Leslie could only see Alastor's legs. They were oddly stiff as he stood there, facing Rosie. Was it fear? Real fear? She knew he was avoiding Rosie, but whatever for?

"Ahem," Rosie said, frostily.

He hesitated. "Hello, Turnip!" he called with conservative cheer.

"Save it."

"Ah, now, listen-"

"DON'T-!" she interrupted, and Alastor obediently shut up. He was about to be told off and he knew it. "Where do you get the nerve?" Rosie asked, still poised outside the red-bricked alley. "Where do you get it? Do you have any idea how shriekingly alone I have been?" Her voice peaked with sudden anger. "Only shadows for company, my sweetpea! And where have you been? What have you been up to, or should I say what else?"

No response from Alastor, and Leslie opened her mouth a little, to let a mingled blood cocktail leak out of her mouth, to stop herself throwing up. Don't think about it. Disgusting. Inhuman. Don't think about it.

"Nothing to say?" Rosie challenged. "This thing…!" She threw something to the floor, and as it landed silently, Leslie imagined it was the handkerchief. "How closely you two are… acquainted on it! Quite useless for my purposes unless you're together, and now finally, I find you sticking something down her fucking throat!"

Alastor flinched and stepped backwards, and in that moment, the black spikes retracted. Leslie squeaked as she hit the floor.

"WHY?" Rosie screeched.

Still stiff-legged, Alastor cleared his throat and answered. "Turnip, unlike you, she's in two minds about me. It was a game. And I wanted to eat her. That's all!" he promised. "It's done."

"Helk me," Leslie said, struggling onto her elbows.

"Shut up," Rosie warned, and Leslie could see her now, shaking and pointing her parasol. Then she tilted her head, parsing the plea for help. "But keep what you have in your mouth."

"Turnip."

"Scared, Alastor? Leave us! I'll let you go!"

Leslie and Alastor exchanged a glance. There was something hateful in his eyes, as though he was dying to drop a piano on her… but there was uncertainty as well.

"Of course not!" Rosie laughed bitterly. "Oh, fuzzy one! Do you know what happens when a demon consents to be eaten by someone lesser?"

"Rosie-"

"I know what happens," the eyeless horror sang, and she turned back to Alastor, or his general direction anyway. "And I'm sorry it was so… offensive to you, sweetpea. Giving you what you wanted!"

Alastor cleared his throat again. "We both did dreadful things-"

"Ah, yes! But the difference is, I let you have your ill-gotten freedom in the end. You can never give me back what I have lost!" Rosie said, blinking her hollow eyes. Then Alastor moved backwards and she screeched again,

"Take another step towards her, and I'll wring enough blood from you to ink a message your mother can read from the heavens!"

In spite of herself, Leslie shrunk into a ball. It didn't matter that she wasn't the subject of such rage; it was scary nonetheless. As for Alastor, he froze, ramrod straight now, his arms raised.

He wouldn't be distracted for long.

When Leslie got onto her hands and knees to make a break for it, Alastor moved his hand, cutting Leslie's throat with an invisible blade. She panicked, bringing both hands to her neck, as he strode away towards his old friend. Shadows billowed out of nowhere, but Rosie was prepared, tapping her parasol as her own army of blackness reared behind her.

Dizzy with revulsion, Leslie swallowed what was in her mouth. She lay there, head shaking left and right, begging for it not to fall cartoonishly from the slit in her neck. Oh, Jesus Christ. If Heaven wasn't closed off to her before, it was now. The half-inch fingernail poked her in the soft folds of the esophagus. She tried to gulp it down.

Six feet away, Alastor and Rosie's shadows were fighting, and the pair sent out different-colored streaks of lightning - red and pink respectively - each ducking and teleporting from the other's attacks. The cobblestones exploded where the lightning struck them.

Rosie sang with venom, "I'm gonna get you, I'm gonna get you, I'll make you love me, wait and see…" A loud ZAP from her parasol. "Both day and night and night and day, you're gonna see a lot of me…!"

Between the torn airway and the blood flowing down her nasal cavity, Leslie struggled to breathe. She forced herself to stop sobbing, to give herself the slightest chance. Her feet were numb and cold from shock, and there was the weak undercurrent of her pulse, the one Alastor loved so much, her heart trying so desperately to keep her alive, keep her going… She touched the sticky line of blood across her throat. The cut was closing up. As she touched her nose, the throbbing pain grew fainter.

What the fuck?

"I'm gonna haunt you, I'm gonna haunt you, oh what a pest I'm gonna be…"

Alastor sang back, a different tune. "It's the wrong time, and the wrong place… Though your face is charming, it's the wrong face-"

"Both day and night and night and day, you're gonna see a lot of me!" ZAP!

Leslie expressed herself the only way she could, with wide, confused eyes, as the wounds around her upper body knitted themselves back together. Her arms and torso regained their strength. Something was different.

"It's not her face, but such a charming face, that it's all right with me-!"

"LIAR!"

Leslie stood up. She felt taller. She would have given her eye teeth for a glass of water, but at least her injuries were gone. With her newly cleared passageways, she sang, loudly but croakily:

"Come, let's mix where Rockefellers walk with sticks or um-ber-ellas in their mitts!" Their heads turned. "Putting on the Ritz!" Leslie finished with a sarcastic tap dance. "That's what you guys look like!"

"God-fucking-damn it," Alastor said. His and Rosie's shadow armies evaporated, as a nearby imp stared at the musical trio in obvious and total bafflement. Alastor remembered his injured left hand and inspected the damage. Still missing a fingertip. He clasped his right hand over it, and when he took it away, the wound closed up, leaving a shorter appendage than before.

Leslie was unable to respond, as the piano finally hit.

o - o - o - o - o

Actually, it wasn't so bad.

After the day she'd had, being under a "500lb fuckin' instrument", as Angel called it, was almost like vacation. Leslie stayed there for longer than was strictly necessary. Outside, Sweetpea and Turnip continued to fight. Then it became a simple argument: accusations and recriminations. Some bawling from Rosie, and a few more cracks of the sidewalk. Then she heard them return to a conversation at normal volume.

Trust Alastor to sweet-talk his way out of anything.

He must have been convinced Leslie wouldn't hurt him. God knows what made him so sure… but, well, "feeding" her the way he did, putting that finger in her mouth… It was practically an invitation. Anyway, she tried to block out the whole cannibalism thing; it made her want to vomit.

When she was sure all was clear, Leslie dragged herself out. In fact, Alastor was still there, watching the piano, but Rosie and her shadows were no more. He just glared at her with an empty smile and full eyes. His antlers were back to normal, if a little bloody.

"Well-played, young lady," he said. "I have never known someone so underhanded."

He flung out his good hand, sending a streak of energy her way. Leslie squawked and raised her hands, and somehow or other, the bolt of lightning didn't hit. Confused, Alastor tried it again, and Leslie deflected that too, taking out a nearby lamppost. She gasped stupidly, looking at her hands.

"Damn it," said Alastor, his lip curling. Ever the showman, he straightened and gave a bow. "Just marvelous! Congratulations, you're a thief to boot!"

Leslie stood her ground. "I didn't do anything you didn't do," she retorted, thinking of the wallpaper. "You didn't earn your powers either, looks like!"

"Rosie agreed to be eaten," Alastor said. "She'd tell you that herself! And for what she did to me, she deserved to go blind." He raised his left hand. "I will never get this back."

Leslie scoffed. The irony of that statement was staggering, after all the biting and scratching he'd done to her. And the sight of him grieving for his fingertip… it was about as appealing as seeing him with hellpox. She didn't want him anymore, not even a little. Looking back at her, Alastor seemed to realize it. The ambiguity had gone. He'd lost the game.

"What did Rosie do that was so terrible?" Leslie asked him. "Maybe you two should reconcile. She might let you eat her again, if you're lucky. Hell, she could be your eternal blood-donor."

He shook his head, disgusted. There was an odd moment between them. Leslie couldn't think of anything to say, but she wasn't ready to leave, either. She stretched her arm again, flexing her hand. All patched up now. Different.

"You're not going to be as powerful as me," he cautioned. "I don't compare to Rosie. So don't get ideas above your station! If I find you telling tales about us-"

"Oh, so you don't want to renew our contract?"

"Renew…! No!" he cried, like she was crazy for asking. "You bit off my damn finger!"

Leslie rolled her eyes and patted her pockets. Empty. She must have lost her phone someplace. Her music. Her wedding pictures... Fuck, it could be anywhere. She'd run for miles today. Hopefully Angel could help her find it by calling from his cell.

Meanwhile, Alastor recoiled from her. "Stop that," he said.

"Stop what?"

"I can feel you moving. Cut it out!"

"I'm not doing anything," she said. "Look, what state is the hotel in? I'll just go in, get my stuff and leave. Then I'll be out of your fucking sight, OK? You'll never have to see me again. I leave you alone, you leave me alone."

Alastor's glare became darker still. "I should destroy you!" he said. Radio interference filled the air, and the imp who'd been spectating up to this point fetched his blanket and flew the coop. A bit funny, but Leslie shrugged it off.

"Come on, we'll make a deal of it! I leave you alone," she repeated, extending a hand, "you leave me alone."

To their surprise, Leslie's palm sparked and lit up - light blue in her case, not green. They looked at it curiously.

"Ohhh no, my pet," Alastor said, "I want it in writing."

Leslie laughed.

"The hotel's still in the ground," Alastor said, stepping back. "Anyway, you can't have that many possessions to pick up!"

"My clothes," she admitted. "My phone, if I can find it. Those dancing DVDs you stole." Leslie paused, and thought about it. "Why did you take those again?"

He skirted around the question, saying she wouldn't have had them at all if not for him; and still, Alastor clutched his long-healed left hand. He was acting like he'd never been hurt before. No, more than that - like he'd never known injury was a thing until now. God, what a hypocrite he was: constantly dishing it out when he couldn't take it.

"Forget it," she said. "Don't teleport me; I'll walk." And she swiveled, noticing all the corpses on this cobbled street. Was it really as easy as this? Surely not. Forging on, she expected him to call after her, saying she'd never be redeemed, calling her a whore or a flesh-eater or something equally hurtful.

Instead, there was soft jazz.

She stopped and turned.

"You were quite a dancer," he said, disappointed. "With me, anyway." He conjured his cane, leaning on it. "And then you had to spoil things. You've known the power of underestimation from the start, haven't you? I almost have to respect it." His pretty eyes narrowed. "Almost!"

"Alastor…"

The jazz decreased in volume. "I don't think you know how to use my kind of power!" he told her. "You're still weak. You'll crumble eventually. One day, you may betray your better judgment again."

Leslie shook her head. She had no grand plans - except finding a glass of water, then taking the opportunity to never sleep again, if she could do that. No more highest highs, she told herself. No more of the blood-drinking, even if she was accustomed to it. No more Alastor.

She guessed it was appropriate to give some empowered speech or a snarky remark, to show renewed strength… but she didn't feel strong. She didn't imagine herself to be somehow better, or a worthy adversary. It was mostly bitterness, for getting tangled up in all this. The jazz played on. Maybe he wanted a dance, for old time's sake.

And then you had to go and spoil things.

Leslie let the last bit of hurt bleed into her parting expression. Then she turned back round and made her way through the piles of dead, leaving Alastor behind.

END