Mythic floats down from the sky, angling toward a now-familiar house. The beautiful shape of the Aztec wing serpent dips and glides gracefully. Mythic's snake eyes begin to look for where he was supposed to enter the building.

Light and a flash of white from the front of the house catches his eye. One of the windows is open, and the curtains dance in the night breeze.

Mythic hovers low enough to look into the room; Carver huddles in a comforter on her bed. She looks unkempt, like she hasn't brushed her hair, but it doesn't detract from her innocent beauty. She looks lonely and miserable sitting on her bed.

*  *  *

The... window? Oh, right; Amped. He must be asleep. Alright, better get inside before the neighbors freak out. Hey, wait... oh no, she is looking bad. Yea, he'd really better get inside; she really hasn't left the room. The serpent slips in through the open window, its body already thickening up in the process, and Harold's feet lightly touch down onto the floor. God, this might be worse than he thought...

No, help her. She needs someone and he's the one she asked. First quietly sliding the window shut, Harold sits down on the bed to face Carver, flicking his shoes off so he doesn't soil the comforter and sheets. What to do? What can he do? Just be here... she needs to at least have someone close. He reaches out to touch where - he thinks - her hand is hiding under the comforter and gives Carver a warm smile, "Sorry it took me so long."

*  *  *

Carver doesn't really look at him; instead she curls forward and rests her head against his chest. "Hi," she says after a moment.

Then her shoulders start to shake and she whispers, "Thank god you're here. I don't have to be strong for you; I can just be me." And Mythic realizes that she's crying.

*  *  *

Harold shifts so he's fully on the bed and wraps his arms around Carver as she pushes into him. His heart jumps a bit and the feeling of her being so close, but nearly as much as it would have before... she feels so fragile, so vulnerable. "It's alright," he says softly, one hand slowly moving back and forth over her in a comforting way, "Let it out." Don't squeeze her too hard, just let her know she's in safe arms.

Hopefully Amped won't hear, she needs her privacy... somehow, he still can't believe she's opening up this much to him. Tucking Carver's head under his chin, Harold keeps his voice as soft and comforting as he can, "Do you still want to talk about it?"

*  *  *

At first, she just shakes her head and cries. Gradually, she calms down and begins to talk. Some of what she tells him, Mythic already knew. Other information is new.

Her story starts with a frightened artist stumbling upon a killer; this was before her own killer had found its why out of her. And he had missed, hurting a child. Carver laughs weakly when she talks about slapping Owen; about the look on his face and her angry words.

The story moves to Chicago, and so does he. He follows her, trying to figure out why she didn't kill him. He also wants her to punish him, but he doesn't realize that. And when she refuses, he leaves.

And then that heady day in the backyard; the sense of connection growing to the point that an even deeper connection had to be made. And just as it seemed that she had found something, it had been taken away by jealous men.

Her arms have curled around him, clinging to him like she'll never let go.

*  *  *

Harold says almost nothing while she tells her story, being a complete listener and speaking only to help her continue. It's heartbreaking... no wonder she wasn't ready, what she felt for Owen was waiting in her... don't fret, she's got to be feeling horrible pain right now. She is feeling horrible pain, no one should feel that pain... help her remember this isn't the end of everything. "It's okay," he whispers to her from the top of her head, "I'm not going anywhere... no one else is going anywhere..." And he isn't.

*  *  *

...not going anywhere... Those thoughts ring in her head, chasing themselves. She opened up to Owen - and he was taken from her. Mythic says he's not going anywhere...

She needs something stable. Even her killer feels cast adrift, lost and alone. He says he's not going anywhere...

She tips her head back to look at him. He is watching, waiting, his whole expression and body language radiating concern and affection. He says he's not going anywhere...

His lips taste of wilderness and fire and Carver whimpers at the sheer relief of being touched again. She kisses him firmly, passionate, even as a small part of her is going on about what a bad idea this is.

He's not going anywhere.

*  *  *

Blood rushes through his body, driven by his now pounding heart, and Harold instinctively returns Carver's kiss. He's completely off guard, lost in her sweet tasting and firm yet forgiving lips and tongue as they dance with his own. He's wanted this, the passion and intensity with her... but, is that what it is? It could just be...

His thought dispelled by her quiet whimper as their lips part for a beat and join again. God, he never knew it could feel this good, her lips and shuddering body in his arms. But she's hurt, if anything she's in worse shape than ever.... he's got to be sure... oh God, her tongue alone is pushing every thought from his mind... can't be a band aid...

"Carv..." he manages to say before she reaches for him again. He could just shut up, she won't let him talk... Words keep try to get out from his mouth but she keeps drinking from him with an unquenchable thirst, "I... sho... you..." She feels so wonderful in his arms and she tastes so incredible, even if she might be forbidden fruit.

Finally, Harold manages to tilt his head enough to press his forehead against hers, barely holding back the mounting passion. He... he can feel her hot breath on his lips and hers are millimeters away and hungry for more. Just be sure, and then he can be with her... Words struggle to form in his mind, "Is this... something more..." The words won't line up in his mind, he can only hope she understands, and he sits in the brink of losing himself completely in her.

*  *  *

Words. They break through Carver's madness, restoring a touch of sanity. Harold's pressed against her and she wonders how she ever thought him a geek; she can feel the muscles in his back as she runs her hands over skin. And that's when she realizes that she's slid her hand under his shirt.

Wait, this is Harry! It's not some faceless body who Carver doesn't care about, this is her friend, her friend who came here to help her. And she's trying to get something from him that isn't fair to him, isn't fair to her, and isn't fair what they could have in the future.

"Harry," Carver whispers, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this. I'm hurt and confused and you're warm and here and supportive. I shouldn't..."

He looks a little hurt and Carver wants to kick herself. "It's not that I don't want you," she says firmly, "it's that... all of this... it's just... I don't want to hurt you. And I don't know what I'm doing."

She slides her face down to his neck, pressing it there. She couldn't let go of him, but she can and will stop kissing him.

His skin smells so good...

*  *  *

It... hurts? Feels good? She's stopping and not thinking, but it's for the right reasons, good reasons that means there's something more... right? God, what should he do? Don't run, don't freak out, don't let his hand keep wandering to places it shouldn't go - despite how wonderful it could be - just take it one step at a time... he feels almost drunk with her being so close...

One of Harold's hands has managed to nestle into the hair at the base of Carver's neck and he slides the other to her side, trying to return the embrace without crossing that blurry line. She's right, he's right, and they both know it and said it. Why can't this be easy? Why can't he just only want something platonic right now? Why can't they both be stable so they can give into passion right now? He turns his head just enough so her temple is against his cheek and her ear is close enough to his lips he doesn't have to raise his voice - so Amped doesn't hear... yea, Amped... - "No, it's alright... I want something right with us, something enduring, it's not the right time..." God, her hair, he could just drown in it, and that scent... He sighs softly, trying to push away the urges, "There's never going to be a perfect time..."

*  *  *

She's half-hearing what he's saying; most of her attention is drawn to the soft scent of blood and skin. No, no, she thinks, even as her willpower breaks and she opens her mouth.

She draws in some of his skin, feeling the male texture of it, the taste of Harry flooding her mouth. And if this was just the taste of his skin, how much better would his blood be? Her teeth start to close...

Carver forces her self to let go of his skin as she whimpers, "No, no. Harry, I have to move, please let me turn around..." She's already wiggling, and she doesn't stop until her back is to him, until she's still wrapped in his arms but her hands and teeth are safely away from him.

"Don't want to hurt you," she whispers as she grabs the arms that hold her. It feels good to be held and she snuggles closer to Harry, feeling better for the first time since yesterday.

*  *  *

Whatever he was saying is lost as her lips and teeth feel like fire against his neck, sending an involuntary shiver of pleasure down his spine. Oh God, if this is what she wants he could never say no...

Wait, she's moving. Did he do something wrong? Harold relaxes his arms to help Carver move more easily and he wraps them back around her once she's done. What does she mean? Is it she really doesn't want anything like that together? Just be with her, reassure her... be what she needs, not what his urges need.

Harold leans into the snuggle with Carver and rests the side of his head against the back of hers, "Just don't leave me... I think that's the only way you could hurt me now..."

*  *  *

"Leave you?" Carver whispers. "You're comforting me, remember?" Her hands stroke his arms, playing with the light layer of hair. He really is well built, with firm muscles and strong limbs. Why did she ever think of him as a geek?

Turning her head so that she can look at Mythic, Carver murmurs, "Thanks again for coming. Having you here really helps." She takes one of his hands and moves it so that his fist is under her chin and his elbow is over her navel. She curls a little tighter around that arm, holding it to her chest like a shield. After a moment, she kisses a knuckle. "I didn't pull you away from anything important, did I?"

*  *  *

This feels so natural, so comfortable, so lovely... where is the line drawn between platonic affection and actual desire and attraction? Well, whatever this is, he likes it. She's hurt - and that hurts him too - but if just feels so right being wrapped up with her.

Stop it, she's talking to him. Harold puts his free hand on Carver's shoulder, absently rubbing it while he speaks, "Not really... I just got really pissed at work and told some people off..." He pauses for a beat, the hand still absently moving back and forth, "I don't mind coming here... I really like coming here... I can stay if you want... and if it's a matter of need I wouldn't even hesitate..."

*  *  *

Carver is silent for a while before she says, "The people they told off - what did they do?" She laughs and adds, "That seems so alien to me, since I don't have a job or co-workers."

Lying this way is safe, but she wishes she could face him. She shifts slightly so that she can see him better.

His glasses are still on. "Here, you don't need these," she murmurs reaching up and carefully sliding them off. She leans over him to place the glasses on the night stand. She starts to resituate herself, but she stops and looks very serious as she asks, "Harry, I'd like to lie the other way, but I don't want to hurt you. Can you be mindful of me, and don't let me get carried away?"

*  *  *

Heh, she wants to know. She probably didn't even expect him to have it in him to do that. Harold chuckles along with Carver, the sound of it slightly muffled by her hair, "Slamazon was angry that she was going to lose to me in a scripted fight... so I tossed her a few dozen feet while looking like this and called it a day." Best not to remind her about the Owen thing, not right now. He smiles and it carries through his voice, "I did it without becoming a monster or getting ruled by another form... I think I did it right for once."

Oops, his glasses, he forgot about those... Wow, she even looks beautiful all ruffled up on the bed with the dim light of the lamp. Stop it, pay attention to her words. Harold nods silently and helps Carver turn around to face him. What is she worried about? Can't be anything dangerous, who would be so... well, okay, maybe she's got a good reason. He keeps his head on the same level as hers and their noses practically touch, "Just tell me where I should stop you and I promise I will."

*  *  *

God, she knows that this is bad; she's trying to remember that he's her friend, that they have issues to work out before they can do anything together, but having him here, right now, so close... This is one of the worst ideas I've ever had, she thinks as she stares into blue eyes. But she had needed him...

"Stop me from biting or cutting you," Carver murmurs, not moving away from him. "Don't let me drink your blood."

*  *  *

Biting or cutting? Oh no, she's worried about that again... This might be bad, it might be the wrong kind of sign. Harold's voice remains just above a whisper and he slow blinks, a reflection of their intimacy, "Sure, but..." God, how to say it right. His eyes don't leave Carver's and his soft voice carries away on its own, "I don't know where you're going, but I don't want to be a bad influence... I want what's good for you, to see it through with you... I want you..."

*  *  *

"I want you..."

Carver moans and kisses Harry again. This is what she needs - to hear and receive affection, to have someone. And then she realizes that is the problem - is she wanting Harry or just wanting sex?

Almost immediately, she pulls back, using her arms to push away. "I can't do this to you, Harry," she says. "You're being supportive and wonderful, but I need more than you can or should be asked to give. Do you understand?"

She barely makes sense to herself, so she tries again, "We're not ready for a relationship, but part of me needs comfort in the form of sex very much. Is that something that you could do? Be with me here, tonight, and just be a friend tomorrow? Honestly, Harry, because this is important."

*  *  *

The kissing could go on forever and the sound of her... oh God, how could anyone resist this? They make such a deal out of it in movies and books, but in the moment... he feels lost in a raging river and he never wants to swim free. But there's a price to this. It might only be a taste of the future or it might be a one time chance at the expense of the future. But she needs this, she's so hurt and she needs it to heal... right? Harold purses his lips in thought for a beat and his voice slips to a whisper, "Tell me you want something more when the time is right. Tell me there's some kind of connection between us."

Her eyes look so brilliant, so alive... so hard not to lose himself right now... "I don't know how I'll feel then," Carver murmurs, lightly placing a hand on his cheek, "But right now, yes, I'll want something more later."

Thought clouds his face for a few beats, words and thoughts swirling in his head. He couldn't expect more, no one could. God, who was he kidding...? A soft smile pops on Harold's face and he touches Carver's hand, "Alright... then I'm yours." He leans forward to kiss her passionately, putting his whole focus and attention on being hers...  

*  *  *

Carver is frozen at this unexpected gift; then she throws herself into it with as much passion as he has. She meets his kiss enthusiastically, slipping one hand up into his short hair. The other hand slides down his back to cup his backside, finally feeling what Rene had alluded to. Carver arches her back as she pulls Harry toward her. Their bodies contact at the most sensitive of spots and Carvers sees sparkles of light. She twists and pulls him on top of her, hooking one leg around him. “Harry,” she moans as her fingers tenderly knot up in his hair.

For a moment, she simply kisses him, enjoying his lips and enthusiasm. But her passion builds quickly and her hands pull his head back sharply, baring his neck. Part of her starts to scream in denial, but Carver doesn’t care; Harry said he was hers, and she’s taking him at his word.

She chooses to cut low, aiming away from the vessels and organs of the throat. Her thumb claw cuts as lightly as she can and is rewarded with the warm, fresh blood. It falls in a hot rain on her; almost as an instinctive thought, she snaps her Eufiber out of the way. The blood falls on her bared skin, causing a tingle wherever it lands. She tips her head to catch it in her mouth, smiling like a child doing the same in the rain. It is hot, warm and alive in her mouth; it tastes of Harry and life.

The falling rain isn’t enough; Carver pulls Harry down so that she can put her mouth to the wound. Now that she doesn’t have to hold him up, she slips her hand back down his back and puts his hand up his shirt again, feeling his warm, warm skin.

This is perfect… he’s perfect… Why did she make herself wait for this? Why was she so blind to him earlier?