Author's note: Sorry, guys, only one chapter today and it's late. I've been dealing with, uh, pre-term labor threat problems and have been more than usual out of commission. I'm only 28 weeks along so it's really too early for Lowe boy #2 to come. I am in part a little relieved, though, because now I know I wasn't in all that pain for nothing, that there was actually something wrong. And now I know what to do about it. So, I'm posting this up before I go to get my second round of shots to help his lungs develop in case he does come for you to enjoy. Please excuse that I haven't edited yet. I was eager to get it up.

Thank you for reading. ^.^

LoweFantasy

The half-moonlight through his balcony's glass doors painted the silver girl and dragon fuzz in half shadow, half white. The similarities between the revived image from the succubus's mind magic and this girl stunned him, and his lungs stuck. Three thousand years it had taken him to forget the curve of her cheekbone, the sweep of her dark gray lashes, the small way she set her teeth onto her bottom lip as she slept, occasionally making a soft whistling noise.

Knees weak as butter, he fell down to his haunches, clutching his hair as he struggled to breathe.

No. No, I can't go through this again. Not now.

Three thousand years. Three thousand years. It didn't matter that he wasn't mortal and therefore didn't sense time like they did, it had taken so long…so long just to function. No. To exist.

"There's no such thing as reincarnation," he whispered to himself, like a protective talisman.

But, oh, oh god, if there was anything he could give for this Elizabeth to be the same angel who had reached him in the darkness so long ago.

Trembling, muffling his gasps as best he could, he eventually managed to suck it back in, like returning vomited organs back to their place, and used the wall to brace himself back into a standing position. He avoided looking at her as best as he could, even while the almost whisper like whistling of breath through her lax teeth pierced him like arrows.

In his room, he closed the door and locked it. Even with the expensive black out curtains and black painted walls, his eyes could still see through the darkness. He clenched them close, wishing such wasn't the case. Three thousand years and he still had these demonic powers and tendencies. Three thousand years and he still couldn't be blinded by the dark. Three thousand years…

And he still didn't have her.

He didn't sleep. Technically, he didn't need to unless injured, even if his mind felt the blow. It wasn't a blow one could so easily run away from. The memory dragged out from the rusted depths of his memory glowed as bright as ever, drawing out friends to flit across his mind's eye, tempting, warm, beautiful, and never to return. His own personal torture, brought back by that succubus bitch.

Despite this, he cleaned himself to perfection and had his practiced smile on by the time he stepped out of his room to the morning light. It helped that the counter and cupboards were in the line of sight to see the girl on the couch, and he managed to pull down his rather impressive line of cereal boxes on the counter with steady hands.

He heard her stir and stretch just as he got the bowls and milk in place.

"Hey, Elizabeth. Sleep well?"

A crack of joints and a small noise in her throat. Even that sounded familiar now. Damnit.

"Mel-Meliodas?"

"Yes'um, that's me."

"So…all that really…wow, what's with all the cereal?"

"I'd love to cook you a proper hot breakfast," he said, pushing out one of the mismatched ceramic bowls. "But I think tasting my cooking first thing in the morning might make you miss a day of your life. So, I make do with this lovely collection. Pouring milk doesn't involve any cooking whatsoever." He almost added that it was one of his favorite inventions of the modern age, but he quickly caught himself. When was the last time he had made such a stupid slip? Ages, of course. Not even Ban knew, though he his closest friend had his suspicions.

Her hair caught the morning light like the metallic silver it could have been spun from. He made sure to breathe in carefully as he met her open blue eyes, ready for the shock of familiarity they would bring. She still had those cheek bones. Still had the lightest of impressions on her dry bottom lip from her teeth. Even her smell…oh dear god, her smell…

"I haven't had Cookie Crunch since I was a kid," she said, rubbing sleep dust from her eyes as she grabbed the box, smile wide. "Think it will give me diabetes now?"

He barely caught on to those words. "Does it matter? It's coooooooookie crunch!"

The old ad punch line elicited the giggle he was aiming for, and an unwanted heat crept up the back of his neck.

"You got work today, right?" he asked, grabbing a random box without looking. Didn't much matter, as he liked all of them.

She flinched and looked at the digital clock on his stove, but let out a relieved sigh.

"Yes, in about an hour. I hope no one notices my clothes. Do I look to bad?"

"Nope." If only. Then he could feel sane again. "And before you ask, I don't think you smell too bad either. At least, not from here, and if anyone's closer to you than this you might as well smack them."

A flitting thought of smacking said too-close persons gave him a forgotten prick of pleasure. He smothered it with a mouthful of milk-dosed cereal.

"Do you, um, have a comb or something you wouldn't mind lending me?"

"Sure!" And he flicked out a cheap, but thick, red one from his pocket. He'd snagged it off Ban when the other wasn't looking just to screw with him—also because he was sick and tired of the vain cook breaking health code violation and combing back his hair every twenty minutes right over the food he was cooking.

"You keep a comb on you? How old fashion—in a good way. Like, in the old movies and stuff." She finished pouring her milk and ducked to get a better look at him from under the cupboards. "Though…you don't have the kind of hairstyle I'd picture with that."

He shrugged. "Nothing can tame this rugged good doo. Nah, I stole that from my cook." At her widening eyes, he added, "Guy keeps breaking health code with it. I am his boss. And it won't kill him. Oh, but don't worry, it's clean. You shouldn't get anything from him."

"I didn't think so," she said, spooning little cereal cookies into her mouth. As she chewed, she took the comb to the ends of her ruffled, waist length hair.

Another ghost passed through him—of that hair bunching up as he wound his arms around her waist, then breaking even more out of its smooth waterfall as he slid a hand up her back—

He bit his tongue mid-chew.

Choking, eyes stinging, he managed to swallow and gave a pound to his chest.

"I hate it when that happens," she said. "Wrong tube?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak in that moment. Because such feelings…he had been lying to the others and himself when he said he had plenty of practice with the ladies. The truth was, damnation still hadn't worn off him, giving him an immunity to the natural mortal urges that often came with romantic feelings, or just by seeing a good looking broad. Yes, he could still appreciate the pretties when they came, but not to any such depth as what prickled and writhed his gut at the memory of her silk hair and curves of her warm back.

It had been…so long…

He had to get her out of there. Now.

Even so, he trusted his expert control of his expression. Nothing of his tribulation would leak out. Not a shake. Not a whimper.

He forced himself to finish the cereal, still not recognizing what he had picked by the time he dropped the bowl in the sink. She came round to hand him her empty bowl as well, still combing her hair.

"I'll drop you off," he said, always with his perfected smile.

"That's really very kind of you," but she didn't return the smile. Instead, she frowned. "Is…is something the matter, Mr. Meliodas?"

Something inside him jumped. What the—no way in hell. Three thousand years of practice. Three thousand years!

"I'm doing dandy!" he widened his smile, just for extra measure, and slung his truck keys out from his pocket to spin them round his fingers. "Need any bathroom time or such?"

"No. I keep a toothbrush in my bag, just in case, you know. And some, you know, touch up stuff." She finally did return his smile, although it was a tentative one. "You really are amazing. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Nah. It's nothing," and, out of the blue, he just stopped himself from pinching one of her tightly clad buttcheeks as he walked past—oh hell, yes, out. Out right now.

And they were out. He didn't bother locking the door behind him. It took all his self-control not to make a sprint down the stairs to the parking garage where the green truck waited. His fingers shivered oh so minutely as he buckled in.

Breathe. Breathe. There is no such thing as reincarnation.

Like hell that mattered at this point.

I'm sorry, Elizabeth, he prayed in his heart. I won't cheat on you, I swear, it's just…my heads gotten so screwed up, and she looks so much like you.

Once Elizabeth—the modern one, the live one—shut the truck door, her scent, undiluted by a morning shower, flooded the inside of his car as good as any water. He wondered if he could get away with breathing through his mouth, or not breathing at all, as his head tipped and spun and memories rankled his thoughts.

"Mr. Meliodas?"

He shook himself. "Sorry. Spaced out there a bit." He jammed the keys in and revved up the engine. "Mornings are usually when I go through the stock in my head and make a grocery list."

He pulled out of the garage and into the smoothly into the street. Driving since cars were invented could give you that ability, even as shaken up as he was. The morning traffic rush hour was relatively clear on his street, and they made it too the '5 minute parking only' in front of the Intel building in good time. The glass sides reflected half a dozen suns back across the street, but it didn't quite reach the level of the apartment skyscraper he had entered the night before.

But one minute passed. Then two. And still, the young woman had yet to get out of the truck. He didn't need to look at her to know she was pale as the sidewalk and her hands once again clenched and purpled with fear.

"There's no need to worry about that boss of yours," he said, leaning over his steering wheel to try and look casual even as his insides quaked and ached. "I promise, she won't be a problem to you anymore."

That got him a flinch and a stare. Why wouldn't it?

"How could you—what do you mean by that?" she asked.

He let out a breath through his nose. Here came the tough part. But he'd done it enough times…

Not like this. Not with her.

But it WASN'T her.

There's no such thing as reincarnation.

"Well, if I told you the truth, I don't think you would believe me, and I'd probably have to wipe your memory just to help you live life as you normally would."

That's right. He'd done this before. Keep it light.

"I could even erase your memory now, if you like," and he turned to finally look at her. "So you wouldn't have to wonder. It'd be like your boss had never existed."

She recovered remarkably quick—unbelievably so. Then, some humans were special when suddenly confronted with words that were most likely a joke than not.

"You mean, like you had never existed."

The quiet solemnity to her voice turned his glance into a stare.

"What?"

"If I forgot her," she said, and her blue eyes were steady upon him. "Then I'd forget you too, wouldn't I? Since she's the reason we met. 'Cause, you know, I don't drink."

He blinked. "You're not going to ask if I'm joking with you?"

"Would it matter if you were?" she glanced past him, where her co-workers were most likely heading in. "If I go in there and you're wrong, I'll just have to deal with it. Nothing I could ask of you. If I go in and you're right, then that would be proof enough."

His heart picked up speed. Hot pinpricks ran from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Elizabeth…you had always…just like this…

"It wouldn't hurt," he pushed passed, and even three thousand years of practice wasn't enough to stop the little croak that started his sentence. "Life would actually be a whole lot easier if you just, you know, let me tap your head and forget all of it. You'll even be able to go to work like nothing happened—"

"But I would forget you, wouldn't I?"

He closed his mouth, stunned. She had turned her attention back to him again with that same, serious solemnity so unusual for the situation.

He tried for his smile again. "That shouldn't be much. You've only known me for a day, I ain't anyone special."

Her brow furrowed at that. "What are you talking about? You're the kindest, sweetest person I've ever met. I was a stranger—I'm still a stranger—I made a mess of myself and puked in your bar and slept in your house and you fed me when I was the most terrified I'd ever been in my life—when I'd lost hope that I could figure anything out—and if I walk through those doors and find out you've really taken care of it, that you really…saved my life…" she shook her head hard, sending her beautiful metal-like hair into silken waves. "Don't take that from me. Don't make me live without this hope. Hope that there's more to life than just suffering and making it through. That there are people out there like you." Pink had slowly filled her cheeks and she looked down, which was all the better for him as all sorts of calamities were ricocheting about his insides. "Please. Let me know you more?"

He swallowed. His mouth dry. "Even if I'm just, you know, messing with you?"

The small smile she gave then was the first of its kind, softened with tenderness and earnest.

"Yeah. After all," and she looked back over his shoulder, still wrecking havoc on his innards with that damn beautiful smile, face flushed and aglow with reflected morning light. "If she's still in there, I'm going to probably need more alcohol, aren't I?"

"She won't be," he said quickly—too quickly. "I swear."

She just nodded and reached for the door handle. "So…I can keep my memories?"

"They are yours. I'd never force myself on you to do anything." Crud, what was he saying? What was all this…feeling getting into his voice? No, no, no!

"And I…I can see you again?"

"Whenever you want." It was like his mouth had a mind of its own.

That smile widened, and in that second she became every bit the spitting image of the vision the succubus had forced on him. He half expected her to reach out her arms to him, inviting, welcoming.

His.

"I guess I'll see you, then. Thank you."

The door opened. She was waving over the hood of his truck. Black heels took her across the spread of cosmopolitan sidewalk to those glass doors.

And she was gone.

Shaking so bad it could have been convulsions and sweat beading along his brow and pits even though his hands had gone cold as ice, the barkeeper dropped his head to the steering wheel and let out a low, breathless howl.