[RP] Dark was the night, cold was the ground, I could barely make out the sound...

[uberboned]

All's quiet on Chicago streets. There's snow on the ground, ice clinging to places where the salt trucks can't get to, and at this hour most people are in bed like any sane person should be.

Sane is relative in Chicago, of course.

In front of the Empress Theater, a Rift springs to life and 5'7 worth of Biblical Archangel-slash-Trickster God practically rolls out of it, hits the curb, and then scrambles to his feet just as the damn thing closes again. There's a silver stiletto blade in his hands and there's blood on it, which probably had a lot to with the fact that on the other side of that particular Rift, there's a dead archangel.

Raphael never did fucking know when to quit.

"Your timing is fantastic," Gabriel, because he stopped calling himself the Trickster a long time ago, spits at where the Rift should be. He wobbles a bit. He's not hurt terribly bad for an angel, but for something that passes as human, he sort of looks like he got on the bad end of a really vicious fight.

Probably because he totally did.

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[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

When Murphy returns, it is with a whole cake on a tray... and a fork. Two forks, actually, but she figured it would be a waste to dirty up plates when he'll as likely plow through the whole thing anyway. She sets the tray on the table next to her chair, sitting herself down on the part of the ottoman not occupied by his feet. She has to shove a few books out of the way--history texts, mostly, and a criminology text focusing on the habits and backgrounds of delusional psychopaths.

...Murphy does not fixate. What are you talking about. "It's chocolate." She digs her own fork in to take a chunk out of the edge, holding his out. "Do you have a preference for something else?"

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"If it has sugar in it, I'll eat it," Gabriel says, matter-of-factly, accepting the fork and digging in it. As a matter of fact, chocolate is his favorite. He takes a chunk off the edge, himself, and digs in, suddenly remembering that he hasn't eaten in ages. That damn apocalypse will take a lot out of you.

And he notices your crime books, Murphy. The fact that he is choosing not to comment on them just means that he's resigned himself to the fact that you're gonna keep getting headaches over this until your brain explodes.

"Let's be honest for a second here, Murph," he announces, half-thoughtful. "You didn't think I was comin' back, didja?"

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

Murphy stops, the fork in her mouth. The question catches her off-guard. She sucks her bite off the fork before poking at the cake without taking another mouthful. "I'm used to it."

She's surprised at herself, too. The admission hurts, drives something hot into that space that trust left when she thought Harry died, when he disappeared again, all the times he'd gone off without a word to try and save everyone on his own. Murphy takes another bite of cake to keep herself from saying anything else before she has a chance to think about it. She shrugs, slowly, sucking the cake off the fork again rather than chewing like a normal person.

"I worried," she says, like she stopped worrying somewhere between the last time they spoke and his reappearance. "But you--you're not really the stay at home type." The last part is said with a wryness the rest of it didn't have.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"Nooot really," he says, sprawling back in the chair after finishing off another huge hunk of cake. "I get around. However, I woulda told you if I was actually leavin' for good and I'm insulted that you'd actually think otherwise."

He sticks his lip out in what is unmistakeably a pout. See what you did, Murphy? You made the beat-up archangel pout at you.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

"Consider me properly chastised for doubting the sincerity of an angel." And once again, there's that little twinkle of amusement that's been mostly absent for the past three weeks. Hawkes and Vansen are wonderful, she'd never say otherwise, but there's something she missed so much about having someone around who knows more than she does. It's strange and a little uncomfortable to admit it, even to herself, but not having to be the strongest person in the room is something of a relief.

He makes her happy, which is a lot more than what most of Chicago does. He reminds her that she doesn't always have to feel hurt, or tired, or sad--someone she's known so briefly shouldn't have that kind of power, but there it is. She takes another forkful of cake.

"Would you leave for good?" It's a perfectly casual question. She only has eyes for her sugary mouthful. "No coming back, no hitting up the tourist hot spots every once in a while to stick bunny ears on the easiest targets?"

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"Hey! We may be occasionally be pricks, and I can say that, 'cause they're my family and I love 'em, but we are always sincere, sister. Always." They're kinda sincere to the point of people wishing they lied a little more.

And the fact that mentioning his family doesn't make him flinch even slightly is just a testament to how good he is at hiding and holding himself up. That slip earlier was just that- he was hurt, the memory was fresh. He's over it.

Mostly.

"No," he says around a mouthful of cake. "'Cause if every so often I'm gonna get stuck here, I'm gonna stay where the action is." He swallows. "If I can't be an all-powerful demigod and have to be a guy with a really great sense of humor and more power in his little finger than most people have in their whole bodies, then I'm gonna stay where schadenfreude is an extreme sport."

And it has nothing to do with her. At all. Really.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

'Cause they're my family and I love 'em.

A ghost of sadness flickers in her eyes and disappears. Murphy makes a smiley-face in the side of the cake with her fork. "That is an indulgence that I've never really gotten into."

She pauses. "Well. Almost never."

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"That doesn't surprise me. Woman with a savior complex? Takin' pleasure in other people's pain? I'd be chokin' on this fork if you said anything different." He waves the fork pointedly at her.

"Who's a little girl scout?" He says, mockingly, still wagging the fork. "You are."

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

"I do not have a savior complex." She takes a finger full of frosting and eats it, scowling at him over her finger-full-of-frosting. So very intimidating. On anyone else it would look like a sulk. Murphy is too dignified for that. "And this little girlscout has a clear shot at your crotch from here, wounds or none."

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"Riiiight. And I'm a sainted martyr," Gabriel smirks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

He leans over to take another stab at the cake and looks up at her, smirking a bit. "I can take you."

Which isn't fair, all things considering, but a man will not allow himself to be punched in the balls a second time, no matter how much he knows he's asking for it.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

"If you keep it up, you'll be everything but sainted." Again, she can't help smiling through the threat. She takes a fork of cake and flicks it at him, catapult-style. Possibly she will regret that. At the moment, however, she's just going to sit there looking smug.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Oh, Murphy.

He dodges the cake piece and just stares at her, a grin on his face that gives him the impression of an overly amused cat that's about to sneak up on a very oblivious mouse. "Murphy, Murphy, Murphy," he says, shaking his head. "I really don't want to have to do this, but just remember... You started it."

He sits up, pulling his legs off the ottoman- the healing process is still making him a little woozy, but if he can't make it the foot or two to Murphy, then he's got bigger problems. That done, he hacks off a rather large portion of cake, takes it in his hand and promptly gives Murphy a face full of it.

"You drew first blood," he says, leaning back and proceeding to lick the chocolate off his fingers, clearly very pleased with himself.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

Murphy closes her eyes to a count of five to keep herself from capsizing the cake into his lap. She is more mature than that. Also, it would be a waste of baked goods.

"You are a child." This is said with Intense Seriousness. She scrapes a handful of cake off of her face. "A very powerful, unfortunately creative, dick of a child."

She picks a piece of the cake off her hand with her clean fingers, eats it, and leans forward to smear the remainder over his chest. ...She kind of forgot until that point that he didn't have a shirt on.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"How long did it take you to come to that assumption, Holmes?" He says, around continued dealing with the excess cake on his fingers.

He is probably not as surprised about the unexpected chest cake as he should be, although he was probably expecting it to be more in the general area of his face. This is just kind of hilarious. For him. Less so for her.

He grabs her wrist and sort of half-pulls her down, so that this whole scenario looks a hell of a lot more awkward than it has any right to. "Where do I start with all the lewd, unnecessary- HI COOPER!"

This time he totally didn't time it that way, which makes it all the more awesome. Needless to say, Hawkes is standing in the doorway, looking like a teenager who has just walked in on his parents having sex.

...And he's gonna be slamming the door and going somewhere else now. Possibly to GET THIS IMAGE OUT OF HIS BRAIN.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

There's one frozen, horrified moment, and then the door slams. Murphy stares at it. And then makes a sound that is something like pfffft and cracks up laughing. She half-collapses against him, shaking with laughter until it leaves her gasping.

"Oh, Hawkes." She draws in a long, slow breath, smudging at her eyes with the hand that's mostly clean. "That poor kid. Oh God."

She fixes Gabriel with an accusing look. "Tell me you didn't know he was there."

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Gabriel's been cackling since he saw the shades of red Hawkes's face was turning and just cackles more when Murphy collapses on him. The fact that his injuries aren't bothering him anymore and are permitting this without too much agony means he's already started to heal.

"Not that time," he cackles. "I swear. That kid just has horrible timing." And now he's laughing again and not really paying attention to the fact that they're both covered in cake, one of them is half-naked, and the other is practically on top of him. Because, you know, paying attention to that sort of thing would have to make people wonder what the hell this looks like.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

Laughter peters out into the realization that she's spreadeagled over a half-dressed, wounded man.

Angel. Half-dressed, wounded angel.

For a breath Murphy's tempted to do something very, very stupid. A paralytic tingle of nerves washes through her. She's human. She's lonely and tired and only human, and having someone this close punches a little ache into her gut.

He's cute. Kind, in some warped way she doesn't really want to think about, and best of all, fleeting. Inconstant. Not the kind of person to expect things from her, considerations or compromises. The cold, honest corner of her mind hisses And then what? How would she judge herself if it went that far? Would he even let it? How would he judge her?

Murphy draws back, putting on a smile and patting the mashed cake flat against Gabriel's chest. "I'm going to get a washcloth."

She shifts, trying to extricate herself without touching him. She doesn't want to make his wounds worse.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

There's a moment where he's just as tempted and he has a hell of a lot less restraint- the endless dance of sin and vice he's committed over the years can attest to that. However, that's a dick move, even for him. He's upset, he's trapped, and he's hurt in more ways than one, and flirting shamelessly, making innuendo-filled jokes is one thing, but actually turning that into something else is something else and it's just not worth it.

And then he thinks, Okay, so I almost died tonight.

Which doesn't make it seem any less like using someone, but does make him appreciate that he's not nearly as indestructible as he'd like to believe he is. Maybe here he's untouchable, but he'll wind up back there eventually, picking up right where he left off. The next brother he fights, he might not win against.

The next one he fights, he might not want to.

And he sure as hell doesn't want to go into that good night, thinking he could have done something here, because knowing her a week or not, there's a weird, ridiculous understanding here that he doesn't get with other people. And she's attractive and... Well, friendships have been destroyed on things a lot less worthy than temptation. And hell, maybe if he doesn't have a reason to get tossed back here, he won't, and he can go back to his bloody fucking Apocalypse without having to worry about the sudden dissonance. And it's not like friendship has ever meant that much to him anyway.

He shifts, groaning a bit, and then grabs her arm and pulls her right back down on top of him into a kiss, which is more than a little awkward, considering she's somewhat covered in cake, but he's kissed a hell of a lot worse.

He'd say he'd regret it, but he doesn't really regret. Creature of impulse and vice, here. He'll just suffer long the consequences and pretend like he doesn't care. He's damn good at that.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

Murphy's breath hitches in surprise as she loses her balance and falls on him, the first half-second of thought being that she's going to hurt him and then everything else getting torn away and leaving her entirely focused on that kiss, on every point of contact, on the fact that he tastes like cake and cinnamon. She breaks off, studying his face with startled eyes.

"Well," she whispers. "I guess being older than recorded time is good for something."

She could resist. She still has that in her.

But he could have died while she was here, stuck chasing a mockery of the heavenly host that Gabriel is stuck fighting. She fishes his shirt from the side of the chair, bracing her other hand against the back of it to keep herself from putting too much pressure on him. She swipes the cake off the side of her face, slowly, and tosses the shirt aside. And then leans in again, pressing a hand gently against the back of his neck and kissing the corner of his mouth before meeting his lips and tongue properly with her own.

She's straddling him now, thinking vaguely of locking the door while she runs her fingers over the back of his neck. If cake-smearing horrified Hawkes, she can't begin to think what seeing this would do.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

"I get around," he smirks and he sounds way more smug than he has any right to, but how that's any different from how he normally sounds, the narration has no idea.

He shifts again, trying to get his arms freed up. He slips one hand in Murphy's hair and kisses back. It's hardly the passionate, sweet kissing of a lover, because Dad forbid he turn into that kind of guy. It's rough and desperate, greedy and full of that sketchy in-between space between need and want.

His free hand, he lifts enough to snap, dimming the lights and locking the door in one go and Murphy can consider herself lucky there's no disco ball or Barry White music to go with it. He considered it, but... Meh, that's a bit too over the top for 'Oh hey, I'm alive' sex... Or whatever this turns out to be.

That done, he lowers the hand back down to the small of Murphy's back, surreptitiously working his way up underneath her shirt. He's considering the benefits of moving somewhere not the chair, because this is going to get so awkward so fast, especially with his injuries, but right now... He doesn't really care. The wounds are healing and this feels awesome as is.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

If there was a disco ball, she would probably break it over his head. Barry White she might forgive, if only because hot damn is he a good kisser.

I'm getting spoiled, Murphy thinks, shivering at the feel of Gabriel's hand on her skin. Between him and Kincaid, I'm not going to want anyone who hasn't had at least a few hundred years' practice.

Desperate is all she needs right now. She's in that space with him, the quiet knowledge that they might never talk about this later--probably will never talk about this later--barring her from making the emotional connections this kind of contact might otherwise create. Mutual loneliness, mutual want. A moment or a few to just forget and be physical in a way that feels good, just good.

Murphy slides her hand down against his hip, wriggling her fingers into his pants and enjoying the feel of hidden skin. She'll get to his belt in a minute. Right now this is good enough.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

And somewhere meta-ly, Gabriel's only response is damn straight. He's had a lot of experience with this sort of thing- part of the big ol' plot to piss off Daddy and get him to pay attention sort of deal that just wound up being loads of fun. Human women- they've been the ruin of many a poor angel and Dad knows (or doesn't, because that's the point), he's one. Although, to be fair, he was sort of ruined before the debauchery caught up with him.

He makes a sound that's half moan and half chuckle against her mouth at the contact and moves his hands further up her shirt, smirking victoriously through the kissing when a certain little something unhooks without much difficulty, whether that's just luck or he's abusing his powers again isn't really clear. Either way, his hand has stopped working its way around her back and has moved forwards a bit.

A Knight of the Cross and an Archangel screwing around like a couple of teenagers in the backseat of a car. If Dad even cares anymore, they are both so doomed to the special hell forever. Might actually be worth it though.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

She's sliding his belt buckle open when someone starts pounding on her door. Murphy closes her eyes, allowing herself three whole seconds of hating the universe before she calls out, "What?"

"I don't know!" There's panic in the voice on the other side. She doesn't recognize the speaker's voice, but there are a lot of people in the theatre.

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you--"

"I don't know! I don't know! There's a rift--"

Murphy swears fluently enough to make a guardian of that special hell blush and rolls off of Gabriel, snatching her sword from the corner by the door and throwing back the lock. She stops, looking back. "You're not healed yet," she says. She's not going to tell him to stay put, though, because fuck if he'll listen to her.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Gabriel's itching to just send that person to Fresno and pretend nothing is happening, but the minute he hears rift and gets a really good earful of the panicked tone, he knows he's doomed to the not getting laid special Hell, which is a lot less nicer than the other one. He grits his teeth, groans audibly and hits the armrest of the chair as Murphy rolls off of him.

"There are not enough cold showers in the world," he mutters as Murphy departs. He waits until she's actually left before he counts to ten and reappears right in her path in the hallway, now fully dressed and devoid of cake, but no less disgruntled.

"Let me get this straight. I'm well enough to have sex with you, but I'm not well enough to kick the ass of whatever is preventin' me from havin' sex with you? Get your priorities in line, Murph, 'cause I see a hundred things wrong with this picture and me not gettin' laid is somewhere near the bottom." Pause. "Okay, near the middle." Another pause. "Top ten, maybe. ...Were we gonna kick ass and take names or what?"

He's moving out of your way now, Murphy, but don't you dare think for a second that he's staying behind.

[whateverthemess.livejournal.com]

She's not going to lie--having him at her side makes her feel a whole lot better about whatever's waiting for them. That doesn't mean she's just going to consent, but isn't that just the way they do things?

"You got put through six walls and four stained glass windows already or something," she says, jogging after the terrified messenger. "There's probably a quota or a union rule about that."

Her expression goes hard when she hears screaming and she breaks into a run, then stops, holding her hand out to Gabriel. "Get us there fast."

She's having better luck ignoring frustrated desire--her people are in danger. The fear of what might be happening to them is clear on her face.