The fifth in the Apples theme, spanning multiple categories with sexual tension resolved the Zaedah way.
First sin: Tony and Ziva... (NCIS)
Second sin: Peter and Olivia... (Fringe)
Third sin: Charlie and Dani... (Life)
Fourth sin: Booth and Brennan...(Bones)
Fifth sin: Cordy and Doyle... (Angel)
Apples: The Fall
The fault lay in the fear.
Fright brings out no sort of good in anyone and therefore blame can be shifted as circumstance warrants. Too many close calls with the vengeful undead makes the notion of security, of safety, as unrealistic as the grand dreams to which she still clutches. The light of day allows for a flexible degree of confidence and her finest acting is affixed to the cause. But with the sun's descent, things go countless shades of wrong and just ahead, in the sands of life, she's reached a rather daunting line.
Stubbornness ensures only so much forward progress.
On one side waits the dire crisis of any given day, wrapped in a box of danger with the sparkly bow of destruction. They don't make a wardrobe suitable for this sort of lifestyle. Prophecy wasn't a course offered in school but she remembers that an object at rest stays at rest until pushed in the back by an impatient force. While she has cast off the genetically-bred nonchalance to work at understanding the predictions of doom that now shape her daily schedule, she still fails.
On the other side stands a man.
And therein lies all manner of inconvenience. No single person could possess the storehouse of energy required to spackle the holes in that one. Too many cracks, the nature of which she prefers to remain unenlightened. Though arguably above her intellect, he is below her notice. To debase one's self with such a gargantuan step down is to revoke the privilege of self-worth. Or, at least, the trace amount she still owns. She could, as she often cites, never be trapped in a moment so needful that she'd consider him a viable way out.
Until now.
Because that line is inching nearer, leaving only the decision of whether to voluntarily jump or go down fighting. Neither is entirely enticing and likely both would produce equal injury. The often vague danger has become real and awfully specific, like the denial of pregnancy ending with a squiring infant. When not visible, the existence of peril is easy to denounce but now she can hold it, coddle it. And it snaps at her careful hands.
Unwanted gifts can't always be repackaged.
Beneath her feet, the ledge taunts her. Demons approach from the other three sides and though any other damsel might expect a hero, her breeze is gusting with pragmatism. Dreams are tossed over the cliff and the temptation to follow, to snatch control of the inevitable, leaves a foot dangling freely in the void. Where death is preferable to uncertainty, only the leaping remains.
Heroes are in short supply.
Or perhaps just getting shorter. He promises a secret exit, a softer landing. The options being sparse, she holds onto him in thin hope that a shared plunge brings half the pain. And with nothing else to do, she falls. Like Newton's apple, torn from the tree by relentless gravity, she tumbles in proof of the laws of motion. And the unlikely savior catches her. Slightly bruised, she finds this new ground inviting. An object in motion will remain in motion and he sees to that.
Some might say he took advantage.
With her twisty history with circumstance it's hard to say. Those with prior knowledge would assign guilt to her. She'd made him want, let him desire, watched him burn. Stayed just out of reach on her lofty limb. But now that he's got the apple in his hands, there's a determined bite and more than a little juice.
The line is redrawn.