Saints - Take 3

Peyton's fingers ran lightly over the cool, metal clasp holding the stretchy bandage securely intact over her hand and around her wrist. "I've never broken anything before." She admitted wistfully. Sure, she'd sprained several things, torn ligaments, and dislocated joints from various shenanigans over the years, but never had she done any significant damage to herself in a state of bitterness.

She crossed her legs as she awkwardly scooted further back onto his large, mahogany desk in an attempt to make herself more comfortable. With only one hand to use for support, it took quite a bit of wiggling on her part, but she was eventually found a comfortable enough position. This one-handed thing was going to be interesting..

Peyton looked up as Abbadon inquired what had piqued her interest during his absence. Shrugging her shoulders lightly, she began to go over the list of things she had snooped through while Abbadon was departed. It wasn't exactly as if she could freely discuss how wary she was of his ability to tell the truth, and that she was so caught up in it that she tore the entire study apart trying to find some reason to book the next flight to Chicago.

"I looked through most of your books. I found a few that interested me, but I was too wound up from being in the home alone to sit down and do more than stare blankly at the pages. After rereading the same material over several times, I gave up and decided to draw Lucinda."

Granted, it was the truth, but Peyton was careful to leave out the part where she suspected him of being someone other than who he depicted himself as. "I was also looking for the laundry room, practically all of my clothing is dirty, but all I found was a room coated in about an inch of dust. It was quite marvellous really. Fascin-"

Peyton had absentmindedly reached down to play with the silver anklet she constantly wore, only to find the familiar sensation of cold metal was not pressing against her skin. She jerked the leg of her jeans up to find it missing, and no signs of its usual indentions left on her leg. "Oh god. My anklet's gone."

"Really?" Abbadon lifted an eyebrow in surprise. The girl had the temper of a fighting Irishman and the balance of a drunk bear, to hear she had never broken anything was news. "It stops hurting after about a week, just a little sore after that - stiff when you start to use it again." He wouldn't exactly say that was based on an intimate knowledge of healing bones - while he had broken quite a few his body patch things up fairly quickly.

He noticed where several books had not been placed back squarely where they were left, dust marks not matching up. After living alone for so many years it was easy to pick up on the smallest of changes in a room. He enjoyed Peyton's interest in history though, even if she could be a bit snoopy - it made for a fun cat and mouse game.

Abbadoned listened to Peyton start about the room she had uncovered. It was one that he was certain he had left locked up, but he supposed he couldn't rely on a door knob to hold it's place for a century and a half. The half inch of dust was all it took for him to pick out which one it was. It was Evelyn's room when he could persuade her to spend the night, her friend usually accompanying her as she felt it was improper to stay with her betrothed alone. She had chosen it for it's view of the gardens out one window and the crops out the other, though now it just looked over the grassy stretch between the home and swamp. He had never explored the room much even in Eveyln's life - it was her space and she preferred he stayed out of it, after her death the maids covered the furniture and drew the curtains and no one had been in it since.

"It was a guest room, Evelyn stayed in it when she visited her fiance." He wouldn't object, he gave her free run of the home - it wasn't exactly something he could be angry over but it didn't change the heavy heart he felt weighted down with as he reminisced. "It was locked up shortly after her death, I think you're the first one to venture in since, I'm surprised you were able to get in there." Abbadon tried to muster up some sort of hint of the excitement his voice usually held when he talked about history, but it wasn't there - it never was when it came to that subject.

"It has to be in the house, it probably fell off in my bedroom." Abbadon chirped as he watched Peyton's hand rub over her ankle, frantically searching for the thin band that had left a faint tanline around her ankle. It was a welcomed subject change.

While it was rare for her to cut off or ignore Abbadon for any reason, Peyton's mind began reeling with all of the areas she could have lost the treasured bit of jewelry. She couldn't forget how many hours she spent trekking the grounds of the plantation with Abbadon, climbing onto him as various wildlife startled her, and dancing with him in the rain with him.

While they had been fond memories, it was very likely she lost the anklet in the tall grasses or loose and rotting wooden boards while her virgin eyes scouted the area for the first time. Her tour and guide were excellent, but she would likely never forgive herself for losing the one momento that meant the most to her.

"I-I have to find it." Peyton's eyes grew wide, her voice frantic as she hopped down from the well polished desk and began retracing her steps through the room, beginning her search in a room she spent scouring for several hours that evening. Perhaps the clasp came loose and slipped off of her ankle one of the many times she rose and sat on the floor while going through Abbadon's extensive book collection dating back to 1802.

She anxiously began biting her nails as she crept along the bottom edge of the bookshelves lining the walls. Her gaze was careful, meticulous as she slowly snaked around the area. Having no such luck, Peyton stepped into the hallway, gazing over the floorboards with the same scrutiny as she had used in his study. There was no sign of the flashy metal band that always adorned her ankle.

It wasn't an expensive bit of jewelry in the least, but rather something that held unsurpassable sentimental value to her. Peyton tread lightly up the stairs, silently thanking the builder of the property for creating such a sturdy home to begin with. All she needed was one more board to bow under her feet and offer the smallest of openings for the anklet to pass through.

She began growing more agitated as she fumbled with the door handles to Abbadon's room, but found little luck doing so single-handedly. Peyton allowed him to wiggle the door open with ease, knowing it was a very familiar pattern to him. She cast him a grateful look as he too began searching the premises.

Abbadon looked carefully along the floors of the study for the anklet, hoping to catch a glimpse of the silver glimmering from the light. He had no more luck than Peyton even though the metal would practically bounce off the dark oriental rug that covered the floor.

He had noticed the anklet before, it was nothing fancy - just a simple silver band that dangled a bit from where it was clasped. The thought to ask about the sentimental value of it had never crossed his mind, but he assumed it must of been important is she was so distraught over loosing it.

The dark wood of the hallway gave no further clues to where the anklet may of gone, he flicked the lights on and off as he stepped into each room that Peyton had been in looking for any sparkle to bounce up.

"I'll tell Ms. Abbott and the groundskeeper to keep an eye for it. She'll find it if it's in the house, We didn't go out very far into the grass - it'd catch when the groundskeeper mows, and if it fell off near the slave quarters it'll be easy to find." Abbadon said apologetically as he gave up hope of finding the bracelet in the mean time, even though Peyton seemed more valiant in her efforts.

Peyton sighed quietly as she too, had begun to lose hope of finding the delicate piece of jewelry she had worn religiously over the past seven years. She kept it in wonderful shape, fixing a link if ever one would break, cleaning it often to keep it from tarnishing. Quite frankly, it was a surprise to even her that it had never been earnestly lost since the time she had been given it. Of course on occasion it would come unclasped and she would find it in the bed with her upon waking the next morning, but never up in the air like this.

The thought of it catching in a mower as the groundskeeper cut the grass made her feel sickly, so she tried to place her faith in Ms.Abbott instead. Peyton was quite fond of the older woman, she was a quick wit and charmer. With run of the house for so long, she seemed to know just as much about the home as Abbadon himself, which made placing Peyton's faith in the woman that much easier.

"My grandfather gave that anklet to me. It's important to me that I find it." Peyton finally murmured, offering a bit of insight as to why she had spun into a frenzied mess over such an invaluable piece. Had it not been for the strong bond she had maintained with him, it would have been very easily replaced by a trip to nearly any store. Instead, it was the last gift she had received from the ailing man who played the role of her father throughout most of her life.

Groaning, Peyton leaned face first against the high risen bed that Abbadon fell into every night. She didn't have use of both of her hands to climb onto it, and she certainly wasn't about to ask him to pick her up. Really, she wasn't so sure she should even be lingering in the room where they had just slept in, and with one another, so soon after she had found him covered in another woman's lipstick.

She tried rationalizing that she had only entered it because of her missing anklet, but really she wanted nothing more for him to hold her, to comfort her, and tell her that the situation involving Abbadon, Stella, and herself would pan out. She had every reason to leave the next day, to catch a flight and head back to Chicago, to her home, but she had very little desire to do so.

Pushing herself off of the bed, she noticed the pair of underwear Abbadon had literally torn off of her earlier in the day lying helpless on the opposite corner. She couldn't help but laugh quietly to herself. "I really liked those, you know." Peyton murmured, nodding to the delicate pair of underwear that had been ripped from where they had rested at her hips.

"It'll turn up, plenty of small, fragile items have been lost and found here. I'll have the gardener rake the grass out before he mows." Abbadon stepped over the creaking floorboards toward Peyton as he assured her that the bracelet would turn up unharmed. He noted that citing the lawnmower as the hero who found the missing chain may not of been the most uplifting of thoughts.

"There's a great jeweler in town who can resolder the link that broke, you can have him do the rest of the chain too just as a precautionary." He searched through his mind, trying to remember when he had last saw the silver sliver wrapped wrapped around her ankle, he was very detail oriented and tended to notice the slightest mistep, but he was unable to recall the last place she had been with it on.

A green marble mantle clock, embossed with a lion head on either side spring's clicked back as it rewound its gears. The face of the clock may of been unreadable in the dim room, but it was obvious that it was getting late.

"I'll get you a pair just like them." His eyes flickered towards the end of the bed where Peyton had gestured. It was the heat of the moment and Abbadon found it far easier to rip the wet fabric off than to fumble around to remove it in a proper way.

Abbadon lifted Peyton up to set her on the tall wooden bed before taking a seat on it himself. It may of been a struggle for someone smaller to climb onto the raised frame every night, but for Abbadon it was a perfect fit.

"I'm sorry about tonight Peyton, I really am. I don't want you to doubt that what we have now isn't something that I want." While his words were sincere, he stumbled with finding the words for an apology.

"Stay with me tonight?" Abbadon asked, his arms wrapping around Peyton's waist with his hands tangled in the hem of her shirt. It had been a long, exhausting night and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't want his company, but he wanted hers.

Peyton's stomach lurched as Abbadon swiftly picked her up and set onto the bed. While she longed for his touch, to be held, it did nothing but generate the same intense nauseating feeling as it registered that this time it was by the hands of someone she had become committed to, and in turn trusted.

But that trust was shattered tonight, when he had come home baring the bright red lipstick of another woman on his body as well as his clothing. It didn't matter that his conscience was aroused by the scenario, he had allowed the situation itself to partake, and that was something she didn't know if she could get past, let alone brush off so easily.

Abbadon's apology, she knew, was sincere. Feeling remorse for anything and putting it out on the table was a big accomplishment for him, and Peyton knew she should take it into consideration. He fumbled aimlessly for words to comfort her, to address how incredibly sorry he was over the entire situation, and for that she could appreciate.

"Stay with me tonight?"

Peyton opened her mouth to form a response, but abruptly closed it due to a loss of words and a battle of desires raging inside her. Abbadon was personified as childlike at the moment. He fumbled helplessly with her clothing, toying with it idly as he awaited an answer.

Sighing heavily, she rested her forehead against his. Her eyes were closed as she listened to their breathing and contemplated her answer. Eventually, she glanced up at him with pained, uncertain eyes as they sat surrounded by darkness. "I love you, but I can't do that." She whispered, swallowing hard to try to ease the lump in her throat.

Peyton held her likely-broken fist to her stomach as she eased down from the bed. She didn't want to give him time to either pose an argument or repeat the same three forbidden words back. Her emotional state was shot, and she was unable to process either of the two scenarios in her mind. For once, she longed for him to say nothing.

Abbadon waited in silence as Peyton debated her answer, his thumb twisting a stray thread at the end of her shirt. Even though his perception of time had speed up considerably over the years, the pause between his proposition and Peyton's reply seemed entirely too long.

His face wrinkled in disgust at Peyton's conscious admittance that she loved him, though it was too dark for her to make out his expression. Evelyn had made him hate the word 'love' because he had learned he was incapable of giving it. He thought he had been in love with her, and she knew quite certainly that she was in love with him, or what she thought him to be and put all of her faith and trust him and he put her in a gruesome grave.

It had often crossed his mind what a human felt when they were in love. What they felt that made them throw caution to the wind so they could chase another human around for the rest of their short, pathetic lives. He was uncertain if his hatred of it all stemmed from a bitter past or if it was just hardwired into his being, but it didn't matter he despised it all the same.

Despite his efforts to keep Peyton in the dark, he desperately hoped that she was smarter than that. He hoped that she would be smart enough to turn around and run and never look back to the godforsaken hellhole that the town was. Love was something that would lead her into dark, dangerous places that Abbadon couldn't protect her from.

"I am many, many things Peyton, but none of them are anything that you should love." His voice held a thick rasp to it as he warned her to work herself out of the thing humans called 'love'.

His body contradicted his words though as his arms pushed her against the gray fabric of his tshirt, trying to keep her as close as possible. He hesitated as a seemingly unearthly forced pried his arms away from her since he lacked the will too.

Peyton let out a long, shaky breath before turning back to Abbadon. It didn't matter that there was practically no light in the room, the moon shining through the small window in the room would very well cast enough light for him to decipher what she felt, as well as how difficult it was to be involved with those feelings and even harder to embrace them.

She grappled with which approach she should take, as she felt angry, distraught, emotionally drained, and entirely hurt by his response. She would enjoy yelling at him, anger was always the easiest route for her to take during a straining predicament, but after the long night with her many insults and truths, she decided to go the more honest route.

Biting her lip for a moment, Peyton tried to put the situation into simpler, clearer terms for him, as Abbadon often seemed to find much difficulty grasping the most obvious things. "If you have ever loved anything in your life, you would be aware that it's not your call. You can fight it all you want, but in a battle of wills, it always wins. Whether or not you deny it, it's there. So don't fucking tell me you're nothing I should care for. It's pointless and irrelevant."

Her voice was surprisingly calm as she spoke, but her mouth was in a firm line by the time she had finished. There was no denying she was distressed over the situation, and Abbadon was doing nothing but dig the hole she wanted to bury herself in deeper and deeper. By now she was ready to jump in head first just to escape.

Peyton was taken aback when Abbadon pulled her in closely, holding her against his body. Always saying one thing and feeling another. Grasping his face between her hands, she gently grazed her thumb across his cheek, noticing the familiar feel of stubble beginning to creep up. "God, why do you do this to me?" She questioned softly, brushing her lips lightly against his.

Abbadon listed to Peyton as she spoke, emphasizing and spitting out words to make her point that she didn't have a choice. That was better than making the conscious decision to love a monster he supposed, but it still wasn't a good thing overall.

His heart weighted down as Peyton looked at him with exhausted eyes, the night's toll on her was obvious. It was his fault, everything was his fault, and he knew it but there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"Because." Abbadon started to speak but was cut off by Peyton's kiss. He leaned into it, closing any space he had let slip between them. His lips eagerily brushed across Peyton's, but they lacked the force his kisses usually had behind them and instead were light and fleeting as if he was unsure of himself.

"I care for you more than anything in the world, Peyton." He rested his chin on the top of her head with one hand curled between her shoulder blades and the other tight around her waist. "I'm no good for you though, I want to keep you safe and happy but its hard to do both." The strain in his voice made it obvious that the weakness chipped away at his overgrown ego. "All I want is to keep you as close as I can, but I feel like I have to keep you away."

His pupils grew wide for a moment, like a gazelle's as a lion landed on it's back and he wondered if he said to much. His worst only fear was Peyton meeting the same fate as Eveyln, because he wouldn't just loose her - he'd have eternity to sit on it.

Peyton noticed how feeble Abbadon suddenly became in front of her. His kiss was nothing like she expected. Instead of being the unwavering, intensity she was used to, it was light, feathery, insecure, something she was not accostumed to seeing from him.

Their arguments and inability to understand one another often lead to more uproar, fights encompassing the snowball effect, gaining more and more power as they were pursued. This time, he surprised her by being incredibly kind, gentle. There was nothing more shocking than a distressed Abbadon Solace in her wake.

He began to express she was incredibly important to him, and not only that, but supposedly the most important thing to him that existed. Her heart ached as he began explaining how he kept her at arm's length out of fear. Abbadon had become, what seemed, completely exposed before her, and it was something she feared wouldn't last long.

Grabbing a fistful of his dark hair, Peyton gave it a sharp tug, jerking his head back slightly before pressing her lips headily to his now exposed neck, the epitome of desperate. "Then let me in." She pleaded, voice shaking. She pressed her lips firmly against his neck a few more times before quickly wiping away a few tears that managed to spill over.

"Stop pushing me away." She said softly, the fingers of her now broken hand wrapping around the collar of his shirt and drawing him closer. She winced slightly at the pain emanating from her knuckles, but gritted her teeth through the pain to hold him close.

Abbadon's hand lifted towards the neck of his shirt, gently prying Peyton's hands away taking care not to cause further injury to the already damaged hand then reached up to wipe away the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks again. Instead, he pulled her against him until there was no space for her to push closer.

"I can't Peyton, I wish that I could but I can't." His voice was shaky as he murmured the words against her hair, placing a kiss on her temple as he finished. He questioned why he did this to both of them, it wasn't like the relationship he had with Peyton was something he could keep.

He swallowed hard as the thoughts of the inevitable crept up on him. He wondered if it might of been b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ easier if he had just let Peyton think that he had bent Stella over the desk and fucked her brains out. Peyton would of been on a plane in the morning and out of harm's reach, out of his reach. That wouldn't of worked though, he cared about Peyton's opinion of him, or at least what she thought was him, too much.

Abbadon lifted Peyton up in his arms, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as she welcomed his touch for the first time since he walked through the door. He sat Peyton on the unmade bed, pushing her back as he climbed over her and fell to the side against a mound of pillows.

"You don't need to stay the night, just stay a while." Abbadon pleaded as he tugged on Peyton, bringing her to his side after a few tries. He stared off blankly at the top of the canopy bed, heavy maroon fabric draping over the edges and the weight causing the fabric to pool in the middle. It was the same sight he had fallen asleep to for many years, it gave him a sense of timelessness as he looked over the familiar sight.

He decided inevitability wasn't something he could concern himself with for now, not tonight anyway. His fingers weaved through her tangled curls, only leaving to tuck a stray piece of hair away. He was happy to have Peyton's head on his chest, he was happy to know she was safe.

Peyton settled comfortably against Abbadon's chest, her breathing still ragged from the crying spell she had fallen into. His arms wrapped snugly around her waist, holding her closely against his body. She nuzzled her face against the curvature of his neck, not caring that she has soaked the collar and shoulder of his shirt with her tears. If anything, he deserved to see the wreck he had made her tonight thanks to his interaction with Stella.

She decided not to press the issue of his trust issues. Too much had been discussed throughout the night to get anywhere productive. Tension was high and emotions were flying in vastly different directions with each new twist and turn they investigated of their relationship. Perhaps giving the entire ordeal a bit of a break and stepping back to review it later was in their best interest.

Peyton hitched her leg over his, pulling herself closer to him She desperately wanted him to pay attention to her. She feared that after tonight, he would point out how poorly things were working between them and send her on her way. It was the last thing she wanted, and she wasn't emotionally prepared for it.

She released a shaky breath before looking up at him with timid eyes, preoccupied with the idea this may be the last night she would spend with him. She was tossing the idea around in her head to call their relationship quits, after all, what was she truly gaining by staying?

Desperately, Peyton wanted to beg him not to call it off, send her packing for Chicago. She wanted him to forgive her for saying she loved him, knowing that it would drive a wedge between the pair if they could do so much as push past his little hiccup with cheating. She didn't have the strength to do so, afraid that the meltdown it would accompany it would put him off even more so.

She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. No matter which turn she considered taking, a list of repercussions lay in her wake that seemed even worse than doing nothing at all. The never ending list of options were dancing about her head as she drifted to sleep, afraid what she would find the following morning.

Abbadon ran his fingers along Peyton's spine, letting the fabric of her shirt bunch up in the middle of her back. He bit his lip, realizing that it was a very real possibility that this would be the last night he spent with her. His hand easily stretched across the width of her back and pushed her against his chest.

It was a lonely existence.

Nothing could matter to him. Everything in the godforsaken realm was temporary. He could learn, but what good was the knowledge three hundred years after it was forgotten? He could try to love, but humans wasted away in the blink of an eye - bleached out bones before he had lived a tenth of his life. Material goods rarely lasted longer than the humans that created them. It was all for nothing, his only consistent companions were monsters just like him. Incapable of anything but sin.

He had seen entire empires rise and fall, entire lineages of royals die out with new ones ready to take their place, new continents conquered. He had been in countless battles and bloodbaths, happily ripping out the guts of whatever opponent dared to face him. He had killed more people than a human would even encounter in their life.

All of that lead up to this though. Laying in bed with a mortal, content with the sound of her heart beat and her breath against the body he was cased in. Fighting to rationalize why she should stay when he knew it was better that she left. There was no reason to form any kind of attachment when he knew it had to end one way or another. At best he could hope that it was just another thing he didn't remember in half a century but if experience told him anything, it would be branded into the forefront of his mind forever.

Abbadon didn't sleep, he couldn't sleep. An unfamiliar weight sat on his chest while he anticipated what the next morning would bring. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts but every time Peyton stirred in her sleep and he reached to comfort her out of habit, reality came crashing in.

Peyton's sleep was interrupted by the bright light that came pouring in through the limited window space in Abbadon's room. It warmed the room considerably, something she could appreciate, but given the series of harrowing events from the previous evening, she still felt cold, empty. She could see tiny dust particles floating throughout the air over the silhouette of Abbadon's body, still laying in the position she fell asleep to hours before.

He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for days on end rather than a single night. Clearly the predicament had been eating away at his conscience throughout the night. His face was ashen and his body tensed as he noticed her waking. He wore a forlorn expression, one that was completely justifiable in response to their troublesome situation. One that he had created, she reminded herself.

Despite the pain she felt, Peyton couldn't help attempting to comfort Abbadon. While he didn't quite deserve the devotion she invested in him, seeing him so worked up made her head spin even more. She reached out to brush the hair away from his eyes, allowing her fingers to linger in his hair for a few moments before withdrawing her hand.

"Did you sleep any last night?" She questioned softly, her eyebrows pulling together slightly in response to her anxiety. While he deserved every bit of remorse he felt and none of the affection she provided, she couldn't keep her true feelings at bay. She was spent, her emotional state compromised.

Peyton reached up to steal a kiss, lingering for a moment before she pulled away from him entirely. She had only hoped that Abbadon wasn't reading into it too much. She had already made her mind up to leave, and so the kiss bared much guilt for her, but she couldn't bare to tell him her decision just yet. She needed time to find the words. "I'm going to take a shower." She murmured, giving him a sad, fixed glance as she hopped down from the tall bed and exited the room.

Quickly she followed her usual routine, only this time the water pouring from the faucet was accompanied by her own salty tears. Packing up her toiletries neatly and setting the zippered bag they resided in next to her disarrayed suitcase did nothing but heavy the weight she felt pressing against her chest. It was difficult to breathe easily as she dressed, carefully now since her hand was surely broken and now not under the care of a bandage post shower.

Abbadon shook his head in response to Peyton's question. While it would wear him down after a while without it, sleep wasn't anything a demon needed. Not sleeping only meant he was further on edge and his urge to kill was strengthened.

He watched as Peyton climbed out of the bed, her feet reaching for the floor far beneath her before she landed with a soft thud. Unable to muster up more than a nod at Peyton as she slipped out the door of the small room.

Peyton didn't have to say anything for him to know. The tension between them was all he needed to confirm his fears. Hard stiff lips had replaced the warm, inviting ones he had grown used to - it was a poor attempt on Peyton's part to reassure him that things would be okay. Even had it worked, the 'okay' would of been dissolved shortly after.

The faulty door knob clicked close behind Peyton before Abbadon stepped out of bed. His hands followed long formed habits as he dressed himself in his standard uniform of a casual suit, allowing his mind to wander from where he stood on the worn out floor boards of a southern plantation.

The house was alive with Ms. Abbott humming in the kitchen as Abbadon found his way into the office. The chastising he knew was coming from the feisty old lady was one he dreaded almost as much he dreaded seeing Peyton pass through the weathered wrought iron gates that guarded the estate. He could easily conclude that Ms. Abbott was the only human he knew that was brave enough to treat a demon like a school boy.

Lucinda barley rustled when the amber lights of the office flickered on. The polished leather chair groaned with age as Abbadon settled down it. He did his best to cut himself from the foreign feeling of, well feeling. Yellowed edges of the love notes Evelyn had written to him many years ago peeked out from behind a globe lamp, he reached for them - carefully unfolding the delicate paper to see the faded black ink scrawled across in a flamboyant fashion.

For the first time, he felt nothing reading through the series of heart-felt letters of his ill-fated lover had comprised for him but he was sure that the guilt would come back to haunt him tenfold. He had shut down, any sense of emotion had fleeted away - knowledge and intrigue filling the space for the time being.

His curiosity grew as he realized he couldn't remember what he had written in return. The drawer to his right overflowed with papers as he twisted the key, allowing the crunched up letters to unfold for the first time in a century. He pulled them each out, reading over the poetic notes that had been sent in reply. Bold letters, elegantly twisting and turning along the page - the handwriting was almost as poetic as the words - all in fashion with the time.

Peyton reached for her phone to scroll through the lengthy list of names underneath her contacts. Several from regular clients, others from art exhibits that requested her work be shown in their gallery, and very few names of people she knew personally and beyond a strict working relationship. She found her way down to the V's, quickly staking out the odd name of a handsome blonde gentlemen, Valafar, whose number she obtained the night before.

Her finger hesitated over the name before hitting the little phone icon, calling him. The long rings from the other side tugged the knots in her stomach. She was anxious to speak to him, especially under the pretenses. The sultry hello that beckoned from the other line caught her off guard. Presumably, he had been expecting a call from another woman, but then again Abbadon did express concern over Valafar's intentions with Peyton.

"Hey, it's Peyton. I was wondering if you would take me up on a lunch offer this afternoon." The words forming sounded strange, her voice foreign as she spoke to the lankier man she had met via her trip to the south. "I'm aware it's short notice, but I have a flight back to Chicago this evening." She murmured, guiltily toying with a strand of her golden locks as she awaited his reply.

Leaving wasn't what bothered her in particular, it was the fact that she could so freely tell Valafar, and managed to do so, before she could muster up the courage to break it to Abbadon. It would be too difficult to watch his grief-stricken expression return. Out of all the times she had been pressed to to something she wanted desperately to reject, they all paled in comparison to this moment.

She hung up the phone with the premise that Valafar would be picking her up from the plantation in about an hour. That meant she had enough time to run downstairs and give Ms.Abbott a proper goodbye, as well as the painting she had decided upon gifting the older woman. Though she had only known her a short time, Peyton had brown very fond of Ms.Abbott and her antics. She would genuinely miss the woman's company.

Before Peyton could do so, however, she treaded down the familiar stairs with heavy feet. She felt as if she had been weighted down with cinder blocks on either foot and she was slowly but surely sinking further into the depths of the unknown.

Knocking on the door to Abbadon's study seemed so formal, but sauntering in so freely felt like an invasion of privacy to her. She was now holding him out at arm's length, role reversal if you will. The feeling was a foreign one, but the only way she knew to cope with the situation at hand. "I need to speak with you if you aren't too busy." Peyton insisted through the small crack in the door she had created to make her presence known.

Valafar's hand tangled in the blonde hair of the young girl who knelt between his legs, pushing her head down while he reached for his phone with the free one.

Peyton Sawyer, well that's interesting. Valafar's thumb slid across the screen to answer.

"Hello?" He half managed to catch a moan as he answered. Big blue eyes peeked up from his lap, looking for approval. He bit his lip and nodded, covering up the speaker on the phone.

God, I love girls with daddy issues Valafar thought while he listened to Peyton's proposition for lunch.

"Yeah, I could do that. Uhm....in about an hour? Yeah, yeah - I'll be there!" His head clouded as he tried to concentrate enough to carry on a normal conversation. "I'll see you then." The phone clicked off and Valafar arched his back against the chair. "Oh fuck - you're good." He groaned, hand keeping the girl's head down until he was finished.

____________

The notes had piqued Abbadon's curiosity, he wondered if calligraphy was another skill that had faded away with time. He reached for a silver fountain pen that had mostly sat on the desk for aesthetics and grabbed a plain piece of paper.

It took a few lines until the muscle memory came around and allowed the ink to settle into the paper in a recognizable format.. He repeated his signature over and over again, several tries in before the handwriting found the familiar path it had traced thousands of times. He placed the letters and the new piece of paper side by side - comparing the details.

The 'A' at the start of his name was sharper - quickly rising to a towering point and swooping back down, the two following 'b's overlapped, the end of the 'n' dropping lower. The 'S' in Solace rose up higher with the top part more rounded than it had previously been. The 'c' had begun to merge into the 'e' at the end.

These were the things he found to distract himself and distractions were something he had become very good at.

Abbadon's head picked up from where he had buried it in his writing. Ink had smudged over the side of the hand he beckoned Peyton in with.

"You don't have to say anything Peyton, I don't want you too. I know." Abbadon didn't give her much time to say anything. He didn't have to hear her say that she was leaving, he didn't want to walk around for another hundred years thinking about it.

Peyton stood in the doorway to Abbadon's office, her mouth gaping open compliments of his cool, dismissive tone. He hadn't been this blunt with her since the early days of their relationship, something she never truly did enjoy. It was difficult to grasp, him declining her request to speak with him, as she had been so accustomed to the two of them easily falling into conversation.

Of course this situation was entirely different than any other, she was coming to him and explaining she would be catching a flight out to Chicago that evening. She understood that he was unnerved by the circumstances, but the blank expression he wore and the icy tone cut her to the core, making her feel slightly guilty over his own sins. The least she expected was for him to allow her to find solace, no pun intended, within the situation.

"Love you too.." Peyton murmured, obviously hurt by his lack of acknowledgement. Her voice was barely audible from the opposite side of the room, she knew, for she whispered, almost afraid of saying those same condemning words around him.They had done so well in paralyzing him with fear before, but really what more could she lose at this point?

She didn't bother with closing the door, an intense desire to get away from him as quickly as possible overwhelming her. She grabbed the covered canvas she had set at the bottom of the stairs and scooped it up, hurriedly hurtling toward the kitchen were familiar smells and faint sounds of humming coming from none other than Ms.Abbott refracted around the corner.

Drawing in a long, shaky breath, Peyton offered Ms.Abbott the most courageous smile she could muster up given the circumstances. "I thought you might like this.." She said softly, unveiling the landscape she had painted of the gardens on the property. "I um.. I'm going back to Chicago tonight. My flight's at six. I wanted to say goodbye and give you something to remember me by before I left."

While her voice was strong at first, the last few notes faltered and she began chewing on her bottom lip to keep from tearing up. It didn't do much good in reference to hiding her true emotional state, but she managed to keep the tears away at least. "I wrote my number on the back, in case you find my anklet.. Or you just want to talk."

The last statement was shy, uncertain. She didn't know how fond the woman found her, but Peyton knew that she was remarkably drawn to Ms.Abbott. Quite frankly she was the only motherly figure she had in her life. She would miss losing the older woman nearly as much as she would miss Abbadon's company.

Abbadon's eyes looked back up as Peyton turned to leave the room, his lips pressed firmly together. It was something that should of hurt, but he felt nothing. He had shut down whatever glimmer of human emotions that Peyton had managed to dig up.

'Nothing' was the only way he could cope. The situation with Peyton wasn't one he could win. If he chased after her, she'd either leave or stay. If she decided to leave anyway, then nothing had changed. If he by some miracle convinced her to stay, he'd have to push her away eventually when she noticed crows feet creeping up on her while he remained as youthful as he had been for a milenia, and it would only be harder to do that in ten years. As long as he felt nothing, he didn't have to cope with an inevitably bad situation and he feared having Peyton tell him that she was leaving would pull off the sheer veil of 'nothing' that he had placed over 'something'.

Peyton's conversation with Ms. Abbott carried through the otherwise quiet house, leaving Abbadon with an uncomfortable heavy weight sinking through his body. It was a foreign feeling that he had been developing frequently in the last few days, he didn't like it. He had half the mind to wonder if something was wrong with him before brushing the absurd thought away - maybe Valafar was right and he had spent far too much time as a human.

The weight settled in his chest, making his breathing unsteady - confusion crossing his face as his hands ran over his torso trying to make out what was wrong. While he didn't recognize the uncomfortable weight he felt, he did recognize the tell-tale signals from his body that his human form was about to break.

Shit. Shit. Fuck. Abbadon pushed the mahogany desk away from him, knocking over nearly everything on it as it slid across the floor. The care he took with the antique objects were gone as he tried to separate himself from the house as quickly as possible, his feet falling heavily across the hardwood as he ran down the hall, slamming the back door behind him as he crashed outside.

Panic set in as he felt the familiar confusion that always accompanied the change set in. His eyes darted around, trying to pick up pieces and clues as to where he was at. He was like an animal trapped in a box.

Fountain. Hedge. Statue. Porch. He named off whatever objects he could make out in his mind, trying to fit them together before he realized he was in the gardens.

No! Fuck. He needed to be farther away than that. He knew himself well enough to know that he'd stalk down whatever living thing was closest to him..

Abbadon struggled to retain any form of consciousnesses, fighting to keep control just a little longer as he made his way out of the gardens that seemed like a maze. He picked up speed, running towards the swamps as fast as his legs would carry him. His body had begun to morph before he reached the tree line,vision narrowing with his pupils while he kept his eye on his destination. All his teeth ached as they lengthened into fangs, the clothes ripping from his back as he leathery wings started to unfold - stretching out after being confined for so long.

______

Ms. Abbott's ears perked up as she heard Peyton tiptoeing through the halls. She patted the extra flour that clung to her hands off her apron. It was odd to see the blonde without a towering figure trailing behind her.

"Oh honey! It's beautiful! You don't want to give that to old me!" Ms. Abbott's hand flew over her chest as she watched Peyton unveil the painting of the garden. Truth be told, while she loved the thought - she didn't want the painting. The home may of been beautiful but it was a prison to everyone who dared to stay the night.

"What? What do you mean you're leaving tonight?!" Worry crossed her old eyes at the thought of loosing the only company she valued in the house. She was nearly cut short by the commotion Abbadon caused as ran through the house.

"Oh." It was a short, sharp sound that painted a picture much larger than the two letters that the word was comprised of. She couldn't say it surprised her, Abbadon had developed a real talent for sealing himself off from the world."

"Well of course I'll want to talk to you! Maybe I can even come up and find me a man if I ever get a week off!" She reached out and rubbed Peyton's shoulder, trying to distract her from the image of the half-human Abbadon she noticed running away from the house.

Peyton shook her head as Ms.Abbott protested that the painting was too much, holding up her hand to stop the older woman. Truth be told, she wouldn't be able to stand looking at the painting from her quiet, safe home in Chicago. It would be shut away and avoided like the plague. She wouldn't have the heart to sell it, despite all of the short comings in the trip to New Orleans and what it fervently reminded her.

"Please, take it. Do what you see fit with it - keep it or sell it, it's really quite alright. I don't want it. I can't stand to look at it." She almost begged, her tone pleading as she glanced down at her once again bandaged hand which was aching again. It wasn't wrapped as adequately as Abbadon had made certain the night before, but it did a well enough job for her. There was no asking him to bind it again, she would surely fall apart at his touch, she couldn't even keep calm and collected in the sight of him.

The sound of the rear door slamming caused Peyton to cringe. She could tell by his footfalls on the hardwood that he was in a hurry to get away from the building, likely thanks to a very disturbed Peyton. What exactly she had done that made her the villain in the situation, she had no earthly idea. Perhaps he had not been used to his significant others cutting ties with him, but rather the other way around. Control freak.

Or he actually cares. Her subconscious mind prompted, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. In an attempt to brush the thought away and convince herself that there was nothing more left for her in Louisiana, she glanced up at a now melancholy Ms.Abbott. Her mood had clearly changed since she noticed Abbadon hurriedly exiting the home. She knew him better than anyone, and perhaps could give her guidance about the idiosyncratic situation.

"Ms.Abbott.." Peyton hesitated, uncertain if she was stepping into uncharted territory. "In the time you've known him, have you known Abbadon to be unfaithful in relationships?" She questioned softly, feeling incredibly timid and childlike thanks to unsavory situation the now distressed couple, or ex couple, found themselves in.

"Forgive me if I'm crossing a line here, but I need counsel. Leaving is probably, well definitely, the hardest decision I've ever had to make. He's made a fool of me once, I refuse to allow it to happen again." The young blonde admitted, chewing on her bottom lip as she played around with how much to spill to the older woman.

"He was so kind to cheat on me last night. Stella." Peyton murmured scornfully. The words felt like acid as they spilled from her lips. She hated to acknowledge the woman at all, but she was a significant problem that had been wedged between Peyton and Abbadon, and despite her desire to place the blame entirely on the other woman, it wouldn't be justifiable in any sense.

Abbadon was entirely in control of his own actions, to which he allowed Stella's persistent behaviour. Another pressing issue was his impeccable ability to spit out lies like they were nobody's business. While he had been truthful lately, he in turn became unfaithful. The trade off wasn't something she she could live with, nor were the steadfast lies he told.

The tears that had been threatening to spill finally managed to roll over her cheeks. While not usually an openly emotional person, she decided that the exception could be made with Ms.Abbott. The sound of the doorknocker hitting the front door cut through the uncomfortable air in the kitchen.

Rising to her feet, Peyton made her way toward the front door and swiftly pulled it open. She hadn't expected Valafar to be early, or perhaps she was late as she moped around the large, nearly empty house. Quickly wiping at her eyes, she offered the fellow blonde a forced smile. "Hey, give me a second? I just have to grab my shoes."

She left the door wide open, allowing him to either come inside or stand on the porch. Quite frankly, she didn't care which one happened. She only hoped that the man she planned on dining for lunch with would stay out of the line of fire, Abbadon. The last thing she wanted was to create a more tense situation, but Peyton had fully disclosed Valafar suggested taking her to lunch. Hopefully the darker, brooding man wouldn't get his panties in a bunch, especially after proving he couldn't maintain relationships wit the opposite sex that didn't involve at least some sexual gratification.

"Ms. Abbott listened to Peyton's concerns while holding the painting up and studying it. She had seen Peyton working on the piece out on the porch but it accurately portrayed the view she saw everyday from the lattice window above the sink.

"Dear, you're the only woman I've ever known him to have a relationship with." Her ears perked up as Peyton revealed her reason for leaving. She had never known a woman to keep Abbadon's attention longer than a night, he couldn't remembered the names of them after a week.

"I've never heard the name 'Stella' pass his lips in the years that I've been here, if she was someone he cared for at all I would know. The man is a very good secret keeper, Peyton. If he wanted both of you, he'd have both of you and if he didn't want you to know - you'd be none the wiser." The words that were meant to be assuring took an odd path to do so.

"But he told you what happened because he wanted you to know, he put himself in a vulnerable spot to let you know the truth." Ms. Abbott advocated for Abbadon, she knew him well enough to know that he was usually indifferent about the truth. He'd keep it buried and hidden as long as that was the easier route, but what more could you expect from a demon?

"He loves you Peyton. He might not admit it or realize it, but he does. I can see the way he looks at you when you turn around - you've melted that iced over heart of his. He's jaded and bitter and he'll push you away but he just thinks he isn't good for you. I'd understand if you'd leave - he's not the kind of man I'd want to come home to everyday but don't think he doesn't care." Her southern accent was strong as she continued to ramble through her thoughts. Torn between telling Peyton to leave and never look back because she knew it was the better opition, and begging her to stay because she had never seen the demon open up so much or find anyone that was so good for him. Just as she reached out to comfort a crying Peyton the beating of the bronze door knocker rang through the house.

____

Valafar patiently waited at the door with his hands clasped behind his back. Tension hung over the plantation and he couldn't help the smile that pulled on his lips as he wondered what sort of situation he was walking into. There was nothing he loved more than chaos.

"Take your time." Valafar stepped over the threshold of the house, admiring an old globe that stood in front of the stairs. It was long out of date, borders were misshapen and entire countries were missing. He carefully spun it around until he was looking at eastern europe, remincing of the life he had there that seemed so distant.

German women, I hope they never change He smiled to himself, he embodied the sin of lust perfectly.

He noticed the elderly lady who stood in the kitchen eyeing him carefully. Ms. Abbott was vaguley familiar with him, but rightfully chose to be wary. He sheepishly waved to her, chuckling to himself as a cross look formed on the lady's face.

"Are you leaving for good?" Valafar's brow furrowed as he noticed the suitcase packed at the door. He doubted that Peyton would stay long, but he didn't expect her to be departing so quickly. Where was he supposed to have his fun now? It was no fun to pester Abbadon if there wasn't some gambling of lives involved.

Peyton tried to push aside Ms.Abbott's words of wisdom. While she had asked the older woman for her input, she hadn't expected to be told that Abbadon loved her. It made matters worse in her mind, running away if he did indeed harbor such strong feelings for her. She knew he was fond of her, but with him it was difficult to tell. Even more painful was his reaction to Peyton telling him she loved him. While it wasn't the most appropriate or romantic timing, she also didn't mean to drop the bomb on him during their fight.

The fact that Ms.Abbott claimed Abbadon wasn't the kind of man she would want to come home to caused a lump in her throat. She felt slightly angry at the comment, knowing that she alone saw a side of him the older woman didn't, but realizing Ms.Abbott had been around him significantly longer than than she, and likely knew the deeper, darker secrets he harbored.

Slipping on the flats set inside the doorway of the bedroom she had claimed upon she and Abbadon's arrival. Her heart sank to think she wouldn't be stepping foot back into the plantation again, or at least quite some time. She had grown so fond of the home, as well as the man who flew her out to experience the southern charm of his hometown.

Peyton noticed the little bronze boy sitting on the bedside table next to her purse. Her heart sank at the sentimental memory of him giving her the little sculpture, and where that brilliant evening had lead to. They went from intimately dancing in the rain to a volatile argument over the less than entertaining actions between himself and one Stella.

Snatching up the boy, she stuffed him neatly into the pocket of her purse before hurriedly jogging down the stairs. The sight of Valafar absentmindedly indulging in the home's nick knacks irked her, and she began doubting how wise of a decision going to lunch with him truly was. Then again, she had promised to dine with him while in New Orleans and due to the remarkable circumstances, and the expiration date of her visit was now dwindling before her very eyes.

Valafar's question caused her head to snap up. Leaving for good? It wasn't exactly something she had thought through, whether or not this was a small break for if she was dissolving the relationship completely. Peyton opened her mouth slightly before snapping it shut. What did she really want to disclose to Valafar, someone who thoroughly enjoyed getting under Abbadon's skin?

"I don't quite know what I'm doing anymore." Peyton finally admitted, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Glancing towards the kitchen, she saw a very rigid Ms.Abbott. The sight made her uneasy, as she was certain the older woman thought about the pair of blondes in the living room.

"I'll just let Ms.Abbott know we're off. I'll meet you in the car?" She suggested, not giving him much room to interject before strolling toward the kitchen. She offered the woman a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Valafar and I are going to lunch in the French Quarter, if Abbadon ask. Both of you have my number if you need to reach me. I shouldn't be gone longer than an hour and a half." She murmured, glancing at the familiar flour coated apron Ms.Abbott wore.

Hurriedly, she exited the home and noticed the sleek car sitting idle in the drive. It was equally as expensive as Abbadon's and somehow more flashy than the taller man. Somehow Valafar managed to one up him in something, which surprised her.

Slipping into the car, Peyton glanced over at the blonde with hard eyes. "Tell me about Stella." She muttered hoarsely, wondering if she even truly wanted to know about the previous night's events and the woman who threw her world upside down.

"Stella?" Valafar's brow furrowed as Peyton pressed him for information on 'Stella'.

"Stella who?" He had made himself very familiar with a number of Stellas, but Peyton seemed particularly distraught over this Stella. His mind flipped through 'Stellas', narrowing it down by things they had done to upset Peyton.

The previous nights ventures had escaped him until the image of Stella Eliseus nuzzled against Abbadon's neck came to mind.

He was surprised that Abbadon lacked the clean up ability to cover up a few kisses.

The question presented an interesting crossroads for Valafar. He had both the option of burning the remains of Abbadon's relationship on his own, but he could also rekindle it and let Abbadon destroy it by himself in a more gruesome way.

He kept his poker face of confusion as he mulled his choices over. The wrought iron gate, one of the few modernized things on the estate, creaked on its hinges as it swung open.

He enjoyed the destruction of things, it was in his nature after all. He loved to watch while the petty and often intangible things a human held dear to them crumbled in their hands. The question now was to destroy it himself or let nature take it's course.

Unfortunately, he lacked the patience to watch what may of been the second great tragedy of Abbadon Solace's long, eventful life unfold.

Peyton scrutinized Valafar's face carefully as he mulled over an extensive list of lovers ingrained into his mind. She longed for that familiar look of a light bulb going off to appear, but after a few minutes of staring as the blonde drove through the weathered wrought iron gates that separated the plantation from the outside world, she turned away and glanced out the passenger side window.

Her desperate search for answers, even if they were the same ones Abbadon had given her the night before, was gnawing away at her. It wasn't that she didn't want believe Abbadon, it was just she simply did not. In which case, she invested in the help of Valafar.

While he may not be the most practical option, he was her only viable one. Ms.Abbott was helpful, but right now Peyton needed someone who knew what Abbadon was up to outside of the four walls of the plantation, the only place where Ms.Abbott knew about his antics. She needed an outside man, and he had conveniently fallen into her lap.

"The whore who wears red lipstick. She apparently works with the two of you. I'm told she was at the meeting last night.." Peyton finally spoke up, staring blankly out of the window.

"I want you to tell me everything about Stella. And Abbadon." She finally concluded, turning in her seat toward Valafar.