With the little time she had to react, all Akavi managed to do was throw her hands up to soften the blow as he crushed her with his weight. Her head slammed backwards into the headboard with a resounding crack. Pain burst through her head, and her sight shattered into a million balls of light. She cried out, but her voice died away as Michael's hands encircled her throat. He closed them over her pulse in a grip of iron and leaned forward on his knees to peer closely at her with those hollow, skeletal eyes.

"You've made me doubt everything I was," he growled. His voice seemed to come to her through a haze, a mist of deafness. Black spots were forming at the edge of her vision. Her head throbbed like it had been split open. She felt the back of her shirt as it stuck to her skin. Wet with blood. Gods, it hurt. "Open your eyes, Akavi." She obeyed. "You've made me question my purpose, forced me to rethink my morals." Morals? She wanted to laugh, but had not the strength. Since when did Michael Myers have morals?

Maybe in his own way, he did. Maybe in a way that even she would be unable to comprehend.

"If I kill you, what will you think of me?" She blinked. Her vision was darkening; she couldn't make out his face. Her limbs were dead to her, numb and lifeless. Had he actually said that? Or had she just imagined those words? "Will you curse me for it? Will you hate me for it?"

He released his grip. Oxygen flooded back into her and she cried out again. Millions of tiny daggers sliced into the tender flesh of her muscles as blood pumped through her limbs once more. Her vision cleared slightly.

"No," she whispered, though it pained her immensely to do so. She took deep, slow breaths to keep from hyperventilating. Every beat of her heart caused a sledge hammer to deliver a blow straight into the back of her head. Gods, had he broken the fucking headboard on her skull!

"No? You will not despise me for bringing upon you the one thing you fear?" She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could inspect her wound, but Michael's hands had taken hold of her wrists and now had them captured in his grip.

"I do not fear death," she murmured, "I hate it." Michael's eyes widened slightly. Was that a grin playing on his blurry features?

"Hate and fear are often closely intertwined," he mused.

"Thurisaz keeps them well separated. I do not fear that which I hate." She paused, because a thin line of blood had curled its way over her shoulder and Michael had released one of her wrists to touch it. Then he raised his head and nodded for her to continue. "I loath the stillness, the silence, the utter… loneliness, of death. It is my hell. Eternity in that is Hell."

"And you do not fear an eternity of Hell?"

"No." She sighed. "I prepare myself for it."

There was something about her that pulled at him, nagged, perhaps. She never failed to amuse him, and to impress him. Here she was, pinned beneath him, moments after having sustained a wound that to any normal human would have been fatal, recovering from being nearly strangled to death as well. She looked ready to faint, and he feared it would be so, but every time her eyes wandered shut, she reopened them. Unfocused, pale, colorless eyes.

Much like his.

But how was it possible that she had seen death? Seen in it, what she would spend eternity immersed in? For him, it had been as if waking from sleep, stiff and uncomfortable, but oblivious to his dreams. He'd never seen the home of Death itself. Had he really died, or simply… regenerated?

Did that make her stronger, or more favored, that she should be granted the sight of eternity when he, who'd died numerous times, had never been given even the slightest of glimpses?

But no, for she'd clearly said that he was the favored one. Not her. Perhaps Thurisaz had protected him from seeing Death. Perhaps he'd never paid any attention to it. Perhaps she was making it all up just to screw with him.

He wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Everything led to Akavi, every trail, every idol wonder. His mind was determined to focus on the creature beneath him, struggling to maintain a relatively serene façade, despite the paralyzing pain she must be experiencing. He was in awe of her. Not because she was in pain, but because she still did not fear him.

Could he never make her fear him? Would he fail in that as well?

"You have seen Death. Why haven't I?" She blinked up at him, and the paleness of her eyes was drowned by the black void of her pupils. She probably couldn't see him clearly. But she smirked. By the runes, the woman couldn't suppress her sardonic humor even at the brink of death.

"Have you ever cared to look?" Michael felt fury boil up within him again, at the rhetorical question, at her humor. Down and almost out, half-conscious, and she still had an edge over him. Her knowledge of what she felt he should have known, but didn't. Her damned superior attitude. How could someone so annoying be so… fascinating?

A loud crash came from behind them. Michael turned. The door was smashed in, and Akavi's two lovely little bodyguards were squeezing through the splintering hole to get into the room.

"Michael, get off her," the first to get through the broken door growled.

"Where were you when I needed you, incompetent fools?" Akavi muttered from beneath Michael, who cast a dark glare down at her, though he couldn't help but smirk. "Go find me some painkillers," she snapped. "And leave him alone."

The one who'd spoken seemed to falter in mid-stride. "He's trying to kill you, Kavi," he protested.

"Done a fine job of it so far, hasn't he?" At this, Michael leaned down close to her and grinned.

"I may yet succeed," he murmured. She raised an eyebrow. Already, her pupils were returning to their normal size as the concussion began to wear off. Her sight was returning to normal. And so was her strength. He could feel her testing his grip around her wrists, ever so gently. Blood had soaked into her pillow, creating a dark halo around her head.

Fitting, Michael thought with a smirk.

"If you would be so kind as to release me, I would be eternally grateful," she said with a wry smirk.

"I might be willing to make a compromise," he replied with a tilt of his head. "Let me stay around for a while." He saw her narrow her eyes and he grinned mischievously. "I promise to behave."

She was silent for several moments, calculating, considering. The bodyguards stayed completely still. The silence hung in the air like a tense, heavy fog.

Finally, Akavi sighed. "Alright, you can stay, now get off me."

The bottle of Tylenol rattled in her hand as she turned it over to read the directions. Two caplets every four to six hours. She tossed the bottled back into the medicine cabinet and slammed the door shut.

"Guess I shouldn't have taken seven, eh?" She eyed Cain as he handed her a glass of water.

"Probably not the best idea," he agreed with a shrug. "Not like it'll kill you," he smirked, "might knock you out though."

"I can't wait." She cast a dark look towards Cain, who waited at the counter with a damp cloth and a grimace on his face. When he motioned for her to take a seat, she reluctantly obeyed, sinking down onto the barstool with a wince. Her gaze found Ferun, staring darkly towards Michael from beside the sink.

"Why don't you sit down?" She asked irritably. He turned that hateful glare on her and it softened. She started to smile, but it turned into a wince as Cain pressed the washcloth to the back of her head.

"I don't like this," Ferun stated. He glanced at Michael again. "I don't like having him here."

"Would you rather I locked him in the closet?" She managed to smirk through the pain that lanced out from the base of her skull and washed over her head until it encompassed her eyes. Tiny white points of light danced where Ferun's face was supposed to be.

"If only that blow had rid you of your wit and humor," Ferun mused darkly. "I might actually be congratulating him."

"Despite how much I might resemble a wall or some sort of inanimate object, I am here, present, and would appreciate being spoken to directly," Michael noted with a casual tone. Akavi saw the hatred flicker in Ferun's glare, but she couldn't mask her grin.

"Ah, pity, you'd make such a lovely centerpiece on the dining room table," she leered brightly.

"You don't have a dining room."

"Maybe I should lock you in a closet," she muttered.

"I'm sure your wardrobe would be delightful," he mocked.

"This, coming from you?" She snarled. Before she realized it, she was out of her seat. Cain was closest. He grabbed her arm and firmly pulled her back down onto the stool.

"Listen to the two of you, bickering like you're children again," Cain scolded. Akavi shot him a dark glare, but he was grinning that impulsive, innocent grin again, and she couldn't bring herself to snap at him.

"I must have touched a nerve," Michael murmured idly. Akavi looked around for something to throw at him, but Ferun had already pulled the knife block out of reach, so she settled for scowling at him.

"Keep it up and you'll be sleeping on the balcony."

"Which might be preferable, considering the mess your bedroom is in." This time, Akavi went for the cutting board, flinging it at him recklessly. He leapt from his seat just in time to avoid being beamed across the head. The board slammed against the wall behind him.

"You arrogant, brainless imbecile!" She seethed, jumping from her chair and in her haste, throwing it to the ground. She advanced on him, hands balled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. He stood there motionless as she approached. "How dare you attempt to provoke me over something that's completely your fault!" She stopped in front of him and waited for his retort.

Michael reached out and took her face in his hands so gently, she was taken aback. Confusion rendered her speechless. She met his gaze. His eyes were solemn; there was no trace of mockery or laughter in them. He leaned forward until he was less than inches away, his lips so dreadfully close to hers she thought she might faint.

"So you are human," he murmured.