BAZ

"I still think the direct approach is best," Simon insists for the third time around a mouthful of Aero bar.

I stop pacing long enough to pierce him with a scathing look. He stares up at me from the edge of his perpetually rumpled bed. His blue eyes widen at me with innocent earnestness, while he chews his chocolate. Crowley, he's adorable. Far too adorable to berate. It's been days since I've been able to work up a satisfyingly snarky rejoinder to one of his many idiotic comments. Every time I look at him I'm transported back to the bunker, Simon half naked and beautiful, his eyes blazing with need, his hands heating every inch of my back. My insults are instantly incinerated in a blaze of wildfire.

I patiently remind myself that every time I've flown too close to my own personal sun, I've crashed and burned. It's best for both of us if I remain polite and distant.

I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Fuck. I had deliberately taken time to feed before this conversation and it's done nothing whatsoever to diminish my crippling need for Snow. It's only gifted me with the embarrassing ability to blush.

I look away and pace faster, hoping he won't notice. "My father is hardly going to march up to the Hepburn manor and demand that they give back the amulet. He'd never even make it past the front gates. You know how many spells are guarding that place?"

Simon throws his hands up, "No Baz, I don't! How could I possibly know that?"

I pause. He's so oblivious to the way these things work. It should be infuriating, but for some bizarre reason it only compounds his appeal. How can I possibly love the fact that he's completely clueless? I must be even further gone than I thought.

I force myself to turn and head back towards the door. "Think about it for a moment, Snow. You know how tightly the Mage has locked down Watford." I swivel and stroll back towards the window. "Old families like the Hepburns? They've had decades – centuries – to spell their homes secure." I shake my head firmly. "No. Direct approach is a non-starter." I throw him a look over my shoulder on the way back towards the door. "And before you say anything, sneaking in is definitely not an option. Surest way to get us both killed."

"This is ridiculous!" He complains. "They stole your mother's heirloom! Why wouldn't your father ring them up and demand that they give your property back?" Simon bounces to his feet, catching my arm as I stride by, and turning me towards him. "And for Crowley's sake, Baz – stop pacing!"

He clutches my other arm, pulling me to a halt. He's standing so close I could easily step forward and kiss him. Fuck. How am I supposed to concentrate on anything when he's touching me? I can barely remember to keep breathing – attempting to plan the moves and counter-moves of this deadly chess-match is hopeless.

I have to extricate myself. "Snow, you can't just –" but I abruptly decide mid-sentence that it's a very bad idea to tell Simon to stop touching me. I can feel each of his fingers, distinctly, burning into my arms. I'm staring deeply into his blue eyes, falling into them, slowly.

A faint voice in the back of my head reminds me to remain polite and distant. No need to plummet to my own demise, again and again. A glutton for pain and rejection.

But Simon's lips are an absolute work of art, they really are, and that voice can sod the fuck off.

Fortunately, Snow pulls away before I do anything regrettable. "What, you can't even call them? I suppose their phones spelled too!" He says sarcastically. He takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

I take a deep breath. Steady. "There's a hierarchy, and the Hepburns are at the very top. You don't call them, they call you."

"Well, that's ridiculous. You're saying they can get away with stealing anything they want? Can they get away with murder too?" He's glaring at me now and it's completely unsettling. Crowley – he's beautiful when he glares.

He steps forward into a sunbeam that lights up his blonde hair like the crown on an avenging angel, who still believes there's some measure of justice in this world. I see his fingers instinctively twitch for something. Not his wand, that's for sure. He's reaching for his sword, that would really complete the picture. Haloed Simon raising his sword for justice.

I hate to burst his bubble – but, "They have gotten away with murder."

"Bloody hell," he murmurs, deflated, twisting his fingers carelessly through his hair. My eyes rake over those curls.

"They were let off this latest time when they insisted they couldn't be faulted for their creatures' actions. 'Dangerous beasts, hard to control,'" I quote, thinking back to the reports from that bloody episode a few years ago.

When his frustrated blue eyes lock onto mine, I'm dragged back to the present, abruptly flooded with desire. My voice is breathless as I conclude in a murmur, "and so on and so forth."

It's suddenly extremely hard to remember why I'm not snogging Snow. Because those lips are so inviting and I'm 90% sure he'd kiss me back, at least for a little while.

I worry my bottom lip and Simon's eyes fall there. When his eyes slowly meet mine again, the estimate jumps to 99%.

But it's not the odds that have deterred me these last few days. It's the fact that he wants me to confess my incompetence. I'd be irretrievably lessened in his eyes – no longer a powerful, capable equal. He'd see me for the pathetic loser I am, and I just couldn't bear it.

I take a few steps back until my legs hit my bed. I force myself to sit. Fuck this pride. I wish I could throw it aside, but it feels like the only strength I have left.

I stare up at him for a moment before it suddenly hits me. It's not my pride at all. It's infinitely worse. It's naked, paralyzing fear of rejection. I can't open up to Snow, because he'd never love all the filth inside of me. How could he? I'm a cesspool of ugliness underneath a very thin layer of appeal. I'd rather him love whatever small precarious thing he sees in me, than hate me to my core.

Fuck, that's debilitating. I glance at the window, desperately trying to keep myself from sinking into utter despair, but the bright sunlight that crowns him like a hero, is same sunlight that stings me to look at, that claws my icy skin with it's golden beams. It offers no respite.

The bed dips beside me. The fucking idiot is sitting on my bed. Innocent, beautiful, inches away from a monster. I wince when his hand touches my shoulder.

"Baz," he whispers softly. "Fuck, Baz, you're shaking."

SIMON

Suddenly Baz looks dreadful and I feel like bloody wanker for speaking at all. I'm only derailing his train of thought. At an utter loss, I impulsively wrap my arms around him. He tenses beneath me.

I feel so wretchedly inadequate. I have no idea what this hierarchy is or how it works. I'm woefully out of my depth when it comes to magical families, creatures, and centuries-old defense spells. I don't even know how to form the beginnings of a plan. My best idea all day was, 'Have your daddy go get it.' I sound like a fucking toddler.

Poor Baz must feel completely alone. I can't help him at all, and Gina never would have been able to steal it in the first place if it weren't for my idiocy.

I stroke his hair very lightly and pull his head closer to my shoulder. I take some small comfort that he hasn't pushed me away, even though he's not hugging me back. "I'm so sorry," I whisper into his hair. "I never should have met up with Gina. If you hadn't been there saving my life..." I press my lips together and continue to berate myself silently.

"What?" Baz demands, pushing me back a bit to flash me a proper glare. He leaves his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "Don't you dare blame yourself," he bites out fiercely. He shoves my shoulder a bit as he lets go.

"But this whole mess is my fault!" I insist.

Baz gestures vehemently towards the door, his face suddenly dark with fury. He's stopped shaking but I notice his fist is clenched, his knuckles white. "Snow," he bites out, "that's completely ridiculous. It's Gina's fault! She's the one who fucking did it, you wanker."

I stare at him in confusion, struggling to keep up. Why is he so worked up about this? It's so obviously my fault. Isn't it? Isn't everything?

"It's not your responsibility to make sure nothing bad ever happens. To save everyone, everytime." He shakes his head in frustration, then exhales sharply, visibly attempting to still his expression. "Just-" he takes a deep breath, pushing me, "get off my bed."

I breathe a laugh, tensing against the pressure. I'm still not entirely sure what's going through his head, but I know he's going to have to push a lot harder than that to move me.

He doesn't. He relents while glaring at me, "What is so fucking funny, Snow?"

We lock eyes again and it's hard to describe how beautiful he is to me in this moment. The flush of his skin. His black hair uncharacteristically wild, brushing his eyebrows because he's run his hand through it too many times. The passion flaring in his eyes.

But what's most beautiful is how vehemently he's defending me. From myself. The moment he started admonishing me for blaming myself, I instantly felt this weight fall off of my shoulders. He makes me feel lighter. Almost – blameless. Almost – perfect.

My fingers are tracing that bit of hair framing his forehead. I don't know when I started doing that. I had no intention of it. "You have no idea how good you make me feel," I whisper softly.

Baz shakes his head in confusion. "You're mental."

I blush, yanking my hand away from his skin, focusing my attention on the relative safety of the floor. "It's just – I – I think you're the only one who doesn't expect me to fix everything."

He shrugs his shoulders. "You know I've always thought this Chosen One thing is bullshit. You're one person. They can fix their own shit. The only person you should be worrying about is you."

I snort and shoot him a look. "You hardly take your own advice, life saver."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do take my own advice, Snow. You have no idea. That night – I was taking care of myself! I'm much too selfish to lose..." His eyes soften as he leans back a bit, "You," he finishes quietly.

He looks down at the floor, nudging my heel with the side of his foot. "Seriously though, get the fuck off my bed, Snow." His voice is gentle.

"Why does it sound like you're still protecting me?"

"Because I am. You need to get away from me."

"What happens if I don't?" I ask softly. I'm pretty sure whatever will happen if I stay right here is far more appealing that anything that could occur on the opposite side of the room.

He searches my eyes for a moment before tracing my cheek with his fingertips, gently resting his palm against my skin. That simple touch is spellbinding, hypnotizing. I let him pull me closer, his cool cheek brushing mine. His breath caresses my ear as he whispers, "I eat you alive."

I stay perfectly still, my heart pounding in my chest. The past few days have been miserable. He's been polite but impenetrable, keeping me at arms' length no matter what idiotic comments I made, trying without success to get a response from him. Anything. I'm starving for his attention, any of it, all of it. And now – he wants me? I still can't imagine why. He's so posh and sophisticated, everything I'm not.

"Simon," his smooth voice makes me shiver in anticipation.

BAZ

I know what I should say. I know several things that would drive him away. But I hesitate. At this point I'd rather walk directly into an open flame than make him leave.

He's sitting so still – unexpectedly patient for Snow – and I find it so bloody difficult to say what needs to be said. Something in me rebels, and I brush his cheek with my lips. Shifting closer, I nibble my way up his ear. The small sound he produces brings a smile to my lips.

I clutch the back of his head and kiss the base of his jaw. I work my way lower, kissing along his neck. He tips his head back in response.

I still don't know if he trusts me. Why he tolerates my teeth this close to his skin. I'm keeping my fangs in. I'm being so careful not to scrape his skin in the slightest. But he has to sense the insatiable, desperate monster lurking just below the surface.

Not that it's a monster he should fear. I'd protect him with my life.

Fuck, I'm supposed to be protecting him now, by staying away from him. Or protecting him from seeing the real me. Or.. who am I fooling? I'm taking my own advice. I'm protecting myself. I can't lose him. I won't.

I ease back, taking a deep breath, readying myself to speak these terrible, necessary words. But the instant my lips part to tell him that I will never let him in, he takes possession of my mouth.

I sink into another world. A beautiful world that smells like smoke and tastes like chocolate and feels like heaven.

His velvet tongue licks up mine, while his hands send pleasure down my neck, down my chest. He pushes me, gently, and I let myself fall back onto the mattress. I play with his hair, keeping his lips locked to mine. Letting him slowly unbutton my shirt. I make quicker work of his. Eager to feel his delicious heat against my palms again.

What was I thinking? The only plan I need is to stay here with Simon, letting him kiss me into oblivion, until they come attack us. His hands finally finish with the buttons, and now he's tracing my chest, kissing my lips.

Yes, I'm perfectly fine waiting here. Let them come to us. I'm lost in him and I don't ever want to be found.

Suddenly, I push Simon's shoulders away from me, breaking the kiss. "That's it!" I burst out, sitting up and taking Snow along with me.

Simon tilts his head at me, breathing raggedly.

"We set a trap! We let them find us!" I lean forward and kiss his lips excitedly.

He pulls back. "How can we set a trap? We don't know their plan."

I smile, kissing along his cheek until I get close enough to his ear to whisper, "No, but we know what they need." I lean back, catching his frown. I take a quick moment to kiss it off his face. Before painfully shoving off the bed. It might be annoying, but the pacing helps me think and the kissing doesn't.

"Remember they need three things," I count them off on my fingers. "The amulet, Pitch blood, and the spell. They only have one. They know I have the blood, and they likely think I have the spell."

"Wait, that's your genius plan? To be the bait?" He demands incredulously. "I don't like it, Baz. Besides, you don't know the spell."

I grin at him. "Exactly. They have no idea that I can't give it to them."

"But what if this all goes wrong? What if they capture you and torture you for it?"

I'm tempted to let my fangs pop, but I restrain myself. Instead a start a fire in my hand and stare at the flames. "I'd like to see them fucking try."

"I'm coming."

I glance down at him. His fierce expression on my behalf makes my heart freeze over. That stubborn wanker is never going to let me go alone. Which is stupid, because if I'm wrong, if they already have the spell somehow. If they're only missing one thing – Pitch blood which they can get by cutting any part of me. If they unleash the ghosts, there will be nothing I can do to protect him. "Fuck no. It is out of the question."

He stands, leveling me with his obstinate stare. "Baz, I'm coming."

I know that look. I know there's nothing I can say to change his mind, but that doesn't stop me from trying. Dammit, he's buttoning up his shirt. "Snow, stop." I mean that in a couple different ways. If I've got to waste my time arguing with him he ought to at least have the decency to let me look at his beautiful chest while I'm at it. "I can't be certain they don't have the spell. We can't take a chance that the ghosts won't be in play."

He goes right on buttoning up his shirt and ignoring common sense. "Baz, It's not a debate."

I try to think of any place we can lure them where he would be safe, maybe the bunker. No, they're ghosts. They can likely pass through walls and dirt. "I don't have to tell you what I'm planning or where I'm going!" I insist. Like hell he's coming.

He pauses on the second-to-last button to give me his full attention. His lips curve down and I see the pain in his eyes. "No, you never have."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demand in a low voice.

"It means – just try to lose me, you fucking tosser." He takes a step closer as if to intimidate me.

I wince. This feels like a terrible idea. If he's off the playing field, I know he'll be safe. But if I push him away and the prat follows me in anyway – Aleister fucking Crowley. I can't protect him if I don't know where he is. If he's coming anyway, I have no choice but to keep him close.

"Snow. I don't like this. If they do manage to invoke the spell, I'll have no choice but to cut myself and cover you in Pitch blood and I don't even know if that will work."

His eyes widen for a moment and I see his hand involuntarily twitch for his invisible sword. "We'll get the amulet before it comes to that."

Fucking confident avenging angel. He better be right.