Talking

In the past few weeks, Alastor had gone to his and Charlie's usual meetings, attended a few game nights and other friendly gatherings, and ate meals with everyone on a nearly every day basis. However, he was only social to an extent. Whenever he wasn't doing something related to his job as co-owner, he would purposefully disappear to any secluded part of the Hotel so as not to appear too eager for Charlie's company.

It was all so professional, as co-owners should be. Yes, all that professionalism and cold distance he'd put between himself and Charlie was going exactly as well as he had hoped.

He hated every single second of it.

For too long now he'd been without their light conversation. For too long now he'd been without her bright smile and lovely laughter.

She had sensed something was wrong with him right off the bat, seeing how lost in thought he had gotten during that meeting from a couple weeks ago. From then on, the way she looked at him had changed. He didn't see her bright smile too often anymore, being replaced with a concerned and confused frown. Concern for him, and as to why he was acting so detached now.

He missed her. And seeing the way she looked at him, she seemed to miss him as well. Much to his conflicted delight.

He hated the distance he'd put between them.

This was not exactly how he envisioned closing that distance.

It was normal for Charlie to be late for their meetings, but he'd waited in that break room for a solid half an hour before deciding to go look for her. He was, admittedly, worried and only wanted to be certain that something had simply snagged her attention for longer than usual.

He certainly wasn't expecting to see her curled up in one of the hallways, surrounded by Angel Dust, Vaggie, and burnt carpet.

His first thought was to barbarically push Vaggie aside so that he could tend to Charlie. He'd never seen her in that much discomfort, and barely conscious. However, despite his reputation as a random and ruthless being of chaos, he prided himself on being able to think things through. He wanted answers to the situation, and when he saw Vaggie pour some of the contents of a glass of water carefully and deliberately over Charlie's tense face, he knew that she would be the one to provide them. Ah, irony was lovely like that.

He would've never guessed that her powers would be the cause, and he wondered why that was.

With the least amount of jostling he could manage, Alastor slowly slid Charlie out of his arms onto the king-sized bed. Once she was settled there, he went all the way around to the other side of the bed and pinched the edges of the comforter. He shuffled himself onto the mattress as he pushed the blankets across the bed, until he could place all of it snuggly over Charlie's form.

He sat there for a while, staring at her. He was in a bed, next to Charlie, while she lay unconscious. Most people from his time would've considered this situation to be downright scandalous for a number of reasons. His first instinct was to leave the room to give her privacy, but every now and then a wince would flash across her face or a strained huff would escape from her throat.

He…He couldn't leave. He didn't want to leave her vulnerable.

Nor did he want to feel useless.

He contemplated conjuring some of his voodoo literature to see if there was any way to ease things for her. However, she had the bloodline of two very powerful beings and he didn't want to risk making things worse for her.

At some point, Charlie turned to face him, and for a hopeful moment he thought she was awakening. Instead, she exhaled harshly, eyes still closed and her fingers digging into the mattress.

This movement allowed him to see the scorch marks beginning to burn into the linens. He dared to lean closer to her, and he very carefully reached his hand outwards. He ran his index finger over the scorched linens, just shy of touching her. As his finger went, the marks disappeared. After reassuring himself that there were no more left, he lifted his hand and summoned a decent amount of his mysterious voodoo symbols. Relaxing his wrist, he let the symbols tumble from his hand and fall to the bed like dust, avoiding Charlie of course. The symbols faded and disappeared between the thinnest and microscopic spaces throughout the fibers.

Alastor dusted his hands off. That should make it so Charlie doesn't set the bed and the room on fire. There now! Not useless at all! He smirked, rather proud of himself.

Then, the smirk nearly disappeared from his face as he watched her.

Charlie curled into a tense ball. Fire and smoke began billowing from her hands as red horns protruded from the top of her head. Alastor observed this with morbid curiosity. It wasn't quite her demonic form, as he'd seen more of it during her news performance. This was only partial it seemed, as if she didn't have the strength to use her full form.

Sinners only reverted to their demonic form in situations of excitement, high stress, or defense. Obviously, Charlie was not experiencing excitement in the slightest, so the logical conclusion was that she was only feeling the involuntary need because…

She wasn't feeling safe.

Something harsh constricted in Alastor's chest at this realization. And before he could stop his usually composed face from doing so, he winced.

Every sinner in Hell feared him, even the mere mention of his name. As far as his presence goes, all he ever had to do was smile, and it was always enough to send worthless fools screaming and running for their lives. He found it absolutely entertaining that no one dared to want to get close to him.

And then there was Charlie. Gentle, caring, kind, lovely Charlie. The only being in Hell who wasn't afraid of him, and to thoroughly enjoy his company.

Even if he technically was not the cause nor the issue, he absolutely could not stand that she was feeling fearful in his presence. He hadn't realized he had shifted to lie on his side and that he was now only a couple inches away from her. He was only made aware of this when he felt the backs of his fingers brushing over her clammy jaw.

He retracted his hand away from her so abruptly that the muscles all throughout his arm spasmed in protest. That wasn't an even remotely appropriate move on his part, no matter how involuntary it was. Aside from the fact that she wasn't awake to accept and acknowledge such a gesture, she also had yet to accept his cold, mangled heart. If she would ever even want to.

Frustratedly, but respectfully, he shifted back a few inches.

He also could not stand how at a loss he was. He wasn't used to not being able to control or take over a situation. This situation frustrated him even more so because he didn't have a hope in hell of being able to help the only one in Hell he cared so deeply for.

He pushed himself upright to lean his back against the headboard yet again. He continued to watch her tensely struggle, continued to watch her demonic attributes trying to force themselves to the surface.

He fidgeted, desperate to do something, desperate to help her. He steadfastly sifted through his brain for any ideas. What assistance could he provide? What was he good at? Well, he still thought he wasn't remotely good with empathy, so he might as well forget that. He was good at blatancy, but that would do no good given that she wasn't even awake to benefit from it.

Talking!

That's what he was good at! And she always seemed to like their talks.

Well, what the hell!

"It's been a rather boring week so far," he randomly began. "If it even has been a week. I seem to lose track of time when we're apart, and not in the good way. No, time moves at such a snail's pace, it always seems. But I digress.

"I gave Husker the order to clean up the concierge desk, which he was oddly in the process of doing so already. And I made all those pesky decaying keys ready to use with a snap of my fingers. The look on Steel's face, he forgot he was even capable of locking their room! That Baxter fellow, of course, was all too happy for a set.

"Then, sometime later, Niffty and Husker roped me into playing another game of cards. They were certain this time they could beat me, especially because they'd made the game up on the spot and the rules were very flimsy. They didn't think I'd take the game over, as if there were rules to begin with. So, I added ten years onto their debts for their troubles!

"Speaking of trouble, it's doubtful we have much to worry about where Steel and Sanderson are concerned. For some reason, they seem determined to stay despite the fact that you barely have any money left to your name."

He paused to watch her. Her shoulders were no longer hunched, but fire still occasionally sparked from her fingers, as well as her horns still making an occasional appearance.

He sighed. "And that has something to do with you. You have this…this charm that seems to draw hopeless fools in. No one even wanted to watch you advertise your hotel on television, much less sing about it, and yet none of them could look away. Despite how laughable it all was, you accomplished what you had set out to do...You made them listen. I don't know if that was enough, even despite our new clients, but…"

He paused to lie back down, and he shifted, until there were only a few inches of space between them once again. She was still curled up into a tight, unforgiving ball of sheer discomfort.

For some reason, this proximity wasn't enough, and he longed to be even closer to her. He didn't even know what he would do if he were closer, all he knew was that he wanted to make all of this go away for her somehow.

"But it was enough for me, for some reason," he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You drew me in from the very beginning. With your theatrics, your boldness, your passion behind your deranged idea. The enthusiasm you effortlessly exuded is an enthusiasm I've been searching many decades for.

"And then something miraculous happened. You helped me find that enthusiasm, that thrill…by making me fall in love with you. You stole my heart without my realizing it, and I'm not quite sure what gave you the audacity to do so, but you did it anyway. And, by god, if it's not the most mind-consuming, tiresome, pulse-pounding, warmest, loveliest thing I've ever felt."

He hadn't realized how soft and low his voice had become, hadn't realized that he'd looked away from her, hadn't realized the effect of his words, until Charlie uttered a deep sigh.

He immediately put his attention back on her. There was no more smoke or fire coming from her hands, and many seconds passed by before he came to the conclusion that her horns were probably done making an appearance as well.

Beneath the covers, her legs slowly and languidly stretched out. Her hands were no longer gripping the linens for dear life, and were now resting limply next to her face on the pillow. Her features were still a little tense, but her eyes no longer looked like they were screwed shut, and her teeth weren't audibly grinding together.

She snuggled her face against the pillow, inhaling and exhaling deeply once more, before settling completely.

A smile slowly spread across his face. How strange that his voice, filled with arrogance, blatancy, and intrusive radio static, managed to make her feel more at ease than what he was anticipating.

When she pressed herself further into the pillow, she had unintentionally shifted herself closer to him, until he could feel the updraft of her steady breathing warming his face.

He chuckled lamely. Yes, professional distance was currently out the window, obviously. And…he was hoping beyond all hope that there wouldn't be a need for that distance any longer.

So as long as Charlie would have him.