[Dea] Milosh

Her phone gave a familiar jingle, and she smiled as she looked at the caller ID.  She flipped it open, already grinning, "Hello?"

"Dea, it's Milosh."

She slipped into her native tongue, chuckling softly, "Milosh, how are you?"

"I'm...I'm fantastic.  Hey...are you busy?"

She glanced around at the weapons spread throughout her room, each one taken apart to be meticulously cleaned, "Nope.  What's up?"

"Meet me at the little sandwich place down the street, will you?"

She paused for a moment.  He sounded different, "Everything ok, Milosh?"

He let out a soft laugh, "Of course, Dea.  Everything is fantastic.  I just wanted to talk to you about something really important.  Will you come?"

She picked up one of the guns, swiftly reassembling it, "I'll be there in an hour."

***

She pulled her sunglasses off, her eyes quickly taking in the restaurant.  She knew the owners - they were both sleepwalkers, and it was a safe place.  Mages frequented it, and there was a backroom for secret meetings.  As well as access to the forgotten tunnel systems.  She spotted Milosh and grinned, waving to the owner behind the register as she made her way towards him, tucking her sunglasses into her pocket and discreetly checking her weapons.

He was looking out the window and practically bouncing with excitement.  He didn't even notice her move towards him until she let out a chuckle and slid into a seat, "Ok, Milosh.  Spill.  You're going to change the rotation of the earth with your vibrations."

He snapped his head to her, wide eyed.  His smiled widened until she thought his head was going to crack and he let out a bright laugh, "Thanks for coming, D..."

She picked up her water and sipped it, lifting a brow with a laugh and twirling her fingers in a go-on motion.  He took a deep breath and smiled, patting his vest pocket.

"Well...you know that Eucharist and I...well, we've been...you know..."

She smirked, "You two have been dating, yeah, I know.  I'm not fucking blind."

He blushed and nodded, "I don't know why I didn't see it sooner.  I mean, I spent so much time ignoring her and treating her like a little sister.  I just didn't see..."

She looked at him and smiled softly, feeling her heart twist just slightly.  Not just with happiness for her cousin, but in jealousy for herself.  She spoke softly, "You two have been good for one another, Milosh.  She's made you happier than I've ever seen you."

Nodding he gave her a bright grin, slipping his hand into his vest pocket and pulling out a small, black velvet box.  He ran his thumb over it lovingly before looking up at her.  He pulled it open slowly, revealing a tiny yet perfect diamond sparkling.  She blinked and then looked at him with a smile.

He grinned at her like an idiot, "Do you think she'll like it?  I was going to ask tonight, after we get back from the op..."

She smiled softly, reaching over and squeezing his hand, "I think it's perfect."

***

Emotions raged as she stumbled into her apartment.  She could feel the broken ribs shifting around, her snapped collarbone singing at her.  Her boot squished softly with the blood from her thigh, and she was reminded why she never left the house wearing color.  She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, sinking slowly to the ground.

She let the tears come.

It was supposed to be a simple op.  Easy.  All of her intel told her that the office would be empty.  She was there to obtain information - files that theoretically could help her kill a quarter of the Seers in the city.

It had been a trap.

One of her team had sold them out.  He'd apologized, told her that they took his daughter after she awoke, told her that he had no choice, that he had to save his family.  Two bullets in the head and he died quickly, but the look of regret never left.

She wept, resting her head on her knees, ignoring the pain that raced through her body.  Fiona had patched her up, but life magic can only go so far.

They'd been there, waiting.  She had come over prepared - she always did - so their numbers were about equally matched.  Lachlan had taken out their comm devices, but it only took them moments to set them back up.

She had watched as they fell.  Lachlan.  Seraphim.  Giant.  Brie.  Milosh.  Not a single person on her team was uninjured, but she had no choice.  She called for the retreat, taking up the rear and ensuring that the rest of her team would at least make it out of the building.

She'd grabbed his body as she ran past, already shoving the emotions deep inside her gut.  He'd ceased being her cousin, the little boy she'd raised, and had become nothing more than a body.  But she had to take him with, she couldn't just leave him there.

The blood and the sweat and the water from the sprinkler systems made her slip.  She could hear them coming hot on her tail, and Fiona screaming for her.  She left him there and ran, picking up the tiny woman and fleeing the scene.

In the comfort of her own home, she could cry.  She felt the world around her cracking and her heart breaking.  It was the right fight, it was the good fight...but how much more would she have to give?

One last task before she could rest.  She picked up her phone and looked at the cracked screen, swallowing hard and putting her emotions away.  She dialed quickly, her hands shaking.

"Eucharist.  It's Dea.  Milosh is dead."

[Dea] After Dark

She reached over, rummaging in her bedside dresser, her body humming with the fading energy of their shared climax.  She grabbed the crumpled pack and the ancient zippo, flicking it with an experienced hand and lighting the wavering flame to the edge of her cigarette.  She inhaled deeply, sighing and closing her eyes as she exhaled.

Chocolate colored eyes ringed in gold watched her curiously, tracking her every move.  His voice was rough, his breath still returning to him as he murmured to her, "Smoker, eh?  Can I have one?"

Wordlessly she offered him the pack and the flame, watching the cherry red of his cigarette float as he rolled over onto his back with a content groan.  Smoke floated lazily up to the ceiling as he glanced at her, "That was...amazing, Dea..."

She nodded once and chuckled a bit, not looking at him, "Thanks."

Silence fell as he hesitated.  She knew that he was going to press the issue, but she hoped he'd be smart enough to wait for daylight.  She hated kicking them out in the dark...wasn't safe out there.

"So...uh...we should do this again sometime, maybe?  Maybe dinner and a movie first?"

The question hung heavy in the air and she could feel his eyes on her, hopefully and anxious.  She sighed softly and slid out of the bed, needing to put space between them.  She settled into the window sill, pressing her bare back against the dusty pain and shaking her head, "No."

He paused for a moment, parsing the simple word, lifting himself on one elbow and staring at her, "No?"

"Did I stutter?"

That long pause again, and she could hear the hurt in his voice.  She hated this part of the night.  Sometimes they got belligerant, sometimes they got upset, and they nearly always whined, "Why not?  Was it something I..."

She sighed and shook her head, "No, Landon.  It's nothing you did.  I just don't...do...relationships.  I don't do dates.  I don't do dinners and movies and flowers and romance.  This..." she gestured around the room with her cigarette at the sex tangled sheets, "This is what I do.  Because without this, I'd lose my fucking mind."

He watched her for a moment longer and nodded, sighing, "Ok then."  He swung his legs out of the bed, gathering up the clothes that were spread around her room.  She watched him impassively, standing quietly as she finished her smoke, cracking the window and flicking it expertly into the rain.

He nodded and gave her a quick smile, running his hand through his curly hair, "So, I'll see you at work this weekend, huh?"

She smiled and nodded, "Yeah.  I'll be there.  Have a good night, Landon.  Thanks...it was fun."

He paused again and then laughed a bit, nodding, "Yeah, it was.  Night, Dea."

With that, he was gone.  She leaned her head back against the window and sighed heavily, the pleasure still slowly surging through her veins.  She hated this part of the night.  It was hard to explain that she wanted the company and the physical presence, but that she just couldn't afford the emotional attachment.  Not again.

She glanced out the window, watching him run through the rain to the nearest subway station.  She thought for a moment she saw him pause and turn back, raising one hand in farewell.

[Dea] Coming Around

The uncomfortable pressure on her bladder only served to remind her why she was too damn old for drinking a 12-pack right before passing out.  She groaned and stretched, rolling onto her side in hopes of alleviating the pressure long enough to catch a few more precious moments of sleep. 

No luck.  Her body screamed at her.  She sighed and sat up slowly, ignoring the shooting pains in her lower back, running her fingertips through her short spikey hair.  The night before had been rough.  She'd lost three men, mostly green kids hardly old enough to hold their own dicks, let alone get them wet.  It was one of the many drawbacks of her job, though she'd long since adjusted to hearing their screams in her sleep.  It hardly even phased her any more.

Another shooting pain from her abdomen reminded her why she was awake at - she cast a quick glance at the clock - 3:30 in the goddamn morning.  She hauled her lithe body to her feet and stretched, sighing as she heard the familiar 'pop-pop-popping' of her spinal column.

She stepped into the hallway with a yawn, freezing midstep as she felt a different tingle rush up her back.  She stepped back into her room, reaching just inside and pulling out the knife she kept there for special occassions.  Something was wrong, and she'd be damned if she was caught with her pants down.

She murmured softly, surrounding herself in a layer of protection from Fate, before padding silently back into the hallway.  She could see the light shining from the bathroom, and she silently cursed Samuel under her breath.  He always forgot to turn the goddamn lights out.  The light illuminated his bedroom door, standing ajar just an inch.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the door.  Her roommate was the most predictible Mage she'd ever met.  He always left the bathroom light on, and he never left his bedroom door open.

Years of training took over as she quickly pushed every thought out of her mind.  It was just another operation - not her home, and not her best friend.  Her eyes darted around the apartment as she slipped quickly down the hall, summoning shadows to hide her form.  She held the knife in front of her body protectively.  She paused when she reached the door and the overwhelming coppery smell of blood hit her hard, almost enough to make her gag.

She pushed the door open slowly and swallowed hard, her eyes widening as the beam of light from the bathroom illuminated the body.

She flipped on the light, shoving her knife into the waistband of her yoga pants, rushing towards him.  Her throat felt tight and she couldn't draw a breath.  A glance was all she needed - from the ashy look of his face to the sheer volumn of blood soaked into his bed - if he wasn't dead he wouldn't be soon.

His cell phone was perched on the dresser, where it always was.  She flipped it open and pressed '5'.  As the line crackled to life, she barked, "Medic.  Now.  Agent 62 is down."  She snapped it shut and tossed it on the bed, examining him quickly.

It only took her eyes a moment to take in the scene, and to realize that he was still alive.  The wounds on his body were deliberate - she knew torture when she saw it.  Cuts intended to cause as much pain as possible, with as much blood loss as possible, while keeping him alive as long as possible.  She grabbed a towel from his floor, pressing it against one of the largest wounds.  She knew it wouldn't do any good, but she couldn't just stand there.

"Samuel?  Sammy, wake up?  C'mon, baby, just open your eyes..."  The stunning blue eyes that she had fallen in love with fluttered open, focusing on her as a faint smile curved his lips.  She knew from his labored breathing that he had at least one punctured lung.

"Hey, D...thought you'd...never make it..."

She forced a smile, swallowing the lump in her throat that threatened to overwhelm her, "Hey, you know me.  I like to make a grand entrance...don't try to talk, Sammy...help is coming.  Just hold on, ok?"

He laughed faintly, choking on the blood that flew out of his lips, "Too late, D."

"Hey, don't say shit like that.  It's just a couple of scratches, baby.  Farrah will get you fixed up and you'll be bugging the shit out of me again in no time..."

He swallowed hard and she felt her heart clench.  She knew the response team would be there in minutes, but she was pretty sure it wouldn't be fast enough.  She could already see the dark edges of death creeping around his aura.  She blinked hard, pressing her hands harder into his wounds as he spoke softly, one hand clamping down hard on her wrist, "D.  I love you."

The pithy response died on her lips as she looked into his eyes.  He deserved the truth, even though she'd never deserved him.  She smiled softly and nodded, unable to stop the burning at the corner of her eyes, "I know, Sammy.  I know.  I love you too."

He grinned, his face lighting like a little boy at Christmas.  He laughed again, his voice faint, "Knew you'd come around..."

She laughed softly as the tears streamed down her face, leaning down to brush his lips with hers softly.  He drew one last shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed with the smile still on his face.  She watched as his body shut down, his spirit floating peacefully away.

She'd seen it enough times.  She was Moros, and she knew exactly what death entailed.  But it didn't stop her momentary hysterics.

Weeping, she held him close to her chest and rocking him, murmuring his name over and over again.

By the time the response team arrived, her tears were dry and her face was composed.  She could have gotten rid of the blood that stained her flimsy pajamas, but she didn't bother.

Farrah looked at her, wide-eyed, as she stumbled into the room, "Dea..."

Cutting her off with the shake of her head, "He's gone.  Bastard got in somehow.  Tortured him for hours."

The other woman winced and nodded, looking back at her group and motioning one hand.  They streamed into the tiny bedroom and went to work cleaning it up.  She turned to leave and then paused, glancing at them one at a time, "Leave the body."

They all froze in their actions, and it pulled at her to see them all afraid of her.  Farrah swallowed, looking up, "What?"

"I said - leave the body."

"But..."

She leveled a gaze at her and quirked one brow, her voice cold, "Farrah, don't question me.  Leave the body.  I'll take care of him.  It.  Just do your investigations and leave the body."

They nodded, silently returning to work.

When they'd finally gone, the sun was just starting to rise.  She slipped into the bedroom and looked at him, giving a faint smile.  If it weren't for the wounds, he'd look like he was sleeping peacefully, having some sort of pleasant dream.  She settled down onto the bed next to him, reaching into his shirt and pulling out the dog tags she'd made for him years ago when he'd first moved in.  She snapped them off, threading one onto her own chain before slipping it back over her neck.

She murmured softly, lifting a brief prayer in Romani, watching as the body began to decay before her.  The tears started again, and she didn't bother trying to stop them this time.  His face was the last to go, her fingertips brushing his lips and memorizing them before they disappeared into dust.  She gathered his remains into a small velvet bag, carefully tying it shut.

She held the bag close to her heart for a moment, sighing heavily before carefully dropping it in the vase in her bedroom.  She murmured softly, shaking her head and touching the tag that held his name, "I'm sorry, love."

[Dea] Unfulfilled Wishes

The muffled thump and the searing in her shoulder told her all she needed to know.  She felt her body crumpling involuntarily, the world tilting in slow motion.

"Fuck.  That was a good one."

She heard voices screaming, Samuel's usually calm, clipped British accent chattering quickly.  She strained but couldn't make out the words.  She felt a quick stab of annoyance - she fucking hated not knowing what was going on.

The realization that she was dying swept it all away.  Blissful peace pulled her under.  She couldn't be sure, but she thought that maybe she was smiling as she floated away.

Six years old.  The family had known hard times, but through it all they'd had one another.  The farm in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, had blessed them with a way to make a living.  Her Oma was cunning enough to keep them all alive.  They had come several times, but every time they had gone away empty handed.  They searched for the Children of Mythos, but they found nothing at the idyllic home.


But she knew.  She knew that she was one of the Children.  Ever since she had been a child, her mother had whispered the stories to her.  Tucked away in her closet so no one could hear, she would fill her daughters mind with the glorious tales of Mythos and the prophecy surrounding him and his progeny.  The child was enchanted by the stories, by the idea that some day she would make a difference in the war.  She had no idea that her future would hold no glory, just pain and blood and tears.


For now, the legends were enough.


She jolted up out of her bed, biting back the scream.  She could feel stitches in her shoulder pulling, though none of the ripped.  She fell back into the hard pillows with a sigh, her eyes flicking to the corner as the familiar voice broke through the haze of pain.

"Sorry, D.  They don't have much in the way of drugs here.  We did what we could..."

She chuckled a bit and shook her head, "S'ok, Sammy.  I figured I was a goner anyway."

He paused for a moment, peering at her and nodding, his voice low, "So did we.  That was a close one.  D, you've gotta..."

She interrupted him, holding up a hand, "I know.  I've gotta be more careful.  I do what I can, Sammy.  They're gonna kill me some day, I can't live forever."

The flicker of emotions across his face was as she'd expected.  Pain and worry mixed with the love he held for her.  She'd told him they couldn't be together like that, not when there was a war to win...so he'd contented himself with being her surrogate body guard, watching over the woman he loved, no matter the risk to his own life.  He smiled a bit and shrugged, "I know, D.  Just...don't hurry it along if you can help it, ok?"

He rose gracefully, and she noted - not for the first time - how lovely he was.  He brushed her forehead with a kiss, smiling softly, "I'd like to keep ya as long as I can."

She squeezed his hand, returning the smile, "Yeah, I know Sammy.  I'll try.  I'll try."

He grinned and nodded, heading out of her room, presumably to alert her nurse that she'd awoken.  She sighed and closed her eyes, brushing away the tears before they fell.  Though she'd vowed to tell him everything, she could never confide this in him.  That every time she met death, every time she found herself on the cusp of blessed release - part of her hoped that they wouldn't be able to save her.

One of these times, she would get her wish.

[Dea] Coming Home

She made her way to her front door, pausing wearily as the retinal and fingerprint scans did their job.  The door made a faint 'click' and swung open slowly.  She nudged it open with the toe of one scuffed combat boot, sliding inside and kicking it shut behind her.  She heard the 'click' again, and the obnoxious British voice chime in, "Welcome Home!"

An involuntary groan escaped her lips as she let the duffle bag slide to the floor with a heavy thump.  She knew that her roommate would trip over it on his way in, and she knew he'd bitch at her for it...but it was hard to give a damn.

Rolling her shoulders, she slowly made her way into the tiny kitchen.  She didn't have to look into the refrigerator to know that it was still empty, aside from the beer Samuel always managed to bring home.  She'd been meaning to go shopping for weeks, but some things were just more important than a pleasant outing to the market.  Rummaging through empty pizza containers she let out a triumphant sound, pulling out one lone piece of pepperoni.  It had only been there a few nights.

The voice of her Oma echoed in her head as it always did on nights like this, 'Marcella...you can't eat that!  It's been out!  It will make you sick.'  She just laughed and pulled open the fridge, taking a healthy bite as she popped the top of her beer against the counter.  She took a long swig, muttering softly in her native tongue, "Don't worry, Oma.  If bad pizza kills me, at least I'll only suffer for a few days..."

She made her way into the run-down living room, flopping on the couch with a sigh.  It had been another long night and she had three more dog tags to make before she could sleep.  She finished the pizza in two bites, reaching beneath the couch to pull out a heavy metal box.  She unlocked it with the key that always hung around her neck, pulling out the top tray.

She picked out three of the small metal ovals and arranged her tools.  Looking out the window for a moment, she contemplated - as she always did - what her life would be like had she chosen differently.  She knew how they took care of their people...she'd practically living in a palace, compared to her dump of a home.  And then the smell of blood filled her nostrils and the memory of the screams of her dying family.

She smiled softly, whispering a prayer in Romani as she carefully hammered the names on the tags.  She kissed each one carefully, smiling softly as she tossed them into the bottom of the box, watching as they mixed with hundreds of others just like them.  She leaned her head back on the couch and sipped her beer, closing her eyes and trying to find a moment of elusive peace.