On Loving a Dove

by Magi Silverwolf

"New York, 1943. The White Dove. I loved her. More than the hottie at SCIU." Nikola watched as Helen kept walking. He told himself that it was fine. For all that Helen and James had arranged his death, neither of them understood why he had finally agreed to die. It was fine. Everyone leaves in the end. His dove was just one in a crowd. (Legacies)

1. The Woman with No Name

Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warning: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

Author's Note(s): This story was written for The Advent Challenge hosted by the Facebook page May We Write. The Challenge is to write a ficlet of any size each day leading up to Christmas. It started today and the last part will be done on Christmas Eve. This story will be posted on both FFN and AO3.

Song Recommendation: "Chains/Drag Me Down (Acoustic Mashup)" by Megan Davies & Jaclyn Davies

-= LP =-

On Loving a Dove

Part 01: The Woman with No Name

-= LP =-

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress

Or softly lightens o'er her face,

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

– Lord Byron, She Walks in Beauty

-= LP =-

New York, United States of America, December 1942

"You know, if you keep drinking like that, you'll end up in the Hudson."

Nikola glanced up from where he had been scribbling down equations into his notebook. That single look made him look again and for longer. The woman standing beside his table was beautiful, but he had seen beautiful women from all over the world. He was good friends with Helen Magus, after all, and occasionally assisted with her Sanctuary. He had met actual sirens and succubae, women who could stop a man's breath with a whisper. Yet something about this woman was arresting. Even Helen, beautiful and brilliant Helen, was a pale imitation of perfection compared to the raven-haired woman before him. He was staring, but she didn't fidget under his gaze. Instead, her emerald gaze stayed fixated on his face, watching him as he assessed her.

Finally, he forced himself to move—to close his notebook and reach for his glass of lager. The gulp was absolutely vile, but this tavern did not stock any wine worth noting. Drinking it had been more for effect than for pleasure. Right now, it was safer for him to stay in crowds as much as possible. Governments were just so testy about him trying to make a profit. Barkeeps were just as testy about patrons who sat for hours and bought nothing. Hence the drink, and why he forced himself to empty the glass every half hour or so. It wasn't like the alcohol was going to make him drunk.

She moved just a few steps forward to lean against the rough wood of the table. He could now feel the heat of her body as it radiated off her. The dark scent of her filled his senses, intoxicating him in a way that even emptying James' impressive wine stocks couldn't. It clung to the back of his throat like blood mixed with wine. She slid her left hand from his wrist to his shoulder before brushing it over the ridge of his clavicle and the edge of his throat's hollow.

"It gets dark so early this time of year," she whispered, her voice pitched just right to still be heard over the fools playing billiards across the tavern but still exclude any potential eavesdroppers. "And my apartment is so cold." Her fingers, delicate but with odd calluses, rubbed his adam's apple briefly before carding into the loose curls which brushed against the back of his neck. The light was now directly behind her, which turned her dark hair into a dark red halo. Interest was so thickly mutual between them that it was like a physical aura. His mouth went dry as she bent to breathe her next words against his lips. "It would be warmer with another person, don't you think?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Is it working?"

"In the interest of fair play," Nikola said, hating the little voice that nagged like James and demanded this, "I should warn you that I'm not nearly as drunk as one would think." Her tongue flicked across his lips before she replied.

"Good; then you should be able to keep up."

"Are you going to try to kill me?"

"Oh, yes," she declared huskily, "at least twice before the night is over. Maybe three times, if you are as good as you look like you are."

"Darling, I'm always good," Nikola vowed. The other members of the Five would have scoffed, but this wonder of a woman just laughed. It was bright and clear like a bell but soft like the cooing of a dove. She gave his lips a darting peck of a kiss which finished with another flick of her tongue. She straightened a bit, giving him space to breathe again, while keeping her hip pressed against the table. Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Not a humble man, are you?"

"I don't do humble."

"I can see that," she stated. "So what do you do that would give you such confidence?"

"The impossible," he quipped without hesitation. Her soft smile transformed into a grin which showed off her sharp incisors. The emerald of her irises had darkened to almost black and the hand in his hair tightened briefly. The teasing interest she had displayed before had turned predatorial. It would have made a lesser man feel intimidated.

"I bet you do," she agreed readily. "Take me home."

"Why?"

"Because it's Christmas, and you'll make a nice gift to myself."