Saints - Take 3

Peyton scoffed quietly at Abbadon's denial of involvement with Stella the whore. Her extensive conversation with Valafar her last day in New Orleans had put things into perspective and gave her a better understanding of the temptation laid before Abbadon on a regular basis. She had been taken onto the company due to Abbadon's interest, and that was something she refused to let go.

Dragging her eyes from the ceiling fan, she noticed the genuine confusion that now softened his face. For once she had control of the situation, and he was the one sitting bowing his head like an ashamed child in her presence.

"Valafar and I had lunch my last day in Louisiana. He told me about you and Stella's prior relationship. I really would have appreciated you being respectful enough of me to tell me that you worked with an ex. It would have saved me the shock of you being unfaithful." She murmured quietly, bitterly.

"I found her online. She's very attractive. I see the appeal." Peyton added, taking a large gulp of red wine from her glass.

"You're going to believe what Valafar tells you? I've never had anything more than a professional relationship with Stella until she came onto me that night." Abbadon retorted, surprised that Peyton would believe anything that came out of Valafar's mouth.

His eyes refocused on the wine as he swilled it around in the glass. The tension in the room was pallatable as they both danced around the wall they had built up between them while simultaneously trying to peek over it.

"Even then, I pushed her away - it was just a little too late. There's never been any mutual interest between her and I. I told you, she's not my type."

Not his type didn't begin to describe his distate for Stella. She was boisterous and outgoing, constasntly demanding that the spotlight be centered on her, and that didn't even begin to cover an aestetic level. While Abbadon prefeered more scholary activities and kept himself walled away in the mad house.

"At least Valafar carries out a conversation with me, unlike you. So yes, I obviously will listen to what he has to say. Are you telling me that you wouldn't do the same if the tables were turned?" Peyton countered, glaring at him.

As usual, their conversations landed on one of two distinct sides: heated and angry, or light and playful. The middle ground, where they could have meaningful conversations without the drama or push their problems onto the backburner, rarely ever showed her face.

"I don't know who to believe at this point, you or Valafar. I know the two of you have beef, and that makes the situation that much more difficult for me. I can't decide if what he said is purely for sabotage or if he told me those things so I could put things into perspective." She began, setting the glass of wine onto the table next to the navy blue box.

"I also have you to consider. While I've known you longer, you have consistently lied or evaded answering me for most of our relationship. That plays a huge role in this. Just because I care doesn't mean I can just let it go and things can go back to the way they once were. Can you at least understand that?" Peyton questioned, her voice much softer.

"Valafar will tell you whatever will get you to look in one directions while he pulls you in another." Abbadon spat, he had genuinely feared for Peyton's safety when he heard that she had run off with Valafar that afternoon.

The other demon's motives worried him - he knew the best thing that he could hope for was a sabotaged relationship. Valafar had his own special way of ridding himself of females who presented a problem.

"Just because you've failed to figured out that everything he tells you is some fabricated or embellished story doesn't mean that he is anything more than a charismatic wolf in sheep's clothing." The idiom rang true in a figurative and literal way.

"He's a dangerous man, Peyton. He knows what game he's playing and he plays it well. Valafar is wicked and ambitious, he'll do whatever he has to get what he wants with little regard for morals or standards." Abbadon's voice held an undeniable fear as he finally managed to pry his eyes away from the nearly empty cup to look at Peyton.

Peyton's temper flared throughout Abbadon's spiel. She did not appreciate having him tell her how foul of a creature Valafar was, and how stupid she was to believe anything that came from his mouth, unlike Abbadon's.

"Do not treat me like a child, Abbadon." She threatened. Of the finger pointing, Peyton was the last one it deserved to land on.

"If you ever had a meaningful conversation with me and cut the crap with all your lies, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have a stick up your ass about me talking to your business associate. God forbid I try to find some answer, some reason to stay, right?" She asked hoarsely.

"And if he's such a terrible person, why do you work with him? You put yourself into a position to where you have some form of relationship with him, not me. I'm not holding a gun to your head here, but I somehow became the bad guy." Peyton muttered, baffled at the turn of events.

After a short silence, she heard another rapping at the door, which she knew this time had to be the dinner she and Ryan ordered over an hour ago. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up from the couch and quickly paid the man without a single word, almost slamming the door when re-entering the apartment with dinner.

"There are things in this world that are far worse than I'd care to admit my knowledge of or you would care to know." Abbadon warned, setting the wine glass aside.

Peyton was little more than a child to him. She had a brief existance in small period of time while he had sat in the shadows watching time turn for over a millienia. She was blissfully unaware of the dangers that hung over her head or the monster that sat across from her.

"I work with him because I'm not any better than him. But I would never do anything that would compromise your saftey, wellbeing, or happiness. Contratry to what you seem to think." He didn't feed her lies for fun, he covered up what he needed to prevent her from getting to close to the fire.

The delivery man looked just as uncomfortable as Peyton and Abbadon did. He was tense as he handed over the food and Abbadon was unable to make out the awkward whisper he used with Peyton.

Peyton mulled over Abbadon's words as she began unpacking the various boxes of chinese take out and lining them up along the granite countertop in her kitchen. Balling up the plastic sacks they had been carried in, she tossed it into the open trashcan before producing a pair of plates and eating utensils.

Taking her head into her hands, she groaned quietly to herself, leaning back against the refrigerator for support. Speaking with him did nothing but cause her head to spin and heart to ache. She didn't know why he bothered flying thousands of miles to Chicago to give her the mystery box and explain he was no good for her. It was highly impractical.

"Why did you come here, Abbadon?" Peyton asked softly, her gears switching.

The answer she expected and the one she longed for were on opposite sides of the equator, but he had to let the cat out of the bag at some point and explain his motives for flying a thousand miles from his home and place of work.

"I missed you."

It was a delicate admission from the usually somber, sullen man but the words fell out of his mouth before he had time to organize them into some well put sentence that avoided his feelings.

"I'm selling the house, it's going on the market next month. It's too lonely and lifeless without you there."

The constant state of turmoil the home managed to hold Abbadon in had taken it's toll on him. Guilt hung over him at every turn and he had reluctantly decided it was time to change locations for next few centuries.

For the first time in years, he felt defeated. It was a battle he knew he couldn't win no matter how hard he fought. There was no positive outcome and he knew it but some sick force drove him to continue his decent of madness.

The flickering shadow of the ceiling fan caught his eye as it reflected of the metal sides of the jewerly box. He pushed himself off the leather couch with an exhaused sigh while reaching down for the box. The thought that such a stupid little peice of jewerly could drive a murderous demon to the brink of insanity was unfathomable, but it had managed too. He had pratically turned the home upside down looking for a sliver of silver.

"Open it." Abbadon's long strides covered the short distance between the couch and he pressed the velvet casing into Peyton's hand once again.

Peyton's eyes widened marginally at Abbadon's admission. In the months they had been involved, she knew he cared, but the extent of his affections were hazy at best. The frequent change of pace, once loving, later cold and bristling, always left her dazed and confused, but none more so than in this moment.

Her heart sank as she heard he would be putting the historical home up for sale. As much as he loved the old walls and artifacts within the walls, as possessive over their longevity as he was, he had decided to part ways with them, and she felt the blame.

Peyton grasped the rectangular box in her hands at Abbadon's urging. Opening the box and underneath a black silken cloth lay the anklet she had managed to lose somewhere on the Louisiana property. It had been cleaned up, polished, and a few lengths had been replaced, but it was undoubtedly the anklet she treasured.

Brushing her fingers along the silver chain in the box, her eyes fluttered back up toward his face. It was something he could have easily pawned off on Ms.Abbott to send her.

"Thank you." She managed to whisper before choking up.

"You're welcome." Abbadon replied quietly leaning against the granite countertops of the kitchen. He didn't know where to take the conversation from there. It was just another indication of the hot and cold, on and off extremes that constantly flamed between the two.

"I found it tangled in some Spanish moss near the swamp, My best guess is a magpie flew off with it. I took it to a jeweler in France to have it replated and repaired while I was looking at some houses." He bit his lip as he spoke. He treaded carefully with his words, unsure of his footing. 'Unsure' was not a word that was often used describe the aggrogant man.

It was from his first time in the country, he had lived there for some time before finding his way to Louisana and contracting the building of the plantation. He found it odd to return and find some many of the small local businesses had grown into huge tourists destinations with their claims to history scrawled down in guide books.

Abbadon would never admit that the anklet had been an elaborate ploy to find his way to Peyton's doorstep in Chicago.

It relieved him to see Peyton's expression soften for the first time since his arrival.

Peyton was a bit taken aback to hear that he had begun house hunting in France. He had made it sound that living on the same contient and dwelling within the same country as her was out of the question.

"France?" She questioned timidly, the steady gaze that had been studying his familiar profile now dropping to the colourful rug underneath her feet.

While she knew he had the means to pick up everything and move, it left little opportunity to change her mind and drop by for a visit just as he had done that night.

Turning back toward the food, she began fixing both of their plates, finding a way to busy herself, even if it was just her hands.

"Would you like to stay tonight? It's late.." Peyton asked, turning and offering him a plate with various foods neatly sectioned off.

"And I miss you."

"It's a beautiful country.I spent a lot of time there when I was younger." Abbadon explained, running his hand through his hair before letting it settle on the back of his neck.

His eyes glanced around the room of the small apartment. He didn't see much room for a guest and he doubted Peyton wished to spend the night laying next to him seeing as she didn't believe that he hadn't found his way into Stella's pants.

"It's very kind of you to offer, but you need not feel any obligation." He looked towards the polished tile floor, distracting himself by counting the number of tiles it took to stretch across the kitchen. He often himself indulging in the blandest forms of distraction.

Peyton's face fell when Abbadon rejected her invitation of staying the night. The feeble attempt of reeling him back into her life, even slightly, failing and her fragile heart shattering around her onto the cold, bland coloured tiles in the kitchen.

Formality.

Everything they said was carefully worded, so much that it would be suitable in conversation at the office speaking to employees or the boss himself. Bleak, emotionless words spilling from their lips.

Neither of them felt comfortable before the other, which was strange considering only months before they were practically inseperable.

How time changes things, she thought to herself.

"You still don't realize I asked because I want you to say, do you? Peyton questioned softly, pulling out a barstool to sit at next to the granite over hang, the only space for dining other than the couch.

"I don't realize why you would want me to stay." Abbadon shrugged his large shoulders as he turned to face her.

They had hardly ended on pleasent terms. The air between them was a war zone since he had arrived. A stagnant, unresolved tension that his gesture of good will had done little to ease.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to listen to Peyton's breathing as she slept with her head on his chest. .He longed to convince himself that everything would be okay despite knowing the inevibility of it all. He was a stupid man who never learned his lesson.

Peyton had every right to be angry with him, more so when Valafar stood behind her to fuel it. He was undecided on Peyton's position on the rough road that the pair had faced in the previous months.

"Your indifference to the situation isn't helping how betrayed I feel." Peyton muttered under her breath.

Poking a piece of sweet and sour chicken with her fork, she did nothing more than play with it, drawing lines on the white plate with the sauce's residue.

"I asked you to stay because I miss you." Peyton murmured, carefully emphasizing the words before glancing up at him, desolate.

Patting the bar stool beside her, she continued to explain to him the delicate imbalance that had been raging war within the walls of her mind for months.

"This is hard, you showing up unannounced, but the lingering silence is more difficult to deal with. I'm still angry, hurt, and I feel forsaken by you. I would be a liar if I denied any of those things, but that doesn't mean I don't want you here." Peyton asserted, grasping one of his large hands between hers and squeezing it slightly.

"Stay." She murmured, the word barely audible.

It took all of her strength to refrain from telling him she loved him once again, but decided against it as she recalled how quickly he recoiled from her whenever those three forbidden words were spoken. The words would have been sincere, but they had the possibility of leaving more damage in their wake than smoothing the situation over.

If she took anything away from tonight, she wanted to find some middle ground, for the pair of ex lovers to reach a decision that benefited them both. She wanted Solace, and if she couldn't have him, she would settle for the definition of his surname.

"I miss you too, Peyton." Abbadon's lips curved into the soft lines of a saddened smile as the words passed his lips as if he had said them a hundred times.

He had grown accustomed to hearing her footsteps in the hallway while he sat in his study buried away in his work, catching glimpses of her curled up on a windowsill or chair with charcoal smeared over hands from her sketchbook, and the feeling of her warm body molded to his at night - pulling him closer each time he strayed.

The house was big and dark and lonely. Abbadon awoke alone each night and even though Peyton was not there when he woke up it never stopped the momentary confusion in his first few seconds of consciousness when he noticed that his bed was empty except for him. All night he'd swear her absence was driving him crazy as he'd see shadows cast from empty rooms, footsteps in empty halls, and the occasional click of a drawer as it slid into place. The home was too big for him to fill by himself - a lesson the hard headed man had learned after several hundred years. Too much sat on his conscious during the solitary nights he spent studying millennia old documents next to a dim light.

Abbadon's free hand raised to Peyton's cheek, his thumb brushed along her cheekbone as he bit his lip to look for the right words to say. He had never had trouble finding the right words to smooth over a situation before, he had hidden away his existence for a thousand years but when he saw the pained look in Peyton's eyes his chest trembled with each long breath he took in.

"I want to stay, I do. I want nothing more than to hold you next to me and know that you're there." His thoughts spilled out faster than he could stop them though his the tempo expressed restraint.

"But not if you think so little of me to think I would hide an entire relationship and lie to you every night. I can't stay if you believe everything Valafar told you over what I've tried to show to you. What happened with Stella was a one time thing - she came onto me, I rejected her. You know everything there is to know, but if you think so poorly of me to think that I would trade what I have with you to keep up some stupid affair then... I know how I feel is not mutual." Abbadon admitted with a heavy sigh.

"What I have with you, Peyton...That's the closest thing I'll ever have to love. I'm scared that I'll hurt you - that's the last thing I want to do so I try to push you away but I'm more scared that I'll succeed in driving you away and I'll wake up one day and realize that you're gone."

Peyton breathed a small sigh of relief, basking in the gentle tone Abbadon used to speak so affectionately towards her. Knowing that his affections for her weren't entirely lost after several months of not speaking with one another came as a surprise, but was one she didn't take for granted. She didn't believe she could stomach the idea of hearing he had moved on or begun a tumultuous affair with anyone, specifically Stella.

Her heart shattered upon hearing the relationship they had kindled was the closest thing to love he believed he would ever endure. The word love dancing upon his lips in any context was completely foreign. Any other time she had heard it, namely the time she had confessed it to him, it he recoiled as if it had caused him physical harm.

Hooking her fingers around his belt loops, Peyton glanced up at him timidly. "Stay the night." She insisted, attempting to not only coax him into putting off his trip to Europe, but perhaps dissuade him to running away from their relationship and selling off the plantation home she had fallen in love with nearly as much as she had with him.

Reaching onto her tiptoes, she stole a gentle kiss, though fearful of rejection. Biting her lip, her lips hovered over his for a moment, waiting to see if he would reciprocate or push her away. They were both on edge, scrambling for a sense of balance between two opposing sides - being taken aback by how the other reacted to the Stella situation, and clearly not wanting to piss away their relationship.

"I love you." Peyton whispered.

Abbadon breathed a shaky sigh of relief at Peyton's insistence. A small time had passed between their exchange of words, but it was enough time for every possible scenario to run through his mind and worry him. He managed a tender kiss placed in the middle of Peyton's forehead before his arms snaked around her and pulled her as close as he believed he could before hurting her.

His face buried in the top of her hair, breathing in her scent. The way Peyton smelled was something he could never put his finger on, it was rich and inviting, but earthy and intoxicating. Never something that over powered, but it seemed to stick around forever - at least his pillowcases thought so.

He held his tongue at Peyton's admittance of her love for him. He tried to hide the way the words stung, though his success would of been questionable had she been able to see his face. It hurt to know she loved the shell he lived in and he could, or would, never let her know what lay beneath the surface. It hurt to think she trusted him when all it would take was a slip of judgement and he would tear her apart. He couldn't push her away though, he was too selfish and he needed her so he settled for doing his best to keep everything tucked nicely into place.

Abbadon lifted Peyton from her feet, cradling her against his chest as he maneuvered through the narrow hallway, lit through residual lighting from the window, to her bedroom.

"You scare me. You are the sole thing in the entire world that my fears stem from, did you know that?" Abbadon admitted as he set her down on the foot of the bed.

Peyton clung tightly to Abbadon's figure as he easily maneuvered the pair through the short, compact hallway of her Chicago apartment. Everything felt cramped, leaving her with an almost claustrophobic feeling which caught in her throat as she compared the place she called home for two years to the spacious layout of the Louisiana plantation she had abandoned months before.

She knew very well that professing her love to him never went over smoothly. His previously relaxed muscles tensed slightly at the words, only to relax a split second later as he tried to cover up the discomfort it had caused him.

Peyton no longer tried hiding her affections for him, as they were of no use, and he had given her a slight window of opportunity with his insistence that his relationship with her was the closest thing he had ever, would ever, come to love.

Her brows pulled together in confusion upon his admittance that she was the one thing in life that scared him. Abbadon Solace afraid of anything was unusual, especially the petite blonde. While feisty, she was anything but petrifying, which was exactly how Abbadon portrayed her to be.

She knew his fear was genuine though, as the thing he did with his forehead became prominent. Rising to her knees, Peyton laced her fingers together, her hands resting lightly at the base of his neck. Her eyes searched his face carefully, wondering what on earth she had done to cause him to look so broken before her.

"Weak" was never a term she would label him with, but he looked entirely defeated, weary, and immensely guarded. It was out of his character to be anything but a pompous ass or overtly playful.

"Why? It's not like I can do much damage. I mean, look at me." She scoffed, shrugging her delicate shoulders lightly to emphasize her point.

"You can do more than you think." Abbadon pursed his lips and let his gaze fall to the dim light emitting from a lamp on the nightstand.

Weakness was not something that he found easy to admit, but he felt a certain safety and comfort in revealing his fears to Peyton. Fear was a foreign feeling to him, he was immortal, indestructible - he could fight a thousand wars in a thousand years and be no worse for wear. Peyton was not. The only thing that had managed to soften his jaded heart and bitter thoughts was walking through the valley of the shadow of death and he was the one leading the way. He'd be the death of her - or close enough to it.

Peyton's bedroom was silent for a minute. Oddly enough, the silence seemed to have a sound that muffled out the noises from the city below. His brow furrowed and his eyes closed while his thoughts consumed him as they often did.

"I'm scared of all the things that could happen to you. Seeing you hurt, emotionally or physically, is worse than any physical damage you could do to me. I want to be able to protect you from everything, but I can't - and that scares me as well." He struggled to put the unfamiliar emotion into words and hoped he was able to relay what he meant.

Fear wasn't something he had known on a personal level until recently. He knew of fear. He saw it it in the eyes and blood of the people he sought out when his wings stretched out and his teeth sharpened. He could smell it as blood poured out of every new gaping wound on their body. He could taste it when he ripped apart their flesh and lapped up their blood, but fear wasn't something he had experienced for himself. It was awful - to worry about the inevitable, to worry about things he had no control over.

Abbadon's tensed shoulders relaxed at Peyton's touch. He basked in the knowledge that Peyton wanted him there - at least for tonight. His large hand palmed Peyton's back and gently pushed her forward until she was against his chest.

"I don't ever want to lose you, Peyton."

Peyton was left nonplussed as Abbadon continued to spill his guts to her. He was visibly affected by their breakup, which was something she hadn't come to expect. He was a creature of very calculated decisions, of which included the emotions, or lack there of, he would wear on his sleeve. Instead of retreating to the same quite, withdrawn shell of a man he frequently visited, there was a new openness to him.

Though it shouldn't have come as a shock to her, Peyton was completely taken aback by how deeply Abbadon Solace seemed to care for her. While he had insisted so, he had not disclosed reasoning behind such feelings, never to dwell upon emotional conversations too long due to their intimate nature.

"You can't protect me from everything, Abbadon. It isn't your job, nor do I want you to. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. It does, however, flatter me that you wish to look after me. I love you for that." She murmured, offering him a small, pleased smile.

"I know it makes you uncomfortable to hear me say I love you. For whatever reason, I don't know and I won't ask, but I'm not going to hide how I feel. I'm not going to feel guilty for caring about you, and I sincerely hope that you'll come to accept that. Maybe even get to the point where you don't look like I've just physically assaulted you when I say it as well." She teased, pinching his shoulder lightly to hide how insecure the fact made her.

Hooking her fingers around his belt loops, Peyton gently pulled Abbadon toward the bed.

"Come here, lay with me. You aren't going to lose me, baby." She insisted, patting the bed beside her.

Peyton's words seemed to fly over Abbadon's head. Her opinion mattered to him, but she could only grasp the topic with what she knew and there were so many things that she didn't. It was almost amusing to see how truly naive humans were, but that thought only opened up another fear for him. Abbadon wondered how humans dealt with so many emotions and feelings, he had experienced one and it was overwhelming.

"Okay." Abbadon finally replied with an understanding tone, forcing the corner of his lips to pull into the upward curve of a pained smile. She had done little to ease his concerns but he did his best to hide that. He was a monster but that part of his identity seemed to slip further away each day - something about Peyton managed to humanize him.

He stepped on the heels of his shoes, crushing the leather until he was able to slip out of them and slide onto the bed. A huge relief washed over him as he sunk into the sheets with Peyton at his side. For once, Abbadon didn't feel the overwhelming need to remove Peyton's clothing as quick as he could because they were in bed. He didn't feel it at all. He was elated to have her next to him after so long.

Peyton leaned against Abbadon's side as he brought in the last of her luggage inside. Instead of bringing a solitary suitcase as she did last time, she packed up most of her belongings this trip. Their relationship had found new footing and she had decided that she would stay on a more permanent basis with mandatory trips to Chicago for work purposes, in which case she rented a storage room for the remainder of her things and let her apartment go.

"I missed this place. It feels like home." She admitted, hoping she hadn't overstepped her boundaries. While he had been much better about keeping his discomfort in check, she didn't know how describing the place he had lived in most of his life being referred to as her home in any context.

Peyton's eyes wandered from one trinket and nick knack to the next. The only difference she could spot was a new layer of dust settling on the things. She had been paranoid that when Abbadon had put the place on the market, he would have cleared out the treasures, or even worse, sold them off to the highest bidder. Instead they still sat in their familiar, rightful places.

After a few more moments of silence, the overwhelming anxiety Abbadon exuded bothered her enough to speak up. Along with the tension, he wore an uncomfortable expression, though it wasn't directed toward anything in particular.

"You know, you're going to end up with wrinkles if you don't cut that out." Peyton teased, reaching up to press a finger between his brows where his forehead wrinkled with worry to emphasize her point.

"It didn't feel like home without you." Abbadon admitted. The home had been devoid of people besides himself for years and he had enjoyed the solitary environment but after Peyton had wedged her way in - it felt like something was missing when she was gone. The space her absence had created was enough to drive him to across the ocean.

There were far too many things to pack and unpack in the house to appease potential buyers. He assumed either they would love it the way it sat or they could move along - it made little difference to him.

"I felt like I was going crazy without you here - that's why I was selling the house. There is too much space for one person to fill here. I'd hear footsteps coming from your room, or catch a glimpse of you turning the corner to go outside and paint." In an ironic twist, Abbadon did not believe in the supernatural. Ghouls and witches were fairy tales to the demon. He felt that he had existed long enough to understand even the darkest, most unexplored corners of the world.

Peyton raised an eyebrow as she listened to Abbadon confess catching glimpses of her as well as sounds coming from the room she had staked a claim on. While he didn't let onto the plantation being haunted, or even believing in other-worldly beings or entities, she had always found a peculiar fascination and held a strong belief in the supernatural.

It didn't surprise her, the thought of the home being inhabited by the souls of the long forgotten. There had been much history, brutality, and many lives lost on the grounds over the course of a few hundred years, of which many were likely untimely deaths. Why wouldn't their souls be restless upon the grounds they knew so well?

"Well, either the place is haunted, or someone needs to take a trip straight to the loony bin.." She chimed in a sing song voice, lightly teasing him. Slipping her hands into his back pockets, Peyton offered him a quirky smile.