today is a good day to be alive

After the most exciting full moon in her memory, they'd taken their breakfast from the bar in white to-go bags, eaten it standing around the counter in the kitchen, laughing as they speculated where the massive boar head was going to end up mounted.  There'd been some affectionate nuzzling in the shower, and he'd had less than honourable intentions when he carried her to the bed, but fatigue had taken its toll on both of them.  They'd barely touched cheek to pillow when they were both out like a light.  Even Dam curled up on the foot of the bed and dozed off.

When she woke, the late afternoon sun slanted through the windows.  She reached a hand up to caress his cheek.

"Oh mighty hunter," she whispers.  "Wakey wakey."

She's eyeing the calender on her desk and the date.  Six months ago, she invited him to dinner.  Six months ago he said yes.  Six months ago, she was still human.  Six months ago and a day ago, she considered herself a ghost -- not among the living.  A memory of a life, perhaps, but not an actual life.

Six months ago, he reminded her that she was very much alive and he's spent every day since proving to her that life is very much worth living.

So she's sitting at her desk, trying to jot down something simple in a note to tell him how glad she is that she met him, how much she loves him, how much he's become a vital part of her existence.  She never thought it could be this good.  And it's all because of him.  But she doesn't think he'd appreciate pages and pages of her pouring her heart out.   She just wants to make him smile, and mark the day.  So she's trying for something quick and to the point.

All that's come out is a silly little ditty, and she's almost embarrassed by how naff it is, but it's quick and to the point.

I can't believe you shredded my knickers,
I can't believe you bit my nose,
I can't believe how much I love you,
Everyday it grows and grows.

Happy first six months,
~River

Completely naff.  So she adds a couple of hearts with an arrow through it, grinning as she tries to picture his expression upon reading it.

Maybe she'll stuff it in his holster or something.

"Oh I know..."

Damocles?

She tucks the note in his collar, and pets his face while she asks him to take the note to its intended recipient. It means she won't see his reaction when he reads it, but she wagers it'll be worth it.

She doesn't need to turn the lights on to move about the flat in the dark now.  The starlight through the windows is plenty of light, though everything is tinted a shade that is somewhere between gold and green.  She can't quite tell which.

For some reason, she feels the need to check the front door, the kitchen, the office, the long line of windows in the living room, the bathroom, the front door again.  Scenting the air for any disturbances.  No, everything smells right.  Damocles is asleep on his rug, Richard is snoring softly in the other room.  He heard her awaken and mumbled something in canine about letting her patrol.

Is that what she's doing?  Patrolling?

She tried to sit at her desk and write for a bit, but the urge to move overwhelmed this late night ritual.  She thinks she should go and check the bar as well, the hall and the stairs, the Library. 

The realisation dawns slowly. It's her territory.  She's patrolling her territory.

She stands in the door between the living room and the bedroom, and watches him sleep.  He's dreaming again, restless, hunted.  She goes and sits on the bed next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him some how.  But the dreams don't give up their hold easily.  She hopes the comfort of her scent can penetrate the fog of the nightmare.  Some nights it works.  Some nights he is the one that ends up pacing the floor in front of the windows.

If it goes on much longer,  she might wake him and suggest a midnight run.   A run sounds good right now.  Something to get the energy of the waning moon out of her blood. 

Damocles joins her eventually, inquiring as to why she's awake.  She doesn't have a good answer for him, so she pets his face and tells him it'll be all right.  He's more comfort than he knows, she thinks.  Always so happy to see her.  And now, chattering away at her all the time, now that she can understand him.  Damocles bumps her and tells her to go back to sleep, that he's here and if those demon rabbits come back, he'll run them off.  And then he promptly falls back asleep at the foot of the bed, sprawling across the warm spot she left behind.

She stands and watches them sleeping.  She loves them both so much it scares her sometimes. 

So she stands watch over them, drawing their scent into her with a deep breath and letting it out again in a low sigh.

And she paces the floor, eyes on the bank of windows and the dark Scottish landscape beyond.

For once, River is actually awake before Richard.  Her whole body is flush with excitement.  Today she takes the final step.  Today, they will visit the Library and find a book with a full moon and prey, and she will hunt beside him for the first time.

She watches him as he sleeps.  Watches the way his chest rises and falls.  Watches the dreams flicker across his face.  She knows about the nightmares, knows there are times when he relives that night over and over again.  But tonight she thinks she succeeded in wearing him out, as he is sleeping as soundly as she's ever seen him sleep.

She casts an eye at the clock.  It's a quarter of five.  She can wait forty five minutes, she thinks. 

And so she waits. 

And watches.

[ after this ]

There's a fumbling at the door and no small amount of cursing in some ancient tongue.  The key jangles in the lock and River opens the door, closing it behind her with her hip.

She's cradling one hand against her chest and she looks like she's been crying.

Being angry is easier than acknowledging the ache in her chest, so she's going to go with angry.  For just a little bit longer.

It had sounded perfect, she thought.  Perfect.

Small.  Light.  Fits on an armband.  Activated with a single touch, keyed to the wearer's DNA. It supposedly lasts for three hours continuous use without needing a recharge.  Sure, Bar had mentioned there might be some harmless side effects.

Initially, she'd been rather enamoured of the way it looked. Like she was wearing a thin skin of oil over her entire body, only in the most beautiful shade of cobalt blue.  And standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she could see no reflection whatsoever.  She did a little twirl, and noted her vision wasn't effected at all.  (Moving with the privacy screen always gave her a bit of a headache.) 

And then she shut it off.   She pressed the button and shut it off.   Off. Off. Off.

She thought it wasn't shutting off because she could still see the blue tint of the field covering her body.  And then she looked up into the mirror. 

Oh no.

She scrubbed her hands under the water.  Nothing.  She fished her sonic screwdriver out of her pocket and fiddled with the settings.  She aimed it at the back of her hand and cringed as she pressed the button.  A high pitched whirr filled the small room and she felt the energy field writhing over her skin.  After a long moment, she looked down at her hand.

"Shite."