Spoilers: Set around the first couple of episodes of season 2 (Lucy, Box Tunnel 20, etc. didn't happen).

AN: As everybody else, I need to fix things through fanfiction. I've been reading amazing stories about the after of s03e08. Because so many have already written those scenarios so beautifully I want to go in another direction. And because I think it's unfair for them to have to wait for their afterlife to be properly together.

This will take a while to be completed. I don't know yet how many chapters but I wanted to put this out before I lost the courage. Please bear with me and take into account that English is my second language.

For those afraid of sleeping (or shall I say, for those afraid of dreaming) the absolutely worse was the moment right before coming out of deep sleep when the vertigo of reality morphs with that of the dream, everything and nothing possible at once. As he was coming back from slumber he noticed the lack of dreams, or nightmares. Waking up had never been a peaceful trance for him, maybe years before his recruitment, but definitely not after, at least not since he had been clean.

This realization petrified Mitchell.

He stopped himself from opening his eyes, and tried to avoid the habitual non-needed breath. He remembered the horrible thirst the prior night: it had been steadily growing in the past weeks as his hands would shake as they tried to light up a fag.

And last night had been horrid, the stench from the ambulance when he was leaving work: a true carnage, one not caused by his kind for a change. A train had derailed and the smell of blood was everywhere as he left the hospital.

He had managed to get close to home, repeating mentally the steps left until he could get inside and lock the door and throw away the key "Just three more blocks, just turn the corner, just get to the door" but then at turning the corner he had been welcomed by a block party on that unusual warm night. His head pounded by the thundering flow in their rich blue veins. He had come this far to achieve humanity; he was truly someone else's toy, he thought with disdain.

At least George wouldn't be there to see it happen, he was supposed to spend the night at Nina's. And Annie had taken to wander the streets at night. With some luck she'd be away as well.

Three steps more and maybe he'd make it. Someone was coming to him; it was that heavy man from around the corner. He panicked and sprinted the last two steps. A hand had managed to fish for the key, but the tremors would never let it reach the slot. Everything was lost. He could feel his fangs descend and his eyes darken with the proverbial red. "Oh God forgive me" he thought, and as he was about to turn the door opened and Annie's image broke the spell.

He was inside now. She must have helped, but right now he couldn't remember the actions. Her face was contorted with worry and he thought for a moment that she was shaking him, trying to get him to snap out of it. He looked at his hands and noticed it wasn't her, but him; his hands still shook and he crumbled to the floor taking her down.

Outside the blood kept calling with its siren's song.

"Lock me away! Please! Don't let me do this!"

She had been on her way out, had decided at the last minute to use the door. She had always liked street fairs, the mess of the crowds made her forget she couldn't be seen, she'd feel alive again she thought, sometimes she liked to pretend. She had opened the door and he was there, and his eyes had yelled silently at her.

He didn't need to plead. She took him upstairs as well as she could and locked the door without letting go of him. She doubted she'd be able to do much to stop him if he finally gave up to the lust of the blood. She could feel his fear flowing through the tips of the fingers out the gloves coursing through her. It was so strong that she wondered if her eyes had darkened as well. She let go with one hand and he clamped his orphaned one on her arm, afraid to drown without her support. But her hand had just travelled up to his cheek. She placed the full palm on his face and tried to convey whatever peace she had left. Soon another hand followed and she wrapped herself around the trembling vampire.

That had been his last conscious thought. Or at least that had been the last thing he could remember right now with his eyes tightly shut afraid to face what he had done.

At last he had breathed in, sure to be greeted by the rust in the air of his surely unforgivable deed. But the air was clean of the evil he feared. He was still in his room and thank God the demon in his flesh had been tamed. He dared open an eye and the dim light from the window hurt his sensitive sight. He turned away and tried once more.

She was lying on his bed facing away, and for the first time she looked truly dead to him. He would have howled if he didn't know better. She was there, and gone was the eternal grey. In the twilight of the early hours, among the grey of the cold shadows, the nude skin of her back was a warm caramel.

At last the familiar stab of his crimes hollowed him. Oh he had indeed done the unthinkable! Just not what he had feared at first. He may not had spilled blood the prior night but it was evident he had once again sullen what was pure and good.

She remained motionless and silent on his bed.

She had not fallen asleep. She hadn't been able since falling down the stairs (no, not fallen, but pushed.) If she had to be truthful she'd say that she hadn't tried to sleep because of the fear of what waking up to her new reality would be like. No, she had not fallen asleep after the act, but she had gone somewhere because time had passed without her knowledge. At university she had read a poem that likened climax to "getting inside God's mouth", she couldn't remember the poet nor the rest, but she was sure something alike had happened, for she had disappeared from this earth for a few moments or a few hours.

Something had just pulled her from her trance. The soft movement of the mattress beneath her, which let her know, he was awake. She felt him sit up. Soon they'd have to talk but she couldn't remember words right then.

The soft breeze made her aware of her nakedness. She felt at once drunk with the almost forgotten feeling of the bareness of her skin and mortified at the reminder that he was looking at her as vulnerable as she would ever be.

He couldn't form words. He looked at her ashamed and fearful to see her face. What could be worse?

'Please don't let her be tainted by me… Please don't let her eyes be swollen with sorrow and regret… Please don't let her be hollow… Please don't let her finally be truly dead and ghostly and devoid of the life she had stubbornly refused to give up on after her death…' he pleaded and begged to someone or something he wasn't completely sure existed or would listen to him.

The images of what had transpired slowly flowed to both of them. The revelation she had about the power of her touch: if his demons could pour out of him to her, she could as well pour herself back into him. The idea clicked mad and magical all the same to her.

Annie had put her forehead on his and her hands on his neck, and flushed her body to his, and concentrated. And she sang to him with her skin. Little by little the fire was being conquered but it wasn't enough, she rubbed his face with her cheek, she placed small kisses on his jaw, and his ears, and inhaled his hair. And her nose traced soft patterns on his stubble, and all throughout his eyes remained open and frightened on her. Before they knew it, the roles had reversed: and he was but a child scared to the bone of the dark and she was as old as the Earth.

The need for contact grew as his eyes learned to trust her, still dark, still monster-like. Her lips had reached the corner of his mouth and his now bare fingers tried to dig into the flesh of the small of her back. She peeled the layers off of him to garner more area for their skins to touch, for her calmness to reach him. Her soft full lips soon run out for places to kiss on his face but his own lips.

The contact of their mouths didn't faze her; it was part of the healing ritual she was performing, making it up as she went. She had been busy focusing her energy to wonder why the cage of the clothing she died in was so easily shed. It would be many hours later that she would wonder about it, and how natural it all had been. Never before had she so easily stripped for someone else: lovers, doctors and locker-room mates alike. It had always been awkward and clumsy leaving her cheeks with a deep burning red.

Once bare she had covered him with herself, embraced the monster with her arms and her legs. Like a once in a lifetime blooming flower she opened and swallowed him whole to keep safe. She saw a new fear in his eyes and reassured him with her own. "It's okay" her mouth hummed on his. He felt blind in the dark despite his heightened senses.

A blind man trying to find his way home.

She felt him enter her. He may have been the skilled century-old predator but right then and there it was she, with her very brief experience in comparison, who held the lead. Surely Mitchell knew how to seduce and touch a woman, even if just for the reward of her blood, but right then with her, he was but a nearly dead man finding water to calm his thirst.

The decision to give herself whole had been easy. She felt needed with an urgency she never felt before, and just like her tea, she gave her body and soul generously without so much of a second thought.

Gone was her stoicism during sex, she moved against him as an equal, and she was vocal like she had never permitted herself to be. She felt the wave come as his fangs traced circles on the skin of her neck and feeling the need to let him merge with her even more she whispered permission in his ear just like a substitute mother that wouldn't deny her breast to a crying infant to suckle and self-soothe sadly knowing that no life liquid would flow out.

Some need at last was appeased, and his fangs retracted and he lifted his head to look at her. When the wave finally broke for both her eyes didn't close as they normally did. She rode that wave unapologetically looking into his human eyes equally full of wonder and dread.

Finally both sets of eyes had closed. He let her peace guide him to slumber and she went into her trance.

His chest at last let him exhale the relief of the massacre avoided. She had let all of his darkness take her instead. He feared the repercussions, he feared having killed her resilience and lovely naiveté but he was truly grateful for the sacrifice she had performed. For the gift she had given him: to be able to retain his soul.

"Could… You turn around please?" She had finally said.

He was relieved to hear her speak and saddened by what he interpreted as her shame.

"Sure." He replied "Annie… I'm… Jesus…" He fumbled for words.

"It's okay" she interrupted, not ready to go there just yet. "I just need to put on my clothes."

The sweetness of her innocence (thank God it was still there) made his non-beating heart bleed. It was so much like Annie to ask him to turn around to cover her nudity, after what he had seen.

After where he had been.

The images and the sensations forever seared into the most inner tenderness in his chest.

And so, like Eve and Adam before them they covered their bodies in silence with the sadness of knowing they were just cast out of Paradise.

With his pants on and nothing more, and only once he deemed it was enough time for her, he stood and turned around. Her tank top and leggings were on and she was slipping the grey knitted boots back on.

"Listen… I'm so…" He started to say.

"Don't mention it." She said standing up and circling the bed until she was at a safe distance.

"What you did… I would have… If not…" He tried once more, needing her to know that she had saved him and save them all.

"I know. Don't beat yourself up for this."

She knew him too well.

"It's just…"

"Shhh." She silenced him with her finger on his lips.

They both heard the door slam and George's happy steps on the stairs.

"That's George, I better go."

"Thank you" He said.

And without thinking she replied:

"Any time" and cringed when she noticed her choice of words. She disappeared embarrassed for the implication. And he smiled at the normalcy of her blunder.

"That's my Annie alright." He thought.