Chapter Twenty-Five

Over the course of the next few days, Murron remained in bed as any time she tried to move further than the bathroom, her body protested. Victor lingered in the house with her and Crowley, acting as both company and potential warning system should anyone try and catch them unawares. Murron enjoyed the other demon's presence as, in their short association, she'd come to trust him almost as much as she did Crowley. He seemed very aware of the relationship she shared with Crowley, respecting their time alone and not once making a nuisance of himself. Much of the time, he remained downstairs or in the cellar, only making his presence known when either ordered to or when he asked after Murron's recovery.

To her extreme pleasure, Crowley had taken to sharing her bed, even going so far as to sleep when she did. He never vocalized his reasons for doing so, not that he needed to. She had a dim memory of him sitting beside her after the battle. He'd said something to her, but that alone remained a mystery. Instead of questioning it, she savored his presence beside her every night, to feel the weight of his arm at her waist as they slept. He often let her rest alone during the day, only coming up when he was finished with whatever kept him away.

One evening, Crowley came into the bedroom, his coat slung over one arm and set to stripping himself of his tie and suit jacket. Murron, who'd been resting with her eyes closed, opened them and smiled to see him. As if feeling her eyes on him, Crowley turned and returned the smile. "Hello, love. Did I wake you?"

"No," Murron assured him, touched that he would ask. "I wouldn't want to sleep through this, anyway." She giggled. Crowley grinned.

"You must be feeling better if you're making passes at me," he quipped, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the back of the door. Murron made an assertive noise. He resumed undressing, pausing between each article of clothing to either hang it up or fold it and put it aside. It was all so charmingly domestic. When he'd frowned at the open top drawer of the dresser, Murron cleared her throat. She held up the pair of silk pants he wore to bed.

"You forgot to put them away last night," she said and held them out to him. "Unless," she added, pulling them away when he made to fetch them. "You'd rather not bother with them at all?"

"Cheeky miss tonight, I see!" Crowley remarked appreciatively. "I can work with that." He stripped off his black silk boxers and, naked, strode over to the bed where Murron was carefully pulling her own sleep clothes off. "Hang on," Crowley sat beside her to help draw her top off as such movements still hurt her. "There. How're you healing up?"

"I don't know. You tell me," Murron twisted as best she could, turning her back to him. He slid a gentle hand down her back, murmuring observations she couldn't make out. "Still pretty bad, I take it?"

"No, not really. Still have some scrapes and bruises, but otherwise, I think you're doing well," Crowley replied. "Which is a good thing because I have an idea you might be interested in."

Murron leaned back against the pillows, head cocked in curiousity. "What is it?"

"Well," Crowley climbed over her to take his place beside her, lifting an arm to invite her to snuggle up to him. Murron did so gratefully, wrapping her arms about his middle. "I thought you might like a little vacation. With me."

"A vacation? Seriously?" Murron asked, surprised. At his nod, she chuckled. "Can you take the time away from Hell to do that?"

"I can do whatever I bloody well please. I'm the King," Crowley replied loftily. "I just figured you'd rather spend your last month having a good time, not watching the calendar."

At that, Murron sobered. She hadn't been thinking about that. In truth, she didn't like to think about it. A month was so short, so dreadfully short. She pressed against him further, not wanting to think about never being able to do this again. Then, as if realising his mistake, Crowley brought both his arms about to hold her and bent his face into her hair. He murmured an apology that sounded awkward on his tongue. Murron shook her head. She didn't want him to apologise for something she'd gotten herself into. She kissed a small path across his collarbone, then lifted her face to him. Crowley accepted her upturned mouth, kissing her firmly. She breathed the heat of him in, wondering if she was well enough to have him take her. Her body was certainly responding to him and she could feel he was equally responsive to her.

Crowley broke the kiss and whispered huskily, "Come here." He pulled her into his lap, his lips finding her throat as she gingerly took him into her. He held her as tightly as her bruised back would allow. Murron curled her arms around his neck, doing her best not to push herself too hard. He seemed just as keen on keeping it slow and easy. It seemed more about the contact than the need for sexual release, which suited Murron fine. It had never been about the carnal lust, at least not on her end of things. No, she simply enjoyed the absolute closeness of him, the feel of his skin on hers and the full sensation of him inside her.

They remained connected like that for many moments more, foreheads touching and eyes closed to fully appreciate the experience. When they'd reached a quiet climax, Crowley kept her in his lap, his face bowed to the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Murron stroked the back of his head, enjoying the softness of his hair through her fingers. Would he miss this, she wondered? Would he ever look back on this year, centuries from now, and remember her? She smiled sadly to herself. He was an eternal thing, something meant for forever, and she was this fleeting moment in time, barely a blip in the universe. But for this moment, this precise moment, she was his and part of her believed he was hers, even if only in the smallest capacity.

"Crowley," she began in a soft whisper. He murmured something unintelligble against her skin. "Can I...is it all right if I say it?"

He was silent for awhile and for a moment, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Then she felt his lips flex as if to speak, ending in a kind of grunting sigh. "If you want to," was his final answer. He sounded as though he dreaded the words, not out of any annoyance, but almost as a kind of...regret?

"No. Nevermind," Murron sighed, gathering him to her a bit more and kissing the top of his head. "It doesn't matter."

Silence spread between them once more. Murron relaxed in his arms, her cheek propped on his head. After a moment, she felt his arms loosen around her and a low snore vibrated along her chest. She bit her lip on the giggle that threatened to wake him and carefully untangled herself from him. Crowley, only partially aware it seemed, fumbled about getting comfortable, and was out again in a matter of seconds. Murron watched him sleep for awhile, content to simply drink him in.

When her own exhaustion began to creep up on her, Murron nestled down behind him, hugged him with one arm about his waist, and kissed the space between his shoulder blades. She felt him loosely grip her dangling hand and push further back into her. She smiled, amused to be the big spoon for once, and closed her eyes as sweet sleep washed over her.

The vacation Crowley had in mind ended up being a private island he'd acquired through an old demon deal, its owner now long gone. It was isolated with its own lagoon and a thick forest covered at least half of it. The house they would stay in was an old design that Murron couldn't identify, not that it mattered. It was beautiful and exactly what she needed after the ordeal with Puriel and the witches.

Being that she was still smarting from the blow she'd endured, Murron favored sitting on the white sandy beach enjoying the balmy breezes that drifted off the pristine water. If she'd known about this place before, she would have insisted on spending their year there. It was the perfect slice of paradise; such a pity she'd only have a month to enjoy it. Still, she fought to keep her spirits high, feeling it would be foolish to pretend she hadn't known it was coming.

One morning, Murron left the house to find Crowley standing on the beach. His jacket had been cast aside on the sand, as had his tie. He stood facing the horizon, one hand shielding his face from the rising sun. The cuffs of his dress shirt were open, as well as his collar, and both flapped in the wind against his wrists and neck. He appeared to be looking for something, which prompted Murron to join him.

He turned partially when she neared, one eye closed against the light, and smiled. "Morning, love. Sleep well?"

"Of course. You know I did," Murron replied, linking her arm in his and resting her head on his shoulder. "You've taken it upon yourself to exhaust me every night."

"No greater sacrifice in the world," Crowley quipped. He lowered his hand from his face and sighed thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten how apart from everything this island was. Not sure what to make of it."

"You'd rather be in the thick of it again?"

"If I had to be honest, yes, actually. Relaxation now seems impossible. I keep thinking about what's left to do with Hell," he confessed. "But nevermind. If I get restless, I can always pop down and see what's what."

"I didn't expect you to sit on the beach and drink pina coladas, anyway," Murron smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "This is more for me, I think. I'll happily get hammered every night while you flitter about down below."

"Hammered? Don't you mean pounded?" Crowley grinned, unable to help himself. Murron laughed.

"Careful there, Casanova," she returned. "You might turn my head."

"Among other things."

"I suppose when you're not doing whatever it is the ruler of Hell does, we could always while away the days making love on the beach," Murron suggested lightly. "Though I'm told sex on the beach is very uncomfortable."

Crowley laughed, genuinely amused by that. "Perfectly good bed in the house; why get sand in everything if we don't have to?"

"Pretty much." Murron replied. "Though a month here does seem awfully long, don't you think?"

"It'll go by quickly. I wouldn't be so eager to burn through it," Crowley advised quietly. Murron nodded. He straightened the arm she was holding, sliding his hand down hers until their fingers clasped. "Hard to believe, really," he began after a moment's silence.

"What is?"

"You. Me," he added with some hesitation. "I'm not the best at this." He lifted their joined hands for emphasis. "Not my thing, really. I should hate you for it, but...I guess I don't. There. That's the closest you'll get to anything."

Murron smiled. "I take what I can get with you, Crowley. But thank you. That was sweet."

"Go on, then!" Crowley waved his free hand at her, averting his face. She laughed. "If you ask me, you're the idiot in this. Who the hell loves a demon, anyway?"

"I do, I guess," Murron shrugged.

"Still stupid." Despite his words, his tone was forgiving, even kind.

"I'm okay with that."

They stood watching the waves for awhile longer, then Crowley turned to Murron, a curious look on his face. "Why did you want me? Really. The truth this time."

"The whole truth?" Murron prompted. He nodded. "Idealism. In the beginning, anyway. You were made out to be this cautionary tale, but I guess I never stopped loving the idea of an unconventional relationship."

"Was that your goal?"

"I wouldn't call it a goal so much as a wish. I knew it was wrong, though, to try and hold a demon to anything as fragile and temporary as a relationship, of any nature. No, the longer I was around you, the less I wanted to try and chain you to me. That's why I didn't accept your offer that night. It wasn't pride, as I suspect you thought it was. It was probably the first time I realised how I really felt. About you, about the deal, everything. I refused because I loved you."

Crowley fell silent, as if taking it in. "Well, I suppose you're not the first," he replied quietly. Murron regarded him from beneath drawn brows. "I dabbled in that once. Long time ago. Centuries, even. Had a kid, too, if you can believe it."

"You're a father?"

"Was a father. And not a very good one at that. Wasn't even really mine. I needed a body. He was there. End of story."

"There's probably more to it, but I know better than to ask."

"Smart girl."

It was Murron's turn to be pensive. She was remembering what Kali had said, how if she, Murron, really wanted to know everything about Crowley, she'd only have to demand it and he'd tell her. The goddess might've been simplfying things, of course. It would be easy for someone like Kali to demand the truth and nothing but the truth, but Murron? She was curious, but not enough to risk Crowley putting up another wall between them. Where they were now was right where she wanted to be.

"I don't want it to happen here," she declared suddenly. Crowley didn't have to ask for clarification. "It's beautiful here, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather be in a more familiar place."

"Whenever you're ready to go back," Crowley replied. "Until then, enjoy yourself."

"I'm trying. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared, even a little. How does it usually happen?"

Crowley glanced at her sidelong, eyelids lowering to conceal the message within his gaze. "Don't worry about it right now."

"But I am worrying about it right now," Murron pressed. "Please. I want to know. I think I have the right to ask how I'll die."

He lifted his head, the wind catching his hair and fanning it across his forehead. "At the end of their deals, people begin to see and hear things. Then the hellhounds come. The person is then torn apart and their soul is dragged to Hell where they will most likely be tortured or worse. Or the line, like I told you about."

"You're using 'they' as if it won't happen to me like that," Murron observed. Crowley looked away again. "I'll see and hear the same things everyone else does. I'll be dragged away by hellhounds. Say it."

"You'll hear and see things, yes," Crowley conceded finally, the words coming fast.

"And the hellhounds?" Murron continued, studying what little of his face she could see intently. When he didn't respond, she frowned slightly. "Will it be Growley? Is that how it works? The demon's hound is the one to come and collect?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Murron -"

"It's fine. Just kind of makes the whole handbasket thing obsolete, doesn't it?" Murron gave a weak laugh. "I signed up for this. I don't want special treatment. It wouldn't be fair."

"Damn what's fair!" Crowley growled. He turned to her sharply, their hands separating. "If you want to go down in a bloody handbasket, I can do that. You've already been given 'special treatment', don't you see that?"

"Even so, Crowley, I sold my soul to you. I'm going to Hell. There's no way around that. I've been coming to terms with it the same way I did when I was told I had cancer. This is just how it works." Murron stared at Crowley with sad eyes.

"Bugger how it works!" he insisted. "I'm the King of Hell! If I want you to go one way, it's going to happen!"

"I don't know what you want me to say to this," Murron replied quietly, taken aback by his passion.

"Ask for something better, damn you! You give into one thing, but ignore the benefits! Bloody daft woman!"

Murron was at a loss. "All right," she said after a moment. "I'll ask for something better when the time comes. Until then, I'd rather we didn't stand here in the blazing hot sun arguing over how I'm going to be dragged to Hell. I guess I didn't realise it'd upset you this much."

"I'm not upset," Crowley insisted. "I just don't understand you sometimes."

"No more than I understand you," Murron rejoined calmly. "But that doesn't matter. I accept you."

"Don't start that again!" Crowley dismissed it with a sharp jerk of his hand. "I can't handle all of this drippy altruism! Go swimming or something. I have to go back to Hell."

"You're storming off?" Murron asked, amused. He grunted. "Crowley."

"What?"

She went up to him, took his face in her hands, and kissed him softly. His expression, while still grim, relaxed when she pulled away. She searched his face, her heart in her eyes. "Don't go away angry. Don't go away at all. This is me asking - no. This is me demanding that you stay here with me until I die. You said it yourself: Hell can wait. I can't."

"No more selfless rubbish?" Crowley prompted. She shook her head. "Fine. It's about time."

"You're just that kind of influence, I guess," Murron smiled, encircling his neck with her arms and pressing her cheek to his. She held him close, murmuring pleasantly when he returned the embrace. She brushed her lips against his ear. "Take me to bed. I never realised how attractive you are when you're angry."

"Cheek will you get you nowhere, love," Crowley teased, his anger lessening as a grin spread across his face. "But if you insist." He snapped his fingers and they disappeared from the heat of the sun to the cool confines of the darkened bedroom.