One-shot, I listened to In My Veins by Andrew Belle (the first :56 seconds to be exact) while writing if you want to get a feel for it through. I wasn't planning on writing any more tonight but my muse does not listen to me as often as I would like. I apologize for the sad.

You wish a thousand times over that you had a time machine. You wish that there was a spell to cast, or a potion to drink, anything that could changed the reality that is the present and give you one last night. But even in the world of Fae such things don't exist and even if they did no one (not even Trick) would give it to you, not now.

You're sitting at the edge of the end, legs hanging into space, the winds colder and wilder this high up. You fingers curl around the concrete edge, the exposed and ragged edges bite your palm and each pinprick of pain is a reminder of your beating heart. And of how still hers is, and will always be. Her blood is on your hands, dried to your palms. Your shirt is covered in it, your hair matted down where you ran bloodied hands through it.

She's dead and still may look better than you.

Except for the hole. The gaping hole where the bullet tore through her, where the human who worked for the Fae, was killed by a nervous thief. There was no justice in this world, irony maybe, but no justice. No amount of blood, no number of bodies could soothe the fire that burns you now. It doesn't burn inside of you, but around you, consuming you, giving you drive and purpose.

You're hungry. You feel the hunger growing with every aching minute, but you don't dare move. This ledge is safe, there are no people here, no victims, nothing but your thoughts and empty memories. You're back to wishing for a time machine.

You know exactly where you would go, if you only had one trip. You know the moment you would loop for the rest of time until you'd memorized every breath she took, every muscle that twitched and tensed as you ran your hands down her ribs. You'd go back there just to feel her fingers in your hair, her lips on your neck, her breath in you ear as she begged for release. You'd take the time to trace her, to ask the questions about the scars she hated and after her explanation you would kiss them, you'd kiss a path to her neck and you'd suck that spot. You'd nip at her collarbone in the way that makes her back arch, simply because you're never going to get that close to her again.

But most of all, in the hours after she'd screamed your name and you'd screamed hers, you'd let her be the big spoon. You'd let her curl behind you just so you could feel her heart beating against your spine. You'd tangle your fingers together and press kisses to her knuckles as she rested her chin on the curve of your shoulder. You'd sleep in arms and never wake, because in that world you wouldn't have to.

But you don't have a time machine.

You have the memories you cling to and the scratches down your back that will fade. You have the anger that courses through your veins and the chance before you to end it all.

That's what you came here for, to the ledge. You came here, ran here, when Dyson tried to stop you and Kenzi tried to soothe you. You'd fought them both with brutal force conjured by rage and despair but controlled by grief. You were here now, legs dangling over the edge wondering what to do next.

There was your original plan, the one that involved falling and the sweet temptation of silence. But it wasn't dying that you were after, it was an end to the pain and uncontrollable helplessness that you craved. You felt like you were fifteen and back in Podunk USA with a dead boy in the car and nothing but the taste of his lips on yours as he died to explain anything. This was worse, what you were left with as Lauren died was her hand around your wrist and the ring on the tiled floor, shining in the light as her blood pooled around it.

She asked you for forever in her dying breaths.

You got engaged on a convenient store floor between the candy aisle and the twenty-four packs of beer. You'd nodded, told all the lies people tell when they know death is inevitable and when she called you out on it, and you saw the light fading faster from her eyes, you'd put your forehead to hers. You'd felt the tears slipping down your face and when she'd squeezed your wrist and begged you not to cry in as little words as Bo you'd cried harder.

You couldn't cry now.

You could barely breathe now with the wind suffocating you and the pressure of you hunger adding to the weight. You needed to feed, not only because devastating emotions drained you fast and without warning but, because in your desperation you'd given as much of your succubus energy as you dared. You'd prayed that it would work but knew that it wouldn't. The energy wasn't hers to take, it washed over her, gave her a few seconds more maybe, but did not restore the life you had so hoped that it would.

She'd smiled through the pain, smiled through the last ditch effort to save her life and as the siren wailed too far, too late in the background she'd closed her eyes. It was a familiar look of serenity that settled upon her face, and you waited for the rush that had hit you last time you saw it. You waited for the super-succubus to hit you, to take over the instincts you hated and fought so long.

But they didn't come.

You'd let yourself down.

Her last breath left and with it the part of you that had been tamed and wrangled over the years. With Lauren's death you'd lost a part of yourself, a part that you'd given to her without realizing or caring. She'd had your heart, and she took it with her when she died.

**End**