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Hope (Macklyn)
Three days.
Three days and two nights Eric had been away trying to deal with the aftermath of the impact. The first night had been the most difficult, the hardest night he had faced in quite a long time. Peter had been there, had helped him struggle through it and after that the day had come easier than before.
The second night Eric sat in the same spot on the Earth and weighed his options. He kept nothing from his mate. He didn't need to. Every thought that entered his mind, any doubts, he left open to Macklyn. He wouldn't hide the pain from his mate, it wasn't fair to himself to conceal it. The path before him was clear, and his heart knew he must walk it despite everything.
It may have been paved in blood and darkness, that path, but hadn't it always been? It wasn't new.
The dawn of the third day brought a small measure of hope. It was enough to spark movement from the Dark Avenger and so he rose to claim it. With a brief stop at the phantom's vacant apartment to clean up and to get fresh clothes (since his had been thoroughly ruined), Eric headed toward home. The only other detour he managed was to the pet store to grab a few things for that still nameless cat. The events that had taken their attention from it commanded every part of them, and now that it was no longer a barrier, the cat was now what needed tending to.
Finally Eric approached their little house.
The crow swooped ahead of him, perching on the roof. Eric needed no grand entrance, Bran would make enough of one for the both of them. He was too exhausted to care. The door to the cottage swung open and he set the bags full of kitty stuff on the couch once he was far enough into the living room to find an empty space.
He brushed a hand over the tight black leather pants he wore, and across the front of a black long sleeved shirt, before finally offering his attention to the house.
Three days and two nights Eric had been away trying to deal with the aftermath of the impact. The first night had been the most difficult, the hardest night he had faced in quite a long time. Peter had been there, had helped him struggle through it and after that the day had come easier than before.
The second night Eric sat in the same spot on the Earth and weighed his options. He kept nothing from his mate. He didn't need to. Every thought that entered his mind, any doubts, he left open to Macklyn. He wouldn't hide the pain from his mate, it wasn't fair to himself to conceal it. The path before him was clear, and his heart knew he must walk it despite everything.
It may have been paved in blood and darkness, that path, but hadn't it always been? It wasn't new.
The dawn of the third day brought a small measure of hope. It was enough to spark movement from the Dark Avenger and so he rose to claim it. With a brief stop at the phantom's vacant apartment to clean up and to get fresh clothes (since his had been thoroughly ruined), Eric headed toward home. The only other detour he managed was to the pet store to grab a few things for that still nameless cat. The events that had taken their attention from it commanded every part of them, and now that it was no longer a barrier, the cat was now what needed tending to.
Finally Eric approached their little house.
The crow swooped ahead of him, perching on the roof. Eric needed no grand entrance, Bran would make enough of one for the both of them. He was too exhausted to care. The door to the cottage swung open and he set the bags full of kitty stuff on the couch once he was far enough into the living room to find an empty space.
He brushed a hand over the tight black leather pants he wore, and across the front of a black long sleeved shirt, before finally offering his attention to the house.