RESONANT BODY .

She couldn’t give in to these feelings, but when it was impossible for him to return them. He might think he cares for her but no. No one that knows the real her has loved her and stayed.

Sophia’s head reader back as her wife’s went wide. She slowly narrowed them as she listened to his words. “Oh is this how we are playing it.” Her hand came up and was placed defensively on her hip. Sophia scoffed at his words. “I’m sorry, don’t tell me all of your one night stands? No.” She spit out just as fast as his claims came.

“I am not actively fucking Bastian. And it’s none of your fucking business, but since you insist to know. Yeah, I had sex with Bash. Once. Over a month ago and it sent me into a mental break down.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “But forgive me for not broadcasting my mistakes to every member of the MC.”

because if things had been different, would they have ever had a chance?

her vitriol almost makes him want to laugh. because last time he'd checked -- bash had wanted to at least try to be a father. and yet, there was clearly so much more than that now. and him? man, did he feel like nothing right now. like the moments that they had together never really mattered.

" you told me he wanted t'be a dad, soph. " he mutters under his breath, eyes looking to the ground before he finds it within himself to look upwards again. " and i never asked y'to tell everyone -- jesus fuckin' christ. who the hell do y'think i am? 'cause if i had known -- this woulda stopped a long time ago. "

perhaps his punctuation is a bit angrier than he'd expected it to be, but perhaps some of it is earned. because before they'd even been intertwined, they were friends. two people trying to take care of that little boy when the father couldn't find the balls to step up and be there for him.

" then i guess i really am a fuckin' idiot, sophia. " he mutters. because here he had been, thinking they could take the time to build something real. and sure, he'd not owed that -- but every human has their right to hope, even if they're eventually crushed. " because somewhere along the line, i had t'go 'n fuckin' fall in love with you. "

the air between them seems to almost crumble, like it's been sucked out of the room.

" guess i was the one who was wrong then. i'm so sorry i thought we had somethin' real -- or that you didn't seem to feel like y'could have an adult conversation with me. that we could possibly work through somethin'. my fuckin' fault. "

he can feel the anger rising in his chest, knowing full well that he needed to leave. he releases an exhale as he buries his hands in his pockets.

when sinéad suggested food, rosa felt like it should've been this rallying of their leftover spirit. some kind of regaining of normalcy, to eat actual food rather than whatever the hospital had offered them. and yet, rosa couldn't feel any kind of hunger, or much of anything. she barely registered how her arm linked with sinéad's.

"we should bring some food back," rosa suggested, and didn't stutter. because santoros had been in and out of giada's room like it was a revolving door policy, and rosa wouldn't eat much anyway. she wanted to indulge sinéad, thought it important then, if only because offering to pay for food was one of the few things they could do right now that held any true value.

the hospital felt far too sterile for her liking. cold, unfamiliar and far too clean, if that was even possible. some may have called her own gothic home a bit harrowing -- thus the knowledge that everything was subjective. and yet, sinéad knew she needed to get out, or she was going to go crazy. thus, the offer for better sustenance than the cardboard that was offered.

" of course we can do that, darlin'. " the woman says with a gentle nod, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. support felt rare in their line of work, but rosa was someone who needed to be kept far away from it. at least, in her mind. " pick whatever you'd like. we'll grab a couple'a treats too. " her hand grasped around a packaged boston cream doughnut, before her eyes turn to rosa once more. " talk to me. " she eventually speaks. " no one's expectin' y'to be chatterin' away... but how're y'holdin' up with... all this? "

sinéad is far from material. but, she has her moments.

It's not the first time she's been face to face with someone covered in blood. And that's the problem. Not that she'd found Giada, but that her mind won't stop making the comparison. Every time she thinks about Giada, her father suddenly appears in her mind. She thinks about Giada, her father appears instead. That night. Twelve years disappear in an instant and suddenly Buffy isn't standing at the festival anymore. She's sixteen and terrified. Waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

It's not fair. Not to herself and definitely not to Giada. They're two different people. Two completely different situations... and yet, she can't stop comparing.

The sound of her name reaches her eventually and, for a second, she just stares—taking her a moment to remember that she's suppose to be listening. The question hanging between them as Buffy's gaze flickers up—Do you remember me?

Her eyes trail the others face, trying to place her until eventually something clicks. The night at the bar, their conversation. A night that feels like it happened years ago instead of a couple weeks.

eve is calm -- despite the madness. almost as if she had mentally prepared herself for something like this to happen. and yet, could anyone have ever predicted something of this magnitude? thus, her mind is running far too fast for her to catch up with. thus, she reaches an outstretched hand to help the other woman up. if anything, they're in this together. no matter how fucking terrifying their surroundings may be.

" yes, exactly. "

her smile is tired yet gentle -- hand still outstretched and awaiting her grip. of course she can understand how law enforcement seems like a looming presence in the situation, something intimidating. and yet, eve tries not to put on any kind of face.

" i work with the police, buffy. " eve speaks quietly. " i'm not a cop necessarily -- but i work with the crime scene investigation unit. i document things for the detectives. " how does one possibly approach what she needs: photographs of the trajectory where the blood hit her?

Angel can in and told her Sal was waiting for her in her office. She let out an exhale and moved over to her tool box, picking up a rag and wiping off her hands. Didn’t he know this wasn’t a good time? Every time they are alone together, it usually takes ends with clothes on the floor and someone screaming. “Hold down the fort.” She instructed to Angel before walking into her office.

Waking into her office she started as she closed the door behind her, “Sal-” but his voice overpowered hers. The words, the tone, it was something she’s never heard directed at her before. “First of all, who the fuck do you think you are talking to like that?” She said as she crossed her arms, defensively. Her stance and in her expression.

but he knows, of course he does. the clear answer is buried beneath lifetimes of trauma that sal willingly shouldered for not just himself, but three other young souls -- lost somewhere along the way between nashville and el paso. along the way, he had met and gone home with plenty of other women -- before becoming a ghost the second the urge to run away clawed at his throat like a wild animal seconds from breaking out of it's cage. and yet, what he's come to realize -- every vice he's engaged in now, booze, sex, she's ruined them all now.

sal greco is head over heels in love with sophia cole. he knows it.

" someone who just fuckin' lied to my face. that's who the fuck i think i'm talkin' to. " he thought they were better than that. and no, he knows it's not her fault that somewhere along the way -- he got tripped up and lost himself in her. frankly, he doesn't know if he wants the man back that she once knew. not after this. " oh yeah? because it seems like i conveniently tuned out durin' the part when y'told me y'were fuckin' him again. except for that never happened, 'cause i think i'd remember somethin' like that. "

the thing is, he hasn't once raised his voice yet. his tone is almost completely flat. but then, she calls it wrong. and it becomes incredibly hard to ignore the heat that springs to life along the back of his neck.

" there y'fuckin' go, lyin' t'me again. " he grunts under his breath. " 'stupid bullshit politics aside, it didn't seem wrong t'me when y'were screamin' my name on the couch upstairs. or fightin' t'stay quiet in the closet at the santoro's gala, or with my hand over your mouth in that abandoned shed on the fairground. " he becomes quiet for a moment, releasing a shaken exhale to keep his cool. he's going to try his best to have this conversation like a fucking adult. " it stops for me here, soph. whatever the fuck.... this is. because the fuckin' idea of bein' with any other person that isn't you.... now that's what feels fuckin' wrong. but if you want him, go get 'im. i'll just get the hell out of your way. "

Contrary to popular belief, Graham rarely found outright lies necessary. Most people supplied their own. Hope, fear, optimism, resentment -- given enough room, human beings would construct entire realities from the flimsiest of foundations. All he had ever done was point them in a direction and allow nature to take its course. It was a skill wasted on Sinead Lynch. She possessed the irritating habit of seeing things as they were. His gaze lingers on her for a moment. There was something almost tragic about intelligence finding a home in the wrong places.

"You know as well as I do I can't take all the credit." The corner of his mouth lifts, and he certainly wouldn't. "If I'd known the townspeople were this obedient, I'd have started writing anonymous letters years ago." Bad joke? Perhaps, elsewhere, but not here. "So, tell me honestly, what brings you here? An invitation or an instruction?"

of course, she knows very well how most people in this town think of her. something of a vampiress in her sprawling property overlooking the city, with enough money to fund lifetimes of lynch generations ( not that she intended to continue carrying on her father's line of bastards anyway ). and yet, perhaps something that most people find equally obnoxious outside of the wealth practically spilling out of her ears -- her skin is thicker than the kind of leather that's more expensive than half a year's worth of car payments. and then, there's him. perhaps they're better matched than sinéad used to think they were -- considering her stance that she found most government officials spineless anyway.

eyebrows raise at the mention of letters. could it be him, out to take down the citizens of his own town? it's a question she's asked herself of course -- but never outright. perhaps she used to think that he was watched too frequently to step away. and yet? he had his hand in everything. " contrary to popular belief, i'm not always up to somethin'. but can y'blame them? too many dead bodies, and it appears that the detectives are twiddlin' their thumbs. " the exhale is a bit more pointed, smoke dancing through the air in front of them. " i'm just tryin' t'make the best outta a truly unfortunate situation. " that, and try to put a stop to this before any of hers met their bitter end. " i'm a disgruntled citizen too, remember. you know just as well as i do that this needs t'end. "