I'm the kind to sit up in his room
Heart sick an' eyes filled up with blue
I don't know what you've done to me
But I know this much is true
I wanna do bad things with you
Bad Things—Jace Everett

It seems like forever before they reach the house situated in the alley behind Capricorn's, the black painted shutters with different strange signs painted on them marking it as Basta's house. They'd had a hard time getting here, having to outrun the group that had flooded the crypt, all in a stony silence. Dustfinger had taken her from her family again, ripped her out of Resa's arms much like a villain in a children's story. He might have his reasons, but it still makes her hackles rise.

She and Dustfinger finally collapse in the safety of Basta's attic, Julianne's back turned to him as she glares across the room at the window they had climbed through.

"Juli—"

"Not right now, Dustfinger." It's been a hard few weeks and she needs to be left alone to stew in her anger or she might just punch him in the nose. Being a moderately nice person with a conscience sucks sometimes.

She doesn't know how long she ends up staying in the attic, finally warm and able to stretch out on the hard floor. She's not even sure when she manages to fall into a dreamless sleep, but the next thing she knows is her eyes are opening and there's a plate of sandwiches set a few feet away. She can't help but smile a little, sitting up and pulling the plate over to her, eager to eat after two days without food.

What was that old expression about hunger? Oh right. Eating like your bellybutton's been rubbing a blister on your backbone. Maybe she should stop re-watching Quigley Down Under when she's meant to be studying for finals.

Once the two sandwiches are gone, she takes the plate and heads downstairs into the kitchen. Dustfinger is half asleep in a chair beside the window when she puts the plate in the sink, and he doesn't stir as she moves into Basta's room to steal the blanket. She brings it back into the kitchen to wrap around Dustfinger. He snorts a little when the blanket comes in contact with him, his blue eyes opening completely as he glances up.

"Are you still angry, Juli," he asks, taking the blanket and holding it like a scared child might hold their teddy bear.

"Not so much anymore. I think I understand why you did what you did."

"They would have hurt you badly. Capricorn would have let his men have you, but he won't do that to Resa. He respects her more than any other woman in this village, even the Magpie. He'd love her if he were capable of it."

"Yeah, I picked up on that."

"You look exhausted. Come here." He pulls gently on her hips until she's seated across his lap, her head resting on his shoulder and the blanket covering both of them. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, but I couldn't leave you back there. Not when I knew—"

She presses her lips against his to cut off his rambling, mainly trying to keep anyone outside from hearing him. Dustfinger doesn't let her pull away, following her lips when she parts with one hand buried in her hair and the other squeezing her knee. It's a simple kiss given the circumstance, but it's just as wonderful as the one at Elinor's had been. Julianne repositions herself so that she's straddling him, confidence swelling as she takes full control of the kiss and cups his face in her hands.

Slowly, when the need for air is more pressing than the feeling of his lips on hers, she pulls back to look down at him, her position giving her the high ground. His breath comes out in soft puffs against her face, his blue eyes dark and pupils blown. She runs her fingertip over his kiss-swollen lips, dark pink now.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I should have asked fir—" He pulls her back down for another, more thorough kiss. She melts into it, wrapping her legs around his waist when he stands up. Dustfinger holds her tightly on the way to the living room, collapsing on the couch on top of her. "Is this smart?" He's kissing his way down her throat, so she's having trouble making the words come out.

"Mmm, we definitely deserve this," he mumbles between nips and kisses. She curls her fingers in his unruly hair, arching her back when he bites down where her neck and shoulder meet. He runs his tongue over what's going to be a spectacular hickey. She presses her bare feet against the backs of his thighs, pulling him tighter against her.

"You have too many clothes on."

"As do you, my lady."

Julianne lays with her head cushioned on Dustfinger's chest, the sparse hair there tickling her nose as she traces nonsense patterns with her fingers. This is her favorite thing to do, cuddling. Feeling someone pressed against her, their arms around her, secure and grounded. She has one of her legs over both of his, and her eyes are big as they study his lax features.

She's never seen him so vulnerable before, his eyes closed and body relaxed. The three scars on his cheek are like silver lines drawn in felt-tip marker, barely seen amongst the stubble that's nearly a short beard. He's handsome in a nearly unconventional way, what Resa would call an old soul beyond the dry witticisms and yellow streak.

"Why don't you take a picture," he asks, eyes still shut and one hand rubbing over the leg she has thrown over him. "I hear they last longer."

"Photographs aren't quite the same." She presses a kiss against those scars and rubs their noses together. "I prefer the real thing." His eyes open in a flutter of lashes and she can see chips of darker blue in there.

"You deserve so much more than you have, more than I can give you." She tenses, knowing a break-up speech when she hears one. It's not you, it's me. I'm just not ready for a commitment. We can still just be friends, Julianne.

"Relax, you're not going to be stuck with me just because we had sex. I'm not the clingy type." She tries to get up to prove her point, but Dustfinger tightens his arm around her waist and casts a confused look up at her.

"That's not what I mean and you know it, you stubborn ass. I don't love you, not yet anyway, but I could learn to. Jesus, we're awful when it comes to dealing with our emotions."

"This kid's going to have the emotional range of a tea spoon," she confirms, laughing. He rests his cheek against the top of her head when she settles back against him, breathing in the scent of sweat and the remnants of her vanilla shampoo.

"What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't mind staying in this world as long as you're with me. I think I could find happiness with you." She can't meet his gaze as her cheeks heat in a blush, suddenly all too aware of being naked next to an equally naked man with the faint outline of a potential six-pack. Dustfinger clears his throat when she doesn't say anything. "How about a shower while you think that over?"

"Hell, why not?" She stands and uses her dress like a towel as she hunts down her underwear, Dustfinger unabashed as he walks around the living room to gather his clothes. He's giving her a coy grin when that's done, a pair of pink panties dangling from one of his fingers. Blushing harder, she snatches them from him and makes a beeline for the bathroom. "You're an ass."

"I believe you were admiring my ass just a few days ago. You were almost waxing poetic." She stops just inside the bathroom, turning to look up at him with furrowed brows.

"Wait, how's this going to work?"

"I'm sure you know how to write poetry better than I do, but—"

"You have a nice butt, we've settled that. I mean, how are we going to take a shower together? That thing's basically a cubicle." His smile widens a little and he does a little eyebrow waggle. "Alright, fine, but if I'm blaming you if I fall and break a hip."

"Don't worry, I won't let my little bird fall."