multiversallogs | Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

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Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

Who: Apollo and Cassandra
What: The inevitable awkward conversation following a drunken encounter
Where: The Valhalla Inn
When: The night after this
Notes: None
Warnings: Sexual tension and snippy, blunt honesty

The Valhalla Inn was starting to get claustrophobic. Cassandra felt trapped. It was ridiculous, of course. She wasn't a prisoner as she had been on the caravan, as she had been in Willaknapp. Nor was she, as far as she knew, under the sway of the natives of Baedal, as she had been in Rowan. Still, she was anxious to get out. The thought of having a place of her own was appealing, but Cassandra knew herself well enough to know that if she couldn't find someone to share a flat with, she would likely go off the deep end again. When she was alone all the time, she withdrew. She lived up to certain expectations. No, it was definitely better for her to find an anchor, someone she could trust to keep her sane.

For now, however, the only way to relieve the claustrophobia was to keep the door to her room propped open.

Cassandra lay on her stomach, across the foot of her bed, lazily scanning her CiD, examining various network posts. She was finally beginning to get a sense of some of these people, but so far, Ianto--and by default, Jack--were the only ones she felt comfortable telling about her visions. With the monster attacks so fresh in her mind, she felt no end to the frustration about the fact that her dire warnings had not yielded any kind of results. Then again, what could she do? Certainly, she couldn't tell the militia or these Hellsing people. Neither party had demonstrated much to give her any kind of faith. Of course, it would be easier to just try to live a normal life and pretend the visions didn't happen.

But that would be a lie.

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Apollo looked down at her hand on his arm. Couldn't snap at her, not when she was making an effort. He turned to cast a weary look at her face.

"Why do you think?" he responded.

She hesitated a moment. But deep down, she had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for her to say. It was what he couldn't say, either because of pride or ego or something more human, like a sense of spiraling out of control.

"You were scared."

Apollo nodded slightly and turned back to the window. He couldn't really say anything more about that. His pride wouldn't allow it.

"And why did you run away?"

Fair was fair, Cassandra supposed. Still, she hesitated for a moment. She didn't like saying things that she knew were hurtful. But she had to tell the truth, whatever the cost. People just didn't understand that about her, which probably explained why she wasn't always the most popular person, the most beloved of worldwalkers. But, she supposed, Apollo, of all people, had the most potential to grasp it.

Maybe.

"I was disappointed," she said evenly. "I expected you to be heroic and you weren't. I realized I was looking for qualities in you that are not there and that bothered me."

"Well, I asked."

He leaned his forearm against the wall beside the window, sighing softly. No, he wasn't heroic. He was handsome and charming and intelligent and had great stamina, yes, but not heroic.

"I'm not your dead betrothed. I will never be like him. Is that what's stopping you?"

Cassandra pulled her hand back, taking a few steps away to give him his space. It seemed only fair. She didn't always respond well to an unsolicited touch either.

All right, she responded rather poorly.

But that was hardly the point now. She tilted her head to one side, ever the curious cat. After a moment of silence, she supposed that, as ever, she simply had to ask her question. "Stopping me from what?"

"What's stopping you from admitting this is more than the occasional sexual tryst," he said bluntly, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked down at her.

"You push me back when I get close. Which isn't anything less than I anticipated. But is that the reason why? You're looking for someone to remind you of him?"

"I hate the charm," Cassandra said bluntly. She didn't feel like it was anything he didn't already know. "I hate it when you try to be cute or seductive or whatever you want to call it. I hate, hate, hate it." Apollo was smart. Cassandra didn't question his ability to comprehend what she was saying, but just so that everything was out in the open, she continued. "I like to believe that that's not the real you. That I've seen the real you. And that person, I can like. That person I can care about." She shrugged. "The other you just reminds me of all the bad things."

She didn't want to talk about Othryoneus. Not right now. Not for a long time, really. He was something special that she wanted to have for herself, as if discussing him with Apollo was, in some way, dishonoring his memory. In truth, Cassandra had found it difficult to discuss Othryoneus with anyone else, even Bret. That was just a hurt that would never really go away.

"They're both me," he said. "You're not going to stop being rude because no one likes it. I'm not going to turn off the charm just because you don't like it."

He turned to look at her, leaning against the wall. "It's worked for me for a long time. And honestly, I don't know that you're ever going to admit that you like me. I don't think I want to change my personality for you."

So many people called Cassandra rude. She preferred to think of herself as simply honest. Sometimes a little too honest.

Cassandra looked back at him. "I never asked you to change," she said evenly. "You asked me why I was pushing you away and I answered. I gave you no suggestions, made no requests." She shrugged. "I have no right, I know that."

It was sort of funny. Cassandra sort of liked it when Apollo was angry. It was dangerous, of course, and tended to lead to curses, but it was him at his most honest. Which, she supposed wryly, was why the whole incident in the shower had happened. He was being himself without the cloak of charm, without the dazzling smile that looked more like a mask than an actual person's face.

Before Cassandra could stop it, a laugh bubbled up to the surface. The whole situation was absurd. And it seemed to exist entirely in her mind. Apollo accused her of playing mad. She really was mad.

"There you have it."

"You're going to fall in love again," he said. He looked annoyed, didn't quite cover it up in time.

"Someday, you will. And it's not going to be with me." An irritated cick of his tongue. "I'm going to hate that."

She laughed again, louder than before. "I doubt that very much," Cassandra said, looking him dead in the eye. The mirth dropped out of her voice in the next instant, faster than whiplash. "There's no one left alive who can tolerate me."

Unhappily, Cassandra turned around, walking back to the bed and sitting down. With a slow exhale, she wilted, lying down on her back, closing her eyes. What a thing for him to suggest: Falling in love. That was something Cassandra was no good with. Nor did she want to be. Everyone she loved had the nasty habit of dying. Or disappearing. Or both.

"I'm dreaming of you, you know," she murmured. "Almost every night. When I'm not having seizures and visions, that is."

And that got his attention.

He promptly walked over, looking down at her without leaning in to touch her or sitting beside her. Eyes narrowed a bit as he tried to figure out what that could mean.

"What kind of dreams?"

Cassandra could feel him over her. So when she opened her eyes, she wasn't entirely startled to see him there. She was, however, a bit amused by his question. She would have thought that much was obvious. "The kind that proper girls aren't supposed to have," she replied. Not that anyone could help their dreams.

She closed her eyes again. "More than dreams, really. I can feel you."

Apollo grinned.

He knew she wasn't as put off by him as she'd been pretending to be lately. Females were a ridiculous gender, but Cassandra was the most wonderfully silly of them all.

And the most intoxicating. Supple. Most touchable.

He leaned over and brushed his finger against her ankle--slowly dragging the tip of it up her leg.

"Like this?"

She flinched for a moment, at the unauthorized touch, but her fingers uncurled in the next. Really, she should have anticipated it anyway. They were in a very compromising position, especially considering the fact that the door was open.

"Not even remotely," she replied, opening her eyes and sitting up.

Cassandra ran her hands over her hair, gathering it into a tangled knot at the base of her spine. The room was uncomfortably warm. "It's mostly the showers. I'd call it a vision, it's so real. Except for the fact that it can't be a vision of it's a memory. Can it?"

He sat down beside her then, finger lightly running in a circle along her knee. "I think about it too," he admitted, seeming lost in his own thoughts for a moment, brow furrowing.

"Sometimes it seems like it never happened. That it couldn't have happened. Then again--"

He chuckled, soft and low. "The whole experience on the caravan seems rather improbable, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Cassandra replied, watching his hand. Even if he could no longer entrance her with the slightest touch, she still felt certain sensations in the pit of her stomach right now. She really wanted to label them as uncomfortable and unwanted, but lying to oneself was really not much better than lying to another person. In some ways, she mused, it was probably worse. But she was no philosopher and now was not the time to think of philosophy.

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said after a slight hesitation. "I'm sorry that I wished for you to be something you're not. That was...unfair. And I won't blame it on the situation or anything else. The fault was with me."

Apollo sighed heavily, pulling his hand away from her leg. He leaned back onto his elbows, eyes moving from her to the ceiling.

"If we're being honest," he began, and his tone implied that he wasn't certain he was happy with that arrangement, "I can't blame you for it. Contrary to what opinion you hold of me, I do know what it is to love. I love my sister. I've loved women--and yes, you were one of those."

He glanced briefly at her and then back at the ceiling. "Truth be told," he admitted, "After you died, I spent a good decade seeking out curly haired women and trying to get them to sputter and glare at me the way that you would. I suppose we all try to get back what we lost."

A short laugh, utterly void of any humor. "That's a never ending quest, when you're a god."

Cassandra watched him, her eyes softening with each word. This was the Apollo she cared about, even if it was impossible to separate him from the charming Apollo who drove her mad. His emotions were on the surface and she could recognize them, each and every one, like old and familiar friends. He seemed almost...human.

"If it would make you feel better," she said after a moment, "I can glare and sputter some more now." She paused, her fingers slowly sliding across the bed until she felt his. "But you haven't really earned it."

He had shown her the vulnerability she was seeking. It seemed only fair, then, to protect such a precious gift. Silently, Cassandra stood up, crossing the room over to the door. Turning the handle, she closed it, quickly and quietly, letting the bolt turn back into place.

Apollo smiled, though he quickly resumed a neutral expression before Cassandra turned back around. Raised his head to look at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Cassandra?" he questioned.

"Hmm?"

She walked back over and sat down. It was only once she sat down that she realized she wasn't sure what to say. It would be, perhaps, a bit trite to thank him for that moment of unabashed honesty. And if she did, there was the chance that he wouldn't do it again. That was a thought that Cassandra didn't relish.

Well, maybe they didn't need to chatter. Cassandra knew how to appreciate companionable silence.

It was strange to think of Apollo as a companion though. Then again, he was the last constant in her life.

He looked over at her, eyebrows still raised.

"Are you not trying to seduce me, then?" he asked, tone entirely casual.

"I'd let you."

"No," she answered bluntly. "Cris tried to teach me how to do that, once, but it wasn't me. It left a bad taste in my mouth."

But that she blamed primarily on Jack. After all, he was the one who had suggested she use seduction to eek information out of the elf ambassador. Information that Jack already had. The back of her neck warmed at the thought of it. Cassandra wasn't exactly known for being a terribly forgiving person.

She shrugged absently. "I appreciated the honesty."

"All right," he conceded, lying back down, folding his hands under his head. "No seduction."

He looked over at her then, lifted a hand to brush some of her curls away from her shoulder.

"Then what do you want to do?"

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