Just like the morning before, for a moment, it was unreal. For a moment, when he felt the warmth by his side, blinked his eyes open and she was really there, her head on his chest, he froze, a strange sensation flooding him; quivery, but calming as nothing he'd ever known before. Funny, how, all of his life up till now seemed like a blur, distant; not worthy to even remember.

And then she stirred in his arms, her lips soft and warm on his neck, and his eyelids fell back shut, his groin tightening — how did she do it? — wherever her mouth went, it sent a tingle over him — and he thought right then and there, and many more times over the long while that followed, that it just wasn't possible, to feel any better than this.

And then, the rest of the day happened.

Well, apparently it was too much to expect for the peace between them to last longer than a day.

And rather naive to think he wouldn't hear about Gareth anytime soon, and what a heartless murderer she was for accidentally impaling the poor idiot on that piece of wire — that Alexis had planted there, for fuck's sake! — but no — it was her fault, as always, all of it. Classic. Either all her fault, or his, but it was one of the two, always. The same old shit, all over again, the same scenario it always had been. Apparently, she didn't need to have a single memory of him and his past transgressions against her and humanity to make a villain out of him.

Some things just never changed.

Just a new flavor to the story now — back in Greece, he'd been bad for her because he was a heartless asshole who reminded her of all the fun she'd had back in the day at the head of the armies slashing their bloody way throughout Greece. Right now, he must have reminded her of how much fun it used to be being an outlaw — and oh, she hated herself for that — and he was on the receiving end of it, of course. She'd always loved blaming him for the urges she struggled with. He was used to it. Maybe it made her feel better about herself; fine. That he could live with. But if she thought he was going to let her speak to him the way she did today — well, they needed to set some ground rules here.

Was she trying to provoke him? Make him lash out and throw it in his face later? She was so desperate to convince herself he was bad for her it would be funny if it didn't get on his nerves the way it was starting to. She was scared. Did she think he couldn't see through her bullshit? He had her under the spell and it freaked the shit out of her. The way her face changed when he'd get near, the look in her eyes when they fucked, the way she yielded to him, how much she craved for him to possess and own her like she'd never let anyone before, he knew that; and gods, it set her ablaze. And scared her shitless. Letting her guard down with him always had. Well, not that there wasn't fun in that, breaking her in, taming her, and seeing her squirm at how much she hated herself for loving it.

But if she kept this on, pushing him away and undermining his every single attempt at showing her he cared — now, when, for the first time ever, there were no conditions, no deals, no strings attached, he was really trying to put her first — and she wouldn't even acknowledge it — no, she would twist it around saying all he did was for himself — the nerve she had, really — so fucking unfair it was unbelievable.

"I left my old life behind for you, what else do I need to do to deserve even a little fucking credit, huh? Because I seriously don't—"

"Left your life behind — for me?" She gave him a sarcastic look. "You just decided to change location for convenience after you lost your shit and offed the guy who pissed you off—"

"Yeah, I lost my shit because he raised his fucking hand on you — as a result of which, I had to get away not to put your life in danger."

"Sorry for your inconvenience."

"Whoa… oh, okay…" He snorted, shaking his head. "You know what? Fine..." He shut his eyes, exhaled heavily, and huffed, not even with anger, just wearily, with resignation. It really was getting exhausting, this constant antagonism that had kept them apart back in Greece, which was still between them now, which didn't have to be there — which wouldn't be there, if it wasn't for her damn stubborn streak.

It had been frustrating enough back in Greece, but now — he wasn't the god he'd been back then. The truth was, he really was tired. With everything; with life, and everything in it; with her. With getting her back, getting another chance, a clean slate, only to get into the same cat and mouse, the same old dance he knew by heart, the futility of it. Only that this time around, he didn't have much strength left for that. He still had a good while left to live, but the truth was, he could feel it starting already, this weakness settling in his bones, the physical fatigue he'd never known as a god; the heaviness in his mind. She likely wasn't going to live long enough to see him really wither away, but his drive was fading already. It got kicked into overdrive when she had turned up, it did. But if he was to partake in this pointless, godsdamn fight again, he didn't know how long he was going to last.

"And I can't live like this," she said, sometime after reminding him he was a criminal.

He wanted to remind her she was one, too, but bit his tongue; it was a good line, he'd save it for later. "Live like what? Having a roof over your head and means to live?"

"Not if it's bought with the money made the way you make it."

He asked what was wrong with the way he made it; and boy, did he get a lecture.

But it was what she said later that knocked him out of his shoes.

"I'm not gonna take morality lessons from scum like you," she snarled at him at some point, her eyes brimming with disgust; the glare she had no idea how many times she'd given him in the lifetime she had no memory of.

"Scum like me?" he echoed, the unpleasant sensation stirring in his gut.

"You don't know shit about responsibility."

He looked down, running his tongue over his bottom lip, his throat tightening. He forced himself to smirk; and it really was forced. There was no sarcasm left in him. "Good to know."

She'd said worse things to him. He didn't really know why that one hit the way it had.

And then he stopped mid-step, heat flooding his chest — well, if that was how they were talking now, maybe it was time for a little reality check, because little miss moral and lawful was clearly forgetting herself. "Of course, you're the expert on taking responsibility. Fleeing the crime scene, getting knocked up by a criminal — by the way, shouldn't you be doing time for all those terrible crimes you so hate yourself for? But well, what do I know."

He'd never seen her eyes burn like that, her whole face — if he was mortal, he would've run for his life before her next breath. But it didn't even move him. He left, unhurriedly, indifferent, when her presence got too suffocating to stay there any longer.

She disappeared later. Somewhere. He didn't bother to check. Maybe that was what they needed. Some time apart.

He kept telling himself that, for the next three hours he spent trying to focus on the strings of letters on the computer screen on his lap.

Finally, he opened the portal. She was walking along the beach, close by.

He got up to get himself a beer from the fridge. The microwave clock claimed it was 6pm. They usually ate around that time. He glanced towards the empty dining table and waved his hand to fix the situation, a memory flashing in his mind; the first time she'd seen him do it, the other day.

"You… are perfect," she'd then said, the dreamy gleam in her eyes for that split second before she composed herself and added in her usual tone, "The only thing I'm good at in the kitchen is fucking."

"Sounds perfect to me," he'd said, and, their eyes meeting, he knew the dinner would have to wait.

His smile fading when he heard the footsteps drawing near, he grabbed the laptop and collapsed back on the sofa.

She walked in, looked at the table, and headed down the hall. Without as much as sparing him a single glance.

Well, if that was how she wanted it — so be it.

But honestly, he had no damn idea how some people made it to go on like this for days. He barely lasted an hour.

If she was going to act like a child — well, he wasn't having it.

"This — not talking — it's driving me nuts," he said, having stormed into the bathroom. She was in the bath, burning him with a glare that made him very close to dragging her out of that tub and—

"Well, talking to you is driving me nuts, so there," she said harshly.

"Oh, 'cause talking to you is like a walk in the park."

"And you think your being a nagging pain in the ass will fix it?"

Oh, okay.

So — he was a pain in the ass.

For trying to be civil and communicate like adults, for trying to be patient and understanding — something he'd never been in the first place, something he was struggling to be, for her. Because he thought this was what she needed, the right thing to do. Because, for once in his life, fuck his pride, he wanted to be who she needed him to be.

"You know…" he trailed off, running his tongue over his teeth, "…considering the way you speak to me, I'm surprised I even came here at all."

"Well, then fuck off."

He blinked, his breath hitching for a second; a slap in the face would've disoriented him less.

Well, if that was how it was going to be, there was no point talking, indeed.

Very well.

He got things to do, anyway.

He slammed the door behind him, put a cigarette in his mouth, snatched the phone out of his pocket, swiped through the contacts and put the phone to his ear.

"Get the jet ready."