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A/N: The following website: . is still useful for the Irish slang. Another chapter everyone! Happy reading! ; )
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Dylan was dreaming. Everything was dark, but someone was there – and they had the rings. She could hear them clinking together on the person's finger. * If they're clinking, then the person must have a small finger – it has to be a woman * "Natalie, Alex!" Dylan cried, hoping that it was one of her friends in the dark with her. She had only seen them the night before, but she already missed them. There was no response, but she heard the clinking coming closer. *Maybe it's a guy and he's just jingling the rings in the palm of his hand * she thought. "Sea-Seamus?" She asked quietly, hoping that it wasn't him. No reply.
She felt a presence near her and reached out her hand, searching for contact. Her fingers touched something soft *fur? * , smelled an exotic scent, and a female's voice spoke in her ear. "Typical impetuous Pisces – always running away from your problems. Hello Angel…miss me?" and a hot tongue licked up her face.
"Wha-!" Dylan started awake, and blinked slowly. She was still chained to the wall, but by now her fingers had started to go numb from her arms being above her head for a few hours. * Hours? * Actually, she wasn't quite sure how long she had been chained, since she had been unconscious when Seamus' thugs had brought her in. She had woken once before, but the spinning of the room had made her close her eyes and sleep once more. Looking about the room, she saw that Seamus was sitting in the opposite corner of the room, slumped back in his armchair, asleep. * Good. At least the son-of-a-bitch won't be bothering me for a while*
She thought back to her dream, analyzing every aspect of it. Dylan took her dreams very seriously, and for many years had kept a journal by her bed to record the ones she remembered. Upon joining the Angels, Dylan had told Nat and Alex that dreams could be used as clues on their cases because the dreaming mind could analyze and think about facts and people in ways the waking mind would not allow itself to. At first the girls had been skeptical, but after several of Dylan's dreams had given them leads on cases, they had had to change their opinion.
Dylan wasn't really sure what to make of this dream. The voice had sounded very familiar to her, but it wasn't one she had heard often. *How did she know I was an Angel? Most people don't even know we exist! * Unless…*No fucking way! An old Angel? But which one? Wait, didn't she mention that I was a Pisces? Hmmm… astrology…* "No!"
Dylan turned her eyes back to Seamus. She needed to make a phone call, had to make contact with Nat and Alex, and he was her only means of doing so. *Bet the bastard won't let me. * she thought. He didn't look so hard and angry in his sleep – in fact, he looked like the man she remembered. His ink-black mohawk was messed, and his mouth was soft and slightly open. *He's a lot more pleasant asleep *, she thought with a smirk. That could be because he wasn't digging into her with his green eyes, or maybe because he wasn't talking. * Too bad I have to wake him*
"Seamus" she said, but it came out as more of a harsh whisper. She swallowed, wetting her throat. "Seamus" she said, loudly this time. He shifted in the chair and moaned, but then was still again. * Shit. I forgot how hard he is to wake up. How the hell did he survive in jail? * "Seamus, wake up. Seamus!"
"Helen…" he said softly, rubbing his face against the chair. * What the hell? * she thought.
"Seamus, God dammit! Wake the fuck up!" she yelled, pulling against her chains.
Suddenly, he was on his feet, knife in his raised hand, eyes furiously searching the room. His green eyes settled on her, and he dropped his arm. "Jaysus, Helen. What the bloody fuck do you want, woman?"
"Oh don't be all puss faced, Seamus." Dylan drawled, throwing back the slang he used to use with her. "I just have to use the phone. Now." She said, trying to sound forceful.
"You're off your nut if you think I'm going to let you phone your little friends and tell 'em where we are." Glaring, he sat back down and rubbed his forehead, yawning.
"I don't know where we are, dumbass. I was knocked out when you brought me here."
"Oi!" He looked up at her in surprise. "Calling me a dumbarse, now are we? Cheek will get you nowhere with me. I'm running the fucking show, sweetheart, not you."
"Seamus, please. It's an emergency." Dylan pleaded with him. "I'll take less than a minute. I just have to tell them – just like a few sentences." She strained against the chains, eyes pulling at his. "Please Seamus. I promise I won't say anything about you."
Seamus was silent, eyes hard and searching. "Fine. But if you say anything I don't like, I'll belt your lovely arse."
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Seamus was dreaming. She was ahead of him in the dark, he could hear her loud panting breaths as she ran. Her fiery hair caught the light of the streetlamp as she rounded the corner. He pounded after her, careful of an assault as he turned the corner and followed down the lonely street. He saw her up ahead of him, tiring, slowing. He put on a burst of speed, thankful for his training during prison. With a lunge he grabbed her arm and smashed her against a brick wall, her head rebounded with a crack. With a quick move, his knife was against her throat. Her head bobbed in fatigue, and the knife cut into her. Red blood, blood as red as her hair trickled down her soft skin from the knick. Hazel eyes fluttered up to meet his. "Seamus…" she whispered. He moved to pin her with his body, his hard chest pushing against her soft breasts. He rested his head against hers, gently rubbing her silky hair with his cheek, smelling her light perfume and tangy sweat. "Seamus" she whispered again, breath tickling his ear.
"Helen…" he said softly, and with a low moan bent down to crush her full lips with his own. She pushed against him, blood still trickling down her throat, staining their shirts as they kissed –
"Wake the fuck up!" Ripped from his dream, he sprang to his feet, ready for a fight with his knife clenched in his hand. Then he slowly relaxed. It was only her, still chained against the far wall. *Fucking dream. Got me all riled up *
"Jaysus, Helen. What the bloody fuck do you want, woman?" * Why do you torment me, you miserable bird? *
"Oh don't be all puss faced, Seamus." Dylan said, throwing back the slang he used to use with her. "I just have to use the phone. Now." *Do I look like a bloody fool? * he thought, and then winced at the memory of the dream. * You're supposed to kill her, not snog her!*
"You're off your nut if you think I'm going to let you phone your little friends and tell 'em where we are." Glaring, he sat back down and rubbed his forehead, yawning. Seamus hadn't got much sleep within the last few days, too busy making plans for Helen. * I swore I only closed me eyes for a second *
"I don't know where we are, dumbass. I was knocked out when you brought me here."
"Oi!" He looked up at her, anger rising at the name. "Calling me a dumbarse, now are we? Cheek will get you nowhere with me. I'm running the fucking show, sweetheart, not you."
"Seamus, please. It's an emergency." She was pleading with him. "I'll take less than a minute. I just have to tell them – just like a few sentences." She strained against the chains, eyes almost at tears. "Please Seamus. I promise I won't say anything about you."
Seamus was silent, examining her face and desperate eyes. She looked upset and tired, but determined. She'd probably yell and annoy him for hours if he didn't let her make the call. * I should unchain her. Don't want her to lose those arms. But then the bloody bird will fight…* "Fine. But if you say anything I don't like, I'll belt your lovely arse." * Maybe I will anyway *
