It's so dark in here. Dark, and cold. She doesn't know where she is, only that it's on a rooftop somewhere, because of how distant the sounds are. Because of the way the wind moves around the tops of the buildings, cold and vindictive. And, duh, because she's been abducted by Angels. The bad kind. The thought 'Angels like Justin?' flutters at the edge of her mind, but she sends it away.

There's no point asking why she'd been stolen – this sort of thing happens all the time, now. The world has been controlled by Darkness for less than a month, but everything has changed.

Her arms and legs hurt. She's sore all over, chained to a wall of rough stone by her wrists and ankles. Her arms have been bound above her head, her legs forced wide. The heavy chains on her cuffs are so short, she can hardly move at all. Her shoulders throb from being in one position for so long, and the delicate skin of her wrists has rubbed raw against metal cuffs.

She hears footsteps outside her prison. Many feet at first, then what she thinks is just one pair. Pacing, back and forth. Back… and forth. Trapped in this dark box, she feels a stifling panic: She's going to die here. She's going to suffer horribly, in ways that she can't even let herself think about, probably, and then she's going to die. She's not naïve; has no illusions about what happens to pretty girls that the Angels carry away. And although she's tried, so hard, to break herself of the habit, the traitorous thought, if only Justin were here rises like a ghost from her mind.

…And then, as if her prayers have been heard and answered, he is.

The room's only door opens with a dramatic shotgun-crack of stiff hinges, and light floods the room, blinding her. She can't see the newcomer's face. The door closes again, and she hears the subtle, unmistakable snick of a lock sliding home. The light is replaced with darkness, and then the darkness gives way to a soft glow from his electric lantern. He hangs it on a hook, and turns to her.

"Justin!" she cries, and in the two syllables of his name are all her confusion, relief, joy. She knows that she hates him, but she's just so glad to see him. Justin, and he's alive. He's come to save her, right?

"Alex," he says flatly, not returning her excitement. He approaches her, only something's wrong, badly wrong, he's not even moving like himself. He walks all slow and sneaky, like some predator that only comes out at night; He's walking like them. Like all of the rest of the bad guys that stalk the nights and days now, the monsters on two legs, with dirty wings and bad ideas. A terrible suspicion blooms in her mind.

(Her own wings are dirty and bent - she's never been great at looking after her things... but they're white, beneath the grime.)

Swallowing hard, she takes him in. Justin. Her brother. All the hate rushes out of her, becoming unreal. If it ever was real to begin with. "I've missed you so much," she says, but the joy in voice is dying, getting tiny and drying up. She sees how he's dressed, all in black. Notes the flatness of his eyes, the color of his wings. Her suspicions? Yeah. Confirmed.

But he says, "I've missed you too," in a breathy way that sounds kind of surprised, like that's not what he meant to say, and the words are all pushed together. He's rushing to close the distance between them, and she's in his arms. "Alex," he says, and for a second it's almost like nothing has changed at all, "Are you okay? They didn't hurt you?"

Okay? Um, how about no.

"Never better," she says, dryly. She doesn't even bother to arm herself with sarcasm, she's beyond caring. Besides, she doesn't want to waste energy thinking up cutting remarks. She just, well, she wants to be in his arms for a second, alright? Whatever lame thing that is, whatever it means, no one is here to see it. That makes it okay.

It's almost, almost like being safe. But nothing is safe anymore, and this least of all. She's still in chains, and she's still in the lonely, scary place, and Justin is here but Justin has changed.

This new Justin presses his face into her hair, and beneath the stiff posture and the silence she can feel him trembling. "Oh Alex," he gasps, "You're here." She has a brief ridiculous impulse to comfort him, to take him in her arms and tell him he's going to be okay, she'll think of something. Of course, her wrists are in handcuffs, and the handcuffs are hooked onto the wall by this short little chain, and she doesn't even have her wand, so that's sort of out of the question. She pushes her cheek against his and closes her eyes.

His entire body shudders when they touch, and he's standing close, so close… and he's…he's… he's holding her in the wrong way. She understands that her first impressions weren't wrong; she knows why he's brought her here, to this horrible place. They're too much alone here, there are secrets in the air between them and she's always been able to read her brother, and it's too late for her to fail to understand. Terror floods her mind.

This is… its all wrong! It's Justin and Justin's supposed to save her, it's his job, but instead he's holding her wrong, he's breathing funny, and she's chained to the wall. And this can't be happening, alright? Not to her, and not with him. Please, if this has to be happening, make it be with anyone else but him. His cold betrayal hurts worse than anything he's ever done to her.

So far.

"Justin, please," she wails, struggling, although struggling at this point is practically a joke.

"That's right," he says softly, bringing his face close to hers. "…beg."

Alex squeezes her eyes closed to shut him out, shivering. She's terribly, terribly cold. The cuffs are like ice. "Justin. This isn't you. I'm your sister… your little sister, Justin! …Don't do this."

He sighs against her hair, his fingers resting on her hips. "I've always sort of liked it when you beg," he admits. He's trying to sound cruel, but he's trembling, she can feel it. This, then, is a Justin she knows, even through her haze of dread: Justin's trying to sound like one of the cool kids. To be the thing he thinks everyone expects. But she knows when he's faking it; always she's known the difference. His hands glide from her hips to her waist, pausing while he presses his forehead to hers. His breath is coming sharp and shallow. It feels hot against her face. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest. She opens her eyes.

Alex tries again, but something slippery and dark is rising from the pit of her stomach, spreading to her limbs and her brain. "Justin, you don't want-"

"I've always wanted," he gasps, at the same time.

"...to do this," his sister breathes.

"...to do this," he whispers, his words and intentions falling clumsily on top of hers and getting all tangled up, until it's hard to tell what belongs to who.

"This is wrong," Alex whispers, like a warning. Her tears are flowing again, salty in her mouth, running stickily down the side of her neck.

"No," he pleads doggedly, kissing her soft skin, "No, no it can't be. It feels right. Please, Alex. It's the only thing left that does," He's pressing his parted lips to her jaw over and over, tasting the water and salt of her tears. She feels each agonizingly slow kiss as it's placed with infinite care, like he's leaving an indelible mark, then sealed with a gentle, persistent suction. His tongue fluttering against her as he tastes her skin. His fingers tighten on her waist, pull her into the heat of his body and then don't let go, as if he needs to hold her down. As if maybe she could escape. His body, lean and with newfound strength, feels tight as a tripwire against her, a coiled tension just barely held in check.

Alex understands, in a distant kind of way, that she should be pressing herself back into the wall of her prison to demonstrate that she's not going along with this, and not arching her back to encourage him instead. If she wishes her legs were free, it's because she would use them to kick and fight and to run away, and absolutely would not wrap them around her brother's waist while she rocks her hips into his, harder and faster than she can with such a limited range of motion. If she gets the chance, she wants to be sure to deny this. Even more, she wants to deny the need expanding in her core like a warhead, like the obliteration of the line between sin and love, destructive and unstoppable. For all her posturing, she wants to be a good person; it comes with the wings.

Now his fingers are gliding along her rib cage, and she holds her breath. His palms are sweaty, searing damp heat through her shirt. A part of her mind thinks about the stains he's leaving on the rose-colored silk, one of her favorite shirts. Another part wonders why he isn't hurting her, taking her by force, if he wants to possess her so badly. But those thoughts are dim; most of her is locked inside her head, screaming. But it's Justin. He'd never hurt me! He can't! He never would!

And it's true that he isn't hurting her. He's scaring her very badly, but it doesn't hurt. It feels... kind of… amazing. Inevitable, even. It feels right.

Oh, but this is wrong. Justin is a Dark Angel and that's what's making him touch her this way. He's bad. Not the good, fun kind of bad - the other kind. If she likes it... is she bad, too? Will she be like him, now? Only… only she's missed him so badly, and now he's here, and she shouldn't be glad, but a part of her is. His hands cover her breasts, and she swallows a moan. The saturating cold is replaced with his feverish heat. A deep, pulsing ache throbs through her nerve endings. "You're scaring me, Justin," she whispers.

"You've scared me all your life," he whispers back, as his lips brush her throat.

"Please," she says again, or maybe it's just in her head this time. She doesn't even know what she's asking for, now. Please stop? Please, keep going? Please, can we keep the lock on the door and stay like this? Please, can't the world just save itself for once?

Her brother's lips suck at her throat, and a deep groan works its way out of her chest. He's hard against her hip, and she's flushed with shame and some other kind of heat. "Justin."

He palms her breasts through the abused silk, massages her aching flesh. She feels his breath while his lips track the tear-trails across her jaw, stopping to suckle at her pulse point. His thumbs find her swollen nipples, circling them through the cloth, pinching lightly until she begins to groan. Alex reaches for him, making the chains rattle, and the cuffs burn against her chafed wrists. Justin presses soft-mouthed kisses to her wet cheeks. He licks a fat tear from the outer corner of her eye before it can fall.

"Justin, my hands?"

"Sorry," he husks, chastised, and all at once it's like home. She thinks about all the arguments he's missed. He lifts his own hands to circle her cuffs, apparently forgetting he's no longer a wizard, and they fall away at his touch. His sister sighs with relief. He takes her hands, examining the rising welts guiltily, and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"I've always known..." He falters. There are tears in his voice that don't show in his eyes.

Alex shakes her head, the tears coming faster now, but he doesn't, can't heed her denial. "Why, Alex?" His voice is strained, as if siphoning all the hurt and need of his nineteen years. "Why wouldn't you ever give me a chance?" he whispers. "I could have loved you... I think maybe... maybe I'm supposed to."

It's crazy, what he's saying. "You're my brother," she whispers.

"That's not my fault!" he snarls, and she flinches. Lifting his head, he takes her face between his hands. "I'll always take care of you, Alex," he pleads. "It'll always be me... you have to believe me. It was always supposed to be the two of us... Alex and Justin." Gently, he kisses her forehead. "Stay here," he whispers. "Stay with me." He kisses her between the eyes. "Stay." He kisses the tip of her nose, then pulls back to look into her face, searching for something. His eyes are so hurt, his need so naked.

Believe me. He's insane, thinking he has any right to ask her for that, after all he's done. There's something badly wrong with him.

There must be something wrong with her too, though. Because, god help her, she does.

Justin. There's a sound like shattering glass as something breaks inside Alex. When Justin left them, she'd thought it was gone forever, this feeling of being completely whole. But it was only dormant in her, waiting. And now… here, in this glorified cage on the rooftop above their ruined city... now the ice around her heart is cracking apart. She understands that it doesn't matter where they are, or what the world outside does; as long as they're together, she'll be alright.

Justin waits, watching her. Alex can hear the blood roaring in her ears, like rushing water.

"... Okay," she breathes, following her instincts, like she's always done.

Justin flinches, staring up to look into her face. His expression is almost... familiar, again. "What...? What did you say?"

She tries to smile, although the fat tears gathering to spill over her lids probably spoil the effect. "I said, yes. It's okay. Whatever you're going to do," her heart lurches crazily, and she throbs between her legs, "...I'm, well. I'm okay with it. This is you we're talking about, right?" her smile grows genuine. "I trust you, Justin."