In the Night

"My father died," Jemma stated blandly, grimacing at the bluntness of her words. She watched as the iciness in Brett's green eyes thawed. "I would have called. I mean, I meant to, but...things were hectic," she mumbled, carefully skirting the topic of her new "friend".

"Jesus, Jemma, I'm so sorry," Brett murmured sincerely, snaking his arms around her to pull her back into a hug. He tried not to wince as he remembered his harsh greeting earlier, instead distracting himself by guiding the woman back into her apartment. He closed the door behind them, glancing around. "It's pretty damn dark in here," he observed, easing himself away from her to go open the verticals and allow in the afternoon sunlight.

Jemma gave a half-hearted nod, dropping down onto her couch and pulling her knees to her chest. Her eyes were dry; she couldn't cry anymore. It felt like she had been sobbing for weeks. She was just physically and emotionally drained. She glanced toward her hallway, frowning at the red eyes staring back at her before they disappeared a moment later.

Brett sighed, sitting beside her and wrapping his arms around her once more. He lightly ran his fingers through her hair, not seeming to mind that her thick curls were damp and knotted. He pulled her against his chest, leaning back into the comfortable cushions behind him. Jemma curled her small frame toward him, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck and her palms on his chest. It felt natural. Despite only knowing him for a few weeks, Brett was very comforting to her. It warmed her heart that he was so willing to try and soothe her.

She enjoyed the calm silence and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She marveled over the fact that he was human, with the same body temperature and the same heart rate as her. She wanted to tell him about Azrael, to spill her guts and expose her dark secret, but she knew she couldn't. Though he'd never told her to keep her mouth shut, she was fairly certain that The Reaper would not take kindly to her speaking about him. Plus, she was pretty sure he'd hurt Brett if the man knew anything.

"What happened?" Brett asked gently, cutting into her thoughts.

"Sudden cardiac arrest. He has - had - high blood pressure and he had a heart attack a few years ago. It wasn't anything big and the doctors didn't seem too worried. He was adamant on not moving in with me, but I should have been more persistent. I'm a terrible daughter," she mumbled, her voice cracking. The memories struck like physical pain. In hindsight, there were so many things she could have done to prolong her father’s life.

"This isn't your fault, Jemma," Brett soothed, stroking her back with one hand. "It sucks, I know. Sometimes nature is cruel, but it's life. You just have to remember all the happy times you had with him. He's looking down on you with your mom and brother now."

Jemma winced slightly, not entirely certain of his words. According to Azrael, souls of the dead were stuck in an unpleasant realm beyond this one. She didn't know if that place was temporary or permanent.

She nodded slightly against his neck, wrapping her arm tighter around his waist. "I can't believe I'll never see him again. It's...it's just weird knowing that I'm all alone," she whispered.

"You aren't alone, Jemma. You still have friends. You have me," he murmured against her hair, giving her a gentle squeeze for emphasis.

The woman in his arms tried to smile at him, but the gesture faltered and she settled for simply resting her head on his chest. It was hard to look on the bright side when there didn't seem to be one.

The couple sat like that for a long time, listening to the buzz of the street below. They both fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.



Jemma awoke to Brett untangling himself from her, getting to his feet. The world outside had grown dark and quiet. He smiled when he saw that she was awake and grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch. He crouched down beside her, draping the material across her body, "It's getting late. I have an early shift at the hospital in the morning," he murmured. Jemma cuddled into the blanket, situating herself so that she was lying down.

"Okay. Thanks for staying with me," she mumbled sleepily, offering him a smile filled with heartache. She didn't want him to leave but she couldn't ask him to stay.

"No problem at all, Jemma."

"I think I'll go in tomorrow. I have to do something to keep myself busy."

Brett looked at her skeptically before nodding, "If you think you can handle it."

"I can. Thanks again, Brett. Goodnight."

The blonde man smiled, but didn't stand up to leave. Instead, he gently grasped her chin, tilting her head up slightly before he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It was a soft, sweet kiss that left her wanting more when he pulled away.

"Goodnight, Jemma." He got to his feet, glancing back to give her a small smile before he disappeared out into the hallway.

"You aren't alone, Jemma. You have me," an irritated voice mocked as soon as the door was closed. Azrael had been holding in his snarky replay for hours. It had been terribly frustrating to watch the man touch her all day. The fondness he was developing for the brunette was sickening him.

Jemma bolted upright, staring back at the red eyes floating in her hallway. She drew her blanket up around her shoulders, cowering into the back of the couch as The Reaper approached. He held something in his hand.

He huffed at her feeble attempt to shield herself, yanking the blanket away from her and allowing it to pile on her legs. He knelt beside the couch, pushing up her sweatshirt to reveal her welted skin despite her whimpering protests.

Jemma watched the raven-haired man with wide eyes, her muscles taut as she waited to see what he was doing. Images of that morning came flooding back and she was afraid that he would snap again. Oblivious to her racing thoughts, Azrael popped open the top to an aloe vera bottle, squeezing a sticky green blob onto his fingers. She hadn't even realized how much her burns hurt until that moment, and suddenly her skin was stinging with ferocity. With a light touch, Azrael smeared the gel onto the red patches, fighting his instincts in an attempt to remain gentle. To him, she was a delicate red rose and he wanted to do nothing more than bruise her fragile petals.

Jemma openly gawked at him as he tended to her wounds, trying to piece this jumbled puzzle together. One moment, he was tormenting her into a frenzy, and the next he was actually trying to help her. Her rather hopeful thought of him being kind was quickly buried when he suddenly pressed against her skin a bit roughly, finally giving in to his desire to inflict pain. She flinched and shoved his hand away when he didn't lighten his touch.

"Let me help you," he snapped, his face furrowing with hostility as he turned his red eyes to glare at her. Jemma hesitated, but for the millionth time, fear won out, and she lowered her arms to her sides again. She was scared he would go berserk. A shiver coiled down her spine at the thought.

Azrael smirked at her before he resumed treating her burns, no longer attempting to be gentle. Jemma clenched her jaw and focused on the wall in front of her, trying not to show that he was hurting her. When he was finally finished, he tugged her sweatshirt back down to cover her stomach and pulled the blanket up around her again. With a small huff, he sat beside the couch again, eying her warily, as though he were afraid of what she would do.

"Would you like me to hold you?" he asked gruffly, surprising even himself. He really needed to get away from this girl.

Jemma cast him a quick sideways glance that openly questioned his sanity before her eyes were focused on the wall once again. What the hell kind of a question was that? He had to be bipolar. She couldn't keep up with his mood swings.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly, stumbling over her words a bit. He was nothing if not disturbingly spontaneous.

She squeaked softly when he abruptly placed his hands on her waist and tugged her toward him. Her eyes widened when she was pulled to face him, her legs on either side of his ribcage. Her hands were piled uselessly in her lap as she stared blankly at the creature kneeling before her. Azrael stroked the back of one of her hands, staring at the appendage like he didn't have two of his own. He glanced up at her, his face unreadable. She shivered, still immobile.

Jemma tried to pull away when he reached up to cup her jaw, but he wrapped his other arm around her waist and held her firmly against him. He frowned when he felt her heart beating swiftly in her chest. She was afraid of him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he growled, sounding more threatening that comforting. It was like he was trying to convince himself instead of her.

He leaned forward before she could respond, pressing his lips firmly to hers. She immediately began to struggle, wriggling against the muscular body that had her pinned. She pounded her fists on his chest when he nipped her lower lip and drew blood, cringing at the acute pain. His tongue darted out to sweep away the thin metallic liquid and his hand wove through her hair to hold her in place.

Jemma whimpered into his mouth, shoving uselessly against his strong shoulders. She lifted her hands to claw at his cheeks, gratefully gulping in air when he finally pulled away.

"You'll kiss him but you won't kiss me?" Azrael panted, his eyes dark with anger and confusion.

Jemma stared at him, dumbfounded. Was his high temperature making him delirious or was he so unaccustomed to human ways that he truly didn’t understand?

"I can believe you aren't human but I can't believe that you're actually that stupid,” she spat. “You're a putrid, soul-sucking, twisted fuck. I don't want to be in the same room as you."

Azrael physically recoiled at her words, blinking dumbly. His brow furrowed after a tense moment and his nostrils flared as he finally registered the full weight of what she said. Her words rang in his ears and he couldn’t understand why they stung so much. He was spending too much time among mortals and he was getting too attached to Jemma. She was causing him to feel things that he had never felt before and he should have never felt to begin with. He was just as confused as she was. He was used to being a heartless bastard, but it wasn’t that easy to act like that with her. Her emotions were so raw and unadulterated that they startled even him and he ended up feeling the full effect.

Frustrated that he wasn’t conveying his muddled emotions properly, he leaned forward again, catching her lips in another kiss. She started to scrape at his body with her fingernails, but he caught her wrists and pinned them to the seat of the couch. She tried to twist away from him, but he was relentless, and she eventually gave up her futile attempts. She didn't understand why he was doing this. Was it just another means of torture for him? Did he like forcing himself on her?

The kiss was different this time, though, like he was trying to prove something to her. His lips were soft against hers, insistent but gentle. He eventually released her wrists to cradle the back of her head, his fingers lightly pressing into her scalp. One of his hands trailed down to the hinge of her knee and he prompted her to wrap her legs around his waist. She hesitantly obliged, unintentionally tugging him closer in the process. He guided her arms around his neck and he, in turn, threaded his arms around her waist.

A low groan rumbled in the back of Azrael’s throat, startling both of them enough to pull away from one and other. Jemma’s apartment was thrown into an eerie silence as they sat staring at each other, nothing to be heard but the soft sound of them catching their breath.

Azrael leaned his forehead to hers, his gaze unwavering and unflinching. It was extremely unsettling, too, and Jemma dropped her eyes to the top button on his shirt.

This is wrong, she thought, slowly pulling her tangled limbs away from the monster they were knotted around.

She felt disgusted with him, with herself. He was Death. He collected souls and he liked it. He enjoyed others’ pain and suffering. He was perfectly content with hanging around and making her life a walking nightmare. She was living in a hellish freak show and she had just been forced to make out with the creepy, though painfully attractive, ringleader. This wasn't fair to Brett, either. He deserved someone who was honest and upfront, someone who wasn’t kissing The Reaper behind his back. Not to mention that she was completely and utterly confused with the entire situation herself. It was like Azrael enjoyed her pain and fear, but immediately felt guilty and wanted to comfort her. Her head ached with the dizzying thoughts.

The air seemed to tangibly change as though Azrael had read her mind.

"I don't want you seeing that man anymore," he stated matter-of-factly. Jemma stared at him, her lips parting as she struggled to find words.

"Well...well too damn bad. I don't know what this is, but I don't want it. I like Brett, and I'm going to be seeing him."

"Let me rephrase that: stop seeing him and I won't kill the poor man."

Jemma's mouth hung open, incredulous to the casual threat he made. "You can't do that! He hasn't used up his time yet! He's too young!"

"So was your brother."

The words were out before he could stop them, hanging sourly in the air like the smell of rotting garbage. Jemma recoiled sharply, her face contorting with shock. She got to her feet in the blink of an eye, surprising even herself at how quickly she moved.

Azrael stood slowly, a frown carved into his lips once more. “It’s true,” he said defensively, “Your brother was still young. Only fifteen. He didn’t deserve to die, but it was his time.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” she screeched, backing away from the man. He’d successfully ripped open an old wound beneath all of the fresh ones.

“It’s the truth, Jemma. He should have been able to live out his life, but I have to follow the predestined order of things.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, “Why me?”

“What do –“

“Why did you pick me? Why did you attach yourself to me?”

The Reaper visibly stiffened, eying her warily. “In time, I will tell you. You’re too emotional at the moment.”

“Listen here, you stupid son of a –“

He disappeared before she could finish her sentence, simply blinking out of existence.

Alone, Jemma crumpled to the ground, feeling broken. The tear ducts that she had previously thought to be dried were wet once more, ceaselessly producing salty droplets that rolled down her cheeks and under her jaw where they gathered weight, plumping up before they fell onto her bare legs.