Obligatory Disclaimer: Dark Horse and Mr. Mignola own all, save for my own original characters. A special thank you to Guillermo del Toro for bringing this wonderful character to my attention.

Torie's muscles screamed in outrage, especially her legs, as she rolled over in bed. Her body wanted more sleep, but her mind said otherwise. She opened an eye and looked at the glowing numbers on her alarm clock.

8:47

Damn, it's late. Why didn't my alarm go off?

It took a moment or two, but soon memories of the night before came flooding into Torie's head. And then a smile appeared on her lips and threatened to split her head in two.

Sam!

Torie bit her lip at the images dancing behind her closed eyes and rolled over to run her fingers along his body, but the bed was empty, the sheets cold. Judging from just how cool the fabric was beneath her fingertips, he had been out of bed for quite some time.

With a frown, Torie slipped out of bed, grabbed a t-shirt and quickly donned it before walking into the kitchen. The apartment was silent. There was no sign of him anywhere. The bathroom door stood open and his clothes and coat were conspicuously absent.

Crap. He ditched me. He fucking ditched me! I can't believe this shit. I thought… Ah geez, I don't even know what to think. This… is crazy.

Torie slid onto a barstool and rubbed her face. Through her fingers, she spied a folded piece of paper on the counter.

Fuck me harder! A note? How damn cliché is that?

Sighing as she reached for it, Torie knew it contained excuses and regret, but also promises of a friendship not ruined by such an encounter. Torie wasn't in the mood to be told thanks, but no more. With trepidation, she unfolded the paper.

T-

Please believe me, this is not how I wanted this morning to go – you alone and frustrated – and me on a plane headed to Europe – and extremely frustrated. I was paged around dawn, soon after we fell asleep and after kissing you good-bye, I left your apartment. (I can't believe you slept through the page because I nearly did, but thank God for small favors.) I was really hoping to wake up with you and laze around the morning or, at least, be able to bring you breakfast in bed. I love me some pamcakes. And I think I remember you saying something about your famous Aunt Jemima recipe.

I'm sure your mind is going a million miles a minute over last night. And this morning. And again this morning. Oh, and yet again this morning. (Can you tell that I'm trying to make a funny?) Well, my mind can hardly comprehend what happened; maybe you're in better shape than I am. And while I'm not saying that my being away is a good thing, at least when we see each other – if you still want to see me – we'll have had time to think.

I'll call you when I can. I can't really say I know how I feel about everything because I never in a million years expected anything like this to happen – despite maybe, somehow, hoping that it might. Someday. Possibly.

But with this assignment having the timing it does, I can't really focus beyond getting briefed and figuring out the best plan of attack against the "bad guys" – but I want you to know that this means a lot to me.

Damn. That all came out wrong. Except the last part. What I'm trying to say is that I'm still reeling from last night and can't seem to put it all in order. I'm sure you're the same way.

This is by no means a lame or convoluted way of me sneaking out on you. Why would I want to leave the best thing to happen to me in such a long time, with the best person I've met in such a long time?

Yours, Me

And hastily scrawled across the bottom was…

Thank you.

Torie refolded the paper and held it against her lips. She closed her eyes and slid down in the barstool, the back of her neck resting on the chairback, tilting her head towards the ceiling. A headache was beginning to beat a pattern against the back of her eyes.

A woman's rights activist and a sorta-demon. Way to go, Tore. The implications alone were mind-boggling, but there was no way that this could be kept under wraps, no matter how hard they tried.

Torie slid off the stool and went over to her couch, lying down with an audible plop. She felt hung over, due to lack of sleep, and the thoughts racing through her head didn't help any.

If this was not to be an isolated incident, if they were to actually step this up to a relationship, the news media and tabloids would have a field day. So far, the news outlets had been very respectful of Torie's decision to step out of the limelight. Of course, working at a woman's shelter was hardly worth continuous news coverage. And Hellboy kept to a quiet lifestyle. But that was partly due to his appearance, as well as the nature of his work.

If she was just a women's rights advocate who only worked at a shelter, things might be somewhat normal. But the Christian religions, long angry with Torie for her outspoken interpretations of the women of the Bible, would tear her apart for dating a…demon.

Of course, Torie struggled with Hellboy's appearance at times, too. While she certainly didn't believe in homosexuality and pre-marital sex being a sin, Torie did believe in God and Jesus and Satan. And in simple terms, she was taught that demons are bad. While by no means a Biblical scholar, Torie read more than her fair share of theological texts and other church doctrines on the inhabitants of the Good Book. And all said that demons were bad. But considering that a lot of the Bible would never, or could never, take place in modern times, it took a lot to faze her when it came to the Man Upstairs.

But setting all that aside, Hellboy himself was an enigma that Torie was still trying to work out. More so now that I slept with him. Here was a guy, a man for all intents and purposes, who was the product of a witch making a pact with a demon, information Torie was grateful to Kate for sharing. But instead of evil incarnate, Hellboy was rescued from the Nazis who had pulled him through a portal to Earth and was raised as a human child. Albeit in a government funded atmosphere. And while the story seemed preposterous, it was a simple pill to swallow the more she spent time with Hellboy.

Torie had to give Hellboy's father credit for having the ability to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nurture far outweighed nature. Hellboy had to be the most down-to-earth, blue-collar guy she'd ever met. The kind of guy every girl wanted. Funny, smart, grounded.

She was still struggling with the cute part of his description.

He certainly had a presence when he walked into a room. And not in the way a 7-foot semi-demon demands attention, but because of his confidence. While he was not always at ease within his own skin, Hellboy accepted others immediate assessment of his looks, generally with humor and aplomb. His ability to put others at ease, Torie found very appealing. And there was no way to deny the chemistry between them. The air between them was almost palpable with tension each time they hung out. Despite knowing each other a few months, Torie felt like they had been friends forever.

But if she were to think about his looks without the stigma of his red skin or horn stumps on his forehead, Torie had to admit that he sounded a lot like the hero of every cheesy romance novel she passed by in the grocery store check out lanes. Pensive brow. Chiseled features. Square jaw. Sideburns. Long hair pulled back into a modified ponytail. Broad chest. Flat stomach. If there was a checklist for romance novel models, Hellboy would satisfy every criteria, as well as add his own distinctive mark.

In addition to his crimson exterior and circular stubs situated on said pensive brow, he had that right arm seemingly made out of stone and that tail that literally brought them together. Maybe it was his differences that made him so endearing, that made him get under her skin in a way Torie couldn't explain. Or maybe it's because he's a cool guy. Wait, dammit! That's why we're friends. I'm trying to figure out if I want us to be more than that! If I want us to be more than that!

Torie closed her eyes and draped her arm across her eyes, images of the previous night dancing in her mind. She tried to conjure up images of previous encounters of the non-intimate kind, but Hellboy's figure refused to be dismissed. That gentle look of awe as he finished undressing her. That nervous smile that his lips slid into when she began to unzip his pants. But after last night, with his arms holding her close, his mouth on her neck with his chin resting on her collarbone, Torie couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

Aw crap, I do like him.