Sing Along Mockingbird

By Seniya

Oh no, sweet Coward,

You believe that bravery is your strife,

Can't you understand that if you aren't afraid of death,

Then you must be afraid of life?

It is often said of the moon that he should be jealous of his brother, the sun. After all, it is the sun who is the morning star; it is the sun that breathes life and death into the earth. Without the sun to sit upon his azure blue throne, then surely this world would perish. But what good is the moon? The moon breeds sickness and misery. It is under the neglectful stare of the moon that infidelity is bred, that man becomes a horrible beast, capable of murder and greed.

But we do not question the moon's intentions; we accept the fact that he is a cruel puppet master and we are his unwilling marionettes—at least until Master Sun decides to take the role of scissors. We say that it is in his nature; and so all is forgiven, so easily. The moon is jealous, the sun is king; all is accepted, all is understood that way.

Will hadn't known where else to go, which of course wasn't at all surprising to her…knowledge had ceased to come as readily as it once had. It was almost as though as the questions had become steadily harder, the answers had strayed farther and farther away.

Once, there had been a time when such nescience would have sent her into an abrupt panic, for there had been a girl—ages ago it might have been, who had depended on such wisdom; who had had people around her who had relied on her judgment; who looked up to her for it. It had been comforting as she remembered; thrilling and comforting all at the same time. And she had been good at that: reassurance.

But now—she was gone, as were they. All destroyed in the rough sandstorm of time. Now, the constant uncertainty was becoming unnerving to say the least, for ignorance was not something that she was very familiar with—

It was ironic, she imagined, that her wisdom had faded with the years, a steady decline that she had been completely oblivious to; she wondered now if she had known of its retreat whether or not she would have been able to hinder the Swan Song.

So Will hadn't known where else to go, and so she had come here: to Meridian; to the Castle; to the balcony outside of Caleb's chambers, where she was almost certain that she'd be left alone to dwell in her gloomy thoughts.

The night's frigid breath stung her face and her eyes, bringing blessed numbness to her exposed limbs. Her rebellious red hair played in the wind; played and danced because it, unlike her, could find joy in the lighthearted nature of the breeze.

It was difficult trying to feel anything anymore; even cold; difficult to do anything other than stare away into that abyss of nothingness at the back of her mind, the same chasm that contained those wonderfully soothing memories: thoughts of him; pictures of him; his scent; his touch; all useless to her now because she couldn't feel anything other than emptiness, which wasn't an emotion at all.

"You should have gone to the cemetery," she reprimanded. Most of her words were dragged off to frolic by the wind, but enough of her tone remained for her to comprehend the conclusion.

She shouldn't be here, not tonight; not on the anniversary of Matt's death. Everyone expected her to be by his graveside…perhaps with flowers in her arms and tears in her eyes. Yet, here she was, outside Caleb's bedroom, every so often reminding herself that she had only come here to be by herself; to be free from those redundant questions, those same shrewd looks; running…it didn't matter in any case.

There was no sadness in her heart.

Not even enough to offer a strong comparison to the dust in the wind..

And that disgusted her. It disgusted her more than it would probably repulse any of them if they should ever become enlightened to the inner workings of her ghastly mind. That she couldn't even feign grief anymore; that the only thing that she had felt when she heard of Matt's suicide was anger…and then finally, concern for her own well being.

If they were to know of her selfishness, of her ridiculous plan to resurrect her boyfriend; to fetch him from Hades itself simply because she was miserable without him. It didn't concern her that he had wanted to die, that he had sent himself to that world. No, what mattered was that she was empty because he wasn't here, and she desperately wanted to be filled again.

No, obviously it was for the best that she had steered far away from the cemetery. No one there would want to see her cold, stoic features tonight; her presence would more than likely only serve to disturb his poor parents even more than they already were.

'What must they think of me?' she wondered. What could they think of the girl that they had found cradling their son's dead body in the middle of the night, screaming at the silent corpse both curses and compliments, all in quick succession.

Her breath caught in her throat, a groan stalled in its developmental stages. 'Nothing,' she hoped, 'they won't think about me at all…not until I want them to.' Then the image of the perfect girlfriend would delight them…she'd be able to smile sweetly at them by then, and she'd know exactly who she should be and what she should do; and so they'd all smile and laugh…like the pictures on most of those foreign Christmas cards that Haylin was so fond of accumulating.

That image didn't seem right to her now though…in fact when she saw that picture of herself all she could think of was just how eerie and forged it seemed; like a party of porcelain dolls—with their expressions simply painted on.

She didn't hear when the door behind her clicked open, nor did she notice when Caleb stalked outside onto the balcony with his Spatha unsheathed. His features changed at the speed of light; moving from alertness to confusion to recognition and then finally to loiter on concern; something that had she seen, she most definitely would have chastised him about.

"Will…" he managed finally, "what are you doing here?"

She jerked at the mention of her name, and then stiffened as she turned to face him. Her face was a blank canvas, made interesting only by circles of pink and red that he could see on her cheeks and nose.

The redhead had folded her legs beneath her in the most awkward sitting position, and seated herself on the limestone rail that protected his bedroom from the clutches of the night sky. Her hands flew from her lap to her neck, searching for that familiar hint of silver. He watched as she ran her fingers along the inscription that was on the inside; a speech that he had never read himself, but was now certain that it must be some manner of useless sonnet, dictating trivial notions of love and happiness.

"I…" she began slowly, moving her mouth in a manner that didn't disguise her intention to tell him some manner of untruth. Her eyes faltered first, she had always been a terrible liar. "I didn't know that you'd be here. I though that you said that Elyon had that meeting thing to…"

"It's been postponed," his words were sharp, or at least he prayed that they were; this harsh tongue was the only way he knew how to make her respond to him; the only way he knew to help her. "The weather," he indicated the looming gray clouds that hovered above the city. She followed his gaze before dropping her hand from around her neck, her eyelids drooped slightly, and she was lost in her thoughts again, he could even feel as her attention slipped.

She was always like this now; a shell; a ghost. A memory of a girl that he had once known—yet one he prayed that he would come to know again. He had never known how much she'd meant to him; not until she had all but disappeared. She had always been so strong; so brave…a luminary, if nothing else.

This girl before him wasn't her, she looked like her—even sounded like her every once in a while…but it wasn't. She wasn't. He wanted the old Will back—his Will, the stubborn little red head with an attitude problem, who would have preferred to have thrown herself off of this balcony than to have let him see her so vulnerable.


"Will," in a matter of seconds he was by her side. "Come down."

"Why?" She whispered without looking at him, taking a second to brush some of her hair from her face.


"You mean that I'll jump." She stated grimly, but upon noticing his closeness, she obeyed; climbed down and walked away from him so as to press her back against the rough whitewashed wall.

"I didn't say that," Caleb explained inadequately.

She shrugged, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her oversized jeans. "It doesn't matter. Everyone expects me to slit my writs or blow my brains out. I have to say, turning myself into a pancake, would definitely be a step up."

Something inside of him stilled at her words. He had always suspected, somehow that she must be in pain, but she never been upset enough to make him believe it. Even when he had seen her then, mere hours after she had discovered her boyfriend dead…strangled, he had been told. She hadn't emitted the aura of pain—in fact then she had spoken to him in a voice that showed only a deliberate calm, then she had somehow managed to convince him that there was a way for Matt to return to the world of the living.

"If the Heart Of Kandrakar can move through dimensions," she had said, "and time is a dimension…then it would make sense for me to be able to move through time too. Wouldn't it?"

No Will, he had wanted to say…it doesn't make any sense. But at the time, seeing her so…hopeful, almost ecstatic…had been more than enough to allow him to tell her exactly what she'd wanted to hear. And even worse, it had inspired him to aid her on this fool's pursuit.

But now, the euphoria had died in her features, lynched by the tight noose of reality. Now, he didn't know what it was that she wanted to hear—or what he could do to make her happy again. "What happened to your face?" in a voice so carefully decorated with worry, she asked him.

Instinctively his fingers moved towards the long gash above his eyebrow; a usurer's chain of sorts—his metaphorical badge of honor from tonight's events. The real reason why tonight's journey had been cancelled: a tale of bandits and assassins; of politics and deceit; but she didn't need to know any of that. "I fell." He mentioned simply.

"You fell," she reiterated, worry had fallen away, brought down by the hands of disbelief. "You fell where?" He didn't answer, but avoided her eyes, instead pretending to be unnaturally obsessed with plunging his slightly blood stained sword into its scabbard.

"Did the Forsworn do this to you? Did they attack, is that why you and Elyon aren't…" she trailed off; cut off by his voice, low and consoling, "It's not a horrible as you think."

"Why don't you ever tell me anything?" Will stopped herself before she could begin a rant about how she had a right to know, which of course wasn't true; not anymore. "I hate it when you lie to me, like if I'm a child."

"I'm not lying. It isn't." He finished, and looked at her in a manner that he thought suggested that this conversation was more than over. She ignored him, "Then why are you prancing around with that…thing out? Who did this?" It was moments like these that he cherished; the ones when she wasn't lost in some unexplainable fantasy or concocting some other ill fated scheme.

"You could have been an assassin." And then quickly, before she could interject he added, "what were you doing out here anyway?"

Now, it was her turn to flounder, "I—needed to think." She bit her lip and lowered her eyes, deriving comfort in the way that her uncombed hair slid from behind her ears to hide her features.

He didn't bother to press her for anything else, knowing that he should forever be grateful that she at least still came to him when she felt this weak. "Are you coming inside?" Seeing her hesitation he said, "It's freezing out here Will, I wasn't lying about the weather being bad."

Go home Will, a voice inside of her tempted, say that it's late, and you need to go home. Don't do this to Matt. But she was already inside by the time that the voice had faded away, already succumbing to the sensation of wonderful warmth and comfort that his room always seemed to carry. Which was strange, because within those four walls she could see nothing that reminded her of him; he wasn't in those dark burgundy drapes, nor could he be seen in the sturdy four poster in the center of the room. But somehow being in here had always calmed her—because somehow she had always known that if she were here, then he'd be too, beside her (it was thoughts like those that were particularly desecrating to Matt's grave marker).

She rolled up and down on the balls of her feet, a nervous habit; one that she'd developed after being chided for years about biting her nails. Will listened as Caleb walked about the room seeking and finding, putting away and then taking out. His footsteps mimicked the throbbing of her lazy heart; a dance that had become far more irregular as time slipped by.

"What are you going to do about that cut?" She hated feeling this nervous; this treacherous; this uninformed; so she cautiously led the conversation into familiar territory.

He looked up at her from the sheet of parchment that he had been perusing, a welcome distraction from her overwhelming presence. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Is that your motto now?"

Caleb offered her a small smile by way of an apology, and slowly, he rose to his feet. Her gaze plummeted when he walked over to her, and then rose from the cinders when he walked past; a rush of wind against her face wasn't the only thing that she felt when he passed by.

"What…" finally, she acceded to the urge to look at him, only to have a large white rag thrust into her face. "Caleb…" she sighed, the voice in her head had begun a terrible, repetitive chant by now, "…go sit down."

Upon retrospect, having her tend to him wasn't a particularly wonderful idea. Being this close to her warmth, to her subtle powdery smell was a torture set to rival the Iron Maiden. Her lips were parted slightly as she noiselessly took breath; her cinnamon eyes hooded in concentration. The sensation of her light touch, like the tiniest of kisses, caused white hot fissions of excitement to explode beneath his skin.

"Hold still," she instructed, but his obedience was not forthcoming so she forcibly pushed his head in another angle.

"Are you done?" Caleb grumbled; frustration and poorly concealed desire making his voice rough.

"You must have fallen into a pit of razors…this is really deep." She pressed the damp rag onto the top of the angry wound. "You'll need stitches…"

"For this?"

Will nodded, and some of untamable red hair brushed against the side of his face, out of the corner of his eye he could clearly make out the gentle lines of her face; the most vivid being the sensuous curve and fall of her lips. She had a striking mouth he realized, it was a real wonder that he had never noticed before; small and pouting; full and yet he could imagine it being so unthinkably soft. His stomach churned unexpectedly. She pulled the lock back behind her ear. "When I was little, I never thought that I needed medicine or anything like that. I had a theory that whatever was wrong with me, my grandmother could kiss it and it would get better."

She laughed awkwardly, the sound felt alien coming from her lips, and sounded discomfited to her ears, so she ceased the act abruptly. "Well, my grandmother isn't…" his hand had snaked through the darkness to hold her chin in between his thumb and index finger, roughly pulling her face downwards; his eyes were drowning in a sea of some indiscernible emotion, a bandit that stole her breath the instant that their eyes met.

Something inside of her dissolved, and her eyes slipped closed in an effort to withhold it. Will didn't even think of stopping him when his lips brushed against hers; when his tongue crept seductively into her mouth; when he whispered her name against her shivering lips, no he persisted and she relented. She let herself feel…

He pulled away much too quickly, when he could no longer pretend that this was a good idea. She gulped at the loss of his touch, now only the thundering song of her blood played in her ears; only the vision of Matt played out before her eyes. "She's sick…cancer…stomach cancer I think…we…went to see her last Christmas." She returned her attention to the gash above his eyes, painfully aware of the tightness that had suddenly pulled her skin so sharply across her bones.

"Will…" Was he still looking at her? She pulled away from his body suddenly, "I-I have a Biology test tomorrow…I didn't study…so…I'll see you later." Her hand reached for her necklace and she wrapped a fist around the metal. Forever, so carefully carved into its back; always.

She was blushing to the roots of her hair by the time he grabbed her arm. Through the sleeves of her sweater she could still feel the heat of his grip. It was scaring her.

"Caleb, I'll be late…I'm already late actually…and…" She swallowed, he stood; something inside of her taunted in a raucous manner that he probably wouldn't co-operate with her plan of selective memory. "I want to go home," she whispered, feeling sick when she realized just how deplorable her voice sounded in the emptiness of the night.

"I shouldn't have…" he began.

"No, you shouldn't have." He was still holding onto her arm, she tried to pull it away but his hold on her stayed; constricted. "Let me go," her voice shook, as did she, "please."

"You never answered me." Will closed her eyes, praying to some constantly deaf God that this was all some terrible dream. Yes, soon she would awaken in her bed with her comforters pulled about her body…just a dream…a very, very bad dream.

"Why did you come here tonight?"

Her heart scaled up the walls of her chest to linger in her throat. "I told you…I just needed somewhere to…"

"I know what you said but…" he groaned, and to her utter dismay he closed his other hand around her shoulder; she in turn stiffened her fingers about her precious ring. "You could have gone anywhere…so why did you come here?"

"I don't know Caleb," she blurted out finally, her words were short and fast due to the panic; the overpowering fear. "I-I didn't think that much about it."

She was lying, and he knew it. He always knew. She just hoped that tonight he would pretend for her sake that he didn't.

He released her after that, she felt his warmth desert her, he was muttering something unintelligible to himself, her eyes fluttered open, and gradually the thought to run away dawned upon her. This could be just a dream; the situation as she saw it was simple, two roads diverged before her; she needed to choose—to pick the easy road, the one free of the potholes and the cracks…

She stayed where she was; her chest heaving; her legs virtual putty—but she stayed stock-still wishing, with increasing ferocity that he would touch her again, because her body actually had the audacity to miss his warmth.

"Will, I…" It was too late now…she couldn't run anymore…it was coming, looming over the horizon like a magnificent rainstorm, and she was powerless to stop it; to find shelter from the stinging rains and blistering winds. "I can't…"

Silence, precious silence save for the storm that howled angrily outside, "I hate seeing you like this." He concluded.

Her voice was dead and buried in her lungs by the time she found the strength to respond. "We…there isn't any way for…"

"Look at me then," he murmured. "Look at me and tell me that." If possible her head fell even further into her chest. "No," she managed, and he drifted closer.

"You're killing me." Will felt his fingers in her hair, and for a second she forgot completely about just how detestable that mane was, for in his hands she felt as though it could have been spun from the finest golden silk. "I can't explain to you just how much I…want you."

She could tell him no; the words burnt against the iron bars that kept them trapped within her chest…but it wasn't enough, for even more vivid were the memories of his kiss and his caress, and they made her mute.

His hand cupped the column of her neck and Will felt her resolve disappear completely. So was this was what surrender felt like…bliss? Her eyes slipped shut, this time so that she could submerge her entire body in the unadulterated safety of his presence.

"Whenever you want…" he managed to grind out, "…you can tell me to stop."

Stop? That thought hadn't even crossed her flustered mind. She could feel the pressure of his faintly callused hand on her neck; she could feel the heat of his breath on her flushed face; her heart was racing, her blood pounding. God forgive her—but she needed this. She hadn't felt anything in so long—and now, here, she was being bombarded by an entire arsenal of sensation. Fear, excitement, confusion…and she craved them all.

Caleb bent his head to kiss her, his dark messy hair brushing against her forehead as he did so. He was careful to take his time with her, actually terrified of scaring her off. The fear was absolutely justified in his mind—for when one wants something for such a long time, the actual reception of said thing…is always met with caution.

But he loved that way that she kissed him. Her kisses were filled with everything that he admired about her—her bashfulness; her insecurities; the way she often hesitated before doing anything, asking silently for his approval, before slowly gaining confidence—releasing the grip on her pendant and then running her hand along his arm before allowing it to lose its way in his unruly hair.

She whimpered vaguely when she felt his arms travel to her nape, his touch fumbled there for a second before she understood exactly what he was trying to do.

When the heavy metal chain was taken away, she felt more naked than she ever had in her life. She had never taken it off—not since Matt had fastened it around her for the very first time. Will broke the kiss then—but soon after that, she had reconsidered her stance.

No, good—it was better that it was gone. She couldn't do this with Matt so close to her heart…it wasn't right…or fair or respectful. Her egoism and disloyalty should be hidden from him for as long as possible.

She slid her arms languorously upwards so that she could cling to his broad shoulders; carefully she pulled him towards her wanting to taste his tender lips again, hoping that he would oblige her.

He did. Now, she barely registered to dull clunk as her necklace touched the polished mahogany bedside table, all she knew was that he was dragging her in the direction of his bed; that he was pulling her down with him; that he was seating her across his lap. That everything would be completely different in a matter of minutes.

So then why didn't she care?

His steady hands spanned her small waist, knotting in the dark, thick material of her sweater before pulling it slowly upwards—a break in the kiss as the material passed between then; a breath; a look…and soon his tongue was probing her mouth again; asking no questions yet seeking out all of the answers.

Caleb tossed the heavy material aside, briefly wondering why she had bothered to wear something so thick when it was scarcely out of the summertime. She had a stunning body from what he had seen; someday he would have to convince her not to hide it.

His hands glided over the soft skin on her arms, holding onto her elbows before pulling her hands downwards and twining his fingers in between hers. She gasped softly when he led their hands towards his torso; aching for her touch to soothe his burning flesh. She felt the strong, firm muscles of his stomach; heard the rough, fragmented song of his breathing…and it made something inside of her quiver. Here he was, all of this barely masked masculinity—this blatant, hard might; and yet he was so gentle…so giving.

She untangled her fingers from his and blindly felt for the hem of his shirt. Up, she pulled it off…she had never done this before: undressed anyone else…and it occurred to her that she might not be doing it…right. Truthfully, she had never felt so clumsy.

Caleb didn't complain however, and soon she had his shirt in one dark bundle, cradled in her arms. She placed it charily beside her, and then reached out to run her hands across his toned chest.

His breathing stilled in his chest…his need for had increased tenfold in the last few seconds. Now his head was spinning; his entire body throbbed and groaned for the release that only she could grant him.

"Well…" he whispered, several gasps punctuating the single word.

"Well," she echoed. She was desperate for him to continue…she needed this…more than anything else, she needed to feel him. Will leaned into his chest, placing small kisses against the firm muscle there, relishing in the scent and in his reaction; the way he groaned her name…inexpressible.

Caleb wound his fingers through her hair, bringing her face towards his, and then ravishing her mouth with a series of rough kisses. His lips slid along the soft curve of her neck, tasting, nibbling; reveling in her shape and perfume.

His hands slipped under the strap of her bra and he began to drag it along her shoulder, leaving gentle kisses in its wake. She seemed dazed for a mere moment; lost in the sea of lust and desire…but soon she had pulled away from him, remembering that she was, despite everything, still a seventeen year old girl.

"Caleb," Already she felt foolish; incredibly ridiculous because she was certain that no one else would have such a petty difficulty. "I…don't want t-to take that off."

He didn't reply to her directly, actually he looked at her for a short while before nuzzling her neck and whispering there, "you're beautiful."

She felt herself blush; her heart trembled oh-so-slightly. She was being lowered now, although by the time she noticed that, her back was already pressed against the burgundy satin sheets…that at the very least smelt entirely of him.

His lips drifted lower, over her rib cage, dotting kisses along her stomach, over her navel, before halting suddenly at the waistband of her jeans. She had been quietly gasping as he had moved, biting her bottom lip to prevent those more audible moans from making their way into the open.

Upon noticing that he had halted his ministrations—upon realizing why, Will moved her hands to the top of her jeans and with the same inelegance that she had come to anticipate, she warily undid the button and slid the pants down past her hips, having to arch her back once or twice in order to successfully accomplish the task. Caleb took the denim from her once she had gotten it past her knees, peeling that off as well as her shoes, and tossing all of the articles off the side of his bed.

She found something very funny in that, for she laughed to some extent before smiling shyly at him. A sight that naturally, broke him completely.

Caleb slid into her embrace with an impatience that was more than visible. His captured her lips with his and held them prisoner, taunting them with his tongue and breath while his hand glided sinfully along her bare leg. She whimpered at the feeling, arching her body to meet his touch and his kisses. She gasped into his mouth when he slid his arm underneath her back, pressing her near naked form against his heated, throbbing arousal. Arousal…was that? Oh God.

There really was no going back now.

Her heart seemed ready to burst by the time he had hooked his thumbs into her panties; there was no seduction here, and for that she was almost grateful—the need was impossible—and it was also expanding…surprisingly. There was no time for any pretty words and loving caresses, not when another moment more might cause her insides to explode. She had never wanted anything…anyone so badly…she closed her eyes, trembling as he pulled the flimsy piece of lace away.

He toes curled unexpectedly, her fingers knotted in the sheets…finish this, she pleaded, I want to feel you. And he kissed her again, unintentionally rough this time, probably only meeting her lips because he thought that that was what she wanted.

When he touched her center she nearly screamed, luckily he was there to take in the sound. Her hands moved from beside her to clutch his hair, to roam unpredictably across his sweat laden back. And then slowly, agonizingly slowly, he eased a finger into her willing passage whilst his thumb held and strokeed the top of her heat.

Another groan, this time accompanied by the cry of his name and she pressed her body even tighter against his. He pulled away slightly; there was only so much sanity keeping him from taking her right then and there, and her body heat was not an ally to the cause.

She pulsed around his hand, her muscles contracting and releasing out of her control; waves of pleasure crashed over her body, moving slowly at first, but then as time went on they came with both a greater intensity and frequency. She called his name again, in a voice that was low, husky and unrecognizable. He stopped then, just as her body had begun to chant its chorus of sweet release.

"Wait…" he explained to her baffled expression. Then, he rolled himself into a perpendicular position, fumbling with the clasps on his pants. Will removed her gaze, her usual shyness acting up again; feeling that it wasn't in her place to look upon his naked form.

From out of the corner of her eyes, it caught her attention, the slight curve of silver, just barely visible in the darkness due to the pale moonlight that was reflected on its surface.


She swallowed, but what could she do? It was far too late to stop now.

As if to reinforce her thoughts, the bed protested suddenly as Caleb descended, pressing his lips atop of her collarbone and biting the flesh there tenderly. I'm sorry Matt.

The shock of his bare flesh against hers stole any thoughts of regret presently; she gasped when he positioned his erection between her thighs and sighed when he made that first move that would ultimately lead to their perfect union and later their soul shattering release.

He was moving slowly, too slowly, she sobbed in frustration, that persistent melody of desire had finally approached a terrible crescendo at her expense—and by now she needed him to deliver to her the only cure for this madness.

He eased a bit more of his length into her warmth, before retracting and then slipping inside once more. "Caleb…" her eyes widened…no, he didn't, "Why…"

Her hushed her by pressing his mouth on top of hers, "it's only for the first time Will. Don't worry…it won't last…"

"No," Will shook her head, gasping when he abruptly shifted his hips in order to look at her, "it won't hurt me Caleb. It can't."

Will suspected that time stood still in that instant; it was only a little less than forever by her estimation, the difference in the time it took for him to understand what she was telling him and the time it took for him to begin moving again.

When he did begin though, it was like heaven. He was like a missing piece of her puzzle, finally filling her; filling her in a way that she had never imagined that she could be filled. Even with Matt it had never been like this, then it had been awkward and uncertain, they had both been so careful not to harm the other…but this was wild, unrestrained, with each thrust, each beat, she felt herself being propelled towards a wordless sensation, something to great for words, something that could only been described as the heart of feeling.

It was an overwhelming rush of hot and cold; of fear and happiness; of wild pleasure that sang with the joy of being experienced and the sorrow of being only momentary. It made her want to burst into tears at the same time it made her wish that she could scream to the skies as she entered into the troughs of ecstasy.

And then it dissolved—and the emptiness returned, this time more potent than ever, pulled apart by guilt and shame. At the back of her throat she could taste it—pity. Self pity of course, pity for her stupidity as well as for Caleb's generosity.

He would hate her now, she was certain.

Caleb whispered something indecipherable against her neck before he stiffened and stilled, in the pit of her stomach she imagined that she could feel it: warmth, satisfaction. Imagined.

It faded.

Her hands were shaking when she tried to stroke the side of his face. They were still connected, and she could still feel him throbbing within her; she could feel his heart thundering excitedly inside of its cage. It made her want more…she wasn't certain what more was, but she did know that it must be. Something that was wonderful…stimulating, comforting, reassuring.

Yes, she most definitely wanted this more.

She turned her face towards his, but he pulled away, disentangled their bodies before she ever had a chance to decipher exactly what more could be.

Suddenly she felt devastatingly aware of her nakedness; of her indecency. So much so that she didn't even bother to protest when Caleb pulled his covers over the both of them, a command that she didn't fully understand, but she took it to mean that she should stay here until she felt ready to leave.

He didn't say anything else.

He longed to reach across those covers to feel the whispery embrace of her long crimson mane as it grazed his fingers—but he denied himself that pleasure; for he had finally realized that there was a difference, however subtle, between longing and wanting.

And regardless of how loudly his entire being screamed with the all consuming need to kiss her pouting lips—or how it howled in near agony to run his hands along her porcelain like skin and thus savor the way in which her flesh trembled at his touch…it wasn't what he wanted.

What he wanted: that infinitely small portion of her heart; he couldn't have. What he wanted: for her to look at him with merely half of the concern that she held in her eyes when her sublime thoughts lingered on that…cowardshe wouldn't give him.

And so what he did, in order to mend his broken pride and to quell his rampaging anger, was to lie flat on his back and force his breathing to still; to calm.

It didn't work.

Rather, it seemed to have simply exaggerated the unforgiving feelings of rage and loathing that had been rushing through his veins like liquid fire and scorching his very bones with their heated intent. This wasn't anger anymore—he could sense it deep within his gut. Caleb could feel it as it transformed—morphed into that deadly green eyed monster; Envy. And it did not change again.

Which was just as well, for the creature had initiated more damage in this gruesome form than he had ever imagined possible; lashing out at his very soul until his insides cowered in fear; justifiably terrified at the words that this creature whispered enticingly into his ears; words that he never thought that he would want to hear.

"Caleb?" Her voice broke through the innumerable layers of hatred, only to settle at the bottom of his psyche and stagnate. He didn't answer her, wishing for her to believe that he was asleep. This impending discussion, he would avoid—until tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow when he could think clearly, free from these foggy white emotions he would tell her exactly what she needed to hear: that this meant nothing and that her foolish quest to save her dead boyfriend was still thriving.

"Caleb?" He felt her body shift and draw closer to his. Already the heat from her limbs was burdening him; already that quiet lullaby of desire was humming a dark symphony to his mind. Already his body was responding to both of these things in the worst possible way.

Had he not been so preoccupied with maintaining his façade of slumber he might have noticed how her eyes softened at the sight of him, or the way that her voice shook when she called his name. But it was his obsession with silence—his determination that he not tell her those ridiculous notions of love and longing that he had formulated perhaps weeks ago, that made her crawl from beneath the covers; a sob dying at the back of her throat.

Will dressed quickly enough, pulling on her discarded clothes and shoes as soon as she found them for she didn't want to be here anymore. Heavens knew that her heart couldn't bear it.

There was guilt, and that was all that she could feel. Guilt, mixed with a twinge of sadness. She had slept with someone else—when her only prayer in this world was that her Matt return to her. She was disgusting…on the anniversary of his death…Matt had never once cheated on her, and here she was; in another man's bedroom, searching for her underwear.

Her uncontrollable red fell forward into her eyes, blurring her vision, darkening her senses, but she ignored the rapid feeling of confusion, for that only magnified the self loathing.

Why was she always being this stupid? Why was she constantly ruing her own life and the lives of those around her? The opposite of the Midas touch—that was what she had been cursed with, nothing turned to gold. There were no precious diamonds that sprung from her presence, merely ashes, dust and destruction.

In fact, she could already imagine what Caleb would tell her once he awoke: that it had been a mistake and that he was sorry; that he would continue to help her save Matt because he was just so fucking noble.

She didn't want to hear that, although perhaps she needed to—but either way, now wasn't an ideal time for this heart to heart. Not when anything that he could say to her had the unprecedented ability to crush her entirely. Even if…somehow, he looked at her with those gorgeous green eyes…and told her that…that it hadn't been a misjudgment…that he had enjoyed it, just as much as she had.

Or just as much as she had wanted tolonged to…feel…something other than this inescapable, heavy, yearning emptiness.

But she had, although just for a moment, she had felt whole again; whole in a way that she would have never considered before; in a way that she longed to feel again. Whole in a way that was unreasonably selfish…that was undeniably her.

She brushed her crooked bangs from her forehead, a blinked to ward back the salty dance of sadness that threatened to waltz down her cheeks. Her eyes lingered briefly on his sleeping figure, wondering if she should awaken him so as to inform him of her departure.

No, most definitely not. That afore mentioned conversation needed to be delayed. He would realize that she was gone, and they'd see each other tomorrow. She could figure out how to react to this by then. How he wanted her to.

The moonlight caught on the lustrous surface of the ring, it caught and it held, refusing to let go, instead deciding to lure her gaze to the object, calling her with a song of bittersweet temptation rather than with actual words.

She obeyed, walking over to the nightstand with long quick steps before collecting the chain in her palm, and then pushing it into her back jeans pocket with the other one. A subconscious decision, she was certain.

It registered in her mind that the necklace had felt unnaturally icy in her palm; she had never noticed that before, the only thing that its metallic touch had reminded her of was a sort of taunting security. Now, how dare it feel so cold?

Everything was changing…

She needed to leave before it became any worse. Still, she bent her knees, drawing closer to his face, to his lips before jerking backwards and brushing her mouth against his cheek instead. Her hand cupped his face, running her thumb along the slant of his cheekbone before sighing, in a low tortured voice, "I'm sorry Caleb."

There was no stopping the tears now; they danced erratically, hastily, rushing those three repetitive steps until they were all a blur, merely a mixture of pain, regret and disgust; of feelings that would be deadly if spoken. If heard.

She turned away quickly, fishing out the Heart Of Kandrakar and creating a fold; going home, not looking back.

The light vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him surrounded exclusively with a soul stealing silence, one that was tainted oh-so-slightly by the pressure her absence had caused.

He wanted her back—and so he cursed his ignorance, because having her next to him; being inside of her; had potentially been two of the greatest feelings that he'd ever experienced. And he'd let her go, because of pride; because of folly; because he was so insanely jealous of a corpse.

A corpse that she'd been crying over…he knew it; a carcass that held her heart in his cold dead hands. He wondered grimly if the bastard even knew; if he even cared. Perhaps he had traded it to Charon in exchange for a safe passage across the river Styx. Something so precious to him had to be worth more than its weight in gold coins.

Wherever it was, he was certain couldn't have it…not even what was left of it. There wasn't enough he imagined, she had already given the majority of it away.

And of course she'd taken her necklace back. And of course tomorrow when he saw her again she'd be wearing it, signifying what he already knew: that she was marked property; not his to look at, to touch…to love.

He sat up slowly, willing himself to ignore the invisible scars that her touch had burnt into his face and arms. The impossible heaviness in his chest, the one that had formed when she had apologized to him, threatened to pull him underneath this languid pool of despair.

He loved her. And it wasn't in a dignified, epic manner either. The love he held was pitiable and all consuming; it gorged itself on his frantic emotions and still ached for more. It longed for her feelings as well, it's groans of hunger drove him past the line of insanity and suffering; the sheer knowledge of its gluttony was particularly painful, because he knew that if the only way it would be satisfied was through her—then this love would have to starve.

He wasn't the noble type. A decent man would gladly sacrifice his happiness for hers and do the right, chivalrous thing. But he couldn't bear this; he didn't want her to be happy, well not without him. Maybe he was greedy—and just as selfish as he was (because he knew that if given the opportunity to hold onto her heart, he would never release it either).

There was nothing more to it than that. Will couldn't be content without Matt…and he couldn't be happy without her. But she couldn't love him—it was like asking a babe not to cry or asking mockingbird not to sing. There was no intermediate; just a slow suicide for the fools and cowards who chose to attempt such madness.

No, this was it. The requiem, slow and sweet, the realization that they would both have to endure; because there was nothing else that they could do...given the situation.

He lay back on his bed, staring at the cold unflinching moon outside as it stared at him…smiling with its silent victory. Such were the ways of men, forced to dwell and linger in their own jealousies and depression. It was almost hilarious in a way…if only the moon could laugh.

Author: Well it's not my best, but its smut so I'm sure that you guys won't mind. We have a sex scene now. YAY! I don't know how to explain it to you—but when writing lemons for a KIDS show…you just naturally feel dirty.

This idea was actually the middle chapter of a story that I was planning to write back in the day. Maybe I still shall, who knows? But if I do this will be taken down and put back up as a chapter seven or something. The plot is basically that Matt killed himself and Will is attempting to go back in time to save him. It's more symbolic than I had hoped for it to be, with bloody swords and plunging into sheaths and Biology tests, yes, we all already knew that I was a pervert.

This probably has a bunch of errors, but hell, it's late, I'm sleepy and I get to go on the net for about two hours a week now…so you know, pretend that it's clean cut. If this gets deleted no worries, I'll have it up on my livejournal pronto...

Disclaimer: I disclaim, the show isn't mine, and for once that doesn't bother me in the least. Has anyone else actually seen N? Believe me it helps to make these disclaimers a lot easier to write. The epigraph up there is a line that my friend told another friend of ours when he was horribly depressed a few years back. It always stuck with me.

I don't know how many of you know of my Korn obsession, but the title there is taken from their song "Coming Undone" which I don't own either.