Hey there. So. It's been a while. Sorry for the long wait, but to say that I completely lost my inspiration for this story for a while would be a gross understatement. I tried to rewrite this story so many times, it's not even funny anymore. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the revamped version of Aconitum, can't wait for your feedback.

London, 1979, November

Jeremy Hudson, 23, part-time bartender and aspiring writer, was bored. Incredibly, mind-numbingly bored. The sound of a clock endlessly ticking only seemed to worsen that strange feeling weighing his every limb down. He rolled his head back a few times, trying in vain to get rid of the crick in his neck that had settled in after hours of staring at the door in hope of something, someone exciting enough entering. But alas, it seemed that tonight, just like every other night, it would only be him and the usuals drunkards he would have to usher out after closing time.

Although, he thought, sliding his gaze to the only unfamiliar patron in the place, it seemed their sad little club would get a new member tonight. Jeremy let out a disappointed sigh. He had seemed so full of promises too, stumbling in past midnight, soaked to the bone, raven hair glinting under the harsh neon light, drops of water sliding down a pale throat speckled with beauty marks, looking for all the world like the grieving hero of a tragedy of old. He had walked straight to the bar, straight to Jeremy, locked gaze with him for a single moment, and if he had barely seemed to notice him, his hazel eyes had been filled with such sadness that no matter how unremarkable he was to the man, Jeremy had been so sure he would never forget him.

When the dashing stranger had ordered, in a mellow, empty voice that spoke of a very long day, a glass of scotch, neat, Jeremy had been filled with hope. Finally! Finally a tale of misery about something other than that of a cheating partner, a dead-end job, or a screwed-up family. Finally, something worth his time. Something he could really sink his teeth in, something that would wake his muse up and tempt her into imagining something, anything other than creative ways of setting this place on fire and everyone inside it. His friends might have expressed concern over that one, or called him a drama queen, as they so often did, but they didn't get to judge. Not unless dragging barely conscious men twice their size at least three times a week was part of their job description. That, and constantly reeking of alcohol and cold cigarette smoke even though he never touched the stuff. And having to stand all night, watching over the same regulars, over and over again, whom he couldn't bring himself to like no matter how much he knew about them, their stories blending into one another to form the same old boring tale of drunken men, dissatisfied with every aspect of their lives and unable or unwilling to do anything about it.

Pathetic.

His former creative teacher might have preached about the importance of empathy in a writer, but he doubted even she could have found anything even remotely sympathetic in any of these men. Call him a heartless bastard, as had so many of his former partners, but that was just how he felt.

And now, his one chance of salvaging this whole night, this whole job, was close to passing out, his glorious face buried in his arms, ready to join the pile of drunks he would have to toss out of this fine establishment. If he had known scotch would not lead to the man loosening those perfect bow-shaped lips of his, he might have been less generous with his pouring. Such a disappointment. As it was, the man now only gave signs of life when it was time to refill his glass, as seemed to be the case now. Jeremy considered the raised glass, the lack of please, or even look in his direction, and wondered if the stranger would be easier to drag out fully passed out or still somewhat conscious.

That was when she came in.

As pervy as it might sound, he smelt her before he saw her. The stench of beer and rancid sweat disappeared and the smell of moss and damp earth filled his nose. Taking a deep breath of the pure and cleansing scent, he found himself back in a forest, five-years-old and following his mother through the sky-scraping trees, little rubber boots slipping against the rain-soaked leaves and mud, the hood of a raincoat muffling the sound of the storm coming on.

He blinked against the sudden and vivid image and when his eyes found its source, he was at once under her spell.

Red hair as wild as a forest fire. Eyes the color of summer leaves that seemed to glow in the dark and cramped room.

In the suddenly suffocating bar, she was a breath of fresh air, and he was not the only one to notice. Heads turned, eyes stared, jaws dropped, and in this dingy little bar, a religion was born.

Standing there, uncaring of their intent gazes, she looked like an ancient, moss-covered statue that had been brought to life, ready to be worshipped once more. Just as he was about to succumb to the urge to drop to his knees and grovel at her feet, she tilted her head to the side, fiery locks swaying and glinting like flickering embers, and her eyes caught his. For a single shining moment, the rest of the room, of the world, faded away and it was just the two of them, alone, together, complete.

For once in his life, Jeremy Hudson was truly, perfectly happy.

That glorious moment of pure contentment came crashing down with one simple word, and as he turned to the intruder, Jeremy swore he had never felt such terrible, all-consuming hatred in his life before.

"Lily?"

The goddess looked away from him, easily discarding him for a better distraction, and Jeremy felt a hot flush of shame and rage paint his cheeks. Looking at the stranger almost falling out of his stool in his haste to turn to the eerie beauty, he ground his teeth. What was so much better about that drunken idiot, anyway? Couldn't she see the bloke was just a waste of space and her time? A beautiful, dashing, obviously well-off waste of space? Take away his looks and money, and what was left? Nothing, that's what. Jeremy, on the other hand… Well, Jeremy wasn't five scotches in and halfway to the floor, for one! And- and he hadn't mistaken the goddess that had blessed them with her presence for another girl if her stern frown was any indication. The urge to reach out and smooth out the slight furrow between her brows nearly overcame him, but the thought of touching her face with his dirty and sweaty hands and possibly marring her beauty made him falter.

Still, despite all his detestable flaws, she kept looking at him, taking in the expensive clothes, the disheveled appearance and the bright, eager gaze directed at her. After a long, silent moment filled with the expectation of every single soul in the bar, she spoke in a low, cool voice that sent shivers down Jeremy's spine, like a stray raindrop finding its way down his neck.

"You're mistaken."

And with that, she looked away, just as easily as she had discarded him, no longer interested in the arrogant fool that had dared to waste her time. Jeremy's breath rushed out of him, feeling nothing but vibrant relief after seeing how equally insignificant they all were to her. That satisfaction only grew ten folds when she started to move, walking toward the bar, toward him, and as he felt the envious glare of his fellow worshippers burning holes straight through his skull, he raised his head proudly, determined to prove himself worthy of her renewed attention.

With a sigh, she got on the high bar stool, and after letting her eyes roam over the rows of liquor, she peered at him with no attempt at hiding her boredom.

"Whiskey sour. Neat."

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against her hand, rubbing her forehead with her closed fist in a slow, soothing movement. The fellow stranger, eager to prove himself a fool, ignored her clear exhaustion and slid up next to her.

"What are you doing here, Lils? I looked for you all night!"

A decidedly uncharitable Jeremy thought that unless this "Lils" usually resided at the bottom of empty glasses of scotch, she shouldn't hold her breath.

The woman did not turn to him as she contemplated him from the corner of her eye and the young bartender felt a thrill of satisfaction rush through him.

"As I've already told you," and there was a weight to her words, a distinct warning that made Jeremy shiver despite not being her target, "you're mistaken."

Now, any sane individual would take one look at that woman, realize that there was something altogether not human about her, and respectfully back away to gape at her in awe from afar. The infuriating stranger, however, clearly had a death wish, which, based on the mysterious woman's obvious displeasure, would be granted swiftly.

"You really shouldn't be here, Lils. This isn't a place for you. Come on," and there he dared to put his hand on her bare shoulder, "let's get you out of here."

Darkened green eyes narrowed dangerously and out of the beauty's throat came not a purr but a growl, teeth bared and ready to sink into the fool's flesh.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you absolute cretin."

But liquor surely must have been liquid courage, for the simpleton, instead of thanking her for her mercy and getting as far away from her as was humanly possible, only frowned petulantly like a child who had just been reminded not to eat sweets before dinner.

"Lils, come on, you're not still mad about staying here, are you? I apologized, didn't I? And - and it could have been worse, you know?" and as his eyes strayed away from her and back to his empty glass, the fool faded away, and the man who had come in to try and drown his sorrows resurfaced. "You could have been with - with Fabian and Gideon when they- when they…" he let out a shaky sigh, shivering despite the too-warm atmosphere of the bar. "Merlin, I just can't believe they're gone. And they really are gone, so gone we couldn't even find a damn body to bring back to Molly." Raking his hands through his wild raven locks, the young lad who couldn't have been any older than Jeremy seemed to age before their very eyes, crumbling under an unbearable burden he could not, would not pass on to anyone else. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but you can't ask me to be sorry you weren't there because I'm not and if I had to do it all over again, I would." The hands in his hair turned into white-knuckled fists, tugging harshly, nails digging into his scalp like some sort of penance. "And yeah, maybe things wouldn't have been the same if you'd been there, but then again maybe not. Maybe you'd just be a bloody smear on the ground too by now. You didn't see it, Lils. It wasn't just an ambush or an execution. It was a bloody massacre, haven't ever seen anything like that. I just- the idea of losing you like that, it's just- I can't."

No matter how tightly he clenched his hazel eyes shut, fat tears still managed to slip through. Though he appeared oh so weary, seeing him so helpless at that moment, Jeremy quite forgot any unkind thought he had toward the stranger and only thought of easing his torment.

The odd trio stayed quiet for a moment, drowning in his oppressing sorrow before the benevolent goddess finally took pity on him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, dear." And though the expression on her face was not necessarily kind, it certainly did hold some sympathy for the former nuisance.

As the two strangers stared at each other in silence, a quiet understanding seemed to bloom between them and though Jeremy found himself undeniably looking in from the outside, he felt no jealousy for the grieving man, not even when, after a moment of intense contemplation, the bewitching couple launched into a conversation he could not quite hear. But oh, how he longed to join them. For now, though, he would have to be content with simply observing them and the way they just seemed to fit, the way two oddities always found each other in a sea of normalcy.

They spoke quietly for what felt like hours, a muted conversation in a foreign language held underwater he could barely overhear, standing safely on the shore, along with everybody else. A spectator. A nobody. And then, when they no longer had anything else to say, they simply stared into one another's eyes some more, glazed over hazel and strangely hungry malachite, and as they leaned toward each other, slowly, inexorably, what had to happen, happened.

Without taking their eyes off each other, they slid off their seats and slowly made their way to the exit without once looking back, Jeremy already forgotten, if ever noticed. For a few short moments, the enchanting couple stood in the open doorway, bathing in the pale light of dawn, before the young day swallowed them whole.

The night was over and so was this dream.

As the door closed behind them, the clean, fresh smell of petrichor faded and the rank, damp smell of booze, sweat and cold cigarette quickly wormed its way back in. Slowly, one by one, the patrons shook themselves awake, looking around and blinking dumbly when they could not find what it was they were looking for, though they seemed to have forgotten what exactly that was. Muttering about nagging wives and early shifts, they slowly filtered out, stumbling and knocking in each other, still too much in a daze to do more than just grumble in discontent and soon enough, Jeremy was finally alone.

With a sigh, he tilted his head back, wincing as his neck protested with a loud crack, and stared up at the ceiling. To think he would get to meet such peculiar people in this dingy little bar of all place… With a bemused smile, he looked back down at where the two bizarre beings had sat, though the smile quickly slid off his face as he finally took notice of the number of empty glasses littering the bar and the equally alarming distinct lack of any kind of money to pay for them.

Damn it.

He was so dead. He wouldn't even get fired. His boss was just going to kill him and then sell his organs on the black market to make up for all the free booze. Well, he could try to defend himself, to explain the situation, what had happened, but somehow, the more he thought about it, the less "But they were so pretty!" seemed like it was going to cut it. Why was it that every time he laid eyes on pretty people, he became such a mess?

God, but being bisexual was the worst.

Staring into these achingly unfamiliar green eyes, James felt the words bubble up and rise in his throat and as he opened his mouth, he let them fall out, not caring where they would land. He simply breathed in and out, quietly relishing in the carved out spaces their absence created. He breathed out his fears and secrets and let them hang in the air between him and that - woman? - hallucination? - ghost? Whatever she was, she reached out for them with eager hands and hungry eyes that twinkled in the hazy light of the early morning with every whisper of magic.

And perhaps he was too careless, too drunk and too foolish, but most of all he was lonely, scared and tired. So tonight, just this once, he would ignore the voice screaming at him to keep his mouth shut and to get out of here, away from her, her soothing touch and the lullaby woven in her voice. He would talk until his brain and throat dried up, until the whispers and the howls filling his head faded away and turned into blessed silence. Maybe then, he'd get to sleep, just for tonight. That's all he needed. One night of sleep and he would go back into the fray, he would joke and laugh when people needed him to, he swore, he just needed one night, that was all. One night away from the nightmare he couldn't wake up from, one night of silence, one night where stupid decisions only meant a bad hangover in the morning and not corpses of friends, strangers and foes alike scattered all around him.

It was foolish. It was selfish. It was dangerous.

But please, he thought as he leaned into her, pressing trembling lips against hers and trying to ignore the growing smirk he could feel there, just let me have this. Please, just tonight. I'm sorry. Just give me this one night.

In the morning, he would wake up alone to cold sheets and empty pockets. He would frantically look for his wand, the one thing standing before him and certain death, and curse his foolishness.

But tonight as she pushed him further into the mattress, he could only spare a thought to the woman she so reminded him of, the one he wished was there to hold him throughout those terrible nights.

I'm sorry, Lily…