#ms. venable

Maddie tried to keep her face blank as Tim complained of the stew, asking for the second time if they were certain the snakes were dead this time around. Usually, the boy kept his complaints to himself or to his secret girlfriend that they all pretended not to know about but their previous luncheon had everyone on edge.

Even Maddie had idly poked at a snake in the pot to make sure it wasn’t going to wriggle when she was scooping their servings.

Only an hour, she thought to herself. Then she would be free to resume mindless cleaning activities and not be forced to listen for the drivel that passed as conversation to the elite.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and she felt herself standing up straighter. There was only one person absent from the lunch, but Langdon had insisted upon eating alone during mealtimes.

Venable stood up as he appeared, his blond hair glowing in the firelight. He surveyed the room with an uninterested nonchalance that would have made Maddie roll her eyes if there were less people around.

“Mister Langdon. Will you be joining us? We can easily set another plate.”

“No,” he said disdainfully, as if the mere suggestion was an insult. “I came to collect Miss Sage for our interview.”

Maddie looked silently between him and Venable, the latter of whom didn’t even glance in her direction.

“Can it not wait until after our luncheon?”

Michael blinked. “I am attempting to conduct these interviews in a limited time period. Of course, should you all be comfortable with waiting for my results longer--”

Immediately, the table of purples erupted in protests.

Venable tapped her cane against the floor, and they hushed before she resumed looking at Langdon. “As you will, then.”

Michael inclined his head before turning to Maddie. Wordlessly, she followed him, keeping her head down to avoid the stares as she crossed the room. He stood to the side, allowing her through the door first before following.

“What was that?” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What was what?” Michael asked, taking her hand and looping it around his arm to lead her to his temporary quarters.

She stared, watching his firm but gentle actions. She’d always hated to be touched, particularly without her consent. Strange, considering how much she longed for physical affection but even a friend giving her a hug made her tense and fight the urge to cringe.

Yet Michael’s touch was warm, comforting. As utterly confusing as the man himself.

“You decided to wait until everyone was eating and cause a scene before my interview?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. That was hardly a scene. Besides, I assumed you would prefer your interview to take you away from the one hour a day you’re forced to cater to the sniveling masses.”

She blinked, slowing her step, her words from the previous night coming back. “You remembered.”

He stopped, turning to face her. “You’ll find there is little I forget.”

Her eyes were searching as she looked at him. “So, you remember your freak out this morning?”

“The luncheon was a scene? This morning was a freak out? My, you must be sensitive.”

“Don’t be an ass.” Maddie raised her chin. “What was that about, anyway? You show up before half the Outpost is awake to give me a gift then briefly lose your mind over my book collection?” She deepened her voice a la Darth Vader, saying, “The whiplash is strong in this one.”

Michael stared down at her incredulously. Had anyone ever been so disrespectful to his face?

Well, maybe Mutt and Jeff in the beginning but after he'd flambeed their little prostitute, things had changed. Perhaps he should demonstrate his true powers, not just the basic commands and levitation he had shown her last night. 

The horny hairdresser wouldn't be missed considering his own grandmother had thrown him to the wolves for a chance at Sanctuary.

Or the old woman herself. He had never sat through a conversation with so much name dropping.

“Are you going to answer or just stare at me?”

“I’m leaning towards staring,” he said honestly. “Does that offend you?”

Maddie rolled her eyes and stepped forward, back towards his quarters. “Have you always been purposefully obtuse?”

“No. The intention of my obtuseness is definitely new and unique to my encounters with you.”

Her lips twitched and he felt victorious. Even annoyed with him, she was amused. He could work with that. With her.

The interview, in itself, was a formality. Even before speaking with his father, Michael had planned to take her with him to Sanctuary. This was only an excuse to spend time with her.

To get to know her while demonstrating how perfect he was for her. There was no one better. He could give her things others could only dream of. On Outpost 3, she was a servant. In Sanctuary, she would be a fucking queen.

Now, he just needed to convince her.

With a knowing smile, Michael slid open the office doors. She stepped inside and froze almost immediately.

The rich aroma of coffee permeated the air.

He closed the doors behind them before setting his hands upon her shoulders. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, "Cream and sugar?”

"Just-just cream."

He squeezed gently, oddly proud that he had stunned her to stuttering. He allowed his hands to travel down her clothed arms and brush over her hands.

"Have a seat," he told her with a gentle nudge towards his desk.

He walked over to the fireplace where the French press was kept warmed. 

"How?" she asked.

"I never travel without it." He glanced back, ensuring that she had indeed taken a seat. "The woman who raised me, Miriam, insisted that every day must be started with 'the devil's drink.'"

"Sound logic."

Michael prepared her a cup in his personal mug. He’d taken it from Ms. Mead’s home shortly after she had been killed.

It filled him with pleasure unlike any other to share it with her. 

How odd, that he was almost more excited to give her coffee than he had ever been to drink it himself.

He handed it to her, perching himself upon the desk in front of her. His seat was only a few feet further but he wanted to be near to her, almost unable to stop himself.

Maddie inhaled, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathed in the long-missed scent. Savoring every moment before she tilted the mug and took a long sip.

Her cheeks were pink with excitement as she opened her eyes and smiled.

It did something to him, to see her joyously accepting such a tiny pleasure.

The initial disbelief, like when he gave her the journal. Followed by care and a sense of wonder with each acceptance that made his chest grow as uncomfortably tight as his trousers. 

He could only begin to imagine her reaction to Sanctuary and each new stimulus. Art and music. Fresh food. Hand-feeding her strawberries, the juice dribbling down her chin. Dragging his tongue up its path.

 She would live in satin and silk. Colors.

No more of these grey polyester monstrosities.

And while she would have certain freedoms, he might lose his mind if she ever purposefully donned a bun again.

He blinked and the bindings disappeared, allowing her soft hair to fall, cascading down around her shoulders.

Maddie glanced up, looking curiously amused.

“Neat trick.”

“While the hairstyle is unequivocally ridiculous and the grey uniform is… unfortunate, Venable’s attempt to make you look unattractive utterly failed.”

His words had the desired effect as her cheeks flushed pink.

“So how does this work?” Maddie asked, changing the subject quickly. Her slender hands wrapped around the coffee mug as she looked away.

It was fine. He would give her leave to look away now with the knowledge that one day, soon, she would accept his compliments. She would get used to praise.

“I’m not going to tell you what criteria I’m using to grade you. Things you feel are helpful may be hurtful. Things you feel may compel rejection may be exactly what I’m looking for. If you hedge, I will know. If you lie, I will know. If you try to trick me, I will know, and this interview will be over.”

“Good to know. I like having an exit strategy.” She took another sip of coffee, looking entirely unperturbed. 

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a grin. Those words had intimidated all the others.

“What is your sexual orientation?”

“Is that actually a question?”

Michael reached behind him to where he kept a paper he used to reference. He held it up. “You’re welcome to check. Although the questions here are meant to be guiding this interview, not shaping it. You’re always allowed to pass.”

Maddie leaned forward ever so slightly. “Fluid.”

“No preference?”

“Only when it comes to state of mind. Never sex or gender.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I could never see myself with someone without substance. The body is secondary to that.”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

For a moment, she almost did ask for the paper to see if it really was a question or if Michael was just trying to get a rise out of her. At the end of the day, she supposed it didn’t really matter.

With a soft snort, she raised a hand, wiggling her fingers.

She didn’t miss the momentary flash of anger in Michael’s eyes, nor the way his voice hardened when he confirmed, “Five?”

“I was referring to my right hand. If you’d like me to include vibrators, as well as my hand, I suppose the number would go up to four.”

Michael blinked. Then again.

Score one for Maddie, she thought as he worked through his confusion.

“You’re a virgin?”

“An outdated concept that stemmed from a period where women were perceived as nothing more than objects to be possessed. If you’re asking if my hymen is intact, see part b: three vibrators. If you’re thinking of using me for some archaic sacrifice due to my “virginal status”,” she mimicked the quotation marks in midair, “please take note that virgin sacrifices don’t actually refer to the state of one’s vagina, but a concept of new blood, meaning that the victim has never spilled blood for any sacrifice before.”

Michael was still as he seemed to process that. After a moment, his lips twitched. “And has your blood ever been offered in a sacrifice before?”

“Is that on your sheet?”

“Guiding, not shaping. You brought it up, therefore it’s open to be asked about.”

Maddie smiled, leaning back. “Alas, I have never spilled sacrificial blood. I suppose I still have my uses, after all.”

“I’ll make note of it.” Michael paused, allowing her a moment’s reprieve to take another sip from her coffee before moving forward. "Tell me about your life leading up to the blasts."

Maddie nodded, then smirked. "Am I allowed to mention my T-H-E-S-I-S?" she spelled aloud.

"By all means."

"Okay but let me know if you start to feel triggered. I was in grad school. If I wasn't teaching or working on my thesis, I was drinking an unhealthy amount of espresso and fantasizing about sleep."

"How did you perform in school?"

"Very well. I was one of those annoying kids who actually enjoyed learning. I read for fun, I corrected teachers. I was largely regarded as insufferable to have in class until high school."

"What changed?"

In the back of her mind, she could see herself sitting alone at lunch. A book in front of her, six feet of space on all sides.

Walking to classes alone, slipping through crowds of friends. Unnoticed, on a good day. On a bad…

Freak. Nerd. Super virgin. No one will ever want to touch you. Think you’re so smart. Think you’re so good.

She swallowed. At the time, it had felt necessary. In hindsight, it was embarrassing how much she had let their petty, worthless words tear her down.

“I learned to keep quiet. Keep my head down. I still did well but I didn’t volunteer information the way I had when I was younger.”

“Why?”

She laughed, humorlessly. “I wanted to fit in. To be liked. Not that keeping quiet helped in that regard, but it did stop the worst of backlash.”

Michael frowned and his eyes seemed to darken. “You were bullied.”

Maddie shrugged. “Kids are cruel. Especially when they feel insecure.”

“You excuse their behavior?”

“I understand it,” she corrected. "Fear drives people to do crazy things."

"Fear is an excuse humans use to do terrible things without taking accountability."

"Humans?" Maddie asked, sounding amused. "Do you distinguish yourself from the rest of us, Michael?"

He ignored her question. "They forced you to stifle yourself because they were lessor, and they knew it."

Maddie’s eyes widened at the emotion behind those words. Michael seemed genuinely angry although that couldn't be the case. 

"No. I made concessions to try and be liked. At the very least, not hated. That was my decision.”

“So history continues to repeat itself. You are, consistently, the smartest person in the room. And yet, you stay silent so no one knows. Venable walks around like the cat who got the cream, with no idea that you could dethrone her in an instant if you only applied yourself.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the assessment because, damn him, he was right.

How many times had she laid awake at night, unable to sleep, thinking just how easy it would be to manipulate the other greys into staging a coup or getting them to unionize?

 Within days of being in Outpost 3, she had figured out every patrol schedule and had a working layout of the school in her head. She knew where each door led. Had figured out the combinations kept on both the weapons and the radiation suits long ago.

But Maddie knew she would never actually follow through. She certainly didn’t want to be in charge of the Outpost and, while Venable was a bitch, she was competent. There wasn’t anyone else that could lead them any better.

What was more, she’d never voiced her thoughts aloud to anyone. Even Mallory, whom she adored, she kept at arm's length.

“How do you know that?” she asked, wondering if his warlock-esque abilities allowed him to see into her head.

“Because anyone with a mind like yours would have figured out the ins and outs to this place in minutes. You’ve had eighteen months.” Michael leaned forward. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it. About how fucking easy it would be to turn them all against her. To force Venable and St. Pierre and the Gallant’s into grey clothes and demeaning hair styles.”

She remained silent as he pushed. “Come on. Tell me.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it.” Maddie looked up. “But I wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Was that disgust in his tone, she wondered. “They use you. Every day. They use you and they don’t even see you.”

“Because then I would be like them.” She shook her head. “I would rather be complicit in my servitude than play God.”

A slow smile spread across his face, but it was not one of amusement or happiness. It made her swallow as he said, “Ah. And do you believe in God, Madeline?”

"I assume you're familiar with Pascal's Wager?"

There was a pause before Michael laughed. Her heart stuttered at the melodious sound. He gave a toothy grin that made him slightly younger and impossibly more attractive.

Pascal, a notable philosopher, had explored the various scenarios of belief in a higher power and what it meant for the individual. He decided that there were a limited number of conclusions.

If one believed in God and they were right, they reached eternal salvation. If they were wrong, the worst outcome would be wasted time.

The adverse, of course, was if one chose not to believe in God, they risked eternal damnation. 

Thus, belief in God made the most logical sense, if only to save oneself from punishment.

"By your laugh, I'm guessing you are, indeed, familiar," Maddie said dryly.

"You continue to surprise me. It’s… refreshing.”

“Glad I can be of some amusement to you.”

It struck Michael then just how true her words were. While he was able to find humor in his own actions and the ways he made the others tremble and cow, very few people had ever amused him on their own.

She was made for me. She belongs to me.

It was all he could do not to lunge forward and take her right there. To lay claim to what was rightfully his. Shred her hideous dress to scraps and bury himself inside of her.

But he couldn’t allow himself such pleasures, not yet. Madeline required, no, deserved to be courted. A carefully constructed seduction, always planning five moves ahead.

Even now, as desperate as he was to lay the world at her feet, he knew he could only do so much. While he longed to whisk her away from her servitude and crown her as queen, he knew she would not be receptive. She was too wary of him, though he was certain she enjoyed his company.

He had to prove himself to her. 

Unlike with his birthright, this would not be as simple as showing the mark below his ear nor burning those who questioned him alive. That wouldn’t work with his Madeline.

From the moment he returned to the earthly plane he had been planning his seduction.

He stole her away from the worst part of her day.

He offered her coffee and had been thrilled to see the disbelief and wonder in her eyes.

And that was only the beginning.

Her cheeks flushed prettily under his gaze. Even as they did, she met his gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How am I looking at you?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

He looked at her like she was salvation. His own, personal heaven. Like she was the most precious creature in all of creation. Like he was starving and could only be sated by the fountain between her thighs.

Her blush deepened but she didn’t let that stop her. She never did.

Every time he thought she would waver, she held her head just a little higher. He adored that about her.

“Like you’re about to consume me.”

Because I am.

The corner of his lips tipped up. “I should be so lucky.”

She gave a sharp intake of breath and her eyes darkened with arousal.

Michael felt his nails bite into his hands as he tried to maintain a semblance of control. He couldn’t lose it now, no matter how much he wanted to fall to his knees before her and sate the need that filled them both.

He needed to ease them both away before he scared her off. He needed to keep her curious and compliant.

“Were you raised religious, Madeline?”

She shook her head, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Not as such. I was baptized and conferred but we didn’t regularly attend services or participate in holidays other than Christmas and Easter. I was more interested in the Bible as a scholarly source than as a guide.”

“Based on your studies, I assume that your interests expanded beyond the Christian texts?”

Maddie flashed him a smile. “You’d be correct. I read the Torah, the Koran, the Vedas, the Tipitaka… anything I could get my hands on, really.”

“Quite extensive studies for one who claims to be non-religious.”

“I suppose. But I’d always been fascinated with the idea of religion. Why humans, who are egocentric by nature, began worshiping deities. How similarities developed across cultures that never had the chance to interact, then evolved with similar ideas.”

“How so?”

“Creation myths. Stories of floods and plagues. Myths that place the onus of sin and evil on the shoulders of women. Though Heaven and Hell are the most prominent examples. The majority of religions have some form of eternal salvation or damnation. The ancient Greeks had Elysium and Tartarus. The Aztecs had thirteen levels of heavens and nine layers of hell. The Chinese mythos had Diyu and Tian. The Muslims had Jannah and Jahannam. I could go on until your ears bleed. Some of these cultures had contact with one another but most didn’t. So why and how did they come up with such similar concepts? Like the layers of Hell?”

He could listen to her talk all day. “And what did you conclude?”

“From a scholarly standpoint or a pseudo-logical one?”

“Both, if you please.”

“Looking at it from a rational perspective, it could say something about the human psyche. That death frightens us so much that we come up with solutions that save us from our final fear. Maybe humans do share a collective unconscious that allows us to create archetypes across cultures.

“On the other hand…” Maddie shrugged. “Perhaps there is some truth to it all.”

“Which do you believe?”

“I believe that there are some questions we’ll never know the answers to.”

His lips twitched. She would know the answers sooner than later.

All at once, he was grateful to his father for setting her on such a path. Her knowledge, however limited, would save her from the worst of the shocks. Make it easier for him to convert her.

“Was that not disappointing?” he asked, curious to what she would say. “To explore such thought, knowing you would never have a conclusion?”

She didn’t hesitate before she shook her head. “No, never. If anything, it was heartening. To know that, even in the midst of fear, humans had a collective belief that something was out there. Waiting for us. That even when the blasts came and the world was blown to bits, right or wrong, there was comfort.”

“Exactly how much of the end did you see?”

“Very little,” she admitted. “I was so deep into my studies, I didn’t even notice the missile alert on my phone until after the SWAT team had collected me.”

“Then how do you know people were comforted? I would think there would be panic as people awaited their final judgement?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Do you always play the part of Devil’s advocate?”

He gave her that toothy grin. “More than you know.”

“I don’t know anything for sure. Everything is based on belief.”

“Synthetic truths. Like Hume’s causality.”

Maddie nodded in agreement. “You can drop a stone a thousand times and it will always fall to Earth. But that does not guarantee that the thousandth-and-first time that it will fall.”

He was a sick man, Michael decided, to find himself growing harder as she spoke of such concepts. But then, he was a sick man long before he met her.

He forced himself to remember where they were and what they were supposed to be doing and switched to the next question.

“Are you angry that the blasts fell?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What good would it have done?”

“You speak of anger as if it is supposed to be logical.”

“I’m not so naïve.” Maddie waved a hand, demonstrating her uncertainty. “I don’t know. I could say I wasn’t angry because I was grateful to be alive, but that’s not true. And while I wasn’t expecting it, I wasn’t surprised that we had an extinction event. It was coming sooner or later. Maybe that made it easier to process.”

Her words gave him pause.

“What does make you angry?”

“Very little. I get ticked off. Frustrated, even, but I can probably count on one hand the times I was truly pissed off.”

For a man who breathed anger most of his life, that was hard to comprehend.

She continued, “I get angry when people don’t respect my boundaries. And I hate when people touch me.”

He arched his brow. “You’ve allowed me to touch you.”

Several times, in fact. She’d taken his arm as he escorted her to her room the night before and again when he took her to his office. He’d kissed her hand. And that morning, he had pinned her to the wall of her quarters and touched her face.

She had responded with the intense eye contact following a furious blush combination that made his chest feel fuzzy and his thoughts disappear entirely.

“I suppose I have.”

“Hmmm.” Though he longed to push her further, he withheld. “I’m curious: does your treatment as a grey not bring you anger?”

Maddie seemed to consider that as she took a sip of her coffee. Unlike the others, he did not make the automatic assumption that she was trying to hedge. She acted as if she didn’t care if he took her to Sanctuary, one way or another.

And that upset him more than he cared to admit.

How could she not care about safety? How could she not care about going with him?

Finally, she spoke. “It used to. I used to be angry that it was so unfair. That so many people died. That most of the people who survived did so because they had money and knowledge that the rest of us lacked. That all I wanted was to spend my days recording languages and history before it's lost but instead, I'm made to clean after and serve those who do nothing with this second chance at life."

With every word she spoke, Michael felt himself grow angry on her behalf.

She was the only one on Outpost 3 that deserved anything. The rest could, and would, rot if he had anything to do about it.

"But," she said with a shrug. "Life isn't fair. I mean, isn't that the essence of all religion? Life is chaos and meaningless and our free will is only as strong as the weakest links of the cosmic order. I can't be mad at the world for being unfair when, by design, it can't be anything else."

Michael, once again, was forced to grab ahold of his control before he pushed her too far. 

He shook his head. “You’re a curious creature, Madeline Sage.”

“Not really. I just don’t let little things bother me.”

“The end of the world was hardly a little thing.”

She pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side before agreeing. “Fair point. I suppose I’ve just learned to roll with the punches.”

Michael wasn’t a fan of the idiom in such a context, but he understood what she meant. His fated queen was a survivor. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The idea of her suffering made him want to burn what little was left of the world, and yet, her ability to survive made the stress of being tied to a mortal a little more bearable.

“One last question.”

She nodded expectantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

Her lips twitched. “Is that on your list of guiding questions?”

“No. It’s not.”

She held his gaze, her warm eyes staring into him with such intensity he wondered if she could see his soul. If he had one at all.

“Yes.”

Somehow, she made that little word seem more beautiful than anything else he had ever heard.

He rose to his feet, offering her a hand. He was curious if she would still accept after noting her dislike for touch. His heart skipped a beat as she did, placing her small hand into his and allowing him to help her to her feet.

Michael led her deeper into his suite. When he had drawn up the plans for each Outpost, he had designated a guest quarter in each and specifically requested his room on 3. Miracle of miracles, Venable hadn’t completely ignored that mandate.

In his time at Hawthorne, it had been his home. His abilities had separated him from his peers, along with the belief that he was, indeed, the Alpha.

To allow him space for extra practice and quiet study, Ariel had removed him from the typical dormitories after a month. Michael had fully taken advantage of it. He’d skip meals in the dining hall in favor of studying and would end up cooking for himself most days.

Very few modifications had been made since his day.

There was still a small kitchenette that had been upgraded, or down depending on how he looked at it. The microwave was gone but there was a fireplace in his study, his bedroom, and the kitchen. He’d prepared the soup with a wave of his hand before he had gone to fetch Madeline. It simmered while they spoke, kept in stasis.

He led her to the small table, already equipped with two chairs. He’d used the second for propping his feet while he ate and studied in his own day, never one for friends.

Michael pulled out her chair and she sat, looking around with interest.

“Wine?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t.”

“A little won’t hurt.”

“Considering I haven’t had a drink in eighteen months, I don’t want to make that wager.”

He inclined his head. “Another time then.”

She made a non-committal sound as he poured her a glass of water.

“Can I help?” she asked.

Her offer warmed him. There were so few people in his life who had ever offered him kindness and no one who ever stayed. Ms. Mead had been killed. Madelyn, whose name was so close to Madeline’s that he couldn’t help but remember her with an extra fondness, had left him to his destiny. The rest of the Satanic community only wanted him for what he could do for them.

“I’ve got it,” he replied softly.

He discarded his coat which, he remembered with amusement, made him look like an Interview with a Vampire reject. He filled two bowls with the soup made with the vegetables he had brought from the Sanctuary.

Potatoes, carrots, celery, tomatoes, and onion.

It was by no means a masterpiece but, compared to the gelatinous cubes she’d been living on, it would be a feast.

Not for the first time, he was awed by Venable’s incompetence. The Cooperative had supplied every base with enough cubes to survive for eighteen months but with the understanding that each leader would be responsible for supplementing such.

The leaders of Outposts 1 and 2 had stocks of non-perishables as well as systems for hydroponic agriculture. Outpost 2 even had a composting system that rivaled Sanctuary’s.

He looked forward to stepping over her corpse as he returned home.

He set the bowls on the table, reveling in the way her eyes lit up at the sight.

Before taking his own seat, Michael walked over to the airtight chest where he kept most of his food. He pulled out a loaf of bread, wrapped in a terry cloth.

He set it on the table between them, trying not to grin at the surprise etched one her perfect face.

I can give you all this and more, my queen.

Michael took a slice and sat back.

“Now I understand why you looked so disgusted when Venable asked if you were joining them for lunch.”

He smiled. “I would rather eat that gelatinous garbage alone than this with Venable and her imposed royalty.”

She laughed, tearing a piece of bread to dunk in her soup. Her eyes were alight as she looked at him.

"Thank you for sharing your meal with me."

Every meal. Every day. 

The urge to tell her who he was, who she was to him was unbelievably strong. It felt like it was tearing him apart, clawing for release.

He wanted to scream that the world was his to give to her.

And she was his precious partner, whom he had never dared dream of having.

His throat felt tight but he managed to say, "Thank you for the company."

She offered him a small smile before taking another bite of the soup. 

"It's been a long time since I shared a meal with someone," he admitted.

"How long?"

He really wasn't sure. Did the feast at Sanctuary celebrating the harvest count? As king, he had joined the festivities but sat apart from the others.

And if not for that, it would have been years. He'd had dinners with the members of the Cooperative and the Satanic temple before the world fell apart.

Dinners that were filled with the most expensive and luxurious foods, all in an attempt to impress him. Whiny beggars, desperate for his favor. It had all been so fake.

No wonder he preferred to dine alone.

"Very long."

"Are there not many people in Sanctuary?"

"No. There are hundreds." With growing numbers every day. The apocalypse seemed to make people extra horny, creating a new generation of people to worship him and rebuild the world in his image. "I prefer to avoid most people."

"You haven't avoided me," she said pointedly.

Quite the opposite. He had sought her out at every opportunity.

"No, I suppose I haven't," he replied, echoing her earlier words. 

Her lips twitched but she said nothing.

They fell into a companionate silence, the likes of which Michael had never experienced. 

Most people he knew never shut up and, when people around him were silent, it was typically because they were afraid of him. Madeline fell into neither category.

It was oddly comforting to sit with someone without forced pleasantries. To find someone's presence to be enough to fill the silence. To be with someone without them making requests of him and the irony was that she was the only person he wouldn’t mind making requests of him.

The idea that he had forever to look forward to such moments was humbling.

Before they were done, he convinced her to eat a second slice of bread. Her reluctance to be greedy was something they would have to work on.

“Can I help clean?” she asked, as they finished.

“It’s not necessary.”

“Really, I can—”

“Madeline.” Michael waited until he had her attention before he waved a hand. Instantly, the dishes were as pristine as they had been before their meal. They floated in the air, stacking themselves before the bowls and their utensils returned to their rightful cabinet and drawer.

She nodded. “Huh. Bet you’re real fun at parties.”

He wasn’t but he didn’t correct her.

She sat back in her chair with a soft sigh, her eyes drooping slightly.

“You look tired.”

She smiled, opening her eyes. “Perpetually. I don’t think I’ve gotten a good night of sleep since high school.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you stay up half the night translating ancient texts.”

“Yeah, but without that, I’d lose my mind. Between sleep and sanity, I’ll take sanity any day.”

“You should rest.”

Maddie snorted. “I should get back to work.”

Even as she said it, she seemed to be fighting a yawn. Her face tightened as she seemed to push it away.

“Just for a little bit.”

“I’ve already been gone far longer than your usual interviews take. I can’t imagine Venable will be pleased with my absence.”

“Fuck her.”

Madeleine stood. “I’d rather not. Besides, there are rules against that.”

No, there aren’t.

Smiling at her snark, he rose to his feet and carefully maneuvered himself between Madeline and the door. His hand softly trailed her arm, giving her more than enough room to pull away. She didn’t.

“Fifteen minutes. Lay down and rest.”

It purposefully was a small request. She’d never consider longer, he knew. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough for her to claim he was being unreasonable and he knew she’d want to avoid making a fuss.

He couldn’t tell if she was just conflict-avoidant or if she just didn’t want to waste energy in pointless engagements. Either way, he would use it to his advantage.

Sure enough, he could see her considering it so he broke out the big guns.

“Please.”

She wavered and he smiled.

“Ten,” she countered but Michael didn’t care. He had still won.

“Deal.” He slipped his hand down her arm until he reached her hand. He entangled their fingers, thrilled as she gripped him back.

Michael led her through to the back room. The full-sized bed was the same he had used as a student. The dark wood was black laurel for power, courage, and strength and intricately carved with sigils of protection. He liked the idea of little Madeline asleep under his covers.

He turned down the covers for her and she kicked off her shoes. Hesitantly, she climbed up on the bed. Michael pulled the covers up.

“Just ten minutes,” she muttered, and he fought a smile.

“Rest, Madeline.”

He reached out and placed two fingers on her forehead.