#does the thing.

Sweatsoaked, tired, in pain that is dulled by morphine from an emergency Cesarean section and the delivery of a healthy baby girl-- healthy, despite being three weeks early, and all she wants is to sleep. 

Locke’s defied unspoken hospital rules, sliding into the space of the hospital bed next to her, his head against her chest, right above her heart, and his arm carefully around her waist. 

She strokes his head, hair silvery in the fluorescent lighting. 

                                            " phasmatos mihi ... "

    delicate fingers twitch over the wrinkled map, waiting for the shift of     sand over the borders of land and water. behind her lids, she can     see the candlelight flicker and steady itself from a breeze that is     nearly impossible in a room full of still air. she herself has not moved     an inch so there is only one thing left.

   with a soft sigh of mild annoyance, her azure eyes open, looking up    from the table to meet the vampire's profile, subtly damning his own    impatience. for all his assumptions of knowing how witches TICK, he    certainly wasn't making her comfortable.

His lack of rest sufficed to disrupt his own conscience; at the waning crescent he felt most comfortable to witness with his eyes, in the company of a silent omnipresence. Her own accompaniment was unforeseen.