Fatality [Azraeth]

[Flynn]

“Hey, Connors.”

The sound of Gregory Privett’s voice broke the silence of the dimly lit office space, and it was instantly grating. It wasn’t the tonal quality of the man’s voice or anything, but simply the fact he had intruded on the last remaining hour of the work day, which happened to be when Flynn was most productive. There were no suspicions as to just why that was, as he had become quite the night owl several months ago. The first half of his day was usually spent in a haze of exhaustion and caffeine boosts from one too many cups of coffee. Greg, though, was new to the firm and clearly didn’t know any better. He was fresh out of law school and far too eager to find connections with his coworkers. Rather than try to weasel his way in with the other attorneys, he somehow came to the conclusion that Flynn was the ‘friend’ type of guy, and had made it a point to poke his nose where it didn’t belong too many times to count. That being his office. The guy couldn’t have been much younger than Azraeth (if one continued to count years after dying, anyway), but where his vampire’s high energy tended to calm him down counterintuitively, Greg’s just made him feel old as dirt. And he was only 31.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he lifted his gaze from the paperwork in front of him and offered a tight-lipped smile. “Privett. Can I help you with something?”

There was a brief pause in which Greg seemed to sense the Paladin’s irritation, his smile faltering. Impatient to get to the point, Flynn raised an eyebrow. “There is some big corporate meeting happening, soon, and boss man wants everyone to clear out for the night, and some of us are headed out for drinks. You in?” he finally asked, gesturing out of the office with a nod of his head.

Mention of the meeting had Flynn pinching the bridge of his nose, having totally forgotten about it. He shot a look toward the clock on the wall; 4:13pm. Nearly an hour early, and an hour and a half or so before sunset. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to pass. If time is on my side...I make it home before I’m rushed there by no choice of my own...” As his attention turned back to Greg, the guy was grinning at him like he was harboring some scandalous secret. “What?” he snapped.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just assuming you are rushing home to...Tall, Dark, and Handsome as the secretaries call him. The one that comes by here occasionally when you all stay late? He’s a pretty hot topic with them, didn’t you know? You may be a pretty quiet guy, Flynn, but your love life is all over this office...it may be in your best interest just to introduce him next time. Spare them the fantasies.” With that, Greg backed away from the door with a laugh. “See you tomorrow.”

Flynn could only scowl after that, none too pleased with the knowledge that anyone in the office was talking about something related to his life, let alone Azraeth. Far from a fan of this development, he was still fuming about it on his way to the parking garage a couple blocks away, absently jiggling the keys in his jacket pocket. It was this utter lack of awareness that kept him from noticing the figure following close behind him and the slight woman moving too quickly in his direction, her eyes trained on him as if he were the only other living soul on the street. As she collided against his arm, he stumbled sideways into the mouth an alleyway and she continued onward, never once turning around. The Paladin turned to address her-- to snap at her, really-- only to hear the familiar hiss of an aerosol can and a steady stream hitting him in the face.

He stumbled back further into the alley as several things happened all at once. The burning sensation was instantaneous, his eyes slamming shut as they filled with tears. Because he had been going to speak, traces of the pepper spray entered his mouth. The coughing fit that followed only added to the discomfort as he was forced to double over, it being so severe that he gagged. Every attempt he made to open his eyes was useless, and he was unable to stop himself from reaching up to furiously rub at them as if it make bring the sensation to a stop, but it was only intensified. Much like how it was said drinking water after eating anything spicy would only make it worse. Cognitively, he knew that he needed to be prepared for any attack to follow, but his body simply wasn’t able to catch up with his racing thoughts.

There was no way of knowing just who it was that reached out to him, but the first set of hands on him were met with a swing of Flynn’s fist, and where it connected, he couldn’t have said, but the grunt of pain was enough to tell him that it had hurt. That was all that mattered. Though he had very little time to enjoy his victory as knuckles slammed into his stomach, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. The blow had enough power behind it to force him to his knees and two sets of hands were on his shoulders immediately to prevent him from getting up. Three...there’s at least three…No, four. That woman... he thought to himself, struggling to peel his eyes open for the sake getting even a glimpse at those behind the assault. As little as he had managed, he was granted with only the knowledge of two things. One, his vision was one massive blur, all the colors and shapes bleeding together in a way that he could just barely connect the dots as to what it was he was seeing. Two, the figure in front of him was wearing a dark mask. Coward.

“You’re meant to be a hunter. A killer.” The deep set of the male voice rang through Flynn’s ears, even as the man before him kept his voice low to avoid attention from the street just beyond. And he clung to it like a lifesaver, as though he might get the chance to come back the man. He’s get to use that same tone, again. As he begged for his life, maybe. “You’re not the only one that...sympathizes with the vampires, of course. Simply one of the more...public associations. Who better to make an example of?” The Paladin couldn’t see the expression behind the mask, but he could feel the smug little grin on that face, and he wanted to make it disappear.

So, he did the only thing that he could. He spat up at the only thing he could vaguely make out, that being the light flesh of uncovered eyes. His aim was dead on. ”**** you,” he sneered.

The entire atmosphere of the alleyway shifted, the form before him standing. “Kill him. Make it painful.” In response, multiple blows came at him at once, fists and feet coming and going from his body faster than he could react to them. Ribs cracked, blood soon poured from his nose and various gashes, deep purple bruises forming beneath his suit. He never was one to go down without a fight, though, and even as they prevented him from leaving the pavement, he landed a few of his own, but blinded and and without a single weapon on his person, he was little more than a punching bag. Through the whole thing, he refused to yell out. To give them the satisfaction. Even when a blade found itself embedded in his side, between those cracked ribs and twisted. It couldn’t have been more than several minutes, but it felt like an eternity as the pain became central to every thought he had.

Yet, none of them were fatal on their own.

Suddenly, in the vague cloud of his failing consciousness, he heard a voice call out. Around him, his assailants, whoever they were, began to scatter. Except for two. Broken and battered, one hauled him to his feet were he managed an uneasy balance, his gaze hard on that same masked face. Clearly the leader of the little ragtag group. Flynn only just registered the flash of metal as the gun was aimed at him, point blank range. Time seemed to slow, then, as he watched the man's finger settle over the trigger to apply pressure against it.

I'm definitely not making it home...Az is gonna flip. It was an odd thought to have, but faced with the very real possibility of death, he almost laughed. "I hope that association rips your throat out," he uttered, voice hoarse and raw.

BAM!

The bullet ripped into his chest, shattering ribs and piercing through a lung. Immediately, he took in a sharp and strangled breath, the stabbing pain of the gunshot radiating across his shoulders and back. The sounds around him faded as he seemed to only hear the rapid beating of his own heart and the desperate gasps for air in his ears. Every attempted inhale was like torture, the veins of his neck protruding in distress. A hand reached out to the side, meeting the solid brick of the building next to him, using it to guide a few shaky steps toward what he assumed was the alley’s connection to the street. With each one, the edges of his blurred vision grew darker, his body becoming too heavy to keep upright.

He hadn’t even reached the sidewalk before he collapsed, his thoughts going silent and his world going black.

[Azraeth]

Flames danced a pattern across the floor. Above him the ceiling had blackened, and there were places which had crumbled into ash, revealing that the building he was in was ablaze from the top down. Wallpaper had begun to char and flake away. Azraeth sat in the midst of it, strangely calm, his aura neither strained nor fluctuating but as steady as his lack of pulse. The fire got to him, little darting streams of it that ate up along the lines of his slacks and along his back, like serpents slithering over the body of someone who had fallen into a snake pit. He did not feel the burning of it. In fact, the conflagration itself was strangely cool and tingly against his flesh, even as he was totally engulfed. His skin did not bubble or blister, nor did it darken. The fat did not boil and spit. The muscle did not wither. His hair was untouched as his clothing turned to dust and slipped from his body as if centuries had passed in seconds. Still he breathed slowly in and out, as if the heat did not sear his lungs and the smoke did not choke him. He was at peace.

This was a dream he’d had numerous times in the past.

Kill him!

His eyes popped open and his head turned. He glanced across the room he was in, and past a wide doorway into a foyer. The previous few seconds replayed, as they only seemed to do in dreams, or perhaps the information related to those moments just instinctively snapped into the vampire’s brain. There was Flynn, smiling at him. Not that smirk (hot at it was), the Paladin wore so often, but a more real expression of content that was almost exclusively reserved for the Mystic. Of course, Az couldn’t help but smile right back. And then the human opened up the door. The expression on his partner’s face changed to one of surprise. And then pain as he stepped back. There was a knife sticking out of Flynn’s chest, and some unseen figure was shouting to kill him. The words kept repeating over and over again, as if this mysterious demon were the commander of some untold legion of followers.

Az was on his feet a second later, stumbling towards his partner. And that was when the pain hit him. It was as if the flames had finally come to life. And they were all over him. It was not just one source of pain - it was every single nerve ending. His eyes were boiling, and they melted out of his head to reveal empty sockets as gore dripped over his cheeks. He still moved though. As his lungs burned in his chest. As parts of him began to crumble away. As the intensity of the pain itself should have paralyzed him. And yet did not. He moved until he was nothing but a flaming skeleton, his flesh having melted away. The pain, he knew, should have disappeared with his nerve endings, but it was still there. Still enough to leave him howling even without vocal cords. His bones became bleached by the fire, and all he was, was a little spirit caught behind the jagged teeth of a ribcage, watching ineffectively as the man he love was destroyed by shadows.

Flynn’s eyes were glossy and vacant as he bled out on the floor.

When had his vision returned? Why had it? It was a taunting and cruel thing.

He sat up straight in his bed. The scent of his partner was there, but it was ironically of little comfort to him. He hurt all over. It was not so severe as it had been inside the demenses of Morpheus, but his lungs felt like they were failing. As if they had been filled with fire. Which was insane, because he was a vampire and he did not need to breathe. HIs eyes were tearing up, big clear droplets that welled and poured over his cheeks - which tingle and burned. There were lesser sensations, but only ‘lesser’ in the sense that they were not as prominent as everything else. Like his ribs ached. His knuckles. The desire to feed was stronger in Azraeth than it had been in months, and his fangs had already made an appearance, his mouth watering. The worst part was this feeling of longing for something which had disappeared abruptly. Like part of his body had been cut off. Like he had lost something vital to him.

He screamed. It happened without his realizing. His lips just parted and the shriek ripped through the air as a wail of mourning. It was like going from 0 to 100 in a second flat. He was trembling with fear and rage, and pain as he moved to stand. His hands lifted to push across his features, trying to wipe away the tears as fingers stabbed into his hairline. He was breathing heavily, and he had trouble focusing on any one thing for more than a moment at a time. He was trying to center himself, but he knew cognitively and immediately that it wasn’t working. His eyes kept darting everywhere. He felt like a cornered animal, like prey found by predator. It was not something he was used to, nor something that he liked.

He reached his palms out, to try and cast a spell. To bring Flynn to him. Nothing. Nothing at all. He screamed again, as his knees buckled and hit the ground. He was sobbing by that point, his arms folding over his head as his forehead hit the ground. His fingers were twisted like claws. He was smarter than this. He knew that. He knew there were things he could be doing. Should be doing. But the power of the grief hit him so hard that it was paralyzing. His mind was racing. It couldn’t be true. “Nonononononono.” The lone word chanted like his desire could make it real. He needed to move. He needed to…

Locate.

He pulled himself up to stand once more as he rushed towards the closet so he could begin pulling on clothing. He didn’t even look at what he put on. Everything was a jumble inside of his panic stricken brain. “Focusfocusfocusfocus.” He whispered to himself as he tried to figure out exactly where Flynn was. If he couldn’t pick up even a trace of him that meant...well it didn’t mean anything good. But he couldn’t think about that. He knew if he went down the avenue of what ifs, he was going to end up unable to perform any magic at all. The pain at least was beginning to recede as adrenaline dumped itself into his blood stream by the bucket load.

Hospital. Flynn was at the hospital. He realized this as he honed in on the other man, followed his mind and scent and soul all of the way back to the source. Faint. HIs mate was a flicker, a smoldering ember. What had happened to him? The vampire set off.

[Flynn]

DAY ONE

Everything was quiet. Silent, even. It was tranquil, peaceful. Dark. He wanted to curl up in it, to allow it to consume all that he was, all that he would ever be. It was comforting, and alluring...dragging him further into its depths. It was almost too dark.

Until it wasn't. Light searing through his eyelids so suddenly that he winced, but he didn't dare move. For some reason, his instinctive reaction was to stay perfectly still. Except that the light was so bright, and he wanted to get away from it. He wanted the darkness back, to feel it's cool embrace, rather than the warmth that seemed to envelope him the longer the light blinded him. Or, it certainly felt that way, with how brightly it shone through the barrier of his eyelids, which he was just as unwilling to peel apart. As it was, he could already feel the build up of tears at the corners, a reaction to the unwelcome illumination. Someone turn off the light...please... The pleading was no more than a thought in his head, because who was there to say it to?

"Come on, handsome. If you lay around any longer, you will have slept half the day away." That voice. It was familiar, and one he was so in tune with that he could have picked it out of a screaming crowd, even as soft as it usually was. Azraeth.

Eyes the color of a deep forest at sunset snapped open, the light from the sun streaming into them with such intensity that Flynn groaned, immediately turning his head away from it with a wrinkle set across the bridge of his nose. It was the first time he had moved, and it was a testament to how stiff he was that he involuntarily hissed in protest. That was the least of his concerns, because something was nagging at the back of his mind. Something that didn't quite add up, but...what...was it? Hands rose to his face, rubbing over it in frustration, as if it might bring his mind back into focus. So that he might follow that vague thread of consciousness, like an itch he couldn't scratch. "Flynn..." The sound of his partner's voice made him pause, slowly turning his head to the man in acknowledgement. "Are you okay?" Flynn heard the question, registered it and considered an answer, but his attention was elsewhere. Az was shrouded in sunlight, an unnatural glow lining his frame so that his face was obscured in shadow.

That was...odd.

Why was that odd?

His partner was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer that he had yet to give. Peeling his gaze from the man, he did a quick mental assessment of his wellbeing. There was no sign of injury. As if to test a theory, he wiggled his toes that were hidden beneath the blankets of the bed to determine if his limbs were in working order. They were. His chest, though...it felt heavy. Weighted down by an invisible force that made it almost hard to breathe. Yet, there was no pain. Merely a dull ache, as if he had suffered a long coughing fit that his lungs were still recovering from. "I...guess so?" he finally answered, the hesitance in his tone potentially making a liar out of him. And he was no liar. "I don't know...something feels...off."

The musings were cut off as he shifted from the bed, his feet hitting the floor and just as quickly carrying him the bathroom. So distracted by his unease was he that he didn't notice his reflection at the mirror, or the man trailing behind him. Flynn ran some cold water, cupping his hands together until they had filled enough to splash over his face. Maybe he was just tired, and everything was foggy from still 'waking up.' But, as he glanced up to the reflective surface before him and took in the sight of the bare expanse of skin on his chest and arm, he froze. In one swift movement, he swung around so that he was leveling Azraeth with a look of disbelief. "What happened to all my tattoos?" And he might as well have been speaking a different language, the way his lover stared at him. Like he had grown another head. Which was stupid because languages were his thing.

"What tattoos?" That look of concern was forming, again. The man moved in closer, slumping against Flynn's chest as his arms snaked around his torso. The exchange of heat between their bodies was instantly relaxing, even as it triggered that same scratching belief that something was out of place. At the same time, it was so commonplace, so normal. It felt so...real.. Looking into those deep pools of blue, some of those worries seemed to quiet. For the moment. He hummed, then, dropping his forehead to his partner's shoulder. His breathing slowed and deepened to keep the world in focus and reality at the forefront of his mind. Which was easier said than done with the deep pressure settled in his chest. Had he...dreamed he had tattoos, and already forgotten the content? The concept?

Flynn was quiet and still for a minute, and when he pulled away, it was to shake his head. "Nothing, nevermind. I'm fine." To clear away any doubts that might have lingered in Az's mind, he pressed a kiss to the man's lips. Soft, gentle. Far more chaste than most of those they shared, but it was enough to pacify the man in his arms, though he could practically see that desire to prod further. To question Flynn a little more. But, to his credit, those questions were never voice.

That was the point that Azraeth pulled away with his characteristic, toothy grin. "You most certainly are." Flynn rolled his eyes at the comment, even as his usual smirk took hold. At least that was one thing he could always count on to be the same. Heading out the door for the bedroom, Az called out over his shoulder. Your mom is going to be here with Liam in half an hour. As much as I would love to have you walking around in just your boxers all day...." the words trailed off at the end, allowing Flynn to fill in the blanks.

It was as he tracked Az leaving the room that the sun glinted off a metal ring circling his finger on his left hand.

Wait, what?

[Azraeth]

Night One

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we can’t let you back there. Open visitation is between 10 AM and 4 PM. At this point, only family are permitted into the ICU.” Something about the way the woman in the mint green scrubs said that felt like a slap to the face. Family. Like Flynn’s criminal father, or his mother, who Az wasn’t entirely convinced would have shown up, even if she had known what was happening. It spoke volumes that in the months the two men had been together, the vampire had never met his lover’s mother. He had certainly met Liam, had spent tons of time with the Paladin’s younger brother, but the Connors matriarch and the Mystic had never shared so much as a few words in passing. He didn’t even have her number. He didn’t have access to Flynn’s phone either. And how odd would it have been for him to call from that number, only to try and explain...what? The vampire had no clue what had happened.

And visiting hours for anyone other than family only happened when the sun was up.

“Please. He’s my boyfriend. I need to see him. I need to know that he’s okay.” His eyes were bloodshot, which looked odd considering there were no whites to his eyes. It was like there were veins of green running through that deep ocean. There had been one point when mortals had been afraid of the serpentine pupils. These days, people did not recoil, but instead just sneered, or ignored them outright. There were mirrors angled all over the waiting room. He appeared in none of them. Had the situation been any different, Az probably would have been bothered by them, but he was too focused on his task. He didn’t have time nor mental energy enough to deal with the phantoms of his past. So he boxed them away.

“Again, I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow that. You’re going to have to come back du--”

“I can’t. You know I can’t. You’re not blind, you can see what I am. Please! I need to-”

“Sir, I’m not trying to be cruel here, but I think we both know there’s no way you’re getting back there. Not with the blood supply and not with patients struggling to survive.” There was a shadow of an expression on her features. Az believed she was being sincere. That she wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was, after all, the blood sucking monster. And this woman’s first priority had to be to her patients. The pain though, at her answer, must have been written on Azraeth’s features, because she leaned a little closer after those words had left her lips. “Look, maybe you can get someone related to him to come in and sit with him for you. That’s better than nothing, yeah?”

Except it wasn’t. For the first time in a very long time, Az felt helpless. One of the perks of being a vampire was that you couldn’t be cornered anymore. Not really. And yet that was exactly the position he was in. He stepped back and away with a disgusted shake of his head. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know if Flynn had been in an accident. If he had done something to himself. If some vampire had attacked him because of what he was.

He felt like nothing, because there was nothing he could do except wallow in his uncertainty and grief. And in feeling like nothing, he became one with the darkness. He wasn’t even sure how much later it was that someone else approached the woman behind the computer. But the moment he heard the door lock click, and open, he was moving. He was very careful not to draw any attention to himself at all. He knew if he was discovered, he was probably looking at trouble. And once he was past the door, he was paralyzed once more. She hadn’t even told him what room Flynn was in. That wasn’t the problem though. The problem was that he knew exactly where his partner was, because there was this thick scent of his mate’s blood in the air. The smell of death in this place was overwhelming, and wetness filled his eyes once more in preparation as he slowly approached.

He moved like silence, not just because he did not want to be discovered, but also because he was afraid of what he was going to find. At the end of the hall was a large room. Beds were evenly spaced, with dividers filled with medical equipment between them, as well as curtain material to create the illusion of privacy. From the look of things, most of the beds were empty. There was at least one doctor watching over the entire room, but Az suspected that there were several more, along with a fleet of nurses who would show up under the right circumstances. It struck him as oddly like a game. He had to be careful and stealthy, otherwise he might be discovered. Flynn would have loved that observation. Or if not loved, he would have found it endearing.

Az drew closer to the source of that scent. The curtain was already drawn, so all he had to do was slip past it. What he was greeted by was an image of his partner seemingly asleep. There were all manner of tubes and wires connecting him to machines. There was a ventilator keeping the man breathing, and a tube running right into the chest. The sight almost made the vampire’s knees give out again. He stood there like a phantom as if he expected for the spirit of his partner to rise out of his physical form and greet him as a spectral figure. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit down firmly. He was bleeding. He stepped closer. He could fix this. He had it in his power to save the other man.

Except he wasn’t sure if that was what Flynn really wanted. It hadn’t been a conversation they’d ever had. Why would they have? Flynn was a paladin. He was supposed to be as immortal as Az. Not really. But that had been what Azraeth let himself believe. The wound on his wrist began to stitch together as he leaned over his partner’s form. He wanted desperately to climb into that bed with him, to just lay there close and listen to his heartbeat. Make sure it never stopped. Because the human had never told him if he would rather die a human than be cursed for eternity. It wasn’t Az’s choice to make. Even though he wanted to. But just as he could not turn his lover, he also could not get close to him. Not really. Because it was entirely possible he could have jostled things in just the right way and tanked any chance the Paladin had at survival.

And Flynn looked so serene like that. A bloodied angel with a split lip and so many bruises. So much injury. It hurt Az on every level to see the man he loved like that. It felt as if there were cold fingers slowly squeezing around his chest. He didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. He reached to gently caress over a chin and jaw. He looked so helpless as well. Every fiber of the vampire’s being wanted to stay there and protect him, but he knew his time was brief. So he reached for his phone. The first thing he did was take a picture of Flynn’s chart. There was also an order to have the police called if he came to. The contact number for a detective was there, and Az got a picture of that too. There was a lot of information, and the vampire knew he was in no mind to do anything with it.

Next, he called Flynn’s phone, hoping that it had been put on ‘vibrate’ and was reasonably close. Thankfully, that was exactly the case, and moments later, he had the phone in hand, and was scrolling through the contacts. He smiled very briefly, a flash of an expression, when he passed his own. HIs hand descended so he could weave his digits together with Flynn’s, as the cell rang on the other end. When it picked up, Az squeezed his partner’s hand. He spoke quietly. “Hey Madelyn? Yeah, it’s Az. Yep, Flynn’s boyfriend. Ha - Liam was just talking about me over dinner? I. Look. I need to tell you something. I hate to be so abrupt, but something has happened…”

[Flynn]

DAY TWO

“You did good, kid.”

The sound of Madelyn’s voice broke the quiet hush of the cabin balcony. The wind had been his only company for the last half an hour or so, the breeze cooling him from the heat of the sun as it beat down on his skin. His gaze had been trained on the lake a short distance away, where the occasional laughter and shouts came up from below. A short dock made out across the water and further into the depths, one post anchoring a bowrider to the side. At the end was a ladder, being put to quite a bit of use as Liam’s form climbed up from the water after what must have been his twenty-fifth jump. Each of them was as exciting as the last, to his thinking, his demands of Azreath reaching Flynn’s ears, even at this distance. “Watch this, Az!” The man, himself, wasn’t far out, lounging on an inflatable. Cheering the seven year old on, despite the fact that it was the same jump as the one before. But, to his credit, he played off being just as impressed, every single time.

As his mother came up at his side, lowering herself into the chair opposite the table, he finally turned his head in her direction. “Good with what?” he asked, just as quickly looking away and back toward the lake. Holding any prolonged eye contact with Madelyn was strange and uncomfortable, like sharing a connection with each other that they didn’t really possess. They never had.

Madelyn let out a short, but soft laugh. “Good for yourself,” she continued on to explain, training her own gaze out across the water and onto her youngest son. “There was a point where I never thought I’d see my first truly happy. That I had, inevitably, ruined that possibility for you…” The words got softer, the longer she spoke, and that’s how Flynn knew she was being genuine in her own way. As genuine as she was capable of. “But, I see the way you look at him and hear how much your brother talks about him. He must really be something.”

Lips pursing together, he turned to his mother and say for a moment in silence. As genuine as she seemed, as sincere as she sounded...there was something that rang hypocritical. When he finally did speak, it was with a shake of his head. “If that were to come from anyone else, I might have bought into it a little more. You’ve dropped Liam off time and again, and I don’t think you’ve ever said one word to him.” Madelyn shot him a look, but ultimately kept any comments to herself, and that was likely for the best. She had no argument, so why try? “Regardless...that much isn’t wrong. I did do good for myself, and I did it without you.” It was harsh, maybe a little cruel, but that didn’t make the statement any less true.

“That you did…” she responded, voice surprisingly soft for how defensive she usually was. “It certainly says something, though, that both the Connors boys can’t seem to get enough of him in some way or another.” Madelyn stood, turning her back to the scene on the lake so that she could glance down at Flynn one more time. “You’ve been up here watching long enough. Go and enjoy yourself.” With that, she was gone. That was the thing about Madelyn, she never made her presence known for any longer than she deemed necessary. Rather than take the time to go down to the lake with him, to get to know the man he loved and had married, she chose to keep to herself. How Liam didn't question her, at times, he could only begin to guess.

Before he moved, he dropped his eyes to the ring on his finger. It seemed to be a bit of a habit, the way he would turn it back and forth, watching as it caught the light and reflected it back. It brought a sense of comfort to him that he didn’t fully understand, but honestly, he didn’t need to. The reason why was irrelevant. This time was different, though. The compulsion had come out of nowhere, and before he even reached out for the ring, the strangest sensation took hold. There was a familiar weight, a cooling against his palm that made it tingle. It was almost as though he could actually feel fingers laced through his with a gentle pressure from being squeezed. But there was nothing actually there, and as it slowly faded, he felt the loss of it deep at his core. As though a small piece of him was taken away with it, never to return. He felt...broken. And that feeling didn’t fade.

Rather than wallow in it, and try to make sense of what he didn’t understand, he left the balcony via the staircase blocked off by a gate, lazily making his way toward the dock. As soon as Liam caught sight of him, he whooped with excitement. “Flynnly! You see that lake monster out there?” he asked, pointing directly at Azraeth, who only grinned at the acknowledgement. “I need your help to get him, or he will haunt the lake forever!” The dramatics were on high, and Flynn could only laugh. That was a common theme for the youngest Connors and his husband. A mythical, magical creature that must be slay by the brave and power hero, almost always Liam, unless he deemed himself needing of a sidekick. That's where Flynn came in.

”Well, we definitely cannot let that happen!” he agreed, just as a splash sounded in the water, lifting his head to see that Az had dived in. Before he even a chance to really look for the man, a spray of water come at him, the cold water hitting him dead on. He blinked, rapidly, in momentary shock at the development before his gaze settled on his partner popping up from the water so that his elbows came to rest on the dock with a damn smirk that could have rivaled his own. ”One point for the lake monster.” Lake Monster: 1, indeed.

Liam let out a hollar as he ran for the end of the dock, Az ducking back down just in time before the child was flying through the air, only to make a huge splash as he landed in water.

All that was the left to do was follow suit.

And that’s exactly what he did.

[Azraeth]

NIGHT TWO

He had to rely on Madelyn for information, and she was probably frankly annoyed with him, but that didn’t really matter to Az. He’d stayed with Flynn for as long as he safely could, holding his hand and watching him with those eyes closed as if in slumber temporary or eternal. It had not lasted nearly long enough for his liking, and from there, the vampire had been forced to flee the hospital for fear of being caught. Despite every fiber of his being wanting to be close to his paladin, he knew on some level that he would be no good to the man if he ended up behind bars (which were infamous for allowing sunlight through), or worse. So instead, he had returned home to begin planning his next set of moves. All too soon, before he even really had a chance to put anything into action, the daylight had come to give him deep sleep filled with nightmares he did not recall when he awoke.

Immediately after getting up, he’d called Flynn’s mother, who had been able to get a few details about the human’s condition. He hadn’t woken from his coma, and was suffering from numerous wounds which were apparently consistent with an attack. Apparently there had been a witness, who had been the one to bring him in, but the hospital obviously couldn’t release any details about this person. Azraeth suspected that was what the police number from the night before had been about. Evidence was stacking up to not only suggest, but confirm Flynn had been attacked by someone. Of course there were still way too many details up in the air for the Mystic’s liking. It made sense though. Harper Rock had a huge number of vampires and Flynn was...well. He was a Paladin.

Of course, Az had faced this fact numerous times. People loved to bring it up. It was practically a given that someone was going to give them a look and offer up some variety of questions concerning their sanity levels. But the Mystic hadn’t, up until the point when he saw Flynn lying there on the medical bed, been forced to really take a good hard look at the relationship he’d gotten himself into. Or the dangers it posed to his partner. There was a very real part of him that thought it might be better to just leave Harper Rock if his lover managed to recover. Not if. When. Even though there was this constantly negative set of voices whispering into the vampire’s ear that the loss of his boyfriend was punishment. That he was getting karmic retribution for all of the lives he’d taken. That not being allowed to be in love was exactly what he deserved for who and what he was. Normally, Azraeth was excellent at flooding those defeatist words and thoughts out. But they were hitting him in a particularly vulnerable spot.

Which meant the best way he had to combat them was to totally distract himself. He did that by unravelling the mystery.

He began to rifle through his lover’s memories, to try and pick apart who might have made the attack. Unfortunately, for some reason, he wasn’t able to pick up anything at all. He suspected it must have been some sort of sucker punch type situation. Unexpected. Which perhaps left Flynn unable to determine who had assaulted him. Which meant Az had a limited number of leads he could follow up on. His next move was to find Oakley and ask her to hack into the police database to see if they had electronically stored information related to the case. As it turned out, they had, which was a bit of a lucky break. He was able to get a name and address for the only witness to the crime - which Az thanked Oakley for with a firm squeeze before having to dart off. From there, it was just a matter of turning up unannounced for a little Q&A sessh. As soon as the lady who had seen everything (A miss Clarice Marlen), heard that Az was Flynn’s boyfriend, she was more than happy to tell him absolutely everything. She didn’t even seem terribly bothered that the vampire was there in no official capacity, which probably meant she was a little too on the trusting side. But Azraeth was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

From the brief investigation, Az put together exactly two things of importance. The ones who had attacked Flynn did so during the daylight hours. Additionally, the ones who made the assault had odd tattoos which Clarice had gotten a look at briefly, peeking out barely from under clothing. Which meant that Az was either dealing with vampire hunters or some kind of weird gang-related turf warfare gone very wrong.

Of course, through the entire late evening, he’d made a point to call Madelyn every ten or so minutes to ask if there had been any change in things with Flynn. He desperately wanted to be near his mate, but he also knew that he had to be careful not to push his luck too much with the hospital. There was absolutely no change at all, every time he called, and the vampire was pretty certain Flynn’s mother was ready to chuck her phone out of a window, but Az really couldn’t control himself. He told himself, as much as possible, that he needed to stay focused on the task at hand.

Which meant returning to the scene of the crime. It had been some time since the attack, which meant that there likely wasn’t much in the way of a trail to follow, and Clarice had been very clear that the attackers had taken measures to obscure who they were, which meant he was getting no assistance in determining really anything about them. Which meant that he was looking for clues - really any indication as to who had laid his lover low. The problem there was that he might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack. So, with the dawn quickly approaching, he put on some gloves, so he could begin to tear the alleyway apart, possibly brick by brick.

[Flynn]

DAY THREE

Weather in Canada was about as predictable as the daily lotto numbers. While still in the middle of winter, there would come a few days at a time where everything would warm up, the snow would start to melt, and people would get into their heads that Spring was just around the corner. Then, out of pure spite, Mother Nature would point her finger and laugh as winter storms made their way through to remind everyone that Spring was still weeks away. Such was the case that day, the snow falling at a rate fast enough to encourage offices and schools to close, despite the fact that this was “normal.” After having decided to take a personal day, Flynn sat huddled in a heated blanket in front of the hearth, the fire lit and crackling. The heat was blasting through the house, and still, he shivered. No matter the number of layers he wore or the temperature of the area around him seemed to be enough to chase away the cold that gripped at his very core. Goosebumps decorated his skin, teeth clenched together to avoid them clattering.

He wasn’t just cold, he was freezing.

The occasional noises from the kitchen told him that Azraeth was up to something, possibly trying out some new recipe in one of the many cookbooks he had recently acquired. In the six years they had been together (or so he had been told, not that he remembered any of it. It made him anxious), cooking had become a relatively new activity for his partner. There was always some new and occasionally exoctic entree coming out of the kitchen. So far, and Flynn hated to admit that he was mildly surprised by this fact, all of them had turned out relatively well. Not that he was likely to have told Az otherwise.

With no accidents on record from this new hobby (fires, cuts, loss of digits, etc.), the quiet voice in his head didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Demanding that he go and check things out. Just to make sure that everything was okay, because for some reason, some part of him felt like it wasn’t. This nagging thing, seeking the peace of mind in knowing that there was nothing wrong. He had no reason to think that something was…

Flynn stood. Rather than head toward the kitchen, he simply moved closer to the fireplace, dropping to the floor in an attempt to chase away the chill. His hands moved out in front of him, close enough to the flames that if he were to lean forward, even just a little, he could touch them. There was no searing heat licking at his skin to warn of getting too close. They might as well have not been there, at all, the way their purpose was blatantly absent.

Strange…

As if in a trance, he began to move forward, his fingers mere inches away from the flames as they danced.

”Babe?” Azraeth’s voice cut through the stupor with sudden clarity.

His hand snapped back from the flames so quickly, one might have thought it had burned him, after all, his head whipping around like a child caught in the act. Sitting there in silence for a moment, he half expected the man to appear in the doorway. As the second ticked by and he continued to sit there still as stone, the tone of voice suddenly registered. His partner had sounded almost...panicked? Az never panicked. He was too analytical, too logical. Notoriously optimistic, it was easy to see him as a carefree, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, but he rarely did anything without some consideration. But, panic?

It was that exact moment that the bone deep chill suddenly made sense. The cold came from a place of dread. That uncomfortable notion that something was wrong, but a lack of knowing just what that something was. ”Az?” he called out, getting to his feet as quickly as he could while wrapped up in a blanket that greatly hindered his progress. Throwing it to the chair he had vacated earlier, he made his way toward the kitchen. As determined as he was to make sure everything was fine, and he was overreacting, his steps were hesitant. Once he reached the doorway, he came to a stop to peer into the kitchen. Everything looked okay, save for the fact that his partner’s back was to him. ”Is...everything okay?” he asked, taking a few steps closer, reaching out until his hand came in contact with his man’s shoulder.

That’s when the scream pierced the air, one filled with anguish. Azraeth turned, and what Flynn saw immediately made him recoil, his eyes wide in shock. As if boiling from the inside out, his husband’s oceanic blue eyes had all but melted from his face, leaving two empty sockets as blood streaked down his face. The expression quickly twisted into one of tortured helplessness, because for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do. He was frozen, locked onto that harrowing sight.

Like a scene from an opera movie, the kitchen began to spider like a web, cracks spreading across the scene as if he were merely standing in front of a mirror. And then it shattered, and all that existed around them was pure darkness. Until there was something akin to a flash fire, flames spreading out around them in destructive waves. Waves that, oddly enough, did not touch them. As if protecting by an enclosed box, they licked at the edges in an attempt to the two trapped within them. And even so, they might as well have reached Azraeth, as his very being seemed to disintegrate before Flynn’s eyes, flesh charring until all but a skeletal figure remained. ”No…” he moaned, taking several more steps away, even as that form continued closer. ”This..isn’t happening...this is a dream...it has to be a dream…” he repeated like a mantra, desperate to accept its truth, rather than a possible reality. ”I’ll wake up any minute…” The words were choked, burning his lungs as he forced them out.

But, he wasn’t waking up. The scene just kept unfolding, and every time he tried to turn away, that burning figure was there. Traumatizing his mind with the screams of his husband, even as he made attempts to block them out by pressing his hands to his ears. When that didn’t work, his own screams mingled with those echoing around him, and he fell to his knees as the flames finally broke through the invisible barriers, engulfing everything.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Green eyes snapped open, wild with panic.

Choking filled the silence of the the semi-private space, masked only be the alarms of multiple machines.

[Azraeth]

NIGHT THREE

He woke in the total darkness of his home to two things. One was a message from someone inside of the Harper Rock police department. After his investigation had turned up nothing, Az had gotten the idea that there might be something left behind that was picked up by a detective - maybe in a station’s evidence locker. Finding a corrupt man with a badge wasn’t all that hard in Harper Rock, sadly. With the crime rate being what it was, and especially after vampires had ‘come out’, there were plenty of men in blue who were more than happy to overlook someone’s crimes for a little extra cash lining their pockets. Getting one little thing from evidence? All that cost Azraeth was a gold bar. The call was just a confirmation of the public location the mystic could find his ill-gained goods. However, it was the other thing he woke up with which told him he wasn’t going to be able to check it out immediately. Dread. It twisted in his gut like a cold and coiling serpent. He could sense that something was wrong with his partner, and his desire to be at Flynn’s side was like this compulsion. It was almost as strong as his need to feed when starved. Like he was hungry. Like it was all he could think about. Like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get the throbbing need out of his skull.

He was thankful he had fallen asleep fully clothed at that point, phone in hand. Because it was almost as soon as his eyes popped open that he twisted up. He was seated, and then he was standing, and then he was stumbling through the door leading into the ICU, where he knew Flynn was hooked up to any number of machines, with little more than a sheet used as a partition to keep the rest of the world at bay. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be there, that any doctors who spotted him and his lack of reflection in any of the hospital mirrors would see to it that he was booted out of the building. But he had this nagging feeling in his chest that something was wrong. It felt like he was trying to swallow a block of ice the size of a bowling ball. It was this sinking that moved from his chest down to his gut. What was wrong? He got closer, and immediately got this image in his brain. Of that bed emptied. Of things having taken a turn for the worse. He would get to the medical bed, and Flynn was going to be dead. Some other patient was going to turn to him and say ‘Oh, he’s in the morgue kid.’ Or some equally terrible line right out of a dark humored dramedy. And suddenly Az didn’t want to approach more. Did he really have a choice?

So he got closer, every step feeling like someone had strapped cinderblocks to his legs. He pulled the curtain aside to look down. There he was. Still alive, according to the heart monitor. Still safe. A damaged angel maybe. Relief was a soothing tide in the troubled heat of Az’s mind. And then eyes popped open. That wonderful wilderness in which Az desired to lose himself. He stared down into them, his own appearance far cleaner than the tempest inside of him. He didn’t have the heavy bags under his eyes which said he hadn’t gotten sleep. He didn’t have the wrinkles of worry on his forehead. He didn’t have the red circles and jagged bolts around and in his eyes which said he was either exhausted or devastated. The only true betrayal of what the vampire was feeling in that moment was the way that he stepped back, his eyes immediately glossing with unshed tears. Flynn was struggling with the tubes stuffed into his mouth, and the machines reflected this alarm.

Almost immediately, a few nurses and a doctor flooded into the room so that they could investigate what was wrong. The next few moments were surreal. They didn’t even seem to notice Az, probably because they were dealing with a patient. They were able to remove the breathing apparatus, which kept Flynn’s lungs inflating and deflating regularly - the one which had been collapsed apparently nearly healed. In fact, the Paladin was healing at what some of the medical professionals thought was an uncanny or alarming rate. The doctor seemed to think that Azraeth was there legitimately even. Of course, the Mystic just found himself watching Flynn, peering into his eyes, reaching for his hand when he could. The trauma surgeon rambled on for nearly twenty minutes, but the vampire heard almost none of it. In fact, it wasn’t until there was one nurse left, making sure that Flynn was comfortable that Azraeth finally came fully back to himself, and stepped out of the realm of ‘is this really happening?’ and into the world of ‘he’s okay’.

He almost couldn’t believe it. There had been part of him that was ready to accept that he would never see the man he loved again. That was one of the problems with being a vampire. Well not even that. With living in general. Azraeth had seen so many people enter and exit his life, that there was always part of him that expected to lose them. Maybe that was part of what defined his ‘clingy’ nature. He had been, for days, preparing himself for the worst possible outcome. That Flynn would never wake up. That the Paladin was going to die.

He had been distracting himself for nights, trying to think about anything and everything else.

And yet Flynn was awake. By the time the last nurse left (apparently they were keeping him in the ICU until a change of rooms could be authorized), Az had both of his hands curled around one of his partner’s. He had been silent for what felt like hours. He pressed a kiss against the human’s jaw. One arm of the bed had been lowered, and Azraeth perched there. “I love you. I’m so sorry this happened. I think I found them. The assholes who did this to you. I…” He wanted to say that he was going to hunt them down, gut them, feast on them like a gluttonous monster, torture them. Instead, he leaned closer, twisting onto his side so that he could snuggle against Flynn’s form. He was careful, of course. Careful not to dislodge any wires, not to touch any badly injured area. “I love you.” He repeated. Though it sounded more like ‘I need you. I missed you.’.

[Flynn]

In those few moments where his eyes first opened, it felt like he was suffocating. The tubing stuffed down his throat continued to work, attempting to inflate his lungs with air that he could freely bring in on his on own. As weak as Flynn felt, his hand rose in an attempt to pull them out with a vague awareness of the rune tattoos decorating his arm, but before he got very far, a flurry began around him. Medical personnel surrounded him on every side, and it did little to ease the racing heart in his chest that screamed of panic and anxiety. With so much going on, the natural bodily reactions that came with the presence of a vampire was entirely overlooked, and everything just felt...strange. Unfamiliar. He had no idea where he was, how he got there. The haunting figure and flames of his mind were gone and the ceiling above him was pristinely white, fluorescent lights blinding his eyes in a way to suggest they had been accustomed to the dark for far too long. And it was only as the doctors worked to free him of the ventilator that he managed to put the pieces together.

He was in the hospital.

Eyes fell shut as images rapidly flashed through his mind. Bits and pieces of memories that felt foreign to him, like they couldn’t have possibly happened. A woman bumping into him. A group of masked...hunters, thugs, something. Paladins, maybe? The barrel of a gun and finally the shot that rang out. After that...nothing. It was enough, though, as he could fill in the blanks from there. The problem was...he didn’t know what was real, anymore. Were those images what really happened to land him in the hospital bed, or had there actually been a fire? Azreath… Men and women in scrubs hastily worked together to remove tubing and wires that were no longer necessary, while keeping those that were still in tact, but his mind was off in a distant place, trying to separate truth from false memories. His thoughts were in utter chaos and nothing was making sense. The lines between reality and fantasy were so blurred, and god his chest killed, which didn’t help him focus. It hurt every time he sucked air into his lungs and just as much as he exhaled it. And that wasn’t even the extent of it, because he whole body felt like lead on the uncomfortable mattress.

The sudden brush of cool fingers against his hand was simultaneously jarring as it was relaxing. Which meant there was only one person it could have been; the only one capable of causing conflicting reactions in him, though the former hadn’t so much as occurred in months. His gaze cut to his side, despite the fact a doctor was very clearly speaking to him in regards to his condition, landing on the all too familiar face of his partner, his vampire. In a hospital. It wasn’t enough to ease the pain, but the sight of the man just within reach chased away some of the gripping panic, the anxiety that kept his heart working overtime and the alarms of his heart monitor sounding. Because he was here; the flames were only a dream. As that rate slowed, the alarms began to quiet and the auxiliary staff trickled from his ‘room.’ Their patient was stabilizing, and those remaining had him well in hand. It took a fair amount of willpower, but Flynn turned his focus back to the trauma surgeon, who was still yibber yabbering away about the marvels of his recovery, but concerns that the Paladin wasn’t quite out of the water yet. He was, at least, looking at another couple of days in the hospital. Rather than speak up, he could only nod in understanding as the surgeon bowed out of the room with a promise to return, soon.

Only a single nurse remained when Azraeth finally ventured closer, settling on the edge of the bed as quiet as he was the entire time. Flynn didn’t focus on him right away, instead watching as the woman exchanged IV bags, checking the remaining wires and tubes one more time before stepping back. ”I’m sure you’re in pain...but this bag here should help a bit. It’s ordered as a low dose, but if at any point you get too uncomfortable, press the call button and we might be able to adjust the dosage. Okay?” When she received his silent nod, she offered a small smile, her gaze remaining on the vampire a second too long before leaving, pulling the curtain closed behind her for privacy.

A soft kiss had him turning in his partner’s direction, head resting fully against the pillow. Vague hints of a smile could be seen, but it was tainted with the pain he was in, evidence of it in his expression despite his best efforts to hide it. The mention of those responsible had his eyebrows furrowing and his head shaking, as if to cut the vampire off in the explanation, and thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. As his partner moved against the bed to shuffle closer, Flynn attempted to shift over, only to groan as his body put up an immediate protest to the action. ”I love you, more…” he managed to say, though his voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper due to lack of use and the removal of the ventilator tubing. Each word said caused a deep, throbbing aching in his chest as he attempted to breathe around them, but he continued, anyway. ”And, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do this.” Swallowing with wrinkling of his nose and a series of soft gasps, like he couldn't quite fill in his lungs, he quietly lifted Azraeth’s hand, his thumb tracing over a ring finger as an unexpected wave of disappointment hit him. But, disappointment all the same. ”How long?” he asked, his eyes never shifting from their hands in front of him.

He knew he should have asked about them. The ones that shot him. Azraeth had information, thought he had found them. They were the least of his concerns, though. Future Flynn could deal with that can of worms. Right then, he had too much to sort through, too much on his mind to add more to it. For the moment, he was content just to have Azraeth at his side, and if he had questions...well, he would ask them in time.

[Azraeth]

Azraeth was a creature of indefinite layers. He had kept his composure in the face of certain death. He had trained himself to watch people upon meeting them, to observe not only how they acted when they realized they were being watched, but when faced with different levels of adversity. He had a reputation for being one of those social butterflies, but he also had a reputation for being cold and calculating, a set of traits which, when juxtaposed, seemed as if they could not belong to the same person. In truth, he was just a very simple man who cared deeply for those who wormed their way into his heart (or whose hearts he wormed his way into, much like an overripe apple). When he set his mind to something, there was very little that could get in his way. But the impetus, the rolling stone, the thing which made him move was always related to the ones he loved. And over the months they had been together, Flynn had become the person that Az loved the most. He had said it before. Prematurely perhaps. And yet with shocking clarity of vision, and perhaps prophetic intuition. The Paladin was the one. His one.

So it was absolutely no shock when, the moment Flynn said that he loved Az more, the vampire lost his mind.

Every single emotion the Mystic had been struggling to suppress, every feeling he had bubbled to the surface all at once. There was the fear that he would never see his partner again. That he would never hear his laugh, or feel the warmth of his hands. There was rage that he had only had the Paladin for a few months, that some people were blessed to love their partners, and soul mates for decades and he got only a handful of months. He had been sure the man would not survive, would not pull through. There was the anticipation. The painful anticipation that he would be alone. And of course, there was the agony, which was one part physical and one part mental. He could feel the things going on inside of Flynn and every part of him wanted to take that edge off, to make it a little better. He had been struggling to distract himself. So he laid on his back. The two of them in the bed were pressed shoulder to shoulder and Az impulsively kicked his shoes off onto the floor so that he could wriggle and twist (so that Flynn didn’t have to). Moments later, his leg was tucked against his partner’s, their feet touching. His own were, for once, surprisingly warm.

He could feel the hand gripping his, the movement of a digit across his ring finger. And Az was just sobbing. The tears came out enormous, and seemed to be unending. He didn’t look even a little bit attractive right then, fangs having grown, lips twisted. At the very least, he didn’t have anything trickling from his nose. There were, it seemed, a few positives to the whole ‘being dead’ thing. He squeezed his human’s hand, he pressed closer and he let all of that emotion flow out of him. And maybe that was selfish of him. He wasn’t the one laid up in a hospital bed (figuratively). He wasn’t the one badly injured, or who had been comatose for days. But just knowing that Flynn was awake, that he was okay, that he could pull through? There was no greater relief in the world. It was so powerful that it rippled through every single fiber of his being, like a tapestry beaten until the threads gleamed.

He was a mess. He sucked in unneeded breath. He sniffed. He made unpleasant sounds. “No you don’t!” He said with entirely too much enthusiasm. And then he turned his head to peer into Flynn’s eyes. His own were red rimmed and the tears made them seem so deeply blue that it was like wading towards the ocean floor. He smiled then, or tried to. His voice trembled. “I love you more than anything or anyone. I love you and I missed you, and I need you.” He said, swallowing repeatedly to try and make his facial features sit in the right place and to get a hold of that sob in his throat that wouldn’t go away. He tipped his head closer and their foreheads touched. His lips were so near to Flynn’s, that he could taste the labored breath.

“You’ve been like this for three days. I contacted your mother, and at first the doctors wouldn’t let me in, but I needed to see you.” He was babbling, and he totally knew it. He could tell that it hurt when Flynn tried to speak, so maybe he was attempting to fill that silence between them. To give the other man something to listen to, so he didn’t have to talk. Maybe, on some level, he just wanted to talk so that his mate could hear his voice and know that things were going to turn out for the better, that they would inevitably be okay. Or it could just have been that Az himself needed to think that, and by creating that comforting distraction for Flynn, he was really doing himself a favor. In either case, his eyes never moved from the other man’s. There was a certain sacredness to that space between where their gazes met. But then, Az had always been fond of losing himself in the wilderness.

“Your lung collapsed. As soon as you get the sign off, I want to take you home, tend to you.”