Chapter 13: In Revelry you Drown

Yep, she was drunk.

This wasn't even one of those "whoops, we had too many staffies after work" or "I shouldn't have gone out, but my mates convinced me" situations. No, she was stone cold, stumbling over the floor, can't-make-out-the-words-on-the-TV drunk. Alone. At her apartment. Three guesses why.

She couldn't even say this was the first time over the past week she'd found herself like this. Drinking was an easy escape; it was the natural "go-to" fix for hunters. Come on Jo, are your really a hunter anymore? There was no denying it, if there was such a thing as the "hunter's code", she would have broken every rule in the book. Hunting for a demon isn't really hunting, not in the sense she'd grown up with.

But, one thing she had in common with all the hunters she had known was her borderline alcoholism. In her drunken haze she had come up with a new theory on the affliction; there were different kinds of alcoholics: Those who drank because they physically needed to (textbook alcoholics), those who drank because they emotionally needed to (hunters and/or those who are deal-damned to be a demon's bitch), and students ('It's not alcoholism until you graduate!' Juanita rule). She suddenly burst out laughing.

'You're a mess.' Crowley stated, leaning against the kitchen counter.

'No, you're a mess,' she replied, giggling. It was the first time she had seen him in a week. Since the incident, as she euphemistically referred to it, where he proverbially smacked her to the ground after being enlightened on her feelings for him. He had threatened to pull her to his bed mere days afterward, but he, for reasons unknown to her, refrained. It had not helped; in actualities it had achieved the opposite.

He looked at her, lips tightly pressed together before sighing. 'Alright, enough'. He strode across the room towards her, hooking his arms under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her to the bedroom. The gales of laughter became uncontrollable as he dropped her to the bed, not bothering to remove any clothing, and walked back to the door.

'Sober up. We'll talk in the morning.'

'Wait,' she said in a small voice, sitting up, 'you can stay if you want'. He shot her a dark look and disappeared.

'Guess that's a no,' she said, passing out cold on the pillow.

Oh shite.

She woke with a familiar headache and severe need to throw up, but it was not the reason for her panic. She couldn't recall much from the previous night, but of all the things she did remember, it was the look of utter disgust and disappointment in Crowley's eyes as he picked her up off the floor and put her to bed which made her feel sicker than any hangover could. Where else whenever they fought she had retaliated with anger, violence and witty retorts, here she just looked pathetic, beaten, and wallowing in self-pity. She deserved his disgust; this wasn't her. He had brokered for her soul because of her strength, independence and defiance in the face of adversity. But now?

Dear God. She needed to pull herself together. She was a Harvelle. Harvelle's don't need to be picked up off the floor!

She knew he would appear at any moment, and so quickly made for the bathroom to shower away the stench of cheap whiskey from her pores. Alcohol always seems such a sweet escape at the time…

The shower curtain was thrown open hastily, making her jump and instinctively cover herself.

'Out. Now.' He was not amused, slamming the bathroom door on his way out.

Well, she couldn't say she wasn't expecting it. Swiftly wrapping her dressing gown around her still-wet body, she opened the door to face him. He was resting against the back of the desk chair, a glass of scotch whiskey in hand and a pensive expression drawn across his near middle-aged face. Despite his seeming anger before, when he spoke it was with neutrality, as if he did not want to rile her up;

'If this shame spiral you're heading down is anything to go by, it is clear that I cannot simply employ the tough love speech to eradicate this problem.' His words sounded rehearsed, unusual for him. Perhaps he was as nervous as she. 'In order for this arrangement to continue, we need to come to a … understanding.'

She nodded, but said nothing as he continued; 'I'm not going to give you anything you've asked for, inadvertently or not, but I will allow you the chance to,' he seemed to have difficulty with the next few words, 'talk about what's been bothering you.' She raised her eyebrows, not really registering what he was offering. So in response to the almost complete admittance of her love for him, he would be her bloody therapist for a day and expect it to be over with?

'No', she said simply, 'I'll deal with it on my own thank you.'

'Because that has clearly worked so well for you?' She saw him catch himself before he allowed the demon in him to take over. Returning to the calm demeanor he adopted before, he continued 'I've been seeing you drink yourself half to death each night. You can't deal with this by yourself and I am offering to help you.'

'I don't need your pity.'

'Well then I'm not leaving until you do.' He said, moving to sit on the couch and pulling up the newspaper he had tucked under his arm.

'Fine.' She spat back through gritted teeth. She turned around and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door angrily as she did. Was he serious? Was he actually thinking she would just sit out there and play Dr. Phil with him? She wasn't that kind of girl, he wasn't that kind of demon, and this wasn't that kind of relationship. This was a "bottle everything up for as long as possible until screaming matches occur" understanding which he would do well to remember at this point. Even if she could get over the humiliation of falling for someone like him, how could she just lay all the cards on the table like that? It was one thing to be vulnerable to him physically, but quite another to be vulnerable emotively.

She heard him turn the pages of his newspaper, signaling that he was indeed still waiting for her and was not merely bluffing. Sucking up all her prejudices against this kind of thing, she marched purposefully out of the bathroom and sat herself on the arm of the settee facing him. Watching her every move as she entered the room, he folded back up the paper and turned to face her as well, not saying a word. She became vividly aware of the fact she was still naked and dripping wet.

If this little intervention of his was going to work, she would need to ease her way into the hard topics, and decided to focus on him to begin with.

'You didn't call me to your bed after the fight. Why?' She tried as hard as possible to keep as much emotion from her voice as possible. The strain to do so made it crack noticeably, negating any effect she was seeking.

'Two reasons. Firstly you were blind drunk before the sun had even gone down and I prefer you to be of sound mind when I see you, and secondly, I believed it would be detrimental to the success of our arrangement for you to harbor any continuing emotions for me, and I decided I would forgo seeing you this once to pull yourself together. I can't have a distracted hunter, it'll make you sloppy.' She knew he was being honest, he generally preferred silence or withholding information to lies. It was one of his very few better qualities.

'Interesting. Here I would have thought you'd choose sex over anything else.'

'Not if it were to have adverse effects on the hunt. It is the most important thing after all.' He clicked his tongue, obviously debating how to ask the next question. 'I'm going to need something cleared up here, Harvelle. How deep does your emotional attachment run for me?'

There it was, the question she wanted to avoid because she barely knew how to answer it. She knew how hard this conversation was for him, and it proved how important she was too him that he would even go through it at all. It was moments like this which made hating him so difficult; every now and then he would show a spark of decency she would mistake for humanity, when in actuality it was the opposite. Everything he did was to benefit himself, including this.

The silence was deafening, she needed to speak, 'there was a time where I thought … I thought I loved you.' His breath hitched as the word "love" passed through her lips as she knew it would, but he returned to normal near-immediately after. 'But now, I don't know. I see too much selfishness and cruelty to ever truly love you.' If he was going to be honest, she would be too.

'It's just, every now and then I see in you a shred of integrity and I naively think that somehow it makes you a good person. I forget you're a demon sometimes.' She shook her head to herself and looked away. He studied her passively.

'You need to understand that I am not human, I haven't been for a very long time. I should never have allowed you to bargain for that night. It ruined everything.' She nodded. 'If you continue to struggle with it just remember that any time I show affection, it is an act for the benefit of myself or others; when I protect you from danger, I am really protecting you as my investment; when I show lenience it is because I want something in return. Just think of me as a selfish bastard; nothing I have done or will do in regards to you will be chivalrous.

'But if you continue to falter because of your emotions, I will not be as tolerant as I am now. I can be understanding to a certain point, but as soon as I leave this room that understanding will fast turn to frustration. Weakness is not something I will abide, and I will not indulge your own humanity any further.'

She understood; of course she did. Even when she was bent over, crying in the arms of Juanita and confessing her love for him a very vocal part of her knew he could easily undermine her in a second if he was given an alternate advantage. It was such a female thing to do, to see more in a man than was actually there.

'Out of curiosity, why did you turn to drinking after last week? Don't get me wrong I enjoy a healthy amount of alcohol, but did it affect you that badly?' He asked. It was something she had been grappling with, but she had an idea.

'To be honest, I think it was just everything. I haven't dealt with so much that has happened over the past 6 months, and to find out I had even less control that I originally had kind of threw me off.' He looked at her curiously; she just realized she didn't make a whole lot of sense. 'It's just, even though you were sending me on random hunts at your discretion, coercing me into your bed, forcing me to drop everything the minute you demanded it, even telling me what to wear, I always knew that I could hate you for it. Of everything that our arrangement entails, that was something I would always have control over. And to suddenly lose that control I just … couldn't deal with it. So I chose not to'. It suddenly made sense when she said it out loud and felt a weight lift from her chest.

He stood up, and made to pat her on the shoulder, then her head, but ultimately decided against it. She snorted at how careful he was being, and wondered how long it would last.

'By the way, I'm seeing the Winchesters tomorrow. Will you be joining me?' She asked.

'Maybe. I'll have to find a new vessel first.'

'Why can't you use that one? They haven't met you, have they?'

'No, but if I do attend, you'll be introducing me as a hunting buddy, and this bloke doesn't really look the type.' She looked him up and down and nodded.

'Fair call.'

'Don't forget what I said, Harvelle. First and last day of tolerance', he reminded her.

'I'll be fine. Now get out', she said, flicking her hand at him. He disappeared.

Letting out a sigh, she rose up and walked to the bathroom mirror, thankful that she had at last started to understand the issues which had plagued her for months. They hadn't gone by any means, but now she felt she could at least face them. Sometimes it's easier to fight the devil you know rather than the one you don't.

Life seemed that much easier to deal with.

Light falling like a benediction, on moments that renew the world.

A/N

WHADDUP! Yay for me finally updating after what, a month?

Explanation for chapter; I can't have my storyline progress with the way the last chapter ended. Girls don't get over stuff like that just because they get high and mighty after a fight. Fights fester, especially when no contact is made afterward. So Jo needed to suffer a bit, or it just wouldn't be plausible.

But, having said that, my story can't progress until she deals with the nitty gritty of her feelings. So now the plot line may continue.

Title: Faust (duh).

Last line. My third favourite quote of all time. From a poem called "Estuary" by Gwen Harwood. Beautiful poem by a beautiful writer.

The term "staffies" doesn't refer to the dog. I don't know if it's just an Australian term, but it's the free after-work drinks you get when working in a bar/restaurant. I've worked in many-a bars/restaurants, and they're the only reason I stay in the industry.

So, time to get into the craziness that in the story. Starting with Chapter 14. You guys have been AWESOME and as per usual, keep me writing.

Btw, if you're weird and would like to see more of my insanity, follow me on Twitter at CaptainAsh_ …then again, maybe once-a-month doses of me is enough.

Love love LOVE you all!

-thesolitaryone-