26. Breathe

A/N: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT.

Quentin wet another rag with cold water, putting it over Cheryl's sweaty forehead. After his conversation with Ace, he hadn't left the blonde girl's side. Since coming back from Midwich earlier, she'd been progressively getting worse by the minute; Claudette was doing her best with the salves she had, but nothing seemed to be helping. The skin on Cheryl's hands was ripped to ribbons and in the last hour they'd become black with spidery little claws sprouting from her fingers. The Entity had struck back when she'd used her powers, it seemed, and now Quentin had become sick with both worry and grief. Grief for Kate and his other friends, and worry that Cheryl would join them soon.

The Pyramid Head had seemed quite enraged when the survivors took Cheryl back to the campfire. He had tried to follow, but could not exit the gate like the rest of the group. It seemed that he was bound to that place, completely unable to split himself from it. But Quentin had been doing a lot of thinking amongst all his worrying and grieving and he'd come to the conclusion that they would need Cheryl again. If they were to open up a portal to the real world, to escape or even draw the Entity out, they would need her powers. Which was even more concerning, considering the state she was in now and how much he cared about her.

The revelation struck him and he put his face into his hands as he sat next to her unconscious form. He cared about Cheryl, just as he'd cared about Kate, and Zarina, and Laurie, and all of the other friends they'd lost here. Knowing he'd have to put her in danger again - if she ever got well in the first place - made Quentin want to rip himself in half with guilt. If he was willing to sacrifice any more people, did he even deserve to leave this hellhole?

Cheryl's eyes fluttered open. It was the first time she'd been conscious since the incident. Quentin leaned over her a little, his expression softening. A relieved smile curled his lips. "Hey, long time no see," he said softly.

"You look… tired," she croaked.

Quentin snorted. "You do, too." He smiled again. "How do you feel…?"

Cheryl attempted to sit up, but the aches and pains through her body made it impossible. And Quentin wouldn't have let her, anyways. "Terrible," she replied, voice sounding as haggard as she looked. "Water… please."

Quentin quickly whipped out his waterskin and helped lift her head so she could drink. After she had her fill, he gently laid her back down. "Cheryl..." he murmured. Her tired eyes shifted over to focus on him. He felt nausea welling up in his stomach at what he was about to say. "We need you," he finally continued. "Again. You're… you're the only chance we have at getting out of here. The Entity is weak, weak enough for us to go… but we'll need you to open up the way. It's not going to let us go willingly."

Cheryl's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Yeah… I kinda figured."

Quentin averted his gaze. He felt sick, asking her to do more, especially with the state she was in. Everything was just… too much. The emotions roiling in his stomach were getting more volatile by the second. "I hate this," he croaked. "You've done more than enough."

His eyes lifted when he felt a soft touch on his arm. Though it hurt her to do so, Cheryl had brushed her wrapped fingers against his forearm. "You forget… I'm used to this. I've spent my whole life doing stuff like this."

"But you shouldn't have to!" Quentin broke away, standing up. The excess energy, the anger, made it impossible to sit. He didn't have outbursts often; in fact, the last time he'd done so was when he realized that he'd been wrong about Freddy. That he'd been defending a pedophile, thinking he was innocent. "It's unfair! This entire situation - all this death - it's bullshit!"

He'd raised his voice more than he thought. And, seeing the med-kit he'd been using on Cheryl lying on the ground a few yards away, he realized he'd kicked it in his frustration. Nea came into the secluded area, the tall and lanky Wraith close behind. He'd been following her everywhere like a lost puppy since they'd come back. "The hell is all the racket?" she demanded. "Is Cheryl awake?" Seeing Quentin standing there with a dark expression, Nea folded her arms over her chest. "Well. Looks like the quiet nerd has some anger issues."

The Wraith - Philip was his name, Quentin had learned - chittered quietly behind Nea, before splitting from her side for the first time since coming back to the campfire. He went to crouch at Cheryl's side, peering down at her with large white eyes. He reached out and, very tenderly, took Cheryl's hands to examine them. Perhaps Quentin's outburst had garnered his curiosity, or maybe he could just smell the blood like the hound he was.

All was silent as he analyzed her wounds. Even Nea had nothing to say as she watched him. Then Philip stood, rang his bell to cloak himself, and stalked off. Quentin and Nea watched him go, utterly confused. "What… just happened?" he asked, the sheer bewilderment had momentarily quelled his anger.

Nea shrugged. "I don't know. That's the first time he's left my side. Maybe he knows some way to help her."

Quentin pursed his lips. He hoped so. Otherwise, Cheryl probably wasn't going to make it, and if she didn't make it, the rest of them were most likely doomed.

Evan was already in the process of escorting Meg back to the campfire when he saw an all-too familiar shimmer in the trees. A second later he heard the tell-tale ringing of the Wraith's bell, and the skinny, tall figure approached them. Evan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing expectantly on the other killer; the Wraith gestured for them to come along. At the tilt of Evan's head, Philip seemed to try to find his voice. Of all the killers who'd been punished by the Entity, Philip had had it the worst. He could barely speak at all, only occasionally uttering simple words and syllables. "Girl," he chittered. "Hurt."

"Hurt?" Meg questioned, confused. Then realization dawned on her. "Cheryl's been getting worse," she said. "Her hands look really bad from that magic she used… and if I remember what Quentin said correctly, then the Entity tainted her with something, too." When she looked up at Evan, he could see the plea in her eyes. "I don't know what to do."

Evan considered. In the vast time he'd spent in the Fog, he'd done what he could, at least in the later days when all the fight left him, to make the MacMillan Estate more like home. At least, the good parts of home. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it - it was like his body moved on its own, instinctually seeking a single ray of sunlight in this eternal darkness. Looking back on it, it seemed he'd been craving something he'd never had - life and liberty - this entire time… before he even knew what he was doing.

As apart of his meager attempts at being productive in his realm, he'd begun a garden. It had nothing entirely useful, like vegetables or food, and the soil was far too rotten to plant any sort of flower (even if seeds could be found in this wretched place), but he had been able to mutate a few of the sparse plants there to come up with various poisons, one of which he'd used on his traps when he'd fought Herman. Poison obviously wasn't what they needed right now, but the sudden idea occurred to him that, possibly, he could mutate the plants again. With the right care and technique. Or perhaps blend it with something else to create a new plant with entirely different effects. Evan glanced down at Meg, still pondering. "Your friend - she… works with plants… right?"

"Yes." Meg blinked. "What're you thinking?"

He took the red-head's hand. "Let's… go." He could feel Meg's grip on him tighten as they followed Philip back to the campfire. Things had changed between them; there was no more confliction. No more back and forth, no more reconsidering or backing away. They were in this together, and Evan had never been more sure about any decision he'd ever made in his entire life.

Pain radiated up Evan's amputated arm in constant waves as the trio went back to the campfire, but he ignored it. Frankly, after being here for so long and enduring the Entity's punishments day after day, he was used to pain like this and could simply grit his teeth and press on. But still, as they approached the secluded area where Cheryl was being taken care of, Meg tugged slightly on his good arm. When he looked down at her, he found her eyes were filled with concern and a tinge of fear. "Are you okay, Evan? Your arm…"

He relinquished his grip on her to bring his hand up to her face, fingers brushing over her cheek. He would never, ever get tired of touching her. Now that he was able to do so without something traumatic separating them, Evan figured he would probably just touch her every moment of every day, to the end of his days. And judging from the flush on Meg's pale cheeks, she had a similar plan. "I'm… okay." His expression softened.

Then he pulled away and went to kneel at Cheryl's side. The blonde girl laid there unconscious, and she looked terrible. Covered in sweat, pale and clammy, shivering, she looked extremely sick. And her hands… Evan scowled. This was definitely the Entity's doing. The deity was extremely petty, and no good deed went unpunished in the Fog.

He could see where Claudette had done her best with the limited ingredients she had, but her ointment simply wasn't strong enough to stop the progression of the wounds. He did recognize the herb, however, and as Claudette joined him at Cheryl's side, he began thinking of what he could use - or make - to stop this. The two quietly discussed what Claudette had been using to make her ointment and comparing all the plants they'd both discovered in the Fog. When they both reached the same realization, they shared a look. "Do you think…?" Claudette murmured.

"That specific… poison… it could…"

"... Leech out whatever the Entity put in her," Claudette finished with a nod. "But we would have to act fast to negate the effects of the poison…"

"Antidote," Evan mumbled. "But… don't have one. Never… needed one."

Claudette put a finger to her chin. "I'm pretty great with plants. I-I worked in a lot of greenhouses before I was taken here… if you let me look at your garden, I-I think I could possibly make one."

"Do we… have time…?"

Claudette frowned. "We'll have to make time... t-this is all we've got."

Meg insisted on traveling with Evan and Claudette to the MacMillan Estate. Most of the journey was spent with the girls talking about things and hashing out what all had happened; Evan wasn't included much in the conversation, but that was fine with him. He had never been talkative even before he'd been taken to the Fog.

Instead his thoughts dwelled not only on the sad excuse for a garden he had left back at the estate, but also the few meager art supplies he'd managed to collect over the ages. His charcoal, and the half-ruined paper that he scrounged up with it. It had seemed like forever ago that he'd made so many drawings, many of them being of Meg herself. Had she kept the drawing he'd given her, he wondered?

As the trio encroached on the grounds of the Estate, Evan led the girls far away from the mining tunnels to the opposite end of the realm. Although the merging of the realms was still happening frequently, Evan was grateful to see that the part of the Estate he needed to go to was still intact. There the group found a small, shabby looking plot of land where the ground had been dug up. The poisonous plants rooted there looked dangerous and almost sickly in comparison to a normal garden, like the one his mother had planted, but the herbs had come in handy more than once and it seemed they were about to do so again. Claudette acted out of her usual shy demeanor and confidently approached the plot, immediately beginning to examine them all with careful eyes and hands. Evan crouched next to her, his massive body dwarfing hers, and delicately plucked the bud he'd referred to earlier from its stem. "Do not... touch the stem," he warned, handing it over to her. Claudette was very careful as she looked it over.

"I-I'll take this back and I'll use some of it to try and make an antidote," she said, her gaze moving from the bud in her hands to the rest of the plants. "May I look through the rest of them…?"

At his nod, Claudette began rummaging through them, listening intently when Evan directed her to avoid something or touch it in a specific spot. Most of the plants there were poisonous in some way and it would doom them all if Claudette got sick, too. After the girl took everything she wanted and put it in the satchel at her hip, she stood. "I-I'm ready to get back and try to work on this. I'll need to look through all of my herbs too…"

The entire time Meg had been watching from behind them, waiting patiently. When Evan glanced over at her, he found her smiling. What for? Did she not realize the gravity of the situation they were in? What reason did she have to smile at that moment?

But despite his confusion… he had to admit, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

It took him a moment to turn back to Claudette. "I need… a couple… of things," he rumbled.

She nodded. "I'm going to go ahead, then... but don't worry, we'll have to wait for the poison and antidote to work, anyways. All we can do at this point is wait to see if Cheryl gets better. Meg…?" she looked over at the red-head with uncertainty. "Are you coming with me?"

Meg looked between them. Evan gestured silently that she was free to go, although the possessive part of him was loathe to part with her. A foreign emotion raced through his veins; fear. Fear that she would disappear again, and he wouldn't be there to stop it. Meg's lips curled into a smile and she touched his arm, bringing Evan crashing back down to reality. "I'll stay. It's okay, Claudette. You're brave."

Something sparkled in Claudette's eyes as she looked at the couple. There seemed to be a trickle of fear in her, too, but she bravely swallowed it down and turned away to go back into the surrounding forest, disappearing into the darkness. Meg's touch brought Evan's gaze down to her. "What did you need to get?" she asked.

He hesitated. Why did he suddenly find it so hard to tell her that he wanted to get his charcoal? If these were the final days, if there was a good possibility they weren't getting out of here and that they would die in this place, he wanted to spend his final moments doing the few things that made him feel alive. But it seemed frivolous in the face of their predicament, and he clenched his jaw in frustration at his reluctance to say anything. Finally, he ground out, "my things."

Meg tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Your traps?"

"No."

"Your mask? I didn't know you had extras."

"No."

"Your… cleaver?"

"No." Evan heaved a sigh. "My… charcoal. My… paper."

Meg's expression softened immediately and her lips curled into a small smile. She reached and took his hand, heading towards the large building in the center of the estate. Evan had been embarrassed at admitting what he'd wanted, but the smile on Meg's face mollified his annoyance. She didn't think poorly of him for thinking of his sketches. In fact, she seemed eager to return to the room where she'd found them all. They approached the factory and climbed up the stairs, going down the walkways to the office area. As soon as they stepped in, Evan hunching to get through the door, Meg's face seemed to light up at the sight.

The room was exactly how she remembered. All of the drawings - everything from scenery, to weapons, to abstract scribblings, some of the faces of the survivors - lined the walls, covering almost every inch.

The only additions being multiple drawings of her.

Meg's heart beat a little faster at the sight. Glancing up and back at the massive man behind her, her lips quirked. "You were busy after we met here, weren't you?"

Evan only grunted, looking irritated. "Embarrassed?" Meg teased, nudging him playfully. "You shouldn't be." Her voice lowered as she moved into the room, fingers delicately brushing over all of the different portraits he'd done of her. "I love them."

Finally Meg turned back to the massive man behind her and she found him staring at her with an unreadable expression. Something about the way he looked at her made a shiver roll down her spine. "W-What is it?" she asked, trying to find her voice.

"The… drawings… don't do you… justice."

Meg's face went hot. She took a step toward him, acting on instinct, her eyes never leaving his face. "Maybe you should practice more, then."

Evan's demeanor changed, she could see it clearly. His stance became tense, and his expression turned hesitant. Almost afraid. It seemed every time she got close to him, Evan got like this. Was it because he wasn't sure how to react? Was he scared he was going to hurt her?

Meg approached him and rested her hand on his forearm, the other on his chest, tilting her head back to peer up at him. Her eyes were soft as she said, "you don't have to worry about hurting me."

His eyes narrowed on her. She could see the hunger in those eyes, which were still mostly white with a hint of that dark green that was so hypnotizing. Meg took notice of his skin and realized it wasn't quite as mottled as it was before, either. It was as if his decision to change himself, to stop being the monster the Entity had made him, had also affected his appearance. "You're different," she said, voice soft. "You even look different. Evan… I know you won't hurt me. I trust you."

That garnered a reaction she'd never seen before. In fact, Meg wasn't sure she'd ever seen such emotion on the man's scarred face. Evan's eyes widened, making him appear almost innocent, and his lips parted, the shock blatant on his regal features. Meg gave him a moment to process what she'd said, and she watched him go through a multitude of emotions. Once the shock wore off there was irritation, possibly even anger, followed by great sadness. She wasn't sure if she was seeing things, but Meg thought she saw tears prick the corners of his eyes. Finally acceptance crossed his face and his large hand moved to grasp her own. "You… are the first… to do that."

Meg squeezed his hand, before reaching up to caress his cheek. "Come down here," she whispered.

Evan got obediently onto one knee and Meg wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his muscles jump nervously under her fingers. He looked hesitant once more, adam's apple bobbing in his throat and his eyes flickering to her lips. It suddenly occurred to Meg that perhaps Evan was inexperienced in the ways of romance; but that seemed ludicrous considering how handsome he'd probably been before he came to the Fog, and also how he'd dominated her during that trial at the Yamaoka Estate. The memory of it sent a shiver through the red-head. The Trapper had made her feel like prey, like a cornered rabbit that wouldn't be able to run no matter what happened. And while that had (guiltily) been extremely exciting, this was entirely different. This was Evan, not the Trapper, and it was obvious he'd never been in a sexual situation where feelings were involved.

But she could see that he wanted her, and she wanted him too. Like she'd never wanted anyone.

Suddenly Meg thought about the situation they were in and how important it was that they fight the good fight and get the hell out of here. Time was of the essence, wasn't it? The way the map continued warping and shifting around them was proof of that. The Entity was at its weakest and they needed to strike while the iron was hot. But they couldn't do that without Cheryl, could they? Really, all they could do at this point was wait to see if the medicine worked. So if they went back right then, all they would do was sit at the campfire, right?

And who was to say they would even make it out of here at all? They could very well die trying to defeat the Entity, and then what? She would never taste Evan's lips again, or touch his face, or feel his arms around her. She'd never get to experience what she wanted with him.

That thought spurred her on. Meg leaned in slowly, letting her lips brush against his.

Evan had never felt such an intensity of emotion in his life. The only thing that could compare was the fear he had felt every time his father beat him bloody or the grief he'd felt when his mother drowned… but this was entirely different. None of the tears or broken bones or nights fearing for his life could compare to this; the way Meg looked at him, or the way her fingers stroked his skin with love.

No, this was infinitely scarier.

His first instinct was to reel back in fear when her arms encircled his neck. Was he really that afraid of hurting her?

Or was he afraid that she would hurt him?

Evan dismissed the thought immediately when her lips met his own. They were soft, gentle, loving as they ghosted over his own mouth and all of his fears were quelled instantly. Large arms carefully curled around the petite red-head and he responded right away, moving his lips instinctively against her own. He'd never had much experience with kissing - it was an activity born out of love and passion, two things he'd never felt before - but he let his own instincts guide him as he held her, his remaining hand caressing her, exploring her with a new mindset. Meg tasted of honey and lavender and a multitude of other uniquely sweet things he couldn't identify. All he knew was he'd never sampled anything so enticing in his life.

Evan felt something else he hadn't felt in a long time, not since his last sexual encounter with Meg: heat. He bitterly realized he'd had feelings for her all this time; but the sickness in his mind had warped it into some sick, perverted obsession.

That was no longer the case, he thought as his tongue explored Meg's mouth. No, he loved her. Or the closest thing he'd ever felt to love. The little mewls he felt against his mouth sent delicious tingles throughout his whole body. They were completely different from the last time he'd heard them, no longer tinged with fear or trepidation. Only desire. And he felt the same for her. He always had. However… hadn't he told her they should wait until they got out of the Fog…? Why did that seem like such a cruel idea at the moment…? Still, he pulled back, finding that his breath came a little less easily now. "We should… wait," he rasped.

The haze of desire in Meg's eyes threatened to break Evan's resolve. Once she focused a little, her lips pursed and her brows furrowed. "I don't want to wait," she whimpered softly. "We… there's no guarantee we're getting out of the Fog. We may die here… and… I don't want to die without being with you. Really being with you."

Evan felt a sudden lump in his throat and found it difficult to swallow it down. If there was any fight left in his mind, it was gone now. All further thought left him as his hand came up to the back of her head, cradling it while his fingers tangled in her hair. His lips met hers once more, firmer this time, more demanding as he ached to slake his hunger for her. Meg whimpered against his lips, her arms tightening around his neck to press herself tightly against him. He shifted closer to her and wrapped his injured arm around her as best he could. Close wasn't close enough, despite how fragile her lithe little body seemed in his grasp. Suddenly Meg drew away, looking hazy but concerned. "Y-Your arm," she whispered.

"I've… endured worse," he replied, his voice raspy with lust and leaving no room for argument.

Their lips met again and within a minute their kisses became more fervent, both of them desperate to be one with the other. Meg's tongue dueled eagerly with his own, and every sound she made as he touched her drove Evan onward, thrilling him in a way all of his hunting never had. Not his greatest kill, not his most sophisticated trap, not his deadliest poison, none of it could compare to hearing how much Meg wanted him. And he was eager - no, desperate to oblige her.

While they explored each other's mouths heatedly, Meg guided his remaining hand to the front of her shirt, settling his large fingers right over her zipper. He knew what she wanted him to do, and he was just as eager to see her naked body once more. Deft fingers took the zipper and tugged it downwards, opening her top so her breasts spilled out. He drew away from the kiss so he could stare hungrily. They weren't particularly large, but they were perky and round and beautiful… the most delicious things he'd ever seen. Reverently he grasped one, taking utmost care not to hurt her or squeeze too hard. Evan kneaded them gently, switching between them and entranced by the way they moved, how soft they felt under his calloused fingers. A thumb brushed over stiffening pink nipples and the small, heady sounds Meg made caused all the blood in his body to rush straight to his groin. He was already hard as a rock and aching to be inside her, but he willed himself to take his time. If this was the only time he was going to be able to be with Meg, he wanted to touch every inch of her. Show her just how deep his feelings ran. To tell her just how she'd changed his life and changed his heart. Evan only wished he had two hands to do it with.

His kisses trailed down her throat to her breasts, covering every inch of them with his mouth before finally closing his lips around one nipple, applying gentle suction. He gave its twin the same treatment, reveling in the sounds Meg made and the way her hands clenched his shoulders like she might die if she let him go. Feeling her against him, quivering and trembling and mewling, caused a dark hunger to arise in Evan. It was something akin to the predatory desire he'd felt long ago, but it was tinged with genuine love now.

It wasn't difficult to shed most of the rest of Evan's clothing, considering his overalls had been ripped and ruined and now really just served as pants. At Meg's desperate urging he slipped out of them, and got her out of hers before tossing their clothing aside and picking her up effortlessly with his good arm. Cradling the red-head as her legs wrapped around his waist, he carried her over to the shabby little sleeping bag he'd long ago procured for himself for the nights he'd actually been able to sleep - which, in this place, hadn't been often. It wasn't much, but it was better than the cold floor or the hard desk in the other corner of the room. The moment he laid her back, his hard body hovering over her with the tent in his underwear pressing against her thigh, he took a moment to stare down her face. Meg's blue eyes were filled with lust, her breath coming to her shakily, her lips trembling. She reached up for him, silently beckoning him closer, but he still paused. His hand braced itself beside her head as he pressed against her, relishing in the feel of the heat of her body against him. "W-What are you looking at?" she whimpered.

"You," he murmured, voice husky.

The widening of Meg's eyes and the twitch of her body beneath him caused a growl to sound low in Evan's throat. She was hauntingly beautiful, with her hair splayed out and a blush reddening her pale cheeks. He sat up so a large hand could cup her breasts, giving them more attention before sliding down her body, his palm so massive that he was able to grasp her waist with his fingers while his thumb created a trail of goosebumps down her stomach. "Please, Evan," she whispered, squirming under his touch, and Evan felt his member pulse almost painfully. When she looked at him like that, he didn't think he could say no, even if the world was ending right before their very eyes.

Hooking his fingers in the last piece of her clothing, her underwear, Evan tugged them off as Meg lifted her legs to assist. They were long and toned; runner's legs. She had always been quick as a hare, avoiding his traps and keeping most all killers in a chase where other survivors failed. Tossing her panties aside, his hand smoothed back down her leg all the way to her thigh, parting both so he could nestle in between them once more. The only thing separating them now was his own underwear, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to just pull them down and sink himself into her. But once he parted her legs, Evan slid down her body just a little so that he could see what awaited him at the apex of her thighs. He'd seen it once before, all pink and fleshy and glistening, and it was just as beautiful now - if not more so. Meg was visibly quivering as Evan tentatively slid a finger down her folds, growling at how wet she was and how she shivered and mewled at the contact. He'd thought her breasts were the most captivating thing he'd ever seen; he was wrong. This was. Slowly he explored her, his eyes intense as he watched her expressions. He touched certain places that she seemed to react well to, and avoided other places she didn't; all the while he continued pulsing, his own body on edge as he forced himself to wait.

His thumb began circling gently around a particular button above her entrance and Meg's mouth fell open, her head tipping back and her back arching. She was dripping moisture by now and when she finally cracked her eyes open to look at him, she was on the edge, too. "Please," she whispered, voice shaky.

"Please what… Little Rabbit?" he growled.

Meg's face turned beet red and he relished in the fact that he could still render her speechless. But he wasn't cruel, not anymore, so he slowly shifted his massive body back up so that their hips aligned. He sat up, pulled his underwear down enough to let himself spring free, and pressed up against her. Meg's voice rose in pitch and she shook beneath him, moaning and squirming and causing his length to pass over her silken outer lips. Each touch had them both gasping for air, and finally he couldn't take it anymore. And judging from the dazed look on Meg's face, she couldn't either.

He lined himself up with her entrance as her legs wrapped around his waist and the moment he began pushing into her tight heat, he groaned lowly and deeply at the sensation, bracing his good hand beside her head. She was liquid inside, her walls immediately clamping down on him desperately as he struggled to wedge himself inside her little body, inch by inch. Meg cried out loudly, her nails digging into his shoulders so hard that even he noticed it. Evan slowed, letting her adjust to him, waiting with effort to make sure he didn't hurt her. One of his greatest fears, he learned, was once more becoming the monster he used to be.

Soon Meg's pained whimpers melted into pleased cooing and only then did he slowly, painstakingly move. Meg was agonizingly tight and with each shift of his hips he could feel her walls clamp down on him like a vice, threatening his self-control. Evan grit his teeth, hissing her name as he bottomed out within her. Each sound she made caused every hair on his body to stand on end, his muscles taut with desire and jumping and flexing under her wandering hands. Finally he was able to compose himself enough with slow, shallow thrusts that he remembered a certain button that had elicited very intense reactions from the red-head. Sitting up a bit, his remaining fingers found that button and began circling it rhythmically as he pumped into her, and Meg's sighs and moans jumped immediately into squeals and cries of delight as she bucked up against him. The fervency of Meg's squirming and the way she tipped her head back in ecstasy urged Evan on further and he began moving faster, the silken heat of her insides causing his cock to pulse inside her. Her blazing liquid heat swallowed him again and again, her muscles contracting in a blissful way. Evan panted, his grunts and groans tumbling freely from his mouth now as he continued his increasingly rough thrusts.

Once he slowed his pace and began pumping into her with languid but powerful strokes, his ministrations on that button increased and he could feel it throbbing under his fingers. Meg's walls spasmed painfully tight in reaction to what he was doing and it was all Evan could do not to explode immediately. After gritting his teeth and willing his release back, he watched with intensity in his eyes as Meg writhed under him. Her wails escalated into near screams as she suddenly began convulsing under him, her walls contracting so deliciously that it milked his seed from him. He hunched over her, shaking as he came inside, her own orgasm causing him to reach his peak.

He had never felt such an intensity, physically or emotionally, in his entire life. None of the accomplishments he'd made, none of the things he'd done (good or bad), none of the creations currently hanging from the walls made him feel the way she did - full of light. Full of life.

If I die here, he thought, it would all be worth it.

As they both came down from their high, Evan almost expected horror to dawn on Meg's face at what they'd done. But there was only admiration, satisfaction, relaxation. A small hand tenderly went up to his cheek and Evan closed his eyes, leaning slightly into it. He'd never been an affectionate person - living with Archie MacMillan would do that to anyone - but Meg's warmth was infectious. A hand that once wanted to squeeze the life out of her now caressed her as he slowly lifted himself off of her. As he stood up, he found that his body quivered in a way it never had. Still he reached his good hand to help her to her feet as well, and his eyes immediately darted to the floor, where wetness was leaking from her and staining the stone dark. Rummaging around in the office room, Evan found one of the old overalls the Entity had given him. It wasn't exactly clean, but it was better than leaving Meg to attempt cleaning up the mess he'd made. He offered it to her and she gratefully took it, cleaning herself and attempting to redress. Evan used his good hand to slip back into his ruined overalls, beyond caring that the straps were broken. He'd never cared how much (or how little) clothing he wore, and he would be too busy destroying the Entity to care about being shirtless anyways.

He felt Meg touch his good arm. Evan turned to find her peering up at him, still concerned. "How is your arm?"

His expression softened. "I'm… alright."

Evan went to a small chest in the corner of the office. It was where he hid his sketching supplies; he wasn't sure why the habit had stayed, as he no longer had an abusive father to hide them from, but it was just instinct by this point. Retrieving them all and putting them in one of the trap pouches nearby and securing it at his waist, Evan turned back to the door, ready to leave. He found Meg staring at all the sketches on the walls. "Don't you want to take them? Otherwise they'll… disappear…"

"I can… make more. If you'll… let me."

Meg's gaze turned playful. "Are you asking to draw me like one of your French girls?"

"I don't… know any… French women."

Realization dawned on the red-head. "Oh, right. You're from a very different time, aren't you?" She tapped her chin. "Did you have planes or cars when you existed?"

"What are… planes?"

"Ooookay… what about cars? Like the ones in Haddonfield or Springwood?"

"Our vehicles… looked nothing… like that."

Suddenly Meg's face fell and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Evan's brows furrowed. "What if the Entity drops us all back in our own worlds?" she sniffled. "If that's the case… I'll never see you again."

Evan hadn't realized that, himself. The possibility now settled in his stomach like a heavy stone. What kind of life would he go back to in the real world if he didn't have Meg? Would he succumb to the darkness once more? Become a worse monster than he already was?

"Think about it… later," he rumbled, taking her hand. Meg still seemed upset, but nodded silently and followed him down the stairs.

The journey back to the campfire was mostly silent. Evan had never been talkative but Meg was okay with that for the moment. She was still mulling over all the possible outcomes of the coming fight. Some of them could die. All of them could die, or none of them. They might not escape - and if they did, there was a good chance they'd all be dumped in their own worlds and would never see each other again.

But if they were all going to go through one portal, created by Cheryl… wouldn't they all leave together?

Meg had to hold onto hope that that would happen. Because otherwise - if she had to go back to a changed world all alone - she felt there might not be a point to leaving the Fog at all.