It was odd, seeing a tiny, heavily scarred fox and a currently flightless hawk chasing each other around the inside of a small apartment. What made the image better was Liadain's constant, disapproving glare from her place beside the fire. The doe looked like an irritated cat curled up the way she was. Even her tail would twitch at times out of annoyance if the bird or fox got particularly close.

They had determined that Vexation(and Soibhan still thought that was an awful name for such an adorable animal) was still a baby. Not quite a kit, but definitely not an adult. She was too small, too rambunctious, and too inquisitive in all the wrong ways to be a learned adult, though Desmond's care had put some weight on her too thin frame. The little thing looked more like a sleek, muscled predator now instead of a skinny, fluffy tailed rat.

And Comghan....Well, Comghan was simply an a*****e bird of questionable age. The kingshawk had proven to be a terrible patient, and a worse companion, the first week. He'd bitten her, he'd ripped off his splints, he'd terrorized Desmond...But now he seemed to finally be getting used to them all, though it seemed he enjoyed Vexation's company the most(albeit grudgingly). He was currently hopping after the fox like some mutant rabbit, flaring his splinted wings and making a harsh clacking sound with his beak.

"Of all the animals to have, you had to find the two that make the weirdest, most awful noises," Desmond muttered as he rubbed his temples. Soibhan merely smiled, taking a long pull from her glass of wine. The drink had grown on her of late, partly due to Desmond. He'd introduced a less bitter, fruitier vintage to her that didn't taste like she'd sucked on a dirty cloth. And if she'd been drinking it every night, he didn't question the why of it.

Just like he hadn't questioned when she'd appeared at his door a few weeks before, covered in bruises and walking with a limp. Desmond didn't ask many questions anymore. It was something she appreciated, even if it was something she might have benefited from. But talking about the backfired duel with Edgar or her argument with Rob would have thrown her into a mood unfit for company, and he had known that. Just as now, he knew that she wanted to drink.

She sat on one of Desmond's simple kitchen chairs and was handing him a pair of scissors.

"The only awful noises I hear keep comin' out o' yer mouth, Gray. Now, cut m'hair."

Sputtering, Desmond took the sharp instrument and stared at it as if it was a snake. "Cut your hair? Why in the world would you trust me to cut your hair?"

Blowing an errant strand from her eyes, she grumbled. " 'Cuz it's too long an' I canno' cut it m'self." She fiddled around with the hair at the back of her head, looking frustrated. "Cuttin' behind where I canno' see is no' good. I always end up lookin' like a goat chewed on the back o' me head. Besides, cuttin' hair is easy. Just...make it look even."

"It isn't when I've never done it before!"

"Ye've never even cut yer own hair?" she asked, bewildered. Vexation appeared with a very uncanine-like chirp and wriggled into her lap, tongue lolling. She turned to find Comghan standing in the middle of the floor, the crown of feathers on his head standing every which way and looking damp with what suspiciously looked like fox drool.

Desmond stared at the scissors, than back at Soibhan's mop of blonde hair, gaping. "Well, I mean, I have cut my own hair, but that's different. Cutting someone else's hair is...stressful."

"Stressful?" She barked a laugh and rubbed Vex's head. "How so?"

"I...Well... What if I mess up? At least with my own hair, if I cut something too short, I've only got myself to blame. If I cut something too short on your head, you'll punch me."

"Damn right I will," she agreed, grinning. Taking a long pull from the wine bottle, she handed it to him. "Here, drink this. It'll calm yer nerves."

He stared at the bottle with a deadpan look, not the first time wondering if she really was addled. "Soibhan, really. Drinking and hair cutting don't exactly go hand in hand."

"Why not?" She gestured at his hands. "Look, yer doin' it jus' fine. Bottle in one, scissors in the other."

He would have covered his face in abject frustration and dismay if he hadn't been holding anything. "No. I'm not cutting your hair," he said emphatically, placing the scissors on the table. He did, however, take a long pull from the bottle she'd handed him. Sometimes, dealing with Soibhan truly required a drink.

"Why're ye such a pansy, Gray!"

Or three.

Pouting, Soibhan grabbed the bottle back and took a drink. "Fine. I'll ask Raj te cut m'hair, an' if she gives me any s**t fer it, I'm blamin' yer arse."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Give her another reason to dislike me," he groused, snatching the bottle and moving to stand by the fire. Vexation, not long for sitting anywhere calmly, jumped to the floor and followed, only to get side-tracked by the kingshawk as he tried to hobble out of the fox's enthusiastic reach.

"She likes you!" Soibhan reassured, but it came out half-assed even to her. The gypsy wasn't a fan of Desmond and she had always made that emphatically clear. "Eh, no. No she doesn't." Rising to her feet, she stalked up to Desmond and snatched the wine bottle from his fingers, but found it empty. "Damnit, Gray. Ye drank it all."

"Not all. Just the rest." He stared into the fire, a flush over his skin. She frowned, but went to the cabinet to grab another bottle. He'd been restocking it weekly; at least, she assumed he was. She'd yet to see it empty. Popping the cork, she stared at the back of his head as she took a drink and slipped into her own thoughts to fill Desmond's sudden silence.

Too many things lately had gone awry and it was wearing on her. She'd always prided herself on being highly independent and uncaring of what people thought of her, but Edgar's barbed words had cut her deep, betraying the true feelings that lingered below the surface.

Soibhan wanted people to like her. She wanted people to trust her, to believe that she could and would lead them to victory over any obstacle. She wanted people to look at her and see, without a doubt, that she was capable of doing anything she set out to do. And Edgar's words had effectively stripped her bare of everything. She could hear the whispers, feel the sidelong glances. Only a few had shrugged off her bruises and clapped her on the shoulder like nothing had happened. Raj had been less than amused, but hadn't lost any faith in her, even if she hadn't necessarily been able to boost Soi's confidence.

And Desmond... He had looked horrified when he'd opened his door to find her bruised face staring at him. She'd refused to answer him when he'd asked who'd done it, but he wasn't a stupid man and had quickly figured it out, though she'd forbidden him from acting on any anger he felt for her.

Her golden gaze focused on the man standing opposite her, his drink reddened face towards the fire. It had taken her months to realize how his attitude towards her had shifted. Hell, she looked at him differently now too. He'd stopped being a whiney, sexist coward and had turned into someone with more of a backbone and an appreciation for less-than-proper woman that he hadn't had before. He was still a whiney git, but now, without the other horrible traits to back it up, it was more tolerable, and sometimes even amusing.

Drinking deep, she narrowed her eyes and asked a question she'd been avoiding for some time.

"Desmond?"

He didn't turn, only saying, "Hmm?"

"Why d'ye put up with me?"

His shoulders stiffened, but she was too far away to see it. "At this point, I'm not quite sure."

"Tha's a shitty answer," she said, scowling. He turned and stared at her with that single, perfect eye. Though she'd thought him a coward and a right a*****e at first, the one thing she'd never seen him as was weak. She'd seen many men lose their will to live after taking a wound such as his. The loss of an eye could be a crippling wound in a sense, especially for a soldier. It was no doubt why he'd resigned from the military, but he hadn't let the loss of the eye consume him. That took a certain kind of strength, and she commended him for it.

But his answer irritated her to a level she didn't quite understand. He said it in such a way that any numbers of interpretations could made of it, and her temper picked probably the worse of all of them. "Yer no' sure? Really, Gray?" she snapped, striding across the room to invade his space. He looked as if he would ignore her presence, but after a moment, he turned with a look on his face she'd never quite seen before and couldn't quite interpret.

"No, I'm not sure. You're an uncouth, haughty woman that doesn't belong in this country, let alone in my house, and yet I can't seem to bring myself to kick you out."

If she'd been sober, she would have taken affront to his entire statement, maybe even lashed out at him for it. But as it was, the wine she'd downed in quick succession was bubbling distractingly in her head and her drunken temper latched onto only one thing. "Uncouth? Uncouth!? Yer a sexist little coward tha' le's his guardian walk all over him!"

She could see it now, the anger in his gaze. He was drunk too, perhaps more so than she, as he would never be able to tolerate the same level of alcohol consumption as she could; as far as she could recall, he had matched her drink for drink since she'd arrived.

Sneering, he spun about completely and stepped forward, into her space. She refused to step back. He wanted to say it, she could tell. At least I have a guardian. And if he would have said it, she would have punched him, would have raged at him and damned the price.

But he only hissed, "Vixen."

She moved closer, bodily pushing him back. "b*****d!"

"Harpy!"

"Arrogant, pissy little--"

He grabbed her chin and pulled her into his kiss, silencing her more effectively than anything ever had. She made a noise, an angry one, but he held her to him, though even in her anger she didn't try to move away. Instead, she turned him and moved him with her body against his until the back of his knees hit the couch. As he toppled backwards, he pulled her down with him, never once breaking the kiss as they landed on the couch that had before seemed too large, and now seemed entirely too small. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons lining his shirtfront and only when she came up for a rush of air did she manage to get them undone, tearing at least half of them free in her efforts.

He pulled her back down, --she would never have thought that he could kiss her just so-- but then he let her lead, let her take complete and utter control of him. Over the months he'd watched her, listened to her as she raged against Rob Tiller and cursed herself for missing an opportunity. He'd been there whenever she'd stumbled home so piss-drunk that she'd passed out before he could even get her upstairs. He'd seen as her stony facade grew cracks and crumbled a little more every time she'd happened upon Edgar Ashworth; seen the way she'd digressed from a bold, boisterous, and confident-to-a-goddamn-fault warrior... to a bitter, unsure, and stumbling drunk shadow of her former self. When she'd appeared at his door that day, bruised and broken, he'd felt some wall inside him break, one that he'd been building for months.

And as she kissed him, as she tore at his clothing with an abandon he hadn't seen in her in far too long, he held a secret on his lips. One that he would never share, because it would never matter to her. Breath hitching, he watched the fire in her rekindle and let himself rejoice, because he had started this fire, brought back her passion, even as fleeting as it might be.

Even if she hated him in the morning...

What would you ever do if you knew I loved you?

But he knew.

She would probably kill him.

FIN