at him, her head lifting up as brown hair went spiralling back away from her face and over her shoulders in the cool, fragrant night air. "Yes, damn you. I promise I will let you help me."

With a twisting, eel-like movement that surprised him, she was up on her feet and out of his loose grasp, her green eyes blazing at him in full fury as she faced him, her body balanced on the balls of her feet as she poised for imminent flight.

"There! You got yer damned promise, Marcus." the bitterness was tinged by tones of sorrow that she doubted he would recognize. "I hope yer happy now." Without another word, she sprang forward, shoving open the balcony doors and taking flight across the marbled floor as she headed out of his reach.

His shoulders slumped just the slightest and he closed his eyes for a long moment, sighing silently to himself. No, Cel. I'm anything but happy now. I didn't want to have to be like that, not with you.

She stalked towards the room she would be sharing with Sammie, fury's fire riding high in her blood and wracking her body with a series of tremors that wouldn't abate any time soon. She would soak in the bathtub and then go to bed, tomorrow morning she would deal with the promise she had made to that damnable male. Nearing the closed door to her shared room, her steps slowed as she sought to compose herself. If she went into the room and let Sammie see her in this condition, there would be many more questions and discussions and she was quite tired of those at the moment. Taking a series of deep, steadying breaths, she was regaining her control...and then the sounds of an all-too-familiar male voice reached her ears, the accented voice of Sunny sounding within her room. Sammie's voice chirped up in counterpoint and thier conversation continued....

No. She was not up to dealing with Finny, not yet. Especially after the discussion she had just taken part of up on that balcony. A sobbing breath broke free from her and she swiped at her eyes, further infuriated to find moisture on her hand.

From down the hall, a creak could be heard, heralding someone's presence on the steps that led down from the floor above. Nertz! Damned if I do an' damned if I don't. Unwilling to go into her room and deal with Finny, and unable to stand there and face Marcus, she did the only thing she -could- do, and without further internal debate, she darted down the hall, moving swiftly and silently through the shadows until she reached the next set of stairs. However, instead of fleeing further downwards into the manor, she went back upstairs, her soft footfalls carrying her back towards the ballroom.

Marcus reached the bottom of the stairs, his face set in unreadable lines. He knew Cel was furious with him and to be honest, he wasn't too happy with what he had been forced to do either. However, he was not about to shirk his responsibilities nor take them lightly. He would just stop and check in on her, make sure she made it to her room without incident. Tomorrow would be another day, and hopefully after some much-needed sleep and some type of food in the morning, Cel would be willing to listen to him for a while. With resolve in his stride, he approached the door to the room she shared, and his keen hearing detected the sounds of a male voice with an unusual accent. That would be the one named Finny. And there, he now heard the fluting tones of Sammie, lifting in agreement with whatever he was saying. Marcus held himself still for many moments, waiting to hear the sound of Cel's voice...

....and it never came. A dark frown twisted at his features and he linked with his brother. His shoulders stiffened as his brother's thoughts reached him, averring that Cel wasn't downstairs with them. What had she done? Alesh was his next contact, the feline's senses swirling in a golden haze of warmth that surrounded him. I can not find Cel, Alesh. And she's unhappy right now. I just need to know where she is and that she's alright. Another flash of hazy warmth drifted down around him and he felt Alesh moving through the large manor-house. While Alesh searched, Marcus moved down towards the other staircase and lowered himself down to sit on the bottom step.

He was rubbing his hands against his eyes when Alesh's touch reached out for him, a feeling of warm reassurance mingled with the normal golden haze. He had found Cel and a small flicker of a mental image appeared before his mental eye and he saw, surprisingly, the ballroom once again. Marcus was back up on his feet and moving swiftly up the stairs before the motion even registered upon his conciousness. He chose to ignore that trifling detail and let his feet carry him once more to the ballroom. He didn't even hesitate in his forward progress as he passed the threshold into the room, his senses already directing him to the far western side of the great room.

Along one side of the ballroom, small 'reception areas' had been set up, set back behind the pillars that rose up to the ceiling, framed by the many tapestries and draperies, guazy curtains gathered in bunches that could be released when needed to provide more privacy, should one wish it. Luxurious sofas and chairs were strategically placed within these choice salons and it was upon one of those sofas that Marcus spied the curled shape of a quiescent Cel.

He halted his foward progress, remaining perfectly still for a long moment while he carefully studied the unmoving form of the brown-haired woman. From where he stood, he could see that she had unwrapped the afghan from her body and it now lay puddled at the far end of the sofa. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell in an uneasy rythym, as if she slept lightly in a fitful doze...

...and there in the shadowy room, he could see the silvered tracks of moisture that had trickled down the planes of her face. For yet another moment he couldn't move, he couldn't even seem to breathe as a heavy fist tightened around his normally-untouchable heart..

Then he was moving again, his steps silent and steady as he crossed the ballroom floor. He didn't move so quietly by design, it was his natural pace that brought him to the side of the small sofa that held the sleeping figure that had captured his attention.

Lowering to a crouch at her side, he found himself stretching a hand out towards her, his fingers curving gently as he made a motion towards touching her face. Yet before actual contact was made, he stopped himself, as tiny alarm bells commenced ringing in the back of his brain as his skin registered an unnatural heat emanating from Cel's face. He caught his breath as his eyes widened, more concerned than he had been previously where this woman was involved. His hand fell to rest lightly against the edge of a cushion of the sofa while he took the time needed to thoroughly examine the woman as best as he could short of actually touching her.

A gusting breeze feathered his dark hair, distracting him momentarily and he glanced back over his shoulder, taking note of the doors that were open across the room from this small salon area. Either he had left them open when he had followed after Cel or she, herself, had opened them again when she returned to this room in search of solitude.

Turning his full attention back to Cel, he noted with some disquiet that there was a fine sheen of sweat beading across her forehead, dampening the hair that surrounded her face. His normally bright blue eyes darkened in hue as he reached for the discarded afghan and once again draped it around Cel's sleeping shape. He would leave the doors open for now while she slept, sheltered by the warm wool that would keep a chill from taking up residence in her body.

[Desdemona]

Once he was certain that she was not going to awaken and remove the blanket, he nodded his head to himself and stretched out on the floor in front of the sofa. Unwilling to move her and run the risk of disturbing her much-needed sleep, he would leave her right where she was and furthermore, he would stay at her side, whether she awakened soon or not. He wasn't about to leave her alone, not when he had already made her upset. Let her say what she would when she woke and found him on the floor, he would deal with that at the time it happened, but for now, he would catch what sleep he could, for something told him that tomorrow was another day that would not pass without some sort of incident.

Alesh leapt up to the back of the sofa and curled himself there, the better to keep watch over the two sleeping people.

Marcus slept for three, maybe four hours when he was wrenched from his sleep by a prickling sensation that started within the marrow of his bones.

"Someone's out there." surprisingly enough, it was Cel speaking in a low voice to him as he sat upright, his first thoughts upon waking being her safety which had his eyes swivelling towards her before he had even been fully concious and coherent.

His gaze followed her's and his eyes narrowed at the sight that greeted him from the farthest edge of the balcony that was visible through the open doorway.

"Mikhail." Marcus put a Name to the softly-glowing figure that floated silently just out of reach of the protective Wards.

"Of course it is." Cel stated. "Why are they never named Stanislaus?? Always Mikhail or Alexander but never ever Stanislaus or Pyotr or even George!! What's up with that?! Is it something in thier contract or what?"

He tore his gaze away from the flickering figure that represented the leader of thier greatest challenge, the Darkers and he stared at Cel for the space of a heartbeat or two.

"I have NO idea, Cel. When this is all over, I promise you that we will ask them that very question." he responded honestly.

"Will that be before or after I kick your arse for giving me a bad time earlier?" she asked him, her tone of voice sweet and innocent as she met his gaze squarely, without flinching.

"The choice shall be all your's, Cel." Marcus promised her, holding her eyes with his own. He was more relieved than he knew he should be by the fact that she was still speaking to him.

"Damn straight. Now what do we do about him?!" she nodded her head towards the balcony and the figure that still floated silently in the night air.

Marcus turned so that his back was against the edge of the sofa and he eased his long legs out in front of him, his gaze fastening upon the still-unthreatening figure.

"It's not really Mikhail, just a representation of him." he judged. "It's his way of reminding Vincent and I that he's still out there, waiting for us. He knows we're coming, but we knew he would be aware of it."

"Creepy dude." Cel commented, her arms coming up to wrap around herself, the afghan having fallen from her when she sat up. "I don't LIKE waking up to find someone weird watching me sleep. Tell him next time to make some honest noise or somethin'."

Marcus frowned at that, now realizing that Cel -had- seen Mikhail and had obviously sensed his Presence somehow, if she had indeed woken up from a deep sleep. Matter of fact, she had awakened before Marcus himself had responded to the unaerthly visitor.

"Why are we camped out in the ballroom when we do have perfectly good beds in the lower part of the House?" came Vincent's voice from the doorway to the ballroom.

Marcus tilted his head back far enough that he could catch Cel's gaze and he grinned sheepishly at her. He should have realized that once Vincent had discovered Mikhail's Presence that his brother would have gone on patrol immediately, verifying for himself that everyone was safely accounted for in thier beds.

"The air in my room with it's perfectly good bed was rather...stuffy and I felt it best that I not remain there this night." Cel informed Vincent, her tone of voice frosty and stiff.

"Do tell." Vincent invited her cordially, hooking his thumbs into his belt-loops while his eyebrows rose.

"No, thank you." Cel declined, equally cordial.

"Why not?" Vincent asked, honestly puzzled.

"Because it's nunya." Cel replied, her tone patient.

"What does that mean?" Vincent questioned.

"It means nunyadamnedbidness." she spelled it out for him fully, her arms now crossing across her chest as her jaw set firmly.

Marcus laughed, his amusement deepening as his brother speared him with an indignant glare. He clambered to his feet and turned back towards Cel, extending a hand towards her.

"Now that you've put my brother in his place so very well, will you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to another room that you may claim as your own, mila--Cel?" he inquired courteously, mischief's imp showing within his eyes.

"But I'm awake now." she complained, although she reached up and took his offered hand, using his support to leverage herself up to her feet. The room did it's usual sickeningly slow spin and dip around, but only once this time, leaving her almost steady upon her own two feet.

"Are you hungry?" Marcus asked her quietly, not yet releasing her hand. This may very well be the first test of the strength of her promise...

She frowned slightly, mulling it over, finally nodding her head a couple of times.

"A lil bit?" her voice was mixed with uncertainty and surprise.

"Hmph." Vincent half-snorted. "But food DOES sound good. Scrambled eggs with chopped tomatoes and onions coming up.Maybe a bit of cheese but I don't know just yet. You're mean to me, you know."

Vincent flashed a bright smile at Cel the very next moment, showing her in his own odd way that he was joking with the woman before he turned on his heel and loped down the hall, clattering down the steps as he headed for the kitchen.

"Huh." she commented mildly. "He hasn't SEEN mean yet. Boy, is HE in for a treat."

Marcus found himself laughing softly at the woman. He released her hand for a moment, wanting to attend to something before they left the room. He was uneasy about leaving an open door to the premises with Mikhail around, even as well-guarded as they were by Vincent's Wards.

"Go away, Mikhail, there's nothing here for you." he stated firmly as he closed the doors, shifting the latch fast before he turned back to Cel where she stood in the middle of the ballroom floor.

"That'll tire him out." Cel commented abruptly. "He can't maintain a physical representation of himself for an indefinite period of time, even if it IS just an unmoving construct. What's he hoping to prove by doing that?"

"He's hoping it'll worry Vincent and I enough that we'll lose sleep over it and won't be able to concentrate on the matters at hand as well as we should." Marcus responded.

"Oh yeah, like THAT'LL happen." she snorted plainly. "Your brother talks a good game but he's almost as single-minded as you are."

"You say that like that's a bad thing, Cel." Marcus observed.

She shrugged her shoulders at that. She slanted a glance up into his face, her green eyes oddly dark.

"Priorities are always a good thing to have an' losin' sight of the Big Picture has been the downfall of many a party out in the field." she was choosing her words to him with deliberate care. "But bein' too single-minded an' closed to other possibile courses of action has also brought doom down on the heads of the best of the well-meaning individuals."

"What's your point?" Marcus asked her, his shoulders stiffening noticably.

"My point is we can't afford to do either of those things, Marcus. We can't lose sight of the Big Picture an' yet we can't close the door to other choices or we may end up losing it all. It's a fine line we're gonna have to tread here, Marcus, make no mistake about it." her words came in a strained voice, as if she was unsure how they would be received.

[Desdemona]

He mulled her words, his shoulders settling back down to thier normal stance as he nodded his head slowly.

"You speak as if you know quite well about walking fine lines, Cel." he commented mildly. He had this almost irresistable urge to drape one of his long arms around her shoulders and instead, he found himself shoving his hands in his pockets.

She threw him a smile that was taut with strain and her green eyes glittered with an eerie light.

"There are all sorts of fine lines, Marcus, an' if ya don't know they're out there, they'll trip ya up every time." her voice was lilting, as if she was reciting poetry or singing some song bereft of the accompanying melody. "Tis a fine line between love an' hate, 'twixt heaven an' hell an' seperatin' fact from fiction. Keen razor's edge of a line that seperates accidents from deliberate actions that were intended to cause harm. These are the fine lines that make up webs, Marcus. An' oh, what tangled webs we do weave, when we first practice to decieve."

She took a half-step backwards away from him, a spasm of some unexplained emotion twisting at her features and Marcus found himself reaching out for her...and with his greater height and longer arm-span, he was able to catch her hand in his own. Twisting his fingers through her's, he smiled very gently down at her.

"We do not need to speak of this tonight, Cel." he spoke softly, capturing her gaze with his own eyes. "And I do believe Vincent has our food prepared, let's go get something to eat. But know that should you have need to talk, about this or anything else that is weighing on your mind, you know where to find me."

She managed to dredge up a wavery smile for him, nodding her head. She found herself oddly content to let him lead her from the ballroom and walk with her down the hall and the stairs, escorting her to the kitchen.

Vincent was in rare form in the kitchen, dishing out plates of the promised scrambled eggs.

"It's almost sunrise." he commented, setting a plate in front of Cel first. "How long does everyone usually sleep? There's a lot to get done in the next few days."

"If ya let them wake up on thier own, nobody will be upright before noon." she stated as she speared a forkful of fluffy scrambled-egg. "An' ya gotta remember, Danny and Manda are used to a different time zone than the rest of us. Our daytime is thier middle of the night...and Danny is a cranky one when he gets tired."

Marcus chuckled at his brother's expression as he digested that small fact.

"We need to get everyone on the same schedule, then." Vincent stated.

Cel took another bite of the scrambled eggs, much to Marcus' relief and she eyed Vincent for a moment or two as she chewed and then swallowed her breakfast.

"Good luck." was all she said, reaching out for the mug of hot tea that had been poured for her.

"What's on today's agenda, then?" Marcus inquired of his brother, speaking aloud so as to include Cel in thier discussion instead of resorting to thier link.

"Weapons proficiency." Vincent declared with considerable relish.

Cel made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, yet she met thier concerned gazes with a steady stare, her face smooth and unreadable.

"Brave souls you are." she commented, setting her fork down on the edge of her now-empty plate.

Vincent narrowed his eyes at her as he leaned back against the counter and he crossed his arms against his chest.

"What weapon skills do YOU have, Cel?" he asked innocently. "Besides that wicked sharp tongue of your's, that is."

She grinned at him then, holding the mug of tea between her palms.

"Staves, Vincent. Staves. Quarter-staff, preferably." she answered him plainly. "I can manage to hold my own quite decently against Danny. Manda still hands my arse to me, tho. She's a tough one with wood."

The two brothers exchanged long looks, Vincent already aware of some of his brother's concerns where this woman was involved.

"I think we can excuse you from today's activities, Cel." Vincent said casually, helping himself to more hot tea.

She simply smiled at them both, leaning back in her chair and taking a deep draught of her tea as she stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them at the ankles.

"Oh no, Vincent, that won't be neccessary." she disagreed in an absolutely cheerful tone of voice. "After all, I would think it best that you see how we all can handle ourselves in melee-situations...don't you, Marcus?"

He literally had to stop his eyes from crossing. She was deliberately going out of her way to be stubborn. The brothers had agreed between themselves that Cel was to be kept from any strenuous activities for a day or two, giving Marcus further time to nudge her back towards a sturdy semblance of health.

"Yes, Cel, I do agree with you." he spoke as he thought, trying to best guage how to handle this situation without having a repeat of thier earlier scene upon the balcony. "But we can wait a day or two, or three, until you are a bit more..." here his voice failed him as his mind traitorously went blank on him.

Cel merely quirked an eyebrow at him, schooling her face to maintain a politely curious expression, while on the inside, she was giggling at the brothers' discomfiture.

"A bit more what, Marcus?" she inquired politely. "Don't be shy on me all of a sudden, squeak up and spit it out, man!"

" Oi, ease up on the guy, eh?" yawned a male voice from the far doorway right before a sleepy-looking Danny shambled into view. "Whyfor are ya givin' someone grief before daylight, woman?"

"Some people are saved by bells, you may consider yourselves saved by an Aussie." Cel informed Vincent and Marcus both. "Not to be confused, by ANY means whatsoever, with an Angel."

"Buggeroff." Danny yawned, pouring himself a mug of hot tea. He plodded over to the table shared by Marcus and Cel and flopped down into an empty chair, yawning again.

Marcus was silently relieved by the appearance of the other male. It would give them an opportunity to distract Cel, affording him the chance to ease her off into an empty room to catch up on some of her much-needed sleep, now that she had eaten. The last thing she needed, in his opinion, was a chance at getting smacked around and bruised by his brother's planned 'weapons proficiency' testing event.

"So whatcha scrappin' about, Cel?" Danny's voice was clearer now, as were his eyes, now that he had consumed over half a mug of his tea. "One of these fellas tell ya 'no' or somethin'??

"Or something, yes." she replied, blinking a bit as her mug of hot tea was replenished by Vincent before she had even realized it was empty. "Seems they have a bit of a weapons-skill test planned for later on today an' I'm gettin' the feelin' that they don't want me to participate."

Danny was silent as he drank some more of his tea, his hazel-eyed stare taking in the concern he saw flickering across the dark-haired male's face as well as the frustration that showed briefly on the face of the blonde man. He knew Cel better than almost anyone else here in this manorhouse and even he was hesitant to try to out-maneuver the woman when she had her mind set on a certain course of actions.

"Why you so keen on playin' along with it, anyways?" he asked practically. "Because they don't want ya to?"

Frowning slightly, she glared at Danny. It would definitely throw a kink into her plans to have the annoying Aussie come along and join forces with the two brothers.

"To prove that I can still hold my own against a few people where it still counts." she informed him politely.

Danny finished his tea before replying to his friend of many years: "Cel, you don't need to prove anythin' to anyone, darlin'. You are who you are, you are what you are and we all love you exactly the way you are and if you change yourself to make someone else happy, I will personally kick your ass from one end of this continent to the other end, am I making myself clear?"

"You're babbling, Daniel." she observed. "You need more hot tea before you can hope to keep yourself out of trouble without Manda here to help."

"Bah, if I don't get into trouble on my own, then Manda doesn't have anything to keep herself busy and then she gets bored easy, and you KNOW how she is when Manda gets bored." Danny explained while holding his mug steady as Vincent refilled it with more hot tea. "She's almost as bad as you when that happens, Cel."

" 'Nuff said, Danny." Cel sighed into her hot tea. She had consumed over half of the liquid in the mug and she was feeling inexplicably drowsy, all of a sudden. It was as if all of her harried actions of the previous two weeks had caught up to her without warning, using yesterday's episode in the garden as some sort of catalyst. She found herself yawning, a hand coming up to rub carefully at her heavy-lidded eyes.

Vincent leaned back against the counter once again, a small glint appearing in his eyes as he watched the woman grow wearier with every moment. His brother was too straightforward to ask him to administer a sleeping draught to her in some manner, but Vincent wasn't one to go about letting something little like that stop him. Neither one of them wanted to see her injured in some way during today's little testing event and they both -did- agree she definitely needed more rest...

[Desdemona]

"Hey, you ok, Cel?" Danny spoke up, a frown creasing his forehead.

She only nodded her head, scraping her chair back as she pushed away from the table. "Tired." she croaked as she shoved herself up to her feet. "Gonna go sleep, saw a couch in the other room."

"Couch?" Danny queried, bewildered. "What's wrong with your room?!" He suddenly narrowed his eyes, studying Cel. "Is Finny being an ass again?"

"Again? Still." she mumbled, swaying slightly where she stood.

Vincent was moving away from the counter at the same moment that Marcus reached Cel's side, his arm catching her neatly around her waist.

"You won't be comfortable on a couch, Cel." he was murmuring, already scooping the woman up into his arms easily. "Let's get you comfortable for a change, let you sleep as long as you need."

"Not m'room." she mumbled, her head falling against his shoulder. "Sunny's there, don't want Finny."

"Well that's about the smartest damned thing you've said in months." Danny snorted. "Want me to move him? I can move him. Please let me move Sunny, Cel. I'll be gentle....NOT."

Vincent's eyebrows were climbing up towards his hairline at this interesting exchange of dialogue. He caught a glance of his brother's face and saw a certain implacable expression that told him that Cel was going nowhere near her own room, not if Marcus had anything to say about it. And seeing as how Marcus was in current possession of her exhausted body in his arms, it was safe to say that Marcus had quite a bit to say about it all.

"Leave him where he is." Marcus' voice was mild. "She'll be sleeping elsewhere for a while. She needs a bit of space where it's quiet, that's what she needs."

"And where exactly would that space be?" Danny inquired ever-so-politely as he began to slowly get to his feet.

"My room." Marcus stated simply before tightening his grip on the sleepy woman in his arms. "I'll be helping Vincent with today's plans, and Alesh will be there to keep her company. Nobody will disturb her then."

"That okay with you, Cel?" Danny pitched his voice to carry over into the almost-asleep woman's conciousness. To be honest, he really wasn't sure just what he would do if Cel said it -wasn't- okay, but he knew that someone had to make sure her interests were looked after.

Startled, Marcus swung around to face Danny. Danny merely shrugged his shoulders, meeting the dark-haired man's gaze with his own steady hazel-eyed stare. Cel didn't move a muscle, her eyes finally closed completely and her breathing slow and deep.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes." Danny said ruefully. "If she had any objections, she wouldn't be asleep right now."

"Thank you." Marcus said ironically before he turned and walked from the kitchen, carefully transporting his delicate burden.

Vincent whistled silently to himself and promptly dumped out the contents of the second small teapot that had been simmering on the stove, a move that wasn't unnoticed by Danny.

"Better living through chemistry?" he commented, an irate glint appearing in his eyes.

"More like better sleeping." Vincent replied calmly, drying his hands. "She'll be fine, Danny. She really does need to rest, surely even you could see that."

Danny grudgingly nodded his head in agreement, the glint fading from his eyes.


Marcus stepped back from the edge of his bed, smoothing the blankets over Cel's sleeping shape. Alesh had already claimed his spot at her side, his golden eyes half-closed. Marcus stood there for a moment or two, his sense of relief easing some of his concern over the green-eyed woman. She was so much more than just another member of yet another expedition that was setting out to help the brothers drive the Darker threat from thier lands. He really didn't know quite how to deal with that just yet. Somehow, with her quiet mannerisms, quirky personality and whimsical sense of humour, she had managed to find a chink in the armor that normally kept Marcus' heart safe...

...but could he keep her safe? Her physical condition was already causing him some concerns, and from what he had been able to glean from her during thier random talks, she, too, felt more than what was visible to the naked eye. Was she somehow connected to them by blood? He had never paid too much attention to the old tales of the time when the passing-throughs occurred on a regular basis, perhaps someone from thier lands had crossed over into the lands of the Humans and set up housekeeping there, and Cel was somehow a product of that.

His hand reached out and he finally gave into that urge he had been holding back, and his long fingers traced a path down the side of Cel's slumbering face, trailing from her temple down to her chin. The fae light in his blue eyes flared brightly as he dropped his hand and turned away from her. There....was definitely something between them, something that he wished to see grow strong. But to do that, he needed her to grow stronger, healthier. Which meant she needed to sleep. Of course, Vincent's sleeping draught would go a long way towards making certain she slept, and Alesh would keep watch over the woman for as long as was neccessary...

Sighing quietly to himself, he smoothed the blanket over her one last time before turning around and silently leaving his rooms, the small orange tabby-cat curled up at the side of the sleeping woman, standing guard and purring a lullabye.

[Desdemona]

The weapons proficiency testing was not going as smoothly as Vincent would have wished it. He clenched his hands behind his back as he watched this motley crew of melee-classes practice with thier chosen weapons. Ye gods they were a clumsy lot. Marcus wasn't helping all that much, either, standing there at the far end of the room, leaning against the fireplace and brooding. Vincent knew all too well where his brother's thoughts rested and they didn't rest on anyone within the ballroom.

Outside of the manor, the weather was turning dark and threatening as a series of thunderheads moved inexorably into thier area, the winds picking up speed as they whistled shrilly through the trees. Vincent found himself moving across the ballroom, sidestepping the practices, as he headed for the nearest door that led to the balcony. Something wasn't quite right about this upcoming storm.. He murmured a series of cantrips and spells, resetting and restrengthening his various Wards as he walked. A thorough check of thier security was in order and fast.

"Marcus, we need to check the Wards throughout the whole House." he rapped out. "We could sure use Alesh's help with it, three of us will move faster than only two."

Marcus hesitated for a long moment, his first instinct being to refuse his brother's request. Alesh was sitting with Cel, providing security and comfort for the woman while she slept. He was ill-disposed towards leaving her there, alone. But Cel still slept, according to Alesh's last report of warm golden haze. The sooner they did this, the sooner Alesh could return to guarding the woman. Finally, Marcus nodded his head, sending a Call out to Alesh.

While the two brothers, accompanied by Alesh, reset and repowered the various Wards placed about the manorhouse, those that had been showing off thier melee prowess and the lack thereof wandered the manor behind them, investigating thier environs and comparing notes.

It was the sounds of the violent storm breaking loose that managed to waken the sleeping Cel. Somewhat dazed and disoriented, she sat up, puzzled at finding herself in a strange bed in a dimly-lit room. While she rubbed her forehead, her memory slowly filtered images to her, her breakfast in the kitchen, the endless mugs of hot tea and then her growing weariness, until her last memory of that time involved Marcus lifting her up in his arms. That explained how she got here, wherever here was.

Here would turn out to be Marcus' room, something told her, as she swung her legs out from beneath the blankets and got to her feet. Finding herself steadier than she had been in a few days, she rubbed her eyes free from sleep's clouds and looked around, spotting a door set into the far wall. She made her way from the room, passing through the smaller chamber that came next, before she finally emerged into the shadowy hallway. So far, she had encountered no one else and she guessed that everyone else was somewhere upstairs, perhaps still taking part in the 'weapons proficiency' testing that had been planned.

Yawning deeply, she shambled through the lower part of the manor, reaching the stairs. Deciding that she really needed a hot shower to finish clearing the cobwebs from her brain, Cel climbed the stairs and pattered down the hallway beyond, stopping in her room long enough to grab clean clothing before she took over the small bathroom at the end of the hall.

Refreshed and almost capable of rational thought, she tidied the bathroom behind her, hanging the towels up to dry before she left the room, turning out the light. Curiosity getting the best of her, she decided to run upstairs to the ballroom, believing that to be the logical place to hold Vincent's weapons-skill test.

Her feet bare against the marble floor, she found the great room empty of all life and she blinked a few times, somewhat puzzled as to where everyone else could be. Wrinkling her nose as she looked around at the various training weapons assembled in wooden racks that were set near the door, she picked out a gleaming length of wood that was etched with a series of beautifully-carved runes and hefted it in her hands, balancing it lightly across her palms. As far as a quarterstaff went, it was a gorgeous example of the weaponry that she was most familiar with. A small wry smile twisted at her lips and she slowly paced towards the center of the marble floor of the ballroom, breathing deeply and rythymically as she channeled her energy carefully. She hadn't shadow-feinted in so long, she found herself wondering if she had lost her touch...

Bend at the knees, balance on the balls of the feet, hold the 'staff just so and hold that pose for a heartbeat..beat..beat before

exploding

...into action, a series of spins emphasized by the flashing twists of the quarterstaff as she moved like she hadn't moved in so long...

Giving herself up to the joy of movement unfettered by convention and prying eyes, she Danced across the marble floor, drawing herself up into the running leap that would send her across a considerable distance before it dropped her to her knees in front of the doors that led out to the rain-lashed balcony.

Laughing to herself, she sought to catch her breath as she let her attention get caught by the storm holding court across the countryside. Climbing to her feet, she found her hand on the doorknob and she merely pulled the door open, stepping outside into the cooler, energized air.


"What a waste." came a mocking male voice from the ground in front of the manor. "Why couldn't you have stayed out of there, child? You have NO idea how it wounds me to do this to you..."

Her mind supplied the Name Mikhail at the exact same moment that there was a twisting, tearing, ripping sound over her head and she looked up, quarter staff at the ready, as the roof over the ballroom was simply lifted off...

...and Marcus' words from the night before replayed in her mind: "Everything beneath the roof is safe sanctuary."

But now the roof was gone...and Mikhail stood on the green grass below and she had an entire marble floor to run across in order to reach the safety from which to warn the others...

She was already spinning around and darting across the balcony, flinging herself through the remnants of the delicate doors, still tightly grasping the staff...only to find herself facing several reanimated skeletal warriors carrying swords and maces...

"Oh shit." she breathed, stopping dead in her tracks. She took the opportunity to count the number of walking bones and she came up with 17. "Why an uneven number, Mikhail?" Not that it mattered, but it was something for her to say as she frantically thought of a way to get past this rather....ominious set of roadblocks that stood between her and the doorway to safety.

There was nothing for it, then. Nothing for her to do but make a run for the door and try to gain entry to the hallway beyond, where the roof still covered it and Vincent's Wards still held fast. She needed to warn them...

Once again, she brought the quarterstaff up, balancing it across her palms as she took a series of deep breaths, calming herself. Once she had slowed down the rythym of her heart, she stepped forward, the quarterstaff spinning once as she moved her arms wrist over wrist. With every step, the 'staff spun a total circle as the woman kept her eyes fastened upon the door, counting the steps in her mind as she moved gracefully, precisely.

Overhead, the rain still fell, drifting down to puddle on the glowing marble floor. The raindrops seemed to have a rythymic pattern of thier own and Cel found herself moving across the dampening floors in time to the eerie music it seemed to make.

And the skeletal warriors still stood, poised and perfectly still, ranged before her in front of the doorway that she needed to pass through to reach sanctuary....

[Desdemona]

Alesh howled in a manner that drew shivers down the length of Marcus' spine and he spun around, his eyes wild as he sought the reason for that cry from his companion.

"MARCUS!" Roared the voice of Vincent from the floor below. "We've lost the Wards over the third floor! Get up there, we need to secure the House again!"

Marcus was already moving, following Alesh in a mad dash up the next set of stairs and down the hallway, where the carpets were getting soaked by the rain that was seeping beneath the tightly-shut doors of the ballroom. The orange tabby-cat didn't even hesitate, he just threw his furry body against the wood of the doors, yowling a Challenge...

....something thudded into the doors from the other side and came to rest against them with a clatter.

Marcus gripped the doorknobs, twisting and turning them in an effort to open the doors, but found them locked fast. With an inarticulate howl of anger, he battered against the recalcitrant doors with his fists.

"Marcus?" came an all-too-familiar feminine voice from the far side of the door.

"Cel?!" he demanded imperiously. "What the HELL is going on?"

In reply, there was another thudding clatter against the doors and he could make out the sound of wood smacking another hard surface. "Cel!"

"Mikhail's outside." came the words that were sure to chill his blood.

"Fine, we'll deal with him next. Open the door, Cel." he forced himself to remain calm as he continued to work at the doorknobs.

"I would if I could, Marcus, but they won't LET me." she sounded perfectly calm and rational from her side of the door, though he could still hear sounds of some type of struggle.

"They?" a trace of alarm sounded in his voice and he was grateful for Vincent's presence at his back. "Who're They, baby?"

There was a series of *thwockthwackthwapcrrrraaaaack* from the other side of the door, followed by a half-strangled shriek. Vincent carefully pushed his brother out of his way, grasping the metal doorknobs in his hands and closing his eyes, beginning a series of chants...

"Don't....call....me...baby." Cel's voice came from the ballroom, but this time there was a definite tone of strain to her words.

"OK, fine. I'll call you whatever you want, Cel." he hastily apologized. "Who is in there with you? Come on, Cel, talk to me here. We're trying to open the doors."

"I don't know thier names, Marcus, they haven't introduced themselves to me just yet but there ARE fewer of them now than when they first got here, I'm pleased to tell you." her voice was changing tones again.

"Cel." he tried to get a grip on himself. "Cel, please please please be careful. We're almost there, Cel. Move away from them and the doors, Cel. I don't want you to get hurt."

There was a long moment of silence broken only by the sounds of Vincent's chant fading off at the final word.

"A lil too late for that, I think." he heard her say as the doors simply swung open as Vincent's cantrip succeeded.

"Holy Mother of the gods!" Vincent expostulated as he was shoved out of Marcus' way, his feet trampled by Alesh.

The ballroom now looked like some sort of macabre battlefield, the marble floor littered with various fragments and segments of old bone, the stark contrast of crimson splashes standing out in relief against the myriad shades of black, grey and white.

"Cel?" Marcus was speaking in a coaxing tone of voice and Vincent found himself picking a path through the debris that littered the floor as he angled towards his brother where he stood facing the western wall.

Alesh was prowling across the floor, stopping periodically to make his Mark against the floor, rebuilding the series of runes and Wards that would re-secure thier safety.

Cel was seated against a pillar, her legs out in front of her, a once-shining quarterstaff held across her lap as she watched, as if from a great distance, Marcus and Vincent slowly search the wreckage of the ballroom, looking for her. Marcus looked almost distraught, she thought to herself and that idea disturbed her, caused her to think of a way to ease his mind.

"There were only 17 of them, and I think it was a diversion." her voice echoed eerily through the dripping rain.

Marcus spun around, his eyes wild, as he sought for the source of her voice. Vincent was right on his heels. "Why do you say that, Cel? he asked, in an effort to keep her talking so that they could track her by the sound of her voice.

She laughed soundlessly, stopping in mid-breath as a stabbing pain radiated throughout her side.

"Because I LIVED, Vincent." her voice held a mixture of pain and humour as she responded. "I really don't think I have what it takes to stand up to the Main Event, such as it is."

Marcus suddenly exploded into action, almost literally leaping the entire distance from where he had been standing to land in a crouch at Cel's side. Vincent followed at a more sedate pace. Marcus reached out towards the woman, his hands perfectly steady as he tightly held his self-control.

She shook her head sharply, her hands coming up as if to fend him off: "No, Marcus. I hurt. Just...let me be."

"I don't think so." he informed her calmly, his hands remaining perfectly still in front of him. "Let me see, Cel. Please. Let me help."

Again, another shake of her head, the pupils of her eyes almost totally filling the iris, nothing but a thin rim of brilliant green showing. A curving slash, still oozing blood, traced the line of her cheek. "No poking, Marcus. No prodding. It always hurts too much. Just...leave me alone. They're all gone, all of 'em. I sent 'em away, isn't that good enough?" An ugly bruise was forming, the dull, angry colours creeping across her shoulder and already showing above the collar of the jersey she had chosen to wear.

"Cel." he struggled to keep his voice calm and soothing even while he was quailing on the inside at the extent of her wounds. "You're hurt, Cel. You need to let me help you. You promised you'd let me help you, remember?"

She shook her head a third time. "That promise only covered eating and sleeping. This doesn't involve that. I ate, I slept. I smashed skellies. Smashing skellies isn't covered in our agreement, Marcus." The left shoulder of her jersey was torn and bloodied, a deep gash into her flesh bared by the ripped fabric.

He shook his head right back at her, his hands still unmoving in front of him: "I said in every way that I can, Cel. You agreed to it. I can help you here, and you will let me."

She lifted her wide-eyed gaze to his face, a spasm of pain twisting at her features. "You said you have knowledge of the Healing Ways." There was a tenderness along her right side from where she hadn't avoided the swing of a mace quick enough, and the slash across her upper thigh was burning and stinging with a fire all of it's own.

He kept his eyes fastened on her face, his head nodding slowly. "Yes, Cel. I'll show you, if you let me. You have to let me, Cel. You're hurt and I can help you and you know you agreed to let me do just that. Stop arguing with me now, Cel."

From somewhere within her, a hollow-sounding laugh broke free from her: "Does this mean you get to take care of my boo-boos, Marcus?" Her own voice sounded even more distant to her and she let her head fall back against the pillar that she leaned against. "I told you I was a bad, bad Cleric. A good Cleric never gets boo-boos an' here I am, with all SORTS of boo-boos." Her vision was slowly greying out, leaving her to slowly fade out of conciousness...

"Yes, love, I get to take care of all of your boo-boos." he was murmuring soothingly as he saw her eyes close and her body begin to fall limp. It was really just a small matter of gathering her up in his arms and rising to his feet.

[Desdemona]

Vincent was actually speechless as he surveyed the damage done to the ballroom, as well as the number of scattered piles of bones that littered the floor, fallen weapons glinting in the dull light of the grey clouds overhead.

"She really DID take them all out." Vincent commented to Marcus as he watched his brother pick his way across the floor. "Unbelievable. You go on ahead with her, I'll finish resetting the wards. We'll worry about the roof later."

He could have saved his breath. Marcus was already carrying the injured woman as gently as he possibly could from the destroyed room. Down the hall and clattering down the steps, trying to support her head against his shoulder, the pallor of her face causing his heart to clench even tighter. Down the next hall, avoiding the small knot of people who were gathering prepatory to exploring the reasons for Vincent and Marcus' combined alarm. And finally, down the last set of steps and into the shadowy hall that led to his own small set of rooms.

He pushed past the inner door, striding across his room to settle the wounded woman upon his bed. He spun around quickly, gathering up the materials he knew would be required. First, he lit the four golden candles that were placed at each wall. Already, a small chant was forming in his mind and as the last flame sparked to life, he began to Call upon the small Healing skill that lived within him. He grabbed up the wide basin and ducked into the bathroom, splashing warm water into the container, his other hand reaching out to grab clean washcloths and towels. Returning to his room, he set the basin on the small table next to his bed, the first phrases of the beginning spell falling from his lips in a near-whisper as he dipped the first cloth into the warm water.

Taking great care, as each stanza of the Healing Psalm was sung, he removed Cel's clothing, stripping the ruined garments from her battered body. There was no light of lust in his eyes as he twisted the chanted spell, his voice rising and falling softly within the walls of his room, there was simply concern and caring for the woman who laid so still and unmoving. Taking up the cloth, he wrung the excess liquid from it and gently began to bathe Cel's wounds. As the cloth cleaned away the blood and dirt from her injuries, he would trace his fingertip against the edges of the torn flesh, the words of the spell combined with his touch knitting the jagged sides together.

His sharp eyesight picked up the existence of many other scars that twisted across Cel's body, the most disturbing of which was a serpent-shaped segment of raised, ridged flesh that was still a sullen, angry pinkish-red colour, showing all of the signs of a half-healed wound. It was situated almost in the center of her torso, a few inches off from her heart. He remembered her words from the night before and he felt a chill take up residence in the marrow of his bones. He set aside the used washcloth, taking up another one and dipping it into the warm water. His spell was almost complete, her wounds almost tended. He was drawn to the serpentine scar, a large part of him wanting to heal it in the same manner as he healed the wounds she had garnered this night, but something stopped him. He had a feeling that the healing of that particular scar would be done only by Cel's express permission, which he did not have. Yet, he told himself, yet. He would try to discover what he could about that scar and how she had gained it before he would broach the subject with her. Finally, the last wound was healing, spell and touch working together to knit the unravelled flesh. He set the cloths and basin aside, the song ending as he dried his hands on the legs of his pants.

Still silent, he moved towards the dresser that held his clothing, opening the drawer that would provide what he sought. Turning back to the woman with the item in hand, he perched on the edge of the bed, lifting her up ever so gently as he slid a silky-soft and warm tunic over her head, adjusting the folds of the cloth along the length of her body. On him, the tunic ended at his hips. On Cel, it ended well past her hips, and would dangle towards her knees. It was made of a dark greenish-blue fabric that he had always been fond of and he knew it would feel good against Cel's abraided skin when she awoke. He took full advantage of the moment and cuddled the unconcious woman against his chest, burying his face briefly in her hair. She had come so close to death in the ballroom, and he found himself wondering if she had even realized it during her fight. The thought of losing her drew a shudder from him and he tightened his arms around her, his blue eyes staring down at the pale, drawn face. After a space of many minutes, he eased the woman against his chest tightly and stood with her, long enough for him to draw back the blankets and slide her back into the bed she had left only a few hours earlier.

Once she was safely tucked in, Marcus leaned down and kissed her forehead gently before gathering up the materials he had used in her Healing. As he walked past each candle, he snuffed the flame before finally returning to the side of the bed that Cel rested in. Alesh had returned to the room, as well, his orange tabby-striped fur looking almost dulled in the shadows as he slunk towards the bed.

From the far side of the room, a soft knock could be heard and Marcus moved across the floor, opening the door to find his brother Vincent on the other side.

"How is she?" his voice was muted as he stepped past his brother.

"She's healing." Marcus' voice was weary. "Is the House safe?"

Vincent nodded his head: "Finally. The roof may be a lost cause. I don't know that we will be here long enough to make repairing the roof practical. Damned Mikhail, he sure knows how to pick his timing."

"It could have been worse." Marcus pointed out, his blue eyed gaze fastened once more on the pale face of the sleeping Cel.

"It could have been MUCH worse." Vincent averred, his gaze following his brother's. "She was right, you know. Those skellies were a diversion. I think the bastage was testing the Wards and tossed the skellies at us, hoping we hadn't had a chance yet to strengthen our protection."

Marcus found himself nodding his head in agreement. "She knew he was here, just like last night. She sensed him before I did, Vincent. She's not just like the others."

"No, she's not. That was one of the reasons I insisted on her being included in this last group, even though I knew about her earlier injuries." Vincent admitted. "I've watched her for a while, brother. She truly IS different than the others. And it's not just her, either. A few of the others in this group have a touch or a taint of Ability."

Nodding his head again, Marcus' hands were clenching and unclenching, making fists subconciously. Vincent noticed this.

"She's safe now, and so is the House. I think it's time we got some sleep, Marcus. The others are making a late supper now, I'll bring you a plate if you want, so you can stay here." he spoke soothingly.

Marcus shook his head: "I'm not hungry, but thank you. I'll be here if anyone needs me."

Vincent nodded his head and reached out to clasp his brother's shoulder briefly before making his way from the room. Marcus moved around the room, dimming the lamps and taking the time to stroke Alesh's head between his ears. His companion had done well this day, seeking to protect Cel in his own way. Sleep now. Stay with Cel. Alesh's thoughts came to him on thier usual warm golden haze. Marcus intended on doing just that and he moved to the far edge of the bed, where he stretched out alongside Cel, turning himself to face her. One of his hands reached out, his long fingers brushing her hair back from her forehead, before coming to rest against her arm, keeping a steady contact with her that would help him sleep. Before too long, Alesh's soft rumbling purr had served as a lullabye for him yet again, and Marcus slept now, too.

[Desdemona]

The stabbing pain in her chest was robbing her of her ability to breathe and she struggled to sit up, a choking gasp sounding from her. Her eyes were wide-open yet unseeing as one of her hands came up to press against her chest between her breasts.

"Cel?" the groggy yet familiar male voice queried from beside her in the dark.

She wheezed in the darkness, pulling her hand away from her chest and dropping her blank-eyed stare down to look at it, fully expecting to see the dark crimson of her blood smeared across her palm from her almost-mortal wound...

"Cel!" the voice repeated her name, this time closer than before, warm breath fluttering her hair against her ear.

She blinked, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Her head thudded back against a wall and she took belated note of a headboard pressing against her back. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she turned her head to look at the dark-haired male raised up on one elbow at her side, watching her intently from eyes that glittered in the shadows.

"Marcus?" she questioned, her voice husky with the after-affects of the nightmare that had dragged her up out of her healing-sleep. Of it's own accord, one of her hands reached out, her fingers shaking slightly as she touched the side of his face, as if trying to verify by touch alone that it was really Marcus there with her.

In response, he merely sat up in the bed and snagged her neatly with one long arm, pulling her against his chest easily. Her head bumped against his shoulder and she found herself instinctively curling up against him.

"Nightmare?" his voice sort of rumbled from deep within his chest as he wrapped his other arm around the still shaken woman.

"Memory." she corrected him, her voice small.

"Happen often?" as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

"Only when I sleep." she admitted ruefully.

Between one breath and the next, she found herself pulled into his lap and the blankets adjusted around her comfortably.

"Does it still hurt?" he was referring to the scar, a part of him wondering how she would handle accepting the fact that he had seen the scar, and other assorted body parts, during his care of her wounds.

She blinked down at the garment covering her body, noting that it was NOT what she had been wearing previously, and then she looked up at his face, regret flaring in her green eyes. A dull flood of colour passed over her face as a wave of shame threatened to overwhelm the small sense of peace she had just been getting acclimated to. She knew a long instant of relief that the room's dimly-lit status would hide her embrassment from Marcus.

"Only when it seems that I've forgotten it's there and it seeks to remind me." a hint of bitterness tinged her words as she tensed, her body drawing itself up into a curled ball as she started to edge herself away from his comforting warmth.

Marcus felt her weight shift as she sought to move from him, and he tightened his hold on her gently, dropping his head down to nuzzle her hair lightly.

"Don't do that, Cel." he told her softly. "I like you right where you are."

She subsided for the moment, her head drifting back down to rest on his shoulder.

"Would you tell me how it happened?" he asked carefully, moving one of his hands from where it was clasped with it's mate at the small of her back. Slowly, gently, his hand began to skim lightly along the length of her spine in an effort to calm and relax her. "Not tonight, Cel, but another time?"

Instead of her usual response when prodded about her injuries, she simply nodded her head, actually going so far as to take advantage of thier closeness and cuddle closer against him, his tempting warmth, compelling mannerisms and soothing voice drawing her near.

"There's nothing really to tell." her voice was soft as she let her eyes drift shut for just a moment. The warm contact of his hand stroking along her spine had her relaxing gradually, lowering her usual barriers. "I was visiting the graves of some relatives on Memorial Day, in the old cemetary by the river. A driver lost control of his car and careened into the fencing, and some of the iron bars broke free and one of 'em struck me in the chest." Oddly enough, she wasn't reacting in her usual manner when telling the tale of her accident. "Before I even realized what had happened to me, the car hit me next. And I woke up not-dead a few days later."

Strangely, she felt his arms tighten around her body and a faint whispering reached her ears. Puzzled, she looked up at his face, surprised to see the glint in his blue eyes.

"Less than two inches over and it would have pierced your heart." he forced himself to keep calm, speak normally.

She nodded her head a couple of times, her hand drifting up towards her chest again in what had become an automatic gesture with her. "That's the odd thing about it all, too. I usually wear a couple of necklaces that I've had for a long time, a sun and moon combination that I've had since I was in school. The sun-pendant deflected the iron spike, according to what I've been told."

"Hooray for the sun pendant." he said sincerely, finding himself squeezing her gently. "Why aren't you wearing such a lucky necklace now?" Especially now, he wondered to himself.

"My friend Jimmy has it." she explained around a yawn that caught her by surprise. "His Grandma was the one who gave it to me before she died and he wanted to do the repairs to it himself. Jimmy and Rhee made me promise to come and get it before I left town. I guess I'd better do that pretty soon, eh?" another yawn broke free from her and her eyes were closed once again.

"Yes." Marcus agreed gravely, cuddling the almost-sleeping woman closer against his body. "We'll go get your necklace from Jimmy in the next day or so, I'll make sure of it, Cel." He would bring up the unhealed condition of her scar at that time, as well. Some instinct told him to not push the issue further with the woman just yet. He was deeply grateful that he had gotten her to give him the details of the accident, in the first place.

"Thank you." she murmured sleepily, the last of the tension melting from her muscles. Her head nestled against Marcus' shoulder, she fell asleep once again, between one breath and the next.

Ever-so-carefully, Marcus edged himself and the sleeping Cel down prone against the mattress. He adjusted the blankets, drawing thier warm folds around the both of them. Once that small task was finished, he draped his arms securely around the form of the sleeping woman and let his own eyes close. Hopefully, Cel's slumber would now be unharried by memories of the unkind variety while she slept and recovered her strength. His own eyes tracked up towards the ceiling overhead and he was kept company by his own convuluted thoughts until sleep caught up to him, as well.

[Desdemona]

Dawn oozed past the window-cracks and he found himself stirring slightly in response to his own inner clock waking him up. His eyes slowly slid open and he found himself looking down into the still-somnolent face of the green-eyed woman that he had held all night. Some time during the night, he had eased himself up onto his side facing her, and had curled his larger body around the shape of Cel, his arms still clasped around her. During the same time-span, she had shifted closer to him, as well, and her head rested on his upper arm, pillowed by warm flesh. He took the time to adjust the blankets around her shoulders, tugging them higher, while he gazed down at her still face with a sense of bemused wonderment. He knew, in some small part of him, that she wouldn't be considered beautiful by the usual standards that his brother and cousins adhered to, but with her wavy brown hair and large, expressive green eyes that danced above a freckle-dusted nose and curving, generous lips, he found her perfect. Her skin still held an unhealthy pallor that he now knew could be attributed to a lengthy hospital-stay, and he found himself wondering what she would look like after a few days in the countryside, in the fresh air and away from all threats...

She stirred within the circle of his arms and he caught his breath, a part of him wanting her to waken so he could enjoy her company, and the other part of him wanting her to continue to sleep soundly. Slowly, her eyes opened and he found himself smiling crookedly at her.

"Morning, Cel." he murmured.

She peered up at him,blinking slowly as her sleep-shrouded mind stirred sluggishly. Some part of her knew she should not be curled up against the too-tempting shape of the male at her side, but another part of her was heartily ignoring the first part, with a vengeance.

"You don't have to get up just yet." Marcus dipped his head a bit so he could continue to murmur in her ear, a part of him wanting this morning to be as relaxing as possible for the woman in his bed. "Sleep more if you need it, Cel. I won't mind at all."

"But I mind." she was finally moved to speak, her voice just as quiet as his this morning. "All I seem to do is sleep...or at least try to."

"You wouldn't sleep if you didn't need it." he pointed out softly. "But if you'd like, we can go down to the kitchen, I'll make breakfast for us both. Then we can see what there is to see this morning, plan an outing or something." He didn't know what Vincent had planned for this day and at that particular moment, he really didn't care. He would use his own discretion and if needed, he could over-rule his brother's ideas without any feelings of guilt whatsoever.