God Hates Us

~Previously...~

She tilts her head slightly on one side and frowns. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Johnny?" Her voice is soft, but with an edge.

"Johnny?" I ask, without looking away from her.

He doesn't reply, but his hand finds mine and grips it tightly.

The stranger laughs. "I'm Lacey."

~Now...~

Lacey? As in...

"Yep. As in Johnny's girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend, as I recall it," Johnny says quietly. I glance quickly up at him; his eyes are narrow and his jaw is clenched, but when he speaks, his tone is perfectly steady. "What are you doing here, Lacey?"

"Are you fucking her, then?" she says in a conversational tone. "Never took you for a human-lover, but then, you've surprised me a lot over the years, Johnny."

"Why are you here?" he repeats, and now his tone's changed; softer, more menacing.

"It took me a long time to find you." She walks over to the couch and perches on the back, crossing her legs and balancing perfectly. Johnny takes a step to the left, giving me the opportunity to take two steps towards the kitchen. Reaching backwards over the counter, I grab a knife-handle and pull one out of the block. Now I feel a little safer; I have faith in Johnny, but I've learned from past experience that, in a fight, the only person I can wholly reply on is myself.

No offence, Johnny, I add, knowing he can hear me.

"None taken," he mutters with a quick grin. Then he raises his voice. "Still a violent bitch, then, Lacey?"

She inclines her head slightly. "Such a gentleman. Welll, the old tradition when one moves in on another's man is to fight for him, isn't it?" She smiles sweetly at me, and I open my mouth to tell her just where to go, but Johnny shakes his head.

"I'm not gonna let you do that."

"But you can't stop me. Unless you're offering yourself in her place?"

He squares his shoulders. "Bring it on, bitch."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Switch to Johnny's POV)

This is unbelievable.

Narrowing her eyes, she looks away from me to glare at Cass. "This is what you wanted? Weak human girl, you must know that all he can offer you is death?"

God, I thought she was over that... I can't quite suppress a flinch, but she continues.

"If not a quick death at his hands, then a slow, painful one, feeling the agony of old age while he stays young for eternity. Does that appeal to you, human?"

"I'd never hurt her," I snap, gripping Cass's hand harder.

"Not like you hurt me, huh? Did you tell her about that, Johnny?"

Johnny? She asks silently, looking at me questioningly.

Please, Lace. Don't do this-

"He killed me," she says flatly, staring at me.

I can feel Cass's confusion, but before I can start to explain, they both beat me to it.

"But, you're still-"

"Alive? No. He took that from me when he made me like him."

"And I thought you were over that, Lace," I snarl, unable to contain my anger any longer. "You didn't seem so upset about it last time we met."

"That was years ago. I've had decades to think since then." She puts a hand on her hip and says, "If you're not gonna let me fight her, Johnny, let's at least get this over with."

She always was a violent bitch; must've learned it from her father.

"My pleasure," I growl, letting go of Cass and pushing her firmly back towards the bedroom. "Wait in there, Cass. This won't take long."

"I'm not just gonna-" she starts to say, but I cut her off.

"Yes, you are. Now get in there." My tone brooks no refusal, and though she's protesting violently, I know she can see the reasoning behind my insistence. This is going to be violent, and I don't want her getting caught in the middle of it.

"Oh, how darling. Such sentiment."

"Shut the fuck up, Lacey."

"Make me." She pouts childishly, but I'm in no mood to play games. Sensing this, her eyes narrow and a wicked smile crosses her face, before she leaps to her feet and we start to circle.

For a human, the fight would look like something from a kids' cartoon, a lightning-fast blur leaving destruction in its wake. I wish I could send a mental apology to Cass as her coffee table is reduced to splinters, but even if she could hear me, this fight is taking all of my concentration. It's nothing like wrestling with the boys, or even like the amateur street-fights I used to get into back in the day; no, this is brutal. She's doing her best to kill me, and much as I hate it, I have to do the same.

Her fist swings round, aiming for my face; I block, but at the same time I catch a stray thought in her mind. My other hand shoots downwards, just in time to catch her wrist before she can plunge a knife into my stomach.

"You're quick," she comments, then spins away, still holding the knife. I only saw it for a split second, but that was enough for me to recognise the blade as one of Cass's. Which means it's edged with silver.

And it's extremely sharp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Switch back to Cass's POV)

This is torture; I can't see either of them clearly now, they're moving too fast. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of bared teeth, a splash of red blood, a flash of silver. But I can hear the occasional crash; can see the damage they're doing to my apartment while they fight. My coffee table is no more, my couch is heading the same way and I'm terrified they're gonna crash through the window.

The window... An idea clicks in my head.

Johnny, if you can hear me, get her in front of the window, I think frantically, hoping against hope that he can hear me. He's got no way of letting me know, so I have to trust him to do as I say. Edging out of the room, I keep by the wall as I creep to the window. Neither of them seems to notice me; when I reach the window, I reach up to the rod that slides the blinds shut and (more importantly) open. Keeping as still as a statue, I watch as the pair of dark blurs get closer. Yes! He did hear me. When they're close enough, I think quickly, Johnny, cover your eyes, wait three seconds, then open the blinds, letting the bright morning sunshine stream in.

The blurs suddenly sharpen, becoming two human shapes standing stock still. Johnny's flung an arm across his face, shielding his eyes, but Lacey wasn't so quick. She screams, covering her eyes with both hands, and Johnny moves in a blur, wrenching the knife – my knife? – from her hand, plunging it into her chest without hesitation. She stiffens, taking her hands away from her eyes to stare at him, even as blood start to run down her cheeks. That's what happens when a vamp who's not used to sunlight gets exposed without protection. I know that Johnny and the others usually wear shades, or contacts, but she obviously wasn't so well prepared.

"Juh...Juh...John..." she stammers, but her legs give out and she's on the floor before she can finish her last word, eyes glazing over. He falls to his knees and pulls the knife out, then drops it and puts his face in his hands, moaning.

"Johnny!" I quickly close the blinds again and run to him, kicking the knife out of the way and kneeling beside him. "Johnny?"

"W-water," he gasps, his voice hoarse. "Please."

"Right. A glass, or...?"

"A...bowl would be better."

I run to the kitchen and grab a mixing bowl from the cupboard, filling it from the tap. As I carry it back over, I hear a ripping noise; he's pulled off his shirt and torn it into pieces. When I set the bowl on the floor beside him, he crumples up the first scrap and soaks it in the water, then presses it to his face.

"God, your eyes!" I can't help my shocked reaction, but as he lowers the blood-soaked rag and looks at me, I see that the damage looks worse than it really is. He can still see, and the blood's already starting to wash away.

"I'll be fine," he mutters, pressing the cloth to his eyes again and hissing in pain.

Now that I'm sure he's not going blind, I turn my attention to the rest of his body. He's covered in cuts, none of them longer than my finger but all of them bleeding profusely. Running into the bathroom, I grab the first aid kit which is, thanks to my profession, always fully stocked with bandages and the like. As far as I can see, none of the cuts need stitches – thank God.

The last thing I grab before going back over to Johnny is a bottle of whiskey from under the sink. It'll clean the wounds out, and help with the pain.

"Here." I unscrew the lid and pass him the bottle. He takes it from me and looks at it from under the wad of bloodied material for a second, then tips it and takes two long drinks, grimacing. It takes longer for alcohol to affect a vamp's body than a human's, and as I clean the cuts and bandage them up, he winces every so often. God, he's a mess...

I know he can feel how sorry I am for hurting him; no words are needed as I finish bandaging the last of his cuts and close the medicine box. Leaning back to sit cross-legged, I watch him as he takes the blood-soaked rag away from his eyes. Now the blood trickling down his face is replaced by what looks more like...tears.

This shocks me more than anything else. I've seen Johnny angry, I've seen him scared (well, more like nervous), but I've never, never seen him cry.

He flinches as I put my hand on his shoulder (avoiding the bandaged areas) and squeeze lightly. "It's okay," I say softly.

"I've never killed before." His voice is dead, empty of emotion, but somehow that's worse than if he'd screamed it.

"I know." I remember how it feels to kill. I made a mistake, about six years back, and the wrong person took the bullet; I know how exactly he feels.

He looks for a second at the body lying beside him, then turns his face away with a low moan.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to draw his attention. "You did it for us. We're okay."

"Y-Yeah." He looks at me, his expression blank, then suddenly bursts out in a peal of laughter.

Frowning slightly, I squeeze his shoulder gently, wondering if I should be worried about his sanity. "Johnny, what's funny?"

"You're alive!" He says it in a tone of wonder, like he can't believe it.

"Well, yeah, last time I looked." He's in shock...

Turning slightly, he gingerly puts both arms around me and hugs me to him, whispering, "She was going to kill you."

"I know," I whisper back. "But you didn't let her."

He shakes his head slightly, then winces. "Ow..."

Letting go of each other, we sit back, still trying not to look at Lacey. Johnny's face is pale and as I watch his face, I notice his eyes are slightly unfocused. Vamps and humans don't have the same physiology (obviously) but they are affected by things like stress and shock in much the same way.

"I can't...I have to..." He trails off without finishing his sentence, but I understand.

"You can go lie down for a bit, if you want?" I wave my hand in the direction of the open bedroom door. "I'll deal with this."

He nods wearily and, with my support, staggers to his feet. He waves me away as I offer to help him across the room to my door, instead stumbling in by himself; I hear him mutter fervently, "Thanks, Cass," then a soft thump as he throws himself onto the bed. I count four seconds before there's a sharp scrabbling noise; Marco bolts out of the room and seeks refuge in the kitchen, as far from the corpse as possible.

Silence fills the apartment. For several terrifying seconds, I feel like I'm about to either scream, faint or laugh. It's a horrible feeling, shock. Then, as Polo starts yowling on the other side of the bathroom door, my brain reasserts itself over my adrenaline and I can think again.

Following Marco into the kitchen area, I grab the phone from the counter. Time to call in an old favour.