A First for Everything [Jersey]

[Peter Parkman]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Peter Parkman> It wasn’t that he’d forgotten to feed, per se. No, actually, Peter had completely forgotten. He’d been distracted, what with recent revelations, and his mind wasn’t functioning at full capacity. It was only when he’d started to feel, once again, like an addicted man deprived of his substance that he realised why. He had not fed. He had not visited that man in the shop for two nights. Or was it three? And his body had started to show the effects of deprivation. His throat burned, his gums ached, and his hands shook; his face was paper-white and his eyes rimmed in red. Anyone on the street could have mistaken him for an addict; it was a good excuse to use, anyway.

So when he caught that scent of blood, he couldn’t help himself. Some deeper, baser instinct took control and he followed the scent to its source. If he’d stopped to think he might have fainted. Might have gagged and dry-heaved. Truth was, he didn’t actually see any blood. He could only smell it, and though the smell of it sickened him, it simultaneously aroused in him a vicious hunger that could not be ignored. He wasn’t thinking properly when he pounced his prey; didn’t realise that he’d been duped, and that there was no blood. It was all a game, to lure him so that he could be shot.

And he was shot, in the gut. His prey turned out to be a hunter; and Peter, with wide-eyed fear and shock, lashed out with the self-same instinct that him chasing the scent of blood to begin with. The woman’s skull caved beneath his superior strength and Peter, absolutely terrified, fled the scene. He clutched at his own odd wound, not bleeding so much as steaming, except the steam was black and shadowy, and it dispersed into the atmosphere as soon as it eked from his skin. It still hurt, though. It hurt as much as any bullet wound would hurt an ordinary person.

He found himself stumbling into the cabin, happy to finally be free to peel off his jacket and tug the shirt over his shoulder; he hissed as the movement at the wound, an ugly, jagged hole in his gut. He stood there just inside the door, oblivious to his surroundings, with the jacket and shirt lying at his feet as he stared at the bullet wound in twin horror and fascination.


<Jersey> She hadn’t been about when he’d gone to sleep, or when he’d awoken the past two days with a plan devising in her pretty little head that involved a camera, sunrise and the sunset before she disappeared off to work. After work, as the film developed, the blonde had somehow managed to black out again, arriving in Corvidae once again with something shuffling in her direction. Jersey hadn’t told Peter about the woman’s voice in her head almost luring her there and had considered it before deciding that he worried about her enough – the last thing he needed was to think she was finally going nuts.

Work had been nice, as usual, after she arrived to the mall fifteen minutes late due to her unconscious detour, and afterwards, she had dinner with a man she’d met named Taggart that immediately seemed to back off when it came to hitting on her the moment she mentioned a boyfriend. All in all, she had a pretty nice day, but nothing would be more complete than to see said boyfriend – and with the gifts, overnight clothing and her outfit for the next day tucked away in her bag, Jersey had made her way to the cabin without a second thought.

She had arrived when he was out, the dogs greeting her as they always did as she stepped inside and removed her shoes. She set the bag down on the couch before going to set the other down in the bedroom before returning to her furry friends, sitting down on the floor so there was less chance to have them knock her over. Her arms went around Hunter’s neck, a giggle escaping past her lips as she relaxed and waited, eventually getting up to lounge on the couch with a book in hand.

As the door opened, she looked over the back of the couch with a bright smile that immediately dropped the moment she saw the scene, her brain not quite connecting that the black stuff was blood as it simply registered that Peter was hurt. Dropping her book, she was immediately on her feet and she shooed the dogs away from him as she went to collect a washcloth. “Peter?” Her voice came out shaken, tiny when she moved back to his side.


<Peter Parkman> The dogs, of course, greeted him as if nothing were wrong. Sometimes they were completely oblivious. Peter himself wasn't too sure whether anything was wrong; the wound still felt hot, as if there were still a knife lodged inside of him, but he knew, underneath it all, that it was going to be fine. He wasn't going to die. This wound would heal, just like any other would. The edge of panic was lost as fascination became the prime emotion; he'd never actually been shot before. Gouged and slashed, yes, but not shot. "Huh?" his green eyes raised to meet Jersey's concerned form; it wasn't really a surprise to see her there. His face was paler than it was before, though, his eyes a luminescent green, like gems in their otherworldlyness. "Hey," he said, as if it were a normal night and this were a normal greeting.


<Jersey> "Trying to give me a heart attack?" She looked at his injury, pretending that it was simply ink disappearing out of his stomach than what she actually gathered was blood. Still, it made her pale and she offered him the wet cloth before she leaned up and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "Hi. Are you alright?" She had every right to be concerned, really. She didn't know if he would heal, or if it'd stay that way forever. As always, the blonde was attempting to remain calm. "Um... bandages are where?" It'd give her enough of a distraction rather than to panic.


<Peter Parkman> "Uuuhm, hmm," Peter responded with very little certainty. He realised, now, that he should have anticipated Jersey being here; that he should have called ahead and told her to make herself scarce. He'd forgotten to feed, and now he supposed he had lost more 'blood'. His body needed blood so that it could heal. And when she leaned up to kiss him on the lips all he could feel was her warmth, and all he could imagine was the blood that pumped through her body. The stuff that made her warm, that probably lent her that delicious scent, hiding there beneath the Vanilla and the sugar. He backed away and shook his head. In that moment he couldn't recall where the bandages were, or whether he even had any. "You shouldn't come near me. Please don't..." he shook his head again, and covered the wound with his fingers, as if by doing so he could make it disappear. Of course it didn't. He backed up against the door and just stood there.


<Jersey> And then it hit her why he was pale and she set the cloth down before backing up as well, a frown playing across her lips as she watched him in concern. "Go feed, honey. A cup... or... some bunny rabbit in the woods?" She suggested, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as she waited. She didn't like it, not being able to help him or be close to him and it showed in her green eyes as she glanced to his shirt, the wound and then back to his features.


<Peter Parkman> It was the bullet in his gut that was disorienting for Peter. The fact that he'd never been shot before, that the bullet was still in there, that he could feel it, every time he moved--he couldn't imagine trying to be stealthy, and couldn't summon the energy to hike all the way back into the city, to find the shop and the man to sell him his blackmarket blood. He felt like pouting like a child, but instead cringed as he glanced down at the wound, tugging at the skin as if he could just pull the wound out and it would all be dandy. He licked his dry lips. "I need to get the bullet out first," he said. He wasn't sure whether that's what he needed to do or not, but it seemed like the right course of action. He cringed again as that dark voice in the back his head told him he didn't really have to go anywhere. There was a meal in his lounge room. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He veered in a wide circle around Jersey as he made his way to the bathroom, where the light was bright and he could at least examine the damage in the mirror. His teeth ground together as he prodded at the wound, trying to find the hardness of the bullet beneath the skin.


<Jersey> She watched after him warily before pinching her eyebrows together, stepping back to the wall to give him the space needed before waiting and eventually followed him at a distance to watch what he was doing. Her hand lightly remained where she kept her knife concealed, not wanting to use it while she pressed her lips together. "I don't see an exit wound." She spoke, admiring his back and the muscle beneath before she looked to where her reflection would be seen in the mirror. Small, blonde and pretty Jersey. He wasn't there. She knew she should be concerned, but alas, nothing. Wetting her lips, Jersey waited for the lecture that she was likely going to bring upon herself. "If you need to, you can feed from me. I trust you and if it were to get too much, I would hit you." She took her bottom lip between her teeth, rolling it and pulling on the flesh in habit to show she was wary.


<Peter Parkman> It wasn't until Peter looked up into the mirror that he remembered, and realised it was futile. A groan passed his lips; he liked to be in control, and in this situation he was not. It stressed him out, and he didn't like to be stressed out. It's why he kept to himself most of the time and didn't go out much. Going out required doing things, and doing too many things inspired stress. Jersey appeared in the mirror and Peter inched away from her. When she suggested he feed from her, those clear, lucid eyes of his flashed angrily. "I don't trust me. You shouldn't," he said. "Only reason I'm in this mess is because I lacked control so you shouldn't trust me," he said. He stumbled backward until he was sitting on the toilet, on top of the closed lid. He steadfastly pretended that Jersey was not there as he leaned over his own torso and began to dig a finger into the flesh - he could feel the bullet there. He just needed to guide it out. The pain shot through his entire body, however; his head spun, and he gasped. But he didn't stop. The 'blood', such as it was, was disconcerting and more than a little off-putting - as he continued to thrust his finger around in the wound, the shadowy, inky blackness continued to gush from him, dispersing into the air, disappearing completely.

[Jersey]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



<Jersey> "Will you stop telling me that I shouldn't trust you before I have to beat it into your head that that isn't going to happen?" She narrowed her eyes at him and frowned, staying at the wall despite wanting to try and help him. "I don't like the idea as much as you do, but the way I see it, it's considerably donating blood to a worthy cause just as if I were doing it for a blood test or something." She raised her hand to rub where her neck had been sore the past couple days after she had blacked out. It wasn't until he started digging into his own skin that her breath hitched and she disappeared from sight, going right back to the couch and sitting down where she'd remain until he was done.


<Peter Parkman> Although Peter could hear her, he wasn't really processing the words. It was out of the question, as far as he was concerned, and she wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise. The only problem being, of course, that his mind and his instinct had two completely different ideas. It was easy not to think about it as he chased that bullet with his fingers, however; the pain stole all other thoughts from his mind, and a low growl rasped in his throat as the offending article slipped and slid, difficult to actually get a hold of. With one final push of his finger he managed to wrangle the bullet onto the right path, and the thing popped out of his skin and clattered to the floor, bouncing on the tiles. It should have been covered in blood, but came away clean. Peter heaved as he sat there, on the very of dry-reaching. And just for a another minute or so, decided to just sit there and get his bearings.


<Peter Parkman> The words didn't register. Peter didn't hear them, as he dug around in his own skin for the offending bullet. The 'blood' oozed from him, dispersing into the air as soon as it passed through the gap, giving him the impression that he wasn't really bleeding. For a few moments he had to stop and breath, however, as his head spun dangerously. The way his body reacted, he knew that blood had been lost. His fingers slid slickly through the ink-like substance, and he gasped as he finally found the bullet - as it popped out and pinged across the tiles, clean as the day it was born. And there he sat, just for a minute more - dry-heaving once, before settling down and just breathing, eyes closed, leaning forward on his knees.


<Jersey> Her nerves skipped as she heard him and then lightly she whistled for Jack, her arm curling around the dog for comfort while she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Ellie followed, and she brought both of them into her lap for the time being. Hearing the sound of something hitting the tiles, Jersey reluctantly shooed the animals away before getting up and moving back to the door frame, just out of sight and hopefully, although she knew her luck was terrible, out of his range of smell.


<Peter Parkman> In his current state, it was is if all Peter's senses were on overdrive. Every tiny tickle of air on his skin could be felt, as if tiny fingers were caressing him, pleading for his attention. The ecosystem was fragile and as Jersey moved back to the doorframe, not only could he feel the shift of the air on his skin, he could almost smell the warmth of her. He could hear every step, every swish of cloth against cloth. He groaned and buried his head deeper.


<Jersey> "Do you want me to go and you can call me later once you're done feeding and have a grasp on your sanity?" She asked after a while, watching him with a heavily concerned expression as she gripped the door frame with her fingertips. "I hate not doing anything and given the fact I can at least let you feed off me, and you won't, it makes me worry for you." The red pout of her lips turned down as she shifted her weight, tightening her hold on the wood. "I know you hate the idea of hurting me, but I trust you because I sleep beside you every night, when I’m completely vulnerable and you carry me into the bedroom.” She licked her lips lightly, “Did you know your arms were still around me when I get up every morning?”


<Peter Parkman> Peter tucked his chin against his chest, as if imagining tucking his face into Jersey's hair, into the warmth of her every evening when he curled up to sleep beside her. He hadn't really thought about how she would wake to find him, but he supposed that the intimacy she described was not a lie. He would also be lying if he said he didn't want to feed from her. Truth was, deep down, he really did. His tongue got stuck on the roof of his mouth as he glanced up at Jersey; she appeared anxious, standing there in the doorway, clutching to the frame for support. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. Truth was, just looking at her broke the last of his resolve, and the control he had clung to was thrown out the window. In that moment he turned more animalistic than human, and in one fluid movement he was standing and striding toward her. He wished that she'd left long ago - there was a voice screaming at him in the back of his head, telling him to stop. But he didn't listen to it. He folded his arms around her, his back arching as his lips found the arch of her neck - even in all his desperation he at least managed to be tender as teeth broke the surface; as his lips closed around that wound and hot blood, fresh from the source, gushed onto his tongue. A moan of pleasure rumbled in his throat as he reached down to grasp her thigh, to pull her up, to draw her closer, to hold her and lift her to match his height.


<Jersey> The surprise at his speed had registered across her features just as she set her hand against his hip, her body shivering at the feel of his lips against her skin while her instincts told her to run. Instead, she reached up and pulled her hair away from his mouth, his name escaping past her lips in a soft moan of her own. Peter, she had easily noticed, was her weakness in some form and she considered this as she stilled, feeling his teeth. The moan from him sent a shiver of delight down her spine and as she felt his hand, she didn't move a muscle. She wanted to stay at an angle that if she needed to, she'd be able to hit him. Sliding her fingertips along Peter's bare skin, her eyes fell shut while she continued to breathe. At first, it had been nervous and uneasy, but as he drank, she relaxed and tilted her head lightly give him better access.


<Peter Parkman> The animal inside of him wanted to slam her up against a wall, wanted to drink from her in a way that was far too desperately intimate than he could have bargained for. As he drank, it barely registered that this felt a lot like sex - or at least inspired the same kind of arousal. He ignored that, too, his fingers tightening around the flesh of her unmoving thigh - but otherwise lost himself to the notion of feeding from a living source. The blood in the styrofoam cup, he realised, was far inferior to this. This... this was glorious. The blood was hot, and it soothed his aching throat, filled him with life. And the taste...! Maybe it was the intimacy he already shared with Jersey that made her taste that much better. Because he knew her, because on some level, he loved her. That thought alone should have bade him stop, but he couldn't. He didn't stop. He continued to drink, another moan rumbling in his throat. Good God, it was amazing.


<Jersey> Her hand trailed along his side and his stomach, mindful of the injury while she eventually set them on the waistband of his pants. Feeling his fingertips tightening, she bit back another moan and her hips automatically pressed against his playfully. Altogether, Jersey was fine as he fed from her. That is, until a wave of nausea washed over her as it had been the past few days. The way his teeth set in her neck, the sensation and as she grasped his pants once more, it dawned on her what had been happening and an unfamiliar face flickered through her mind. She had been fed on before; she only enjoyed it more from Peter's actions. Reluctantly and only because she was concerned as her heart beat against her chest, the blonde lifted her knee. “I’m sorry.” She whispered before driving it up and into his groin. Hurting him was exactly what she never wanted to do, but her vision started to get blurry.


<Peter Parkman> The spinning in Peter's head was still there, but this time it wasn't due to deprivation but instead due to sheer pleasure. He never knew it could be this damned good - and rather than swallow the blood as it flowed naturally, he pulled it from Jersey with unabated haste. If he'd been prepared, if he hadn't lost so much, and if he'd gone into this with a clear head, he might have been able to stop himself. As it was, it was only the very sharp, very real, cracking pain in his groin that caused him to stop, to gasp and shout in surprise, to release his hold on Jersey and his teeth from her neck. The wound there healed almost instantly as he stumbled backward, grasping at his family jewels - disoriented, his head now spinning due to the very sudden change in position. His eyes widened, and it was perhaps ten seconds later that he remembered - that he realised exactly what he had done, and as a wave of absolute horror crashed over him.


<Jersey> When he let go of her and shouted, Jersey dropped to the ground before resting her back against the wall. The blonde put her head between her knees to push away the nausea, taking even deep breaths while she waited for the dizziness to pass. It took a few moments, and even then, it returned as she lifted her head to look at him. "In my bag is a thing of orange juice and the remaining bit of my dinner... when you stop hurting, can you please bring it to me?" The relief on her features to see him looking better, even if horrified, was visible as she lifted her hand to her neck and was amazed at the lack of blood when she pulled her hand back. That explained why she never found any, or noticed any bite mark. "And... I think I just kind of figured out how I keep ending up in that place with the zombies..." She mumbled before adjusting to lay down for a few moments.


<Peter Parkman> Peter was not relieved at all. He could not be thankful for how much better he felt - could not even realise it - knowing that he had done exactly what he was afraid he would do. Jersey had said she trusted him. He'd told her not to. She had been wrong, and he had been right. But he did not feel a sense of justice in being right. Instead, a felt a profound amount of guilt for betraying her trust. He wouldn't be surprised if she chose to run as far from him as she could possibly get, now. But of course she couldn't, not right this second. She was far too weak. Peter launched into action, striding through in the main room and cursing when he could not immediately find her bag. When he did find it he pulled more of her belongings out than he needed to, scattering them in search of the juice and the food. He skidded to his knees as he brought it back to her, cracking open the juice and holding it up to her mouth. Zombies, yes, he had heard that. Concern for her wellbeing right now, however, took precedence.

[Jersey]

Even if Peter was right, the stubborn little blonde wouldn't admit it as she slowly sat back up once the room finished spinning. She was just that difficult and she knew that the only reason the little voice that everyone supposedly had screaming to run away from him didn't exist. Either that, or it was not heard due to the even louder voice shouting out help him. Jersey pondered it when she closed her eyes, listening. She was not close to death, but she was weak.

A pint, maybe more? Her green eyes opened when she felt the bottle at her lips and she lifted her hand to rest it over his as she took a sip, and then a larger one. Gently, she moved her hand afterwards to squeeze his wrist. "I'll be okay. Just give me a little bit." Jersey studied his features and she idly bit her bottom lip as she thought about the way it had felt, the sensations rolling through her veins.

[Peter Parkman]

Peter didn't know what to do other than sit there, rolling back on the balls of his feet so that he didn't crowd too close to Jersey. He predicted that she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him, and in lieu of said prediction, gave her space. He'd put the pre-prepared food down beside Jersey, and his palms lay flat against the denim of the jeans that clung to his thighs. The expression he wore was indicative of his stress; of his regret and his compounded shame. Although the wound was still there, he couldn't feel it. The only indication that existed was a light buzzing beneath the skin, as if thousands of microscopic bugs had gone to work to repair the damage. The pain was far less than what it had been. It was a mere dull ache. Peter's body was refreshed, revived after the meal he had imbibed. But at what cost?

"I'm so sorry, I didn't--I wasn't going to. I wasn't, I swear, but you were just standing there and I could smell you and you were...you were..." he hesitated, stopped, bright eyes wide in horror as he realised what he'd been about to admit. You smelled delicious. And you are the best thing that I have ever tasted. He swallowed, hard, the taste of her blood still thick against the back of his throat, still stuck in the grooves of his teeth, under his tongue. She said she was fine. He wasn't sure whether he believed her.

"I won't... I won't do it again, I'm fine now, you can stay here and I won't touch you, I promise," he said, anticipating the trepidation that she must surely be experiencing.

[Jersey]

"I was?" She asked, genuinely curious as she lightly crooked her finger at him, not liking the distance he'd taken. Jersey frowned a bit, "I'm not mad at you, please come closer?" To be fair, he had always warned her so she refused to let him victimize her. When she felt better, the blonde took another sip of her orange juice before sitting up properly. She knew from time spent in the hospital that she'd have to take it easy.

"Peter, I offered, you didn't take it forcefully... And admittedly, it was..." She went red, "it wasn't unpleasant. I don't want you to not touch me. I like your arms around me, when you keep me at your side." Jersey pulled her hair back over her shoulder as she thought about what she'd brought him, biting her lip idly. About what part of it had said. "Can you help me over to the couch? Or well, carry me? Either way, you have to touch me and we both know I prefer your lap to the cushion."

[Peter Parkman]

There were things that Peter knew, things that he had learned from the very beginning. Things that he knew second-hand, things that he had read. Whether he had experienced it first-hand or not, there was the vague knowledge in the back of his head that normally, when fed on, humans passed out and woke up having forgotten what had happened. Peter could paled, thinking that perhaps the logic didn't work on him. Jersey, though weak, didn't look like she was about to pass out. He was relieved. He didn't want to have to suffer the indecision that would come the next night - to tell her what he had done, or not?

Still. He knew, if she remained lucid, if she remembered, that he should never lose control again. If she was capable of it, then perhaps there was something wrong with him. But perhaps he had learned wrong, and there was something missing. Maybe it had something to do with the way in which the act had been performed--where he might have paled beforehand, now he was visibly flustered. She said it wasn't unpleasant, that blush to her cheeks - even after rapid loss of blood - indicating a bunch of other things that did not say.

The pleasantness hadn't been one-sides, then. And maybe that was it. Maybe there was a bond. Maybe because of it, she would remember. She would keep the memory because it was one that she wanted. One that struck a chord, and could not be forgotten regardless.

The mutual understanding of pleasantness had Peter simultaneously wanting to do what she asked of him, but at the same time had him wanting to keep his distance. He reasoned that in her current state they couldn't, and shouldn't, get up to much else. And besides, he could not fathom leaving her there on the cold floor for the bathroom. Tenderly, gingerly, he wound one arm beneath her knees, and the other behind her shoulders. He waited for her to lock her arms around his neck before he stood, bringing her with him. He carried her to the couch and laid her out upon it; he did not sit there himself, though, preferring to retrieve her food, and return only to kneel beside her.

The smell of her, the proximity of her, the warmth - it all unhinged Peter so that he still had no control, though this time he'd lost control of his words.

"That was almost better than sex." he said, though his brows were furrowed. It disconcerted him that he was so willing to admit it - and that it was even the case at all.

[Jersey]

Her arms went around his neck comfortably before she pressed her face gently against his neck, completely relaxing in his hold as she settled, feeling him stand as she tightened her hold on him. With the movement, though, Jersey felt a wake of exhaustion come over her and she waited to be set down before adjusting to lay on her side.

Green eyes peered at him curiously when he went out of her view and Jersey silently wondered if this was the beginning of him going to reject her. Panic replaced the exhaustion until he returned to her, her hand reaching over lightly to brush her fingertips against his cheek and stretched her legs out as she relaxed. His words made her go a deeper shade of red before she gave him a soft, inquiring smile.

"Almost?"

Carefully, Jersey leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, moving to lay down on the couch once more. That time, she closed her eyes for a few moments and opened them halfway to study his features before pointing in the direction of her camera. "There's something for you on that." She mumbled, her gaze moving over his injury in concern before moving back to his features, "And I still think you should at least read the last page of my journal."

[Peter Parkman]

"No," he said, curiously adamant about the journal, though there was a kick of mild wonder in his chest. Why did she want him to read it so badly? That question alone almost had him trying to locate the tome, but instead his gaze drifted toward her camera - one of the things that had tumbled out of her bag in his hast to find the juice and the food that she'd asked for.

If she'd kissed him on the lips he might have been tempted to kiss her back. Although shame and horror were the predominant emotions resulting from Peter's feeding on Jersey, there still rocked in his soul the aftershocks of strength and dominance. His instinct had taken over and he'd not hesitated; he had stepped into that role of superior being - at least in strength and power - and the tendrils of awe still tugged at his psyche. If she'd kissed him on the lips she might have experienced an entirely different Peter. One who followed instinct rather than reason. One who'd have kissed her back, hard and fast and with no inhibition. It registered, on some level, so that the did move away to find her camera. And when he did, he took it to the opposite armchair, where he was out of Jersey's reach.

He didn't have to answer that question: Almost? The answer could have been palpable in the atmosphere between them. Instead, he turned the camera on and stared at the screen with fixed and focused distraction.

[Jersey]

To say she was a little bit hurt about not getting a kiss back was an understatement and she didn't bother hiding the expression from him as she folded her arms underneath her head and laid there silently. It was a rare occasion, surely, for the woman to do such. "At least he got the camera." She thought while closing her eyes and waiting for the soft chime that would tell her it had turned on completely.

Once it had, there would be a video qued up to be played of a sunset where Jersey was just out of frame, the blonde grinning at the screen. If he pressed play, her voice would be heard. "You mentioned that the sunrises and sunsets here were beautiful, and given your predicament, I'd been pondering on how we'd ever get to see either together," and then she'd give the camera a wide smile, motioning to it.

"So, the brilliant girlfriend that I am, I decided to tape one of each. That way, we'd be able to curl up together on the couch and relax, watching the start and end of a day together." She hadn't wanted to get out of bed, but it had been on her mind for a while. Slowly, the video would elapse into a sunrise and sunset, and once it would finish, the blonde wrapped her arms around herself, clearly a bit cold.

On screen, she nibbled her bottom lip a bit before giving a sheepish smile before, "I'm not sure if it's too early, or if I'm too giddy, but, I think I love you, Peter." It had taken her ten times to say it and regardless, she was still as red as a cherry in the moonlight.

Opening her eyes lightly as she lay comfortably, she set her chin on her arms before rolling on her stomach to watch him and listen. And hoped that he wouldn't freak out like he had been.

[Peter Parkman]

As the video started, Peter held the camera in one hand, while the opposite hand came up to cover his mouth. He watched the video with rigid fascination. The sunrise came to life on the little screen, bright and serene and as peaceful as he remembered it. The pink hues bled over the horizon, mixing with the purples and the deep blues of the night sky, before exploding into reds and oranges; a magnificent display of warmth, banishing all the cold, glittering stars from the sky.

The sunset was similarly magnificent; a different kind of serenity - not a brilliant bursting to life but instead a slow and accepted sleep. How often over the past week had he watched Jersey fall asleep? The way her eyes would blink slowly, languidly, as if resisting, but finally and always slipping into blissful darkness. Perhaps he would forever compare Jersey to a sunset, now. Whatever the case, by the video drew to a close, tears glistened in his eyes, slid down his cheeks. She said that she loved him, and in that video, the blush on her cheeks was a mirror of the sunset he'd just witnessed.

Slowly, he turned the camera off. He put it down on the table, as the earthy tones of the cabin around him returned him to the here and now--and the woman who lay, weak, on his couch. He stood, and approached her. Again, he knelt down in front of her; his fingers brushed the hair from her face as he leaned forward to kiss her. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, parting it. His tongue touched her tongue, and he tasted the warmth of her. He parted, only to breath against her lips:

"I think I love you too," he said. "Thank you."