Val and Ravus-centric. I love Ravus. Second-person, Ravus' POV, sort of. It's my first Holly Black/Tithe fic, and another one's in the works. This is one of those stories that you think up in bed. XD

It was a dark and stormy night. Rain poured down in sheets, in buckets, like cats and dogs, whatever, on the streets and buildings of New York. Thunder roared and lightning split the sky, though you wouldn't know.

You wished you could go outside and stand in the rain, but it would probably be ruined by the smell of iron and the taste of pollution in it. The thoughts saddens you, but it's nothing new.

You sit in your home, in bed, warm, dry and comfortable, watching her sleep.

As you watch her breathe, you marvel at the power she has over you. You contemplate the things that make you love her. Her kindness, her courage, her determination. Then you consider the things that attract you to her. The softness of her hair, which now brushed her shoulders. The smell of soap on her skin. Little things.

Even though the attraction between you two is so strong, you haven't had sex yet. You quail from the thought. Sitting as you are in your bed, you consider your sharp nails, think about your over-large canines. If the throes of passion are the same as those of rage, you could easily hurt her. And you could never hurt her.

Not after all the pain she's gone through for you.

Still, with so many things left undone, every touch seems sensual, every movement erotic. And in that sense, you hold as much power over her as she does you.

Reaching out hesitantly under the blankets, you caress her stomach gently. Her breath catches; her pulse quickens; her back arches. You reach up and touch her neck. She sighs, but doesn't relax. You start to lean forward, but catch yourself. Drawing your hand away, she sighs again and relaxes.

Remarkable, you think vaguely. Someone that's like you do actually has such control over someone that's like her.

Oh, she's quite lovely. Petite and pale, with short ginger hair and bright green eyes. But it's something more than that, something you just can't quite place.

She moves, her arm flung out from underneath the blankets. You spare it a glance, then double-take.

Catching her arm in your long-fingered hand, you look at the inside it in shock. How had you never seen this? Oh, you'd known that she had, at one time, been as bad as Dave, as Lolli, but you'd never noticed this.

Her arm is speckled horribly with black; like someone had taken a pen and prodded her with it over and over again. You marvel at just how much of that stuff a child like her can inject into herself. Then you think of Dave and shudder.

For a moment, you feel disgusted. You drop her arm, staring at her in a kind of sickened wonder. How could someone do this to their own body, having seen the consequences, having so obviously been doing harm?

Disgust is quickly followed by gratitude and relief, when you, again, think of Dave and his blackened mouth and insanity. All you can think for a moment, as you reach over and, again, take her hand is Thank god it wasn't her. Thank goodness.

Ah, thinking of what was, unknown to you, called Never takes you back. Back to days of silence and solitude, only occasionally broken by Luis.

And then, that solitude being shattered. Coming home to see two women in your home, one rifling through your things.

You were angry, certainly, but perhaps more frightened than anything. What did this mean? This intrusion? The little thief and the little knight, you muse, remembering the woman next to you bargaining for the thief's life. Holding Tamson's sword high. You chuckled reminiscently. Remarkable. Admittedly, that's when you became smitten. At that point, she was like a child pretending to be fierce; more endearing than ferocious.

She came back, of course. First by force, but then by choice. In hindsight, it was obvious that she'd felt the same way about you. She watched you closely, listened to you, blushed when you touched her. Sometimes, you can be remarkably stupid.

One memory led to another, and soon you're remembering your first kiss with her. The whirlwind of feelings over it, both during and after.

And Mabry's appearance.

You squeeze her hand to hard and she murmurs. You loosen your grip on her small hand and stroke it with your thumb soothingly. She unconsciously threads her fingers with yours, smiling in her sleep.

How terrible you acted towards her, on the words and whim of one who so obviously hated you. It wasn't a lie, what she said, but the hurt on the little knight's face was obvious. And it was that look that haunted you.

Had you made a mistake? Did she truly love you? What had you done.

Absorbed in these thoughts as you had been, Mabry's attack caught you completely by surprise.

As did the appearance of Luis, and her. She seemed so desperate, so heart-broken when you heard her first speak, that somehow you knew you'd made a mistake. That you shouldn't have taken Mabry's words at face-value.

You sigh, remembering your little knight's stroke of genius. And waking up to her face.

She moves. She wakes.

She sits up, regarding you sleepily. She asks if you're alright. You answer readily that you're fine. She asks wearily what the time is; even as she asks, she reaches for her watch on the nightstand.

You watch her. To you, she is beautiful. The soft candle-light playing on her hair, in her eyes, on her skin. You know that you have a broader thought of beauty than most, that one wouldn't normally think of a tired woman with messy hair and no makeup to be gorgeous, but to you, she is breath-taking.

She looks at you with irritation, an expression so adorable that you smile at her. She informs you of the time; 4:30 a.m. You make up some lame excuse about trolls and fae needing less sleep, even as you yawn.

She smiles, and again you feel a sharp pang in your heart. She reaches over and shoves you down. You both laugh, and your eyes meet. The laughter dies and, unable to stop yourself, you reach up and kiss her.

Your hand snakes up and cups her neck, holding her down. Her hands slide over your chest, up to your shoulders.

The candle burns out and darkness descends.