Yet more drabbles and ficlets, dug up from the depths of Tiger's sad, mad, bad history...all apologies, peoples.

PSOH 'Dangerous'

He hit me!

He hit me and I don't like it. I won't put up with it! I hate it! I hate him!

That puling bastard, that lowlife – that foolish, foolish man. And yet…and yet, my heart hurts when I think of leaving. I want to run as fast as possible, but I don't believe I can.

Not just yet...not just yet.

He hit me. Shameful, heinous! He didn't mean to hurt me, I don't believe, though my cheek still smarts like the very devil. He only meant to demonstrate directly just how angry he was with me, how frustrated I'd made him: 'Waltzing into danger like a fucking idiot!' he called it, though it was just another frightened animal and nothing to fuss over.

…But a slap in the face is a blow to my heart . I cannot bear to simply accept such an insult, no matter what his reason was.

He hit me…and then he kissed me, sloppy and wet and terribly hard, and proclaimed of how sorry he was, how it was that he didn't mean it, but I was driving him crazy and he didn't know what else to do. He'd been terrified, he confessed; so afraid he couldn't even bear to call out to me, for his heart had stopped when I touched the wounded beast and he'd been certain he wouldn't arrive in time.

As if I were ever in any danger. Me!

…Just one slap and then he held me and sobbed into my neck and moaned about how I should hate him for not trusting me, how I should leave him and he wouldn't even blame me for it, he was such an asshole—'But please don't, D. Please don't'.

He hit me; of course I slapped him back immediately, brisk and hard. It brought my foolish man to his senses, literally to his knees, and made him finally see me – gauge the tensile strength in this body I walk about in and absorb the utter lack of fear in my gaze.

I admit I fell, as well. To kneel before him, as he knelt before me. On the level, the two of us: an odd thing, a strange thing, but a feeling I only ever seem to experience with him.

We both cried at that, my gesture. Tears forced from fast-blinking lashes, and all from shock, no doubt; and he the hardest, even though it was my cheek that was the reddest after. And then we held one another tightly for what seemed a large portion of forever, vowing never to do that again.

….Or, at least, or so he promised, mumbling indistinctly into my throat, his voice froggy: if I planned to succor another feral bobcat any time soon, he'd be with me when I did it, would ensure he was right there… right by my side.

These humans, they are so very foolish. And yet.

PSOH Drabble Challenge #205 Afterlife

Slide the universe sideways and click in place, just so. Focus, so that the dark-robed man's frayed image returns to 'sharp' in your view.

"They're all…" is what you mean to say, but your mouth is open in wonder – they are beautiful - and you only think you say it.

"Which one will make your wish come true?"

Oh, he heard you. You point to what you believe is the best one, the shiniest, the one you want.

"Will you be satisfied with that one?"

Oh, yes. I will.

"Then go, and take him with you."

"…But first, sign here."

Alternate 'Afterlife' Drabble #205

Leon didn't squeeze the trigger, even as royally pissed as he was. And he didn't need Q-chan to stop him, either. How could he pull it now, when he'd felt such a huge swell of emotion earlier (frantic, legs churning to make it there on time, hoping against hope that he wouldn't find—) such a deep dark desire to 'protect' and 'keep safe'?

The Count might be irritating, and a damned tricky bastard, but Leon could not imagine a world without him now. He might as well shoot himself, and be done with it, 'cause he didn't deserve to be a cop if the Count's blood stained his hands.

Later, comfy, drinking tea in his usual spot on the sofa, Leon thought that life wouldn't be much fun without the asshole. He could admit that, if nothing else.

PSOH Double Drabble #1 'Journey'

"cloudscape near kuala lumpur" www . flickr photos/ teepeedub / 2247185252 /

They sailed without boundaries, without the cross-currents of the winds to rock them, without the cold of night or the heat of day. Their ship was a bubble, phosphorescing, luminescent, filled with lives that could not exist unless fed with dreams and wishes. There was no hunger, no sorrow, no need. They sailed, and did not ask where they were going. The captain would know, as he always did, and then, and only then, would they wear their masques again.

Only the Totetsu knew why they had sailed for so long.

PSOH Double Drabble #2 'Journey' www .flickr photos / borealnz /421877365 /

"Ah, Detective, you're just the man I need!"

"Hmm? What d'ya want, Count?"

"If you could just climb in there, please." D pointed to his over-sized trunk.

Leon stepped back and shook his head. No way in hell he'd fit in there.

"Please, Detective, I simply need to judge the size..." D looked up from under those long sooty eyelashes and Leon realized he was doomed.

"I'll go buy you a tape measure—" The Count just shook his head.

Leon sighed and climbed in, hoping to get this over with, hoping D wouldn't think it was funny to shut the lid.

He had more room than he expected.

"Would you lie down, Leon? All the way, please." D's purple-and-gold eyes glittered with amusement, but Leon only heard his own name. He lay back and stretched his legs and yep, sure enough, there was plenty of room.

"Perfect, Detective. I was positive you'd fit."

The lid did not slam shut suddenly, for which Leon was profoundly grateful. He never knew with D. Instead, a long slim hand was offered and Leon grasped it, careful of the nails. As he sat up, he could have sworn there had been grass beneath him. The very faintest echo of birdsong followed him out and then D slammed shut the trunk, strapping it tight. Leon watched him curiously, one hand going unconsciously to his back to brush off the grass.

"What was that all about, D?"

"A little test, my dear Detective." The Count plucked a flower from Leon's shoulder and touched it his wine-red mouth. He smiled up at Leon, pleased as punch. "You'll be glad to know you have passed."

"Huh," Leon grunted, but he was glad, nevertheless.