My crack at a Demons themed fic. With some crossover action. A little angsty, a little smutty. Hope there's something in it for everyone!

xxxx

May 2008

Rupert Galvin scrolled through the messages on his Blackberry. He hated the thing, but you had to have one if you wanted to talk to anyone anymore.

"...mental health of our crime fighting professionals…"

He looked around the table. It fit eight, but the seat next on his left was empty. Lucky fuck. The rest of the seats were filled with bright thirty-somethings in business suits making uncomfortable conversation about the stresses of police work. Stress. They had no idea what stress was.

"….and that's the main reason we're all here – to reexamine the treatment of job related post traumatic stress disorder as it relates to police fieldwork."

Realizing the speech had stopped and the other people in the room were applauding, he slipped the device into his pocket and added a few unenthusiastic claps of his own. He'd been sent here to New York on a tracking mission, and word was that whatever he was tracking was on the trail of someone at this conference. Psychology and Policework. God he needed a drink already. Where was the waiter?

He put in a request for his first scotch of the day as he looked around the table. Four men and two women. Unlikely targets, he thought to himself, but that didn't mean anything. He wondered idly what they did for a living, without really wanting to know. If he asked them he might have to talk to them.

Staring unhappily at the sad looking salad that arrived at the same time as his drink, he felt the blackberry buzz in his pocket. He thumbed it. The information he needed was waiting at the concierge desk. Getting up, he excused himself from the anonymous table with a nod and left the banquet room. Thank God. He was not eating that fucking salad.

After collecting his file from the desk he shrugged on his overcoat. It was pouring rain outside but he'd prefer that to the dreaded lunch being served upstairs. He could grab a sandwich around the corner and take it back to his room, read the file there. Get the job over with so he could move on.

xxx

It was that last beer that did it, that changed his mind. Galvin hunched over the bar, he wasn't looking forward to it. It was why he never bothered with women. But he could barely focus, couldn't get the work done. Had too much on his mind. It he could just forget it all, lose everything just for an instant, maybe it would be enough. He hoped it would be enough.

He'd been thinking about his wife most of the afternoon. Not unusual, he thought about her every day. But he wasn't feeling guilty for a change, at least not guiltier than usual. He was missing her in a more physical sense. He'd had other women since she'd died, but not many. Never sure if it was the guilt or something else, he almost always stopped before things got too far. It was too dangerous. Besides, it was just a physical need. Nothing he couldn't take care of by himself. Most of the time.

But tonight was different. After picking up the information on his target half-life, he'd spent the afternoon in his room going over the file. A time shifter, the file ranked it a 9. He knew the breed and didn't think it would be that complicated a job. The trick would be to get to it before it found its victim.

He was working on ways to do that when he realized. Today was his wedding anniversary. It would have been 25 years. And he was sure they'd have made it. They'd gotten married in May, and had spent what seemed like weeks in bed. They couldn't get enough of each other. Thinking about her now made his balls ache. He still wanted her so badly. Closing his eyes he forced himself to focus on the job. It's what he always did. It wasn't long before he knew that wouldn't work this time. Images of Maggie invaded his mind when he tried to think. Getting up off the couch where he'd been working, papers spread out all over the coffee table, Rupert Galvin stripped off his clothes and dropped onto the still messy bed. He allowed himself the rarest fantasy. The one about his wife. Most of the time he'd jerk off as quickly as he could, eager to get it over with, to move on to the next job. He'd denied himself so much for so long that it was easier to just treat it like another necessity. Get it over with so he could think straight.

Not today. Images of her dark eyes and red hair played in his mind as he gripped himself firmly, his balls tight, waiting. He started slowly, stroking as the sound of her laughter filled his head, faster as the memories of her lips on his chest as she kissed her way lower taking him deep into her mouth replaced them. He kept that memory, the endless blow-job, her lovely mouth teasing and tasting him as he groaned into the silence. And then one of his favorites, the one on their honeymoon, when they'd snuck into the Griffith Park observatory after dark. Shit they'd been young. He took her from behind, both of them staring at the bright lights of Los Angeles as they came together, as he came into the sheets gasping, spilling for far longer than he had remembered doing in a long time. After that he'd showered and walked down to the bar, settling at one end so he could see everything that went on. He couldn't stay in his fucking room.

Now he was at the bar, thinking about Maggie, about the afternoon. About going back to his room for another try, knowing it wouldn't work. Galvin opened his eyes, ripped out of his fantasy by the drunk that was shouting for the waitress from only three feet away from her. He stared into the empty bottles and tiny shot glasses that sat in front of him, painfully ignoring the quiet throb between his legs. It hadn't been enough. And he needed to focus on the work at hand or someone was going to get hurt. But he couldn't focus. He wanted, no, needed a woman. He waved the bartender over for another drink.

The dinner hosted by the conference had just ended, and by 9pm the bar was filled with suited attendees. It was a small room, with about twelve booths stuck to the floor to ceiling windows separating it from the hotel corridors. He didn't quite understand the trend of setting up bars so everyone who passed could see you drink, but it did make it easier for him to keep his eyes on everything. And everyone. He didn't want to want a woman, but he was going off the deep end without one.

As the night dragged on he drank less, switching from tequila and beer to scotch. The bar emptied, except for the few stragglers who didn't want to stop drinking or couldn't. He watched a group of about seven get up from a booth that really only comfortably fit four, recognizing a few from his table at lunch. Hell, they all could have been there, he wasn't sure he'd remember at this point. As they streamed out into the hotel, one of the women walked to the bar, taking a seat just one over from Rupert. She nodded politely at him as she ordered a white wine from the bartender.

Rupert tried not to stare at her too hard. Pretty, brunette, he remembered noticing her at lunch. It looked like she had nice tits, but who could tell in these godawful suits? She'd do.

"So, um, are you here for the conference?"

British. London, most likely. He nodded. "Sort of."

"I noticed you at our table today. At the lunch. But you left before they served the food."

"Was it any good?"

She laughed and he smiled. "No. It was awful, actually. Chicken, with a slice of bacon wrapped around it."

"Yeah, I knew we were in trouble when the salad came and it was wilted lettuce with a tangerine slice. I snuck out for a sandwich up the block."

"I should've gone with you."

He agreed. "You should have." He paused and stuck out his hand. "Rupert Galvin."

She blushed slightly and took it. "Alex Drake. Rupert isn't a very common name for an American, is it?"

He shook his head as he dropped her hand. "No. My father was a building contractor. Worked all over the world. Mom just liked the name." He gave a non committal shrug but his pants were suddenly very tight.

She smiled. She'd thought he was handsome earlier. His eyes gave him a sort of boyish look, though he was far from young. Older than she was, certainly. "So what do you do? What brings you to this conference?"

He waved his empty glass at the bartender, indicating he should refill Alex's as well. She thanked him. "I do contract work, actually. For different government agencies. A friend at the FBI suggested I might get something out of this one so here I am." He clinked his fresh glass against Alex's before taking a large gulp. "What do you do?"

"I, uh, I'm a psychologist for the Metropolitan Police. London."

"So what does that mean? Psychologist for the Metropolitan Police. London." He grinned at her and she looked away. Thirties? Probably. She had a lovely mouth. And he could almost smell her perfume from where she sat. Would it be too obvious if he moved closer? He glanced at her hand as she lifted her glass. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"Oh, I talk to police officers, help them through the stressful parts of their jobs. Help them solve their problems. Refer them for more help if they need it. What about you? What does a 'contractor' do?" Alex had her suspicions.

"Oh, you know. This and that. Whatever needs doing."

"Whatever needs doing?" Up close he was very handsome, though unconventionally. His eyes, his smile. She instantly hated how lonely she was.

"Sure. Help people solve their problems." He smiled again. He had to blink to stop from imagining her underneath him.

He was talking, but he wasn't saying much. Stop it Alex. Stop being interested in his brain. "I see. Dangerous work?" She couldn't help it.

"Can be. But I try to be careful."

After a while Alex excused herself to go to the ladies room. Inside, she stared at herself in the mirror. He was very non-committal about his job, but she knew what contract work for the government meant. He probably killed people for a living. But she'd met people who did that sort of work. Even treated a few. He didn't look dangerous, or much like a killer. But you really never knew. And she really didn't want to be alone tonight. And she doubted she was on his list anyway. Why not?

"Is it a stressful job? Is that why your friend suggested you come to this?" She sat on the stool right next to his when she returned. His knee moved slightly, bumping hers. She bumped him back. She didn't get that many weekends away from her daughter. And she was far way with a man she'd likely never see again. And he seemed interested. She was going for it.

"You could say that. But on some level all jobs are stressful, aren't they? I mean, even yours. You listen to people tell you awful things all day, things they see, things they do. Doesn't it ever get to you?"

She shook her head. "Not really. Other people's problems are so much easier to deal with than your own, aren't they?" She scrunched her face into a funny expression, and he couldn't help but lean closer.

"Oh, come on. What kind of problems could you have? You're young, attractive…" he stopped as she looked away.

"Yes, uh, thank you. But not young or attractive enough, apparently." Oh my god. Why was she telling him this? "Today is the one year anniversary of my divorce."

Bingo. "Well, I am sorry." He stared at her and she didn't flinch. "But not that sorry." He called the bartender over for another drink.

"What about you?" She cleared her throat. "Married?"

The bartender reached their end of the bar. "Last call folks. We'll be closing up in a few." He refilled their glasses.

"Want an extra?" Rupert asked Alex.

"No, thanks. This will do." The bartender walked away as Alex asked again. "Married?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Oh." Good. Wait. Good? Was she really thinking about going through with this? He was obviously interested. Alex thought hard. When was the last time she'd spent the night with a man just for the sex? It had been right after the divorce, and she'd felt guilty the whole night that she wasn't with her daughter. They were supposed to have had the weekend but she'd made the poor man take her home the next morning. They never went out again.

But here she was, thousands of miles away from anyone who would care or know. She started when he got up off his bar stool and threw a long overcoat over his arm. "Are you leaving?"

He shrugged. "Last call. Bar's closing."

"Oh, um" she swallowed. "Would you like a nightcap?"

He paused, looking at her. Could he go through with it? He needed to or he wouldn't be able to concentrate. He didn't want it. "Sure. There's a bar around the corner. It's raining, but it's not far."

Alex swallowed again. "I, um, have a mini-bar in my room." She looked him in the eye. "If you don't want to go out in the rain."

He closed the small gap between them. "Mini-bar sounds great. Lead the way."

xx

The minute they were alone in the elevator he pushed her against the wall, kissing her hard. As he did the pulse gun he kept sheathed inside his overcoat swung against her leg.

"Impressive weapon" she mumbled as he grabbed her breast with his free hand.

"Thanks." He kissed her again. "Handles like a dream, for its size." Alex giggled in spite of herself.

They reached the 17th floor, and he followed her out of the elevator and down the hallway. Thank god it wasn't far, he could barely walk. Rupert stood behind her as she slid the card into the slot in the door. He tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a groan as the door clicked and she turned the handle. He didn't see her bite her lip.

The room was lit by a small lamp by the bed. Alex stuck her hand out, reaching for the switch on the wall, but he covered her hand with his before she could turn it on. Curling her fingers into his he wrapped his arm around her waist, his erection obvious as he pulled her tight against him, as he kissed the back of her head.

Alex tried to talk, but her voice was breathy, hoarse. "Do you want that drink?"

Rupert turned her around. He didn't want a drink. He wanted to fuck her, needed to lose himself completely. And soon. "No."

She placed her lips lightly against his, and he responded by parting them roughly with his tongue as he dropped his coat, the pulse gun hitting the floor with a muffled thump. With a sigh she pushed herself against him, meeting his tongue with hers as his arms moved around her.

Wordlessly they undressed, pulling at each others clothes until there were none left and they moved together onto the bed. Before she could touch him he pulled her hands together over her head, kicked her legs apart and buried himself inside her. Rupert groaned as he released her hands and pushed himself off the bed, thrusting hard as this stranger writhed underneath him. He closed his eyes, he just wanted to come, was sure he would come fast, even as he knew he shouldn't, that there was another person in the bed with him who wanted something from him. Something he wasn't sure he could give.

Alex wrapped her legs around his hips as he thrust into her. He was huge, and hard, and Oh god! She hoped he'd never stop.

But he didn't come, he couldn't come, couldn't let go. He thrust harder, driving deeper into her as she cried out for more. Shit she felt great. She smelled great. He could do this. Pulling back again, he moved inside her slowly as he opened his eyes. "Yes, god yes" she coaxed him, groaning. She was gonna come, soon, and he couldn't, he couldn't…oh, god, wait, no, no, shit…

Frantically he pulled out, too late as he came anyway, releasing over her leg as she murmured, confused, unsatisfied.

"Rupert? What?"

Shit. "Sorry. I'm sorry." He rolled over onto his back, covering his face with his hands. He couldn't do it. Give that much, lose that much.

"You didn't have to do that. I mean, if you were worried."

He took a deep breath. "No." He shook his head. It wasn't the first time it had happened.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Yes. Sorry."

"What happened?"

He exhaled. "I should go." He sat up, but Alex sat with him, her hand reaching for his arm.

"No, don't." She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to leave. Not like this. She wasn't sure she could handle the rejection.

He turned to look at her. He shouldn't have done it. "It's…it's my wife."

Wife. "Wife? You said you weren't married. I wouldn't have done this if –"

"I'm not." He shook his head vigorously, shaking from alcohol and fear and the sudden orgasm. "She died. I'm not married."

"Oh god. I'm sorry." Great, I always get the crazy ones. "When?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Almost twenty years ago."

Alex was silent. "If you don't mind my saying, twenty years seems like a long time." Shit. She had a horrible thought. "You didn't kill her, did you?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. But it was my fault." He leaned against the headboard, one leg on the bed and the other on the floor. "Why did you ask if I'd killed her?"

Alex swallowed. "That's what you do, isn't it? You kill people? Government contractor? Please." She looked away as he stared at her.

When he spoke again he was quiet. "No, Alex. I don't kill people." She gave him a questioning look. "But what I do is very dangerous. To me and to those around me."

He watched her get up and walk to the bathroom, presumably to clean herself up. Rupert stared at the ceiling. None of this was helping. Now he just felt guilty. But she was right. Twenty years. He should be over it. Over the guilt about leaving Maggie unprotected. He just didn't know how.

"Have you ever talked to anyone about it?" Alex came out or the bathroom wearing a red and green plaid nightshirt. She looked like Christmas.

"What? Therapy?" He laughed sourly. "You don't get therapy in my job." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking around on the floor for his boxer shorts. After pulling them on he took a step towards the mini-bar. "Do you mind if I, uh..." He pointed to the tiny bottles of alcohol. He needed a drink.

Alex shook her head.

"Do you want any?"

"I'll have the Diet Coke." He tossed her the can and twisted the top off a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, scowling. There was only one. "Surely there must be some service, somewhere you can go. Twenty years is a long time to be carrying around that much guilt. I'm sure if you just talked about it…"

He shook his head, interrupting. "There isn't."

"Well why don't you try talking to me." Alex sat cross legged on the bed, pulling the blankets over her lap.

He laughed sharply. "I don't need therapy."

"Well, after knowing you only a very short while, I have some experience that rather suggests you might benefit from it." She held his gaze steady. This she was good at.

Rupert looked away first. "I really should leave. I have work to do."

"It's almost three am. What could you have to do now?" She patted the bed next to her. "You may certainly sleep here for a few hours." She held her hands up. "No pressure." She turned the light off next to the bed as he picked his pants up off the floor. She heard him mumble 'fuck it' and felt him get into the bed next to her, sighing as he did.

"Rupert. You can talk about it if you want to."

He was exhausted and confused, swimming in guilt he couldn't shake. That he'd never been able to shake. He took a deep breath and told her. They hadn't been married long. They'd gotten married young and were young enough to still be in love. Young enough to believe that his job was the most important thing he'd ever do. He told her how he'd left Maggie alone frequently, traveling often to complete assignments. He told her how he'd never confessed how dangerous his life was, how dangerous it would be for her. She knew a little of what he did, but he never told her everything. He didn't want her to get hurt. He made a lot of enemies at his job. He thought keeping things from her would keep her safe. He told her about that one time, the time he and his partner were chasing a particularly dangerous criminal and he left Maggie alone. He told her how he came home to find her dead in their bedroom. How he'd never forgive himself. He didn't tell her that two years later he watched his partner die, that he had a godson he was desperate to protect.

While he was talking Alex slid her arm over his, curled her fingers into his, not saying anything.

When he was finished he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, into the dark, certain sleep would never come. But it did, and he welcomed it.

xx

When he woke the next morning Alex was gone. She'd left him a note to seek more help, and a cup of black coffee. Lukewarm. He pulled on his clothes quickly, and was sitting on the small couch putting his shoes on when he saw her pile of folders. He couldn't help looking, it was in his nature to snoop.

It was in the third file. His eyes widened when he read it, words jumping from the pages, choking him. "…1973…" "…suicide…" "…time travel…"

Shit! Shit! Shit! He jumped up, loosening his pulse gun from its holster and draping his coat over it as he ran out of the room.

Alex Drake was his monster's fucking target.