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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"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?"

Cassandra looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. "The floor is yours," she said.

She couldn't say what she really wanted to do. She wanted to ask questions. It was sort of Cassandra's way. And right now, she found herself deathly curious about those hundred years after her death. But honestly, there was no good way to ask about them. Furthermore, it didn't take an enchanter to sense that Apollo had something else in mind.

But she would make him say it.

"I've learned about a charming tradition that exists for the people of the future," he said, playing with a piece of Cassandra's hair. "Heard some people discussing it in the market the other day. The ones who use all the words I don't understand."

"The tradition, as I understand it, is called a DTR. Define the Relationship. It happens when two people have become close but they don't exactly understand what they mean to each other."

He gave a lazy smile. "Seems about time, doesn't it?"

She looked down at him. By Trojan standards, this could only go one of three ways, but Apollo was broadening his horizons, beyond Cassandra's experiences. Honestly, she didn't know what to expect from him right now and that put her on edge. "I don't know," she said slowly. "That sounds a lot like burning bridges, doesn't it? Going past some unseen point of no return. Definitions are so...definitive."

For a moment, she watched him play with her hair in silence. Apollo, unfortunately, knew her too well, she thought. Even if he hadn't been trying, he had unleashed her curiosity. As if she didn't have enough questions already.

Well, it was nice not to always know.

And terrifying.

"What do I mean to you?" she finally asked.

Apollo paused, fingers tangled up in her hair. He looked down at her, eyes briefly softening.

"You're a second chance."

It was not the most predictable thing he might have said. Far from it. But it did catch Cassandra's attention. And not in the way that made her want to claw his eyes out. That was progress, wasn't it? She looked back at him, trying to read him, but, as always, Apollo was someone who she could not easily read.

"A second chance at what?" she asked. Another question. And one that had many possible answers. She genuinely was unsure which one Apollo meant. And she genuinely wanted to know.

"Oh, no," he admonished, pulling his hand away. "I'm not going to pour out my soul to you with the way you've been fleeing lately. You have to say something too."

He sat up straight, eyebrow quirked up. "What am I to you, I think is the bigger question here."

Cassandra nodded slightly. He had every right to ask her that question. The problem was that she didn't really think she could give him a proper answer. And it wasn't because she didn't want to give him one. On the contrary, Cassandra felt more comfortable, in general, when she could put the people in her life into their proper boxes, to keep them all straight. But Apollo just didn't fit into any boxes. He was a category of his own.

Lover wasn't the proper word. Cassandra had not yet been able to bring herself to come to bed with him. And there was still some lingering hate mingled with all of her other feelings toward him. What they had wasn't kind or gentle or...loving. It was brutal. No, no that word wouldn't do. It was primal. Yes, she liked that term much better. But it didn't answer his question.

He wasn't her patron anymore. No mentor of any kind. Cassandra wouldn't be terribly receptive to learning anything from him anyway. She valued her independence. She wanted to learn for herself.

Apollo wasn't her enemy anymore. That reality was jarring. Of course, Cassandra could--and did--get angry at him, but it wasn't the same. He didn't have power over her and for all of her anger, she didn't think he necessarily wanted it. In spite of earlier barbs.

She sighed softly. "I wish I knew," she replied honestly. "I can think of more things that you aren't to me. But I do know that you're...important."

"Well, that's why I think we should talk." A pause, and then in a rush of unusually fumbled worlds "I also don't know what you expect but I haven't been--not with other--there hasn't been anyone else because I didn't want you to think--"

Apollo groaned inwardly. What was he doing? He was a god. He didn't owe her any explanation or any fidelity and he certainly wasn't this thick-tongued, rosy cheeked shepherd boy he was doing such a good impression of.

"Forget it."

Cassandra's eyes widened. She had not been expecting...that.

"No," she said gently, reaching out lightly to touch the back of his hand. "What were you going to say?"

She needed to hear that.

He wasn't sure he could say it again. This was all getting entirely too humiliating. If Cassandra had been anyone else, he would have switched subjects. Preferably by means of seduction.

But this was Cassandra and he had been the one to bring up the subject. He had just hoped she would do more of the talking.

He sighed heavily. "I haven't had sex with anyone else since you," he finally admitted. "Just in case."

That was part of it. Just in case she expected it. More than that, no one else had really been on his mind.

Since her? What did that mean? In the hundred years since they had last met? Or the incident on the caravan? She couldn't possibly flatter herself into believing the former. And as for the latter...well...surprising, but appreciated, she supposed. As for the 'just in case,' Cassandra had to admit, at least to herself, that there had been many 'just in case' scenarios popping into her head recently. And not all of them were utterly pleasant, really.

Very gently, Cassandra reached out, brushing some of Apollo's hair away from his face. "You know," she said quietly, with deep sincerity, "I'm starting to believe a lot of the things you tell me. And I have to say...I like that."

He glanced at her, and couldn't quite stop a wry smile from hitting his lips.

"I am still not stalwart and good you would like," he said. They both knew it was true, saying it changed nothing. He was not Othryoneus, never would be. "But you have the most irritating way of influencing what I do when I'm around you. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop that."

The tone was dry, and his touch gentle as he placed his hand on top of hers.

Cassandra laughed. How could she not? It was a moment of pride, knowing that she, a mere mortal, could hold any sway over him. They both knew how irregular the entire situation was, compared to what had come before and what would come in the future. An understanding of time was something else they shared.

"Consider it revenge," she said, turning her hand over and interlacing her fingers with his.

She leaned over, lightly kissing his cheek.

Well, this was new.

And it left him feeling a little uncertain. Was she about to break his wrist or bite off his ear?

"Considered," he spoke carefully, glancing down at their hands.

She nodded, neither breaking his wrist nor biting off his ear. Instead, she pursed her lips, looking at Apollo without venom. Which was definitely a change. A reversion, perhaps. To that fourteen year old girl who he had first encountered. Only much wiser, she decided. Not all knowing, by any means, but a little wiser.

"I suppose," she said softly, "that doesn't really count as defining much of anything."

It was a slight disappointment. She liked definitions. Still...

"I like to think there will be time."

Humans, Apollo thought. They always believed that there would be time.

They seldom did.

"Am I allowed to kiss you?" he asked.

Cassandra laughed. It was cruel. In fact, it was damn near the closest Cassandra had come to a genuine laugh in a good, long while. "If we were supposed to ask permission for that, I should apologize for taking liberties earlier." Lightly, she brushed her fingertips against his cheek, where she had kissed him before.

She was reminded, rather suddenly, of Cris. Of all people. He had once asked for permission to kiss her. She had toyed with him a bit more than she ever knew she was capable of toying with anyone. A riddle. Yes, she had made him answer a riddle before giving her a kiss.

Somehow, that seemed like an absurd formality with Apollo.

She nodded.

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