So I've got about 10 of these chapters lined up (20 stories in total), get ready, I can't get enough of these two. :')

Also, thank you so much for all your support on my other Jathena fics, I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

Song

The first time Janey hears Athena sing, she walks into a door.

It's late in the afternoon and a loud whirring fills the apartment. Janey's feet step back and forth in time with the movements of her arm as she vacuums the floor. Months worth of dust and grime fly around her socks, disturbed from their resting places under the table and behind the couch. She pushes her bangs back, bandaid wrapped fingers teasing her scalp in a momentary itch, and tries to flick the machine off with her toe.

When this fails, she whacks the ancient Dahl model against the wall.

The whirring ceases.

Janey pauses and breathes in, basking in the new cleanliness of the apartment lounge. She smiles when the sound of running water bursts to life down the hall, and guesses Athena has finally extracted herself from her armour in order to shower and sooth tense muscles.

As Janey walks toward the utility closet, the thought of offering a massage to the freshly showered assassin crosses her mind. She presses the hatch lock, with a little too much force, while the idea rearranges itself and she can almost feel the hot water running down her back as she pictures stepping into the shower behind Athena...

The sensation of wet skin under her palms, a ragged moan from the shorter woman-

Janey's foot collides with a bucket, bringing her back to reality, and she shakes the previous thoughts away, knowing how it usually took a while for Athena to relax back into cohabitation after solitary missions. She needed her space; she deserved it.

Making her way to the left, and only knocking over two more things, Janey finds an empty spot in the corner for the vacuum and tucks it away. Though, just as her thoughts turn to dinner, she spots a small hunk of metal on the shelf at eye-level. Its form is familiar in the dimness of the closet. Picking it up, she exits into the light of the hallway and recognises the deformed Oz Kit in her hands, the first one she'd given to Athena almost a year ago.

A hum of pleasure forms in the back of her throat as she walks towards the workroom, dinner momentarily forgotten. She passes both the bedroom and bathroom, eyes focused on the lines of the device in her palms. She's about two steps away from her destination when she hears it-

Singing.

Janey's feet don't register the shock as quickly as her ears, and her slackened jaw hits the workroom door with a dull thud, along with the rest of her face.

"Shit-" she staggers back, dropping the Oz Kit and grabbing her nose tightly. A hiss escapes between her teeth.

Blinking away the pain, Janey stills when she realises the singing hasn't stopped.

It's low, husky, and a little unsure, barely audible over the sound of the water. A strange fluttering tickles in her chest as she moves to hover by the bathroom. The words fade away, replaced by the clicking of a shampoo bottle, before returning deep and rich.

The breath catches in Janey's throat.

Concentrating, she tries to place the tune, the feeling in her chest gaining strength with every note. She suddenly remembers the lullaby from her childhood, the same one she'd sung some months ago when Athena's head had been in her lap, cheek pressed into her stomach, battling the first fever of her life.

Though, despite Janey's terrible rendition of the tune, it'd helped Athena slip into an uneasy sleep, fingers clutching at her shirt. They'd never spoke of it; Janey hadn't thought the assassin remembered much of anything from those few delirious days.

Though here she was, voice caressing every syllable, coaxing Janey's heartbeat into a faster tempo and causing tears to prick at her eyes.

She's never heard something so beautiful in her life.

Sleep

The first time Athena sleeps peacefully, is in Janey's arms.

Athena awakes with a small intake of breath, eyes flicking around her surroundings in a force of habit.

She can't see much over the curve of Janey's neck, where her face is currently nestled, and relies on her other senses to scope out any danger. She finds her receptors for touch are being overwhelmed.

They aren't even in bed, or anywhere comfortable for that matter. The bones of Athena's shoulder and hip press into the hard floor, and one of Janey's shirts provides little cushioning, she feels the hem barely reaching her mid-thigh. Legs are tangled with hers, smooth and bare between her knees, and the swell of breasts rise and fall beneath her forearms. A collarbone beneath her hand and an incredible warmth against her front as the two arms at her back draw her closer.

Athena forces down the instinct screaming in the back of her mind, telling her she's trapped, she can't escape, they've put her in the cage.

Again.

She breathes deeply and focuses on the smell at Janey's neck, machine oil, sweat, the lingering tang of arousal floating around them both. The taste of salt is under her lips.

She listens to the gentle puff of air brushing her scalp, the distant tick of the clock in the kitchen, the thump of Janey's heart beneath one palm.

Athena ascertains and processes all of this within seconds of reaching consciousness.

And it's new.

Not once has she awoken in such an embrace, never has she managed to get through a night without kicking Janey away, or lashing out with her fists and forcing the blonde to escape to the other side of the bed to avoid injury. Never has she slept and only surfaced at the break of day, rather than coming up for air with every nightmare, trying to choke down the screams.

Janey's breathing looses its even pace and the lanky body curled tight around Athena shifts, muscles stretching a little, and something between a groan and a hum resonates in the throat beneath Athena's cheek. She savours every second as Janey wakes.

When she feels soft lips against her forehead in greeting, Athena ignores what she thinks is a screwdriver digging into her side and decides she's rested in worse places.

Janey's arm tightens over her waist and a thumb rubs gently across her spine.

God, this is definitely not the worst sleeping arrangement she's found herself in.