Never say never again, huh? As it happens, I've had another run of ill-health – fortunately somewhat less serious this time! As a result, I was struggling to write anything much. Then the new US series Outcast began.

The Reverend Anderson, soldier of God and tortured soul, rather caught my attention. And then there was a scene involving some obvious flirtation and a dinner date rather rudely interrupted, and the muse decided to make a very welcome reappearance.

You shouldn't need to have seen any of the series for this fic to make sense, but I would recommend it, even if demonic possession isn't your thing. Mr Glenister rocks both the southern drawl and a rather fetching pair of glasses. Need I say more? :)

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Sweet Surrender: An Outcast Fic

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Chapter 1

It was barely mid evening and already darkness had fallen in Rome, West Virginia. An unbearably humid afternoon had resulted in the inevitable electrical storm: occasional lightning still lit up the sky, accompanied by the odd rumble of thunder, and fat raindrops drummed on the roof. It wasn't the kind of night for an unexpected caller, and the knock on the door caught Patricia MacCready off-guard. Leaving the kettle to boil, she went to answer it, pausing as usual to check the peep-hole; a habit she'd developed after her husband left and her teenage son took to staying out late. Squinting at her visitor, the breath caught in her throat and her heart tripped into a fast staccato rhythm. She took a moment to check her appearance in the mirror before opening the door.

"Reverend Anderson! To what do I owe the pleasure? Come on in out of the rain, you must be wet through."

She stood back to allow him entry, and he stepped wearily across the threshold. His hair was plastered to his head and the shoulders of his jacket were dark where the rain had soaked into the fabric: he looked miserable, dishevelled, and exhausted. Despite that, he was still the most attractive man of her acquaintance.

"I'm sorry to just descend on you without warning. I … didn't want to be alone."

He seemed utterly lost, and her heart went out to him.

"Take off your shoes and let's get you out of that damp jacket."

Shedding the offending items, he followed her through into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, removing his glasses and fishing around in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief to wipe them on. She touched his shoulder, relieved that the rain didn't seem to have penetrated through to his shirt.

"Can I get you a coffee? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

He raised his head, his gaze meeting hers, and the breath caught in her throat. Without his glasses, the glory of those eyes was even more astounding: piercing blue, shot through with liquid silver, and framed by exceptionally long lashes.

"I'll take both, if that's okay."

For a moment, she was rendered incapable of sensible thought, and then she recovered herself.

"Of course. You look like you could do with something stronger than caffeine."

Reaching into a cupboard, she withdrew two glasses and a bottle of bourbon, pouring them both a generous measure. By the time she placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the table, his glass was almost empty, so she topped it up again.

"Bad day?"

He grimaced.

"You could say that."

"Want to talk about it?"

Her voice was soft, coaxing. She was curious as to what had led him to her, of all people. He sighed heavily, warming his hands on his mug.

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

He searched her eyes and she smiled reassuringly.

"Only another night in front of the TV, and there's never anything on nowadays."

He managed a weak smile in return, and a current of understanding passed between them. In middle age, single was often a byword for lonely.

"Kyle and I went to the prison today."

As he recounted the chilling events of the afternoon, the blood ran cold in her veins and she shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen. He was clearly shaken, not only by the evil he'd encountered but by his own failure to overcome it. When he'd finished he sat quietly, hunched in on himself, and she studied his handsome profile, convinced that there was more he hadn't yet shared. Reaching across, she touched his hand and her fingers tingled at the contact.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

He glanced up, and the pain in his eyes pierced her soul. He gave a reluctant nod before taking another slug of bourbon.

"It was sweltering in the car and Kyle doesn't like cigarette smoke, so I had the window wound down. The sun got in my eyes and I didn't stop to think, I just lowered the visor. So damn stupid." He shook his head, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the mug tighter. "I lost him."

His voice cracked and she furrowed her brows, almost afraid to ask.

"Who, Reverend? Who did you lose?"

She spoke gently, persuasively, but there was a pregnant pause and for a moment she thought he wouldn't reply.

"My boy. I lost my boy. The only photograph I had of him …"

His grief was palpable, and her eyes filled with tears of sympathy. She laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

"First thing tomorrow, we'll go and find him. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all."

He blinked at her in surprise.

"You'd do that for me?"

Her heart rate kicked up and her throat went dry.

"There's very little I wouldn't do for you, Reverend Anderson. You only have to ask."

Colouring, she dropped her gaze to the table. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity, and then he cleared his throat.

"As a matter of fact, there is something else, Mrs MacCready."

His voice was husky with some emotion she couldn't quite identify and she raised her head, almost afraid to look at him. Their gazes locked, and to her surprise his eyes were alight with desire.

"Would you be so kind as to take me to your bed and screw me senseless?"

She blinked at him, fearful that she'd misheard, but when he took her reticence for censure and began to mumble an abject apology, she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. Reaching for his hand, she got to her feet, her heart hammering so forcefully against her ribs that she was convinced he must be able to hear it. There was no further need for words as she led him along the corridor to her room.

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Lucky Mrs MacCready, huh? *sigh*

Hope you enjoyed! I promise not to keep you waiting too long for the final chapter. :)