heaven sent.

he  full  on  chokes  for  a  good  minute,  both  on  his  spit  and  a  stray  fur  fluff  that’s  gone  awry  from  bonbon.    she’s  still  in  love  with  you.    it  sours  him  a  little;  he  loves  amelia,  he  does,  but  they  just…didn’t  work.    not  in  the  long  run  of  things,  and  not  in  the  aspect  of  if  he  can  control  this  all  or  not.    there’s  no  part  of  him  that  thinks  of  her  in  the  long  scheme  of  it  all    ––    besides  the  normal  amount.    maybe  it  was  just  fun  in  high  school,  he  doesn’t  know;  but  he  has  a  bigger  mission  to  be  working  on  now,  one  that  makes  everything  just  that  much  harder.    truthfully,  malachi  doesn’t  want  her  to  see  the  monster  that  he’s  become.    it’s  so  damn  easy  to  pretend  that  he  doesn’t  care  about  it,  because  he’s  closed  himself  off  to  it;  he  does  what  he  has  to  because  breaking  this  curse  and  retaining  the  magic  is  the  most  important  part  of  it.    it’s  essential.    it’s  easier  to  focus  on  it  without  a  woman  who’s  part  reaper  looking  over  his  shoulder,  frowning  and  seeing  the  souls  he’s  going  to  take,  the  blood  he’s  willing  to  spill  in  order  to  keep  his  own.    ❝  i  don’t  think  that.    that’s  been  over  for  a  really  long  time  now.    i’m  not  interested  in  a  relationship,  anyway.  ❞    fingers  lightly  run  along  bonbon’s  spine  again  and  he  bites  at  the  inside  of  his  lip.    there’s  a  twist  in  his  stomach,  the  thought  of  amelia  still  wanting  him.    of  still  being  the  person  that  she  knew,  not  the  person  he  was  now.    ❝  if  she  could  see  the  things  i’ve  done,  she’d  never  want  that  again.  ❞    a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  like  it  doesn’t  bother  him.    like  he  doesn’t  feel  sick  inside  counting  each  and  every  life  he’s  taken  and  the  blood  that  he’s  spilled.

❝  he  travels  through  nightmares?    that’s  horrifying.  does  that  mean  he  can  see  your  naughty  dreams  about  him  too?  ❞    check  him  putting  up  extra  wards  tonight,  making  sure  that  a  snooping  demon  doesn’t  wind  up  moving  through  his.    the  occult  shop  is  fine    ––    it’s  got  lots  of  material  and  he’s  browsed  it  over  once  or  twice  already,  but  something  about  shaddix  has  always  put  him  at  odds.    he  doesn’t  know  if  it’s  the  aura  he  gives  off  or  the  wards  that  he  has  put  in  place  to  keep  the  place  as  cleansed  as  possible.    something  about  him  feels  off,  like  he  can  see  through  malachi’s  bullshit,  like  he  knows  what’s  coming  for  rose.    there’s  an  uncomfortable  shift  and  bonbon  protests,  digging  her  claws  into  his  thigh  and  forcing  out  a  hiss  from  his  own  lips.    eyes  glance  up  at  rose  though,  taking  in  the  way  that  the  moonlight  tumbles  along  her  skin;  she’s  almost  glowing  with  the  power  that’s  refueling  her,  with  the  cascade  of  light  that  makes  patterns  on  her  skin  from  the  blinds.    it  accents  her  like  she’s  been  made  for  it,  like  she’s  some  sort  of  goddess,  and  he’s  quick  to  divert  his  attention  before  it  can  get  him  in  trouble.    before  he  lets  the  needs  of  man  get  in  the  way  of  the  needs  of  malachi.      ❝  i’m  not  obsessed.    i’m…curious.  ❞    eyebrow  raises  ever  so  slightly  at  her,  and  he  tucks  an  arm  behind  his  head,  then  brings  his  gaze  back  up  toward  the  ceiling.    he  counts  the  tiles  there,  recalls  them  over  and  over  again  to  keep  his  mind  occupied.    ❝  i  didn’t  have  a  coven.    my  magic’s  out  of  spite    ––    one  of  my  ancestors  hung  a  witch  after  promising  he  would  keep  her  secret.    she  cursed  the  family  line  so  that  each  generation,  one  child  would  be  cursed  with  black  magic.    the  more  they  used  it,  the  more  it  killed  them.    my  aunt  got  the  shaft  end  of  it;  it  consumed  her  and  my  father  found  her  dead  in  the  cemetery,  bled  out  into  the  soil.  ❞    is  that  going  to  be  his  fate?    is  he  going  to  wind  up  just  like  all  the  others  before  he  can  actually  manage  to  break  this  thing?    it  sends  a  chill  down  his  spine;  his  skin  feels  too  tight,  his  blood  pumping  too  loud    ––    a  familiar  anxiety  that  threatens  to  choke  him  if  he  lets  it.    ❝  then  there’s  me.    unlucky  spawn  who  got  the  magic.  ❞    he  rolls  his  neck  against  the  couch  so  that  he  can  look  at  her,  slight  smirk  on  his  lips  before  it  fades  away.    ❝  i’m  going  to  break  it.    keep  my  magic  and  end  it  for  the  rest  of  my  lineage.    teach  the  witch  a  lesson.  ❞    

she has to remind herself just who she was talking to.  it was malachi, the stupid couch surfer, the rat who infested her home and lingered around like a teenage son.  but that still doesn’t stop the soft ache in her chest, that familiar feeling of pity and guilt nicking away at her from the inside.  the sense of pity was natural, his story was sad and tragic, rose resonates with it in a way.  he was working hard to keep his magic, rose was working hard to survive.  all of this was because of their magic, so she understands him there.  the guilt, however, was the part of her that feels bad about her own views on her magic.  malachi clearly cares a lot about his own, he wants to keep it and thrive with it as a witch typically wants.  while rose would be content if hers was sucked dry.  in any circumstance that allowed her to give up her power freely, without causing any damage or issues, she would in a heartbeat.  it’s caused her nothing but pain and misery, and for what?  to be able to cast spells?  it wasn’t worth having to murder over, it wasn’t worth spending her life on the run for.  and it certainly wasn’t worth closing herself off from making real, human connections with people.  so she feels guilty, having sat and listened to malachi’s story and still being unable to feel differently about magic.  it’s nothing but a nuisance, everyone’s magic was.  it was troublesome.  no matter where a witch went chaos followed, even the purest, brightest of witches.  people wanted to take and take and take, and that alone was troublesome enough.

personally,  he  tries  not  to  think  about  the  joker  too  often,  not  now  that  he’s  in  san  francisco  and  far  away  from  gotham.    it  lingers  at  the  edge  of  his  mind,  but  he  tries  to  put  it  to  the  far  back  for  the  sake  of  his  own  sanity.    there  was  always  one  that  got  away,  and  the  joker  was  always  that  in  gotham,  no  matter  how  many  times  they  caught  up  to  him.    some  part  of  him  wonders  if  bruce  just  can’t  bring  himself  to  actually  end  the  game  of  cat  and  mouse  that  they  began  so  long  ago.    if  you  lock  away  your  greatest  enemy,  then  who  do  you  have  to  fight  against?    who  are  you  going  to  actively  fight  day  in  and  day  out?    but  jason  pushes  it  away  because  he  has  problems  of  his  own.    especially  given  the  fact  that  deathstroke  is  still  somewhere  out  there,  and  the  fact  that  he  can  still  feel  the  breeze  rushing  past  him  right  before  he  was  meant  to  hit  the  ground.    it  sends  a  shiver  down  his  spine,  one  that  the  joker  hasn’t  managed  to  do,  and  lets  out  a  slow,  shaky  breath  as  his  fingers  linger  on  the  door  knob.    ❝  eh,  you  wanted  to  watch  them  and  personally  i  was  fine.    it  just  makes  me  want  to  throw  things  and  punch  the  tv,  you  know,  to  show  that  i  can  beat  a  clown  or  two.    protect  the  damsel  in  distress.  ❞    he  sends  a  cheeky  smile  over  his  shoulder,  attempting  the  bravado  that  he  holds  so  damn  close  to  his  chest  on  any  given  day.    it’s  hard  and  it  wavers  at  the  edges,  but  he  pushes  through  it  and  steps  out  into  the  hall,  heading  down  into  the  kitchen  to  grab  some  drinks  and  some  popcorn.    he  makes  around  four  bags    ––    he  knows  him  and  autumn  both  zone  out  during  movies  and  if  it’s  a  scary  one,  things’ll  wind  up  flying  up  in  the  air.    he  also  grabs  some  water  bottles  and  heads  back,  quick  to  duck  in  and  out  unseen  just  like  he  has  done  since  he  was  a  kid  and  needed  to  get  around  gotham  without  being  the  center  of  attention. 

he  sets  the  goods  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  near  autumn,  and  then  crawls  into  the  space  that  he  normally  occupies  when  he  sleeps.    his  body  stretches  out  and  he  curls  an  arm  underneath  his  head,  eyes  glued  to  the  screen  as  she  keeps  going  through  the  titles  until  she  lands  on  one  that  she  deems  worthy  enough.    ❝  don’t  believe  everything  hank  says.    if  you  do  that,  you’ll  believe  sex  in  the  city  is  some  sort  of  porno  when  in  reality  it’s  just  a  lot  of  drama  and  boring  relationships.  ❞    there’s  an  amused  smile  that  touches  his  lips  for  a  minute  before  he  stretches  a  little  more,  sock  clad  foot  lightly  nudging  at  her  thigh.    ❝  it  looks  fine.    put  it  on.  ❞      he  sinks  down  a  little  more  into  the  pillows  that  he  keeps,  but  then  he  frowns  and  sits  up.    snagging  the  pillow,  he  drapes  it  into  autumn’s  lap  and  then  allows  his  head  to  rest  there,  eyes  settling  on  the  screen  as  he  grabs  for  a  piece  of  popcorn.    ❝  you  mind?  ❞

when jason leaves the room autumn can’t help back watch after him, her gaze fixated on the spot he was in moments ago.  he seems fine now but she still wants to know what’s going on in his head, what kind of thoughts he’s having and why he’s closing himself off to everyone else.  she may be helping, even just for now, but she wants to be able to help him get by this funk.  by the time she’s funnelled through these thoughts she hears him strolling his way back to his room, catching sight of his shadow as he creeps closer to the door.  quickly, autumn turns back to the tv as he enters and puts the snacks by her side, but she’s swift in moving onto her hands and knees and crawling her way up to the top of the bed, sitting up with her back against the wall and feet sprawled out.  he seems comfortable enough until he suddenly shifts just as she presses play, dumping his pillow in her lap and resting his head down, asking for her permission only after getting comfy.  it brings an amused smile to her lips and she responds by resting her hand atop his head, nimble fingers combing through brown locks.  “ only if i get to play with your hair. ”  and she knows that wouldn’t be an issue.  so the movie plays and conversation dies out, nothing but the noise of the television and the occasional munching on popcorn catching her attention.

because  sooner  or  later,  you’re  going  to  become  relevant  to  my  plan.    his  eyes  don’t  waver  from  where  they’re  focused  on  roselle,  almost  daring  her  to  look  away  first.    he  tries  not  to  let  his  ego  smart  at  the  simple  fact  that  she  doesn’t  care  about  any  of  this.    no,  he’s  just  some  friend  of  amelia’s  who’s  come  around  and  caused  trouble,  who’s  flounced  on  her  couch  for  long  enough  now,  and  he  wants  to  keep  it  that  way.    if  he  keeps  himself  as  dissociated  from  her  as  possible,  then  the  fact  remains  that  he’ll  be  able  to  actually  do  this.    he’ll  be  able  to  kill  her  when  the  time  comes,  get  her  blood,  and  move  on  to  the  next  phase  in  breaking  the  curse.    it  should  be  simple  and  on  the  surface  it  is    ––    malachi’s  done  far  worse  in  order  to  get  the  pieces  he  needs  to  break  whatever  hold  this  bullshit  curse  has  on  him  and  his  family.    so  why  does  taking  out  one  of  amelia’s  friends  almost  feel  like  it’s  off  limits?    like  some  moral  boundary  seems  to  go  up  when  he  hasn’t  had  one  before?    his  eyes  narrow  at  her  slightly,  but  he  keeps  his  lips  tightly  pressed  together.    he  can’t  reveal  anything;  if  he  even  gives  her  the  slightest  of  hints  of  what  he’s  doing  here,  it’ll  all  go  to  hell.    the  girl  is  far  smarter  than  she  lets  on  and  she  can  see  through  him  as  well  to  a  certain  extent.    malachi  has  to  traverse  it  carefully  and  he  knows  it.

❝  because    ––  ❞    malachi’s  voice  abruptly  cuts  off  as  he  watches  the  white  feline  stroll  into  the  room,  eyes  narrowing  more.    his  body  goes  tense  as  she  jumps  up  on  the  couch;  he  hasn’t  forgotten  about  the  scratches  to  his  face  when  he  had  appeared  in  roselle’s  apartment  after  the  whole  shadow  incident  with  amelia.    but  to  his  surprise  the  cat  headbutts  him,  and  then  practically  demands  pets.    his  movements  are  halting  and  staggered  as  he  carefully  pets  the  feline,  but  they  slowly  grow  more  measured,  fingers  lightly  curling  at  the  backs  of  her  ears  and  then  running  along  her  tail  at  the  end  of  each  pet.    bonbon  seems  content  to  collapse  in  his  lap  for  now,  and  he  doesn’t  know  if  it  counts  as  a  win  or  a  failure.    either  way,  he  takes  it  in  stride,  before  his  head  snaps  up  to  meet  roselle’s  eyes,  bewilderment  etched  across  his  features.    ❝  kiss  me?    why  in  the  fucking  world  would  i  think  you  would  kiss  me?    is  this  some  weird  damsel  in  distress  kink  you  have  because  honey  i’m  not  here  to  play  it.  ❞    his  nose  scrunches  up  and  he  pets  the  feline  a  little  more  quickly,  only  slowing  once  he  feels  her  claws  beginning  to  dig  into  his  thigh  with  warning.    ❝  pretty  sure  you’re  gay  for  amelia,  anyway.    or  that  weird  demon  with  his  nose  in  the  books  all  the  time.    so  no,  the  thought  of  you  kissing  me  never  even  came  to  mind,  thank  you  very  much.  ❞    there’s  a  soft  huff  that  leaves  his  lips  and  he  brings  his  eyes  down  to  bonbon,  lightly  scratching  underneath  her  chin  and  feeling  the  purr  vibrate  throughout  his  whole  arm.    ❝  seems  like  you  hit  the  supernatural  motherload  here  if  you  ask  me.    finally  found  a  town  where  your  coven  isn’t  crawling  from  the  rafters  ready  to  pounce.  ❞

he has a way of amusing her with just the simplest of words, sometimes just the smallest of expressions as well.  sometimes it provides a type of warmth she’s only experienced around friends, sometimes it scratches that wicked itch she has.  she watches as he awkwardly panics a little as bonbon leaps up but then eases and begins to scratch the small ball of fur.  it’s the most amusing sight to behold, he seems so stiff and scared.  it was as if he has never even come across a cat before.  but then again, rose doesn’t know anything about him.  he very well could have never pet a cat before, and she wouldn’t be any of the wiser.  he then looks up and shoots her a look which has her shifting her stance, folded arms falling to her sides as she gives a laugh.  roselle wanders over to her armchair and plops down, giving a shake of her head.  “ if the relationship between me and amelia was romantic it would be easier for me.  she’s my friend, i don’t make much of those, ” she explains, but turns to glare briefly in his direction, “ and it’s not because i can’t make friends, it’s because i don’t want to before you make some kind of smart remark. ”  turning away, her attention turns to the window, looking out at the starry sky from where she sits with a soft smile.

Exhaustion must have hit Marc all at once, most likely a result of Jake’s many nightly escapades wearing the body down, it having gotten to the point where the second Marc closed his eyes, Jake was able to slide into the driver’s seat without much trouble.  Granted, whenever Jake fronted, it was usually long after Marc and Steven were asleep, allowing them to remain blissfully unaware to the guardian that is Jake.  It is the reason why he keeps his contract with Khonshu, why he still allows the pájaro bastardo to heal the body after each job he completes.  And it is the reason why he does not reveal himself.  To protect them.  

Layla, however, is another story altogether.  She is the only one who has seen him and lived, as he had stepped in during the chaos that unfolded in Egypt those months ago.  But he had to, even if it meant exposing himself, he had to protect Marc.  And when he met Layla again, when she tried to coax him out to a much confused Marc, he had made her promise never to tell either Marc or Steven about him.  Despite the worry that his secret would come out, she remained true to her word and not a single mention of his name was ever uttered to them, much to his appreciation.  Marc and Steven were lucky, Layla was quite the woman.  

So when he fronts again, their meetings becoming more frequent, he greets her kindly, keeping his face hidden behind the newspaper while he fixes his mustache.  Steven always kept the face so clean, much to Jake’s displeasure.  But once secured, he glances down at the paper to notice Khonshu reassembling the newsprint in order to relay information about his next target.  And when Layla ultimately steps out of the apartment, Khonshu speaks gravely: She knows.  Jake, however, shakes his head, dismissing the words, and notices that he had left without taking an umbrella. 

He finds her along the park sidewalk, her lie easily detected, but he still smiles in kindness anyway.  “ Eso es desafortunado, ”  That’s unfortunate,  he states before offering his arm for her to hold on to.  “ ¿Quieres un café? ”  Want a coffee? 

it takes her a few moments to take his offered arm, which she knows is a dead giveaway that something was wrong, but she plays it off with another wide smile.  “ cierto. ”  sure.  her strides are short as her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, her mind racing with so many questions and thoughts.  how should she play this?  she felt so many emotions, some old ones that were resurfacing, the lack of trust in the man, even if it was yet again...  another man.  the first time she felt like this was upon meeting steven when she was convinced marc was lying to her face.  now this time jake was here, who was also lying to her.  not to her face, but he was lying.  about something.  was he lying about wanting to protect marc and steven?  was it all just a huge con to keep her quiet so she didn’t reveal his existence to her husband?  it never did sit right with her, marc deserved to know, right?  it was his body after all.

her chest heaves and she tries to push the panic down.  taweret is still here, she can feel her presence, but it does little to comfort her as she flashes jake a quick look, trying to think how what she should do before they return to the apartment.  was he going to kill her?  would he kill her?  layla, from the moment she met marc, has always just wanted what was best for him.  she’s wanted to protect him, and that was before finding out all of the trauma he carried.  now that urge to wrap her arms around her husband and shield him from harm is so much stronger -  but she doesn’t know how she can handle this.  her gut tells her to tell marc, he deserves to know.  and so does steven, he’s just as important as marc, and steven was never comfortable with khonshu and what he was doing with marc.  she should tell them.