Title: Whispers In the Dark

Author: kitty0kat

Characters/Pairing: Cain, DG, most of the main cast are mentioned but only in passing. C/DG is suggested, but it's mostly groundwork.

Rating: NC:17

Summary: Sometimes you lose sight of things in the dead of night.

Warning: Heavy on the angst, graphic depiction of attempted suicide (no gore), sex

Disclaimer: If I owned it, everyone here would be getting paid to write screenplays and we'd have timeshares set up as part of every benefits package. A free weekend a year with your favorite character. (Plus costume!) Sadly, no such luck.

Word Count: 2535

Author's Notes: Super huge thank yous to chibikaz and triskellion for putting in lots of effort to help me get this ready to be shared. I couldn't have done it without either of you.

--

He woke up screaming, as he always did at this time of night.

Like clockwork.

Panting in the darkness he wiped a shaking hand across his sweat soaked brow and scrubbed his eyes trying to wipe away the images that were forever burned into his memories, like etching on wrought iron. The cold came then, seeping into his bones in the half light of moon set, as he tried to chase the edges of sleep from his mind. He was forever afraid of falling eternally back into the nightmare from which there was no waking or, nearly worse, of waking from this mildly pleasant dream in the middle of his darkest hell. Either way, he was happier where he was.

Chilled as the sweat dried on his skin, he pulled the blankets up higher over his trembling form and waited, waited for the sun to rise.

He felt like a child, lost as he was in this sea of shadows, biting his tongue against the cry on his lips, for his mother. She'd died a long time ago; hells, he'd died a long time ago. Old habits died hard though and somehow he was still breathing. It was such a small thing to bring him comfort, the memory of his mother's voice the first time he'd felt this way. So long ago now it seemed, he'd gotten lost in the dark. Shorter yet, the time when a curvy frame and a lilting voice parted the darkness to be his companion in the between times. Though, she was just as gone now and the thought of her less comforting. The memory of her gold flecked hair and chocolate eyes was streaked with the crimson in his nightmares, her laugh contorted into cries of pain and desperation.

He looked out the glass of his balcony doors to see that the sky was lightening, a russet hue tingeing the darkness. Sunrise was still far away tonight.

Would it be too far this time?

Unable to bear the silence any longer, he stretched his senses to their breaking point before hearing, at last, the harmonious strains of a waltz floating up the quiet marble halls. He counted quietly in his head. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. He could even picture the scene. Zipperhead, all dolled up in Ambrose's finest attire, spinning the princess, in her dressing gown, round and round in a waltz that never ended. He honestly didn't know how she dealt with it, dealt with them.

--

The first week after the eclipse they'd all shared a suite.

He and Jeb had hauled in beds enough for everyone. Azkadellia had declined their company, preferring to stay with her parents. That seemed to suit Jeb better, but at least the boy had been graceful enough not to say anything in front of DG. He still wasn't sure how the younger princess had managed to hoodwink Jeb into their little slumber parties, he hadn't dared to ask.

After the initial shock had worn off however, the Queen had insisted they all have separate rooms. 'Propriety' demanded that they all pretend they'd never slept as a group or seen each other in varying states of undress. Privately he suspected the Queen had discovered that DG only slept in her panties and one of his shirts. She was probably trying to prevent one of their little band of misfits from ravishing her daughter in the night.

The nightmares had started the night they'd separated, almost as if his safety blanket had been snatched from his grasp. He knew the others weren't doing any better than he was. 'Rounds' had started the second night. DG had begun pacing the halls, unable to sleep. When one of them would wake she was there like magic. A word of comfort, a hug, whatever you needed; all yours for only the price of a look. As though she knew how to pull the thoughts and the pain right out of your head.

Now, three months later, she said she had it down to a science. They'd discussed it and their late night visitor, during the four hours she slept in the morning. Some days it was six, if they guarded her door against intruders.

Jeb woke first, a few hours after falling asleep, usually from a nightmare about a battle he'd fought, sometimes from one about his mother. They were getting less intense as the time wore on, the details fuzzier, the fear dimming as his young mind tried to put the horror of his shattered childhood behind him and heal. DG would sit with him, perched on the edge of his bed, holding his hand and humming lullabies she'd learned as a child. Soothing him back to slumber, like the mother that was taken from him too soon.

Cain knew Jeb cried, though the boy would never admit it. He also knew that DG would take that secret to her grave, along with any other they'd deigned to share with her.

Raw's turn came next. He woke just before the moons reached their zenith, stifled by the stench of the Papay cocoon, weighted down by the guilt of Lylo's death, head splitting asunder under the pull of the Witch's sadistic torments. They would sit together, no matter the weather, basking in the silvery glow on his balcony. She cuddled in his lap, brushing his fur until he relaxed, he holding her like a stuffed animal, a touchstone against the pain of an unexpected existence. The furball said it was as though she could just turn off his feeling for the night.

Cain was beginning to suspect that she really could do it.

An hour after zenith was Glitch's time with her. He could never remember his dreams, only that sleeping scared him. He'd get up at her prodding to put on his nicest jacket, his shiniest shoes. Then they would dance, haltingly at first, until he found his rhythm, then faster and more fluidly until they were dizzy and laughing away the shadows. Zipperhead had mentioned that he felt better when she danced with him. Like himself, only more. More focused, more human, just more.

When the music stopped, she would trek to her final stop for the night.

--

His eyes refocused and flicked to the skyline. A fiery orange was beginning to dominate the blackness, turning it a queer murky gray. Just a few more minutes and the sun and his salvation would be along. His teeth chattering, he wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the bone deep chill.

His turn was last.

Always last. Damn her.

It made him irrationally angry that she would leave him to his misery. She was there when the others woke up, soothing each from the first cry. Yet night after night she left him to contemplate his fears in the dark.

Was his pain really less important to her than Glitch's? Than Raw's?

Didn't she know how often he considered this predawn twilight his final hour? Hadn't she guessed the number of times he'd pulled cold steel from between his lips at the sight of the sun, the slap of bare feet on tile? Even now, as he watched sunlight bleeding across the sky like night's lifeblood, his fingers ached for the grip of his revolver. His heart was crying out for his lost family, his lost years, even as his mind demanded oblivion to rest from its torment. These were his last moments to chose, an end or another day of anguish.

His hands flexing spasmodically, he pulled the comforting weight off the nightstand and hugged it to his chest. After everything he'd done to help her, even given up his revenge to save her, hadn't had earned better care than this? Shouldn't she be there in these moments when he needed her most of all. His fingertips caressed the sleek polish of his trusty best friend. Hefting it in his hands, it felt so real, so unlike everything else he touched everyday. The metal tool like an extension of himself, his will, his needs. What he wouldn't give to be as complete a package again.

The metallic tang was bitter as it slid over his tongue.

His shaking had stopped as he inhaled the spicy scent of gun oil, achingly familiar, like his favorite shirt. He wasn't cold anymore he noted with satisfaction. His breathing slow and steady he set his thumb on the hammer and looked once more to the sky, marking the time of his final release from the iron prison of his life.

His eyes widened, shocked at the sight before him. He could see the rim of the brilliantly painted globe on the horizon. He had missed it, missed the sun peeking out into the sky. He had missed…

A soft swish of fabric was his only warning before a warm hand covered his own, easing his fingers away from the trigger, sliding the barrel from his mouth. His eyes closed, not wanting to see her reaction; he hadn't wanted her to see him so broken. He heard a click as the sidearm was set on the tabletop, but he wouldn't look. He couldn't make himself open his eyes. Shame was overtaking his senses now.

Shame at his weakness.

How could he consider taking the coward's way out? Why couldn't he find courage that stayed in the darkness? He felt his face heat up like a campfire. Clamping his eyes shut tight against the sting of tears he didn't want to shed, biting his lips against the sobs he wouldn't allow to rack his frame. He might not be able to face the darkness, but he'd be twice damned if he would be weak in the light.

He felt those hands again, helping him to sit up more, smoothing his hair, pulling back the blankets to bathe his naked body in the crimson light of morning. He missed the movement that brought her close, but he shuddered at her hot breath on his neck, feeling his body stir. It demanded this attention and he wasn't about to deny it. Uncurling fists he didn't remember clenching, he slid calloused hands over silken skin. Tracing the curve of a hip and pulling it closer. He heard her sigh at his touch but wouldn't look at her; the tears were still too close.

His breath caught as she wrapped her legs around him and pressed her chest to his. The slick heat of their joining caused him to buck, driving their connection deeper. Her moans were making him feel tight all over, as though the sound of her were sucking at him. Each roll of her hips drove them higher; demanding more and more of his passion, his breath, his thoughts, until he had nothing left to give but his nightmares.

He sighed almost giddily, as the scent of blood and the taste of steel were washed away in the river of their sweat. Pressing his face into her hair, he opened his eyes. The light was dazzling as it shone through the glass. The cut patterns in the door sending prisms skittering over their meeting skin. Stronger rays gilding her locks a honey shot brown. Lost momentarily in memories of another place, his fingers dug into her hips, driving them down harder into his. Their movements chased away the last of the darkness with the liquid sunshine she sent thrumming through his body.

Her moans changed pitch, becoming a keen of pleasure that made his soul sing in happiness. He'd never felt younger and more alive than in this moment. He glanced down at the vast expanse of skin before him and saw it. His mark, left over many mornings such as this, purple as grapes on the vine. Her keening reached a fevered pitch, as he felt his skin burn in the light of a new day. Tilting his head down, he claimed what was so rightfully his. She shuddered in his arms as his teeth found purchase in soft flesh. He muscles clamped around him, wringing out his release, causing sparks to explode behind his eyes. Light screamed through his veins like flash fire and he felt reborn, like a phoenix of legend.

Reformed from the ashes of his dark desires, a new man.

--

Dizzy in the aftermath of his climax, he lays back, drawing her with him to lie propped against the pillows. She stays sprawled limply across his chest, only his arms keeping her on her perch. A glance down confirms his reality. With the sun past the horizon, the hair tumbling down ivory skin is black, not brown. He knows that even after all this time he should probably feel shame or anger, if only at himself, for this transgression on the sanctity of Adora's memory. But in the light of the morning sun he can't seem to find yesterday's bitterness. As if his old life and his new are meeting in a grudging truce.

Today his world is filled with only confusion. Why is she still here? She's normally fled from the room before the morning's gilded light wanes, as if to leave him with the invocation of Adora instead of herself. Why did she stay?

"DG?" His voice is so rusty that it nearly cracks on the single syllable.

Her head comes up, eyes wide with emotion.

With fear, her fear for him and perhaps of the darkness she can see in him.

He can nearly taste it in her expression. He runs his finger through her hair to sooth her, trying to ease the haunted look that she's taken on. He feels himself smile as the planes of her face ease at his touch. Looking down he realizes that she's squirmed closer; maybe she's not so afraid of him after all? Her smile feels like a second dawn and he knows she'll be alright, as alright as she's slowly teaching him to make himself. With about a second of warning she captures his lips with her own. His eyes drift closed at the touch, somehow more intimate than the ones they've been sharing for months, and for a moment nothing else registers. When he feels the pressure lift from his frame he doesn't fight it, he just waits. The sound of a silk dressing gown slithering over bare flesh draws no response from him either. He stirs when he hears the door creak open and opens his eyes to the slap of bare feet in the hall, just in time to see the portal swing shut. Another pattern shattered, he's never seen her leave before.

Still smiling he stretches and turns onto his side, hauling himself out of bed and towards the bathtub. He glances down out of habit, but he isn't shocked at all to see his gun gone.

Shaking his head as he walks, he makes a mental note to retrieve his weapon from the Princess's room tomorrow. He won't need it tonight.