#you hold so much power in your fingertips when writing for rin

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 25: Puppet Loosely Strung

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Summary of chapter: Vulnerability hurts, plain and simple. Sasori considers if it's worthwhile, even if most of him is dead. Shame that it had to be his heart that's left alive.

Author's Note: Two songs again! Title and breaks are Puppet Loosely Strung by The Correspondents and is also planned on being "the" Sasori song. Name put aside, I do think it suits him a lot. Same with the song that's sung in the story, Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert. I really gave myself a treat this chapter, working with two songs I love hearing on repeat and writing out a couple of ideas I've been holding onto for a few months.

In front of a woman’s sleeping face, one black glove strips off the other, tugging...slowly...by the fingertips, soft as can be lest she awake with even the slightest snap of the fabric. To take off his mask, too, is tempting, but there is no logical justification for it.

As if he can justify doing this, either.

Lost in memories, Obito considers the performer’s visage, how she no longer wears her own “mask” only when she is unconscious. What was Rin like…? He remembers that somehow, as the campfire flickered over her face, she impossibly looked even softer, gentler, kinder than awake. He was a boy then. The Uchiha is now grown, but he recognizes this same serenity in front of him now.

...Which doesn’t make any sense. He’s in Hell, after all. And she told him she’s a liar, and she knows he’s one too.

Obito considers the contradictory nature of lying that you’re a liar.

Fascination brought him forth into the company of interdimensional beings, and fascination keeps him here even now that he’s known she has no real power to speak of, to steal, to make use, to liberate...so he may liberate the world of suffering. The glove slips off and bare skin sees moonlight for the first time in too long. If she suffered in her world, too, then maybe…

Then...maybe...he…

Silence overtakes his troubled mind.

…

…

His unmasked palm holds her face, and it’s like the two are pieces made to fit. Obito isn’t sure what he feels, but he knows there is so very much of it. Skin on skin, his hand is helpless but to melt, thumb drifting to brush the high point of her cheek. In her dreaming state, she shifts, chin bobbing ever so slightly up and down to cuddle into the touch. Has anyone ever held her like this, he wonders? The cursed man knows with certainty he never has been. Hungrily, the mouth behind an orange swirl moves in closer, touch-starved fingers beginning to find strands of hair to comb in their spaces in-between—

Too close. He sees her eyes close tighter, a precursor to opening up.

…

…

Indeed they do. In the middle of the night, the dreamer wakes up. Abruptly, part of her fantasy just felt so, so real, and instead of pearls and blues she caught a hint of a warmer hue like fire. Where the man was is empty space. Deidara has, in fact, left. She exhales. Maybe that’s for the best. She’s been told she can snore sometimes…

Still...part of her is disappointed. There’s something so assuring about not being alone when you sleep; she never realized till the sleepovers (?) started. That’d be nice, she thinks to herself, eyelids growing heavy. That’d be nice...if someone even was just happy to watch her sleep…

…

…

She rolls over on the couch and goes back to bed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Deidara is gone, yes, but that’s just because that dream of his made him antsy. Studying her face was nice for a while, yes, but it can't hold you up longer than an hour or two. Unable to go back to sleep, unwilling to just lay there and stare at the lady until daylight broke, he made the better choice:

Go bother Sasori!

A man not needing sleep is the perfect remedy for boredom, in a way. The doings of a puppet workshop for hours on end are boring, sure...but that’s in the daytime. At night, it’s just slow, drawling enough that it helps the time pass without making you want to pull your hair out. In the candlelight, Deidara in the green shirt and shorts he uses for pajamas sits on a pillow he stole from one of the chairs downstairs, sitting more comfortably than just on the hardwood floor of this attic. She really slept here…? Even with Sasori cleaning it up (shoving everything out the hatch), it still isn’t very homey. He blinks up at his partner’s back. Something’s been bothering Deidara...or perhaps it’s better stated that something seems to be bothering Sasori. He’s had a hunch but yesterday sealed the deal, redhead running off like that. The blonde leans his chin onto a set of knuckles.

“Why so tense, Sasori?”

…

Okay, he probably can’t just come out of the gate like that. His danna isn’t biting, which is usually so easy to do with an accusation of weakness for bait. Deidara adds more context: “I guess I just expected you to...be more interested, un.”

...Nothing. Just clicks and clacks of whatever the heck he does to perfect this art of his. Deidara tilts his body far to the side, holding his feet for balance, trying to get a peek at the redhead’s face. “You don’t at least want to ask her about art where she’s from?”

Click clack and abruptly, no more. Sasori’s shoulders stop moving underneath his cloak, his neck turning on its hinge to give Deidara the glance he’s so clearly begging for. “It doesn’t interest me,” he puts as simply as it should seem, outside looking in. “My art is ultimate. You know this, brat. I don’t appreciate the spectacle you made yesterday for your own amusement.”

“But you didn’t stop it, un!”

“I left.” Is that not good enough? Apparently not. But before the bomber’s worst mouth— that is because it can speak— interrupts again, Sasori continues his point. “Nothing can accomplish more than my art can. There is no point.”

“She’s not a threat, you know.” Deidara folds his arms, sticking his bottom lip out a bit in a pout. “Our objective is to gain her trust? Know more about her?! Remember? It wouldn’t kill ya to try to learn from her, my man. Hell, I know you’d have fun teaching her, if that’s what you want instead! Obviously you know so much more than she does, right?” Again, the answer is plain:

“It isn’t worth the time.”

“Or is it that you’re worried she’ll reveal the TRUE nature of art to you?”

That’s it.

A senbon whiffs past Deidara’s ear, residual breeze flipping his hair. Though meant to be frightening, the blonde takes it as more flirtatious, sensual, than anything. He just scoffs, tucking the twisted lock back in place behind his ear with lazy, hooded eyes.

“Okay, okay… I can see I’ve said enough. Just enough to give you something to chew on.”

Sasori said it once to the girl and he can say it again with ease: “Begone.”

“Alright, alright... Goodnight, Sasori no Danna.”

Foolish as he is, Deidara is even incorrect about the last conjecture he made: Sasori has already been mulling over the disquietude of this woman all of the night. He only made it worse.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Around you, they were so confused

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well, if it doesn’t work trying to get one side to initiate, perhaps that means he has to work with the other.

“He’s just nervous, see?” Deidara explains with a cup in his hand, hair tied up and eyeliner redone for the day. He shrugs underneath his Akatsuki garb, trying to soften an already soft lady up. It’s a hard task; it’s a thin line between just making her more malleable to suggestion and melting her entirely like ice cream left out too long.

“Oh…” the woman frowns, not really remembering how this conversation started but beginning to be glad he brought it up; it’s never comfortable knowing you get on someone’s nerves. You always want to fix it, make it right, or at least make it tolerable. Getting into it, though, always seems to make it worse, so she was ready to let it go, even if it pained her to be a slight to someone else by just existing in the same space. But there’s one thing she just doesn’t get, has been drilling in her mind, and it gives Deidara a foothold. She sets down her cup of tea that Deidara so kindly brewed for her. It isn’t as good as Itachi’s, but drinks always taste better regardless if it’s someone else that made it just for you.

Anyway. There is one big question, but another more directly in line with what the blonde just proposed, pops off the tongue first:

“Nervous, huh…? Is that why he’s so mean to you?”

Deidara sputters, grateful he swallowed his too-bitter drink before she said this. God, tea...it’s never been his cup of tea...heh. He pockets that pun for his use only, aware it is far too obvious of a joke to be said aloud. Anyhow.

“Huh? Mean? No, no, he’s just like that, I promise. You get to know him, Takara, and you’ll see it too. All bark, little bite.” She notes he did not say “no bite,” and perhaps he can read that off her face since he seems prompted to explain. “Scorpions are more docile than you think,” he continues, though he allows an interlude so he can taste his drink again and think about how he could improve upon such a mellow flavor. “They sting when they’re scared, you know?”

The musician blinks. “Scorpion? Is he...a scorpion…?” Guess it wouldn’t be far off from being a shark man, though Sasori doesn’t look the part the same way Kisame does. Deidara chuckles, less like it’s actually funny and more just a conversational cue to follow.

“In a way. That’s what his name means.”

“Sooo,” she drawls, and as she rolls her eyes to the side in thought, the woman misses how smugly her fellow artist looks back at how his clever trap has worked. “How did you get him to open up?” The opportunity is irresistible, even if he knew it was coming:

“Ahhh. So Princess-Treasure-Jashin’s Chosen needs MY help getting a new friend?”

The blank stare he gets tells him that his audience of one is lost, no matter how unmistakable his joke should be. Perhaps she’s telling the truth, after all, about not trying to be a cherished little lady to maintain protection and power among the Akatsuki. Perhaps just good at playing pretend, feigning obliviousness.

“Sorry.” He’s not really. “Just teasing. But still...surprised you don’t see it.” Her brow curls, gaze still hiding by walking along the ceiling.

“I...take things literally,” she admits guiltily. The woman gains enough confidence to look back at him again. “Have I really been missing something? He just seems like he hates my guts— wait, no. I’m sorry. That’s too mean.” Is it, Deidara mentally asks? Are you the one that’s mean if someone else is mean to you? “But still. I...I just got the idea he wants me to leave him alone.”

“I already told you the answer, Takara-chan! He’s just nervous! …Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

…

…

“...Takara-chan,” he prods with some urgency, halfway between finding her silence hilarious and frustrating. And then finally she gets it, pointing a finger to herself.

“You mean...like me?” He nods.

“Yes. Like you. His defenses are different, is all. Think of it this way:…” He reaches across the table, plucking a fruit from the bowl between them. “You’re like...a peach.” Fingers roll the named object in front of his face in display, assisting in the visual. “You’re all soft on the outside, but inside is where you’re hard as a rock.” The fuzzy fruit lowers. “Think of Sasori as more like an egg. Hard protective shell outside, but nothing of the sort inside.”

Chomp.

The performer frowns as the palm that the food sits in begins to gnaw into it. Deidara is keeping his smug expression; does he even know he’s doing this right now…?

She blinks away the confusion as this is a question she’s not willing to find the answer to, redirecting her gaze onto her helpful friend. He repeats a point of his, as if it was her idea all along:

“Now that you’ve mentioned it...he really is just like you… Just think of yourself inside out, and you got yourself a scorpion, un.”

And that’s what will do her in. For the first time in this conversation, the singer smiles; it is genuine and hopeful and so very, very naive. “Okay...I think I get it.” She stands up and tucks in her chair, invigorated to set her own plan in motion. “Thank you, Deidara.”

“Of course! I’m always here if you need anything.”

A wave and a patter of feet later, the sculptor is left alone.

…

…

He frowns, eyes widening in dread as his hand starts to gag. A panicked Deidara smashes his other fist into his wrist to let the bite of peach cough out. Bleh, it says after spitting the choked fruit onto his face. As the orange stuff drips down an unamused mug, the artist grumbles.

“Still haven’t gotten used to that part of having the kekkei genkai. I need to work on that...un.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That a faulty man could have so much fun

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Here we are, Takara-chan!”

The other man that calls her that honorific says it with so much more...enthusiasm, she notes. But that’s not what’s on her mind right now. She kneels next to the brambles where she had been found crying in the height of summertime. The woman frowns at how bright yellow the leaves are. Surely there’s one left…!

A hand-me-down apron tied around her lap, the performer slips off her sweater lest it catches the thorns and puts an unprotected arm in, instead.

“Oh?” Tobi tilts his head as he stands over her. “Be careful, you might get—”

A hiss, and the arm retracts.

“...Cut.”

But she’s smiling. With a wink, she holds up a little red berry to the closed eye in victory, ignoring the same color on her forearm. Tobi cocks his expressionless head the other way to emphasize befuddlement.

“Oh? A berry!” Indeed it is. “I forgot there were berries here! Last...we…”

...Last they first met, is what he thinks. First met for real. If she understands, she does not acknowledge, merely closing the other eye, too, and widening her smile with a teeth-showing giggle. She has the answer to her big question on Sasori— a solution with it— and that’s enough to celebrate. “Thank you for helping me find this again. This is perfect! I’m going to look just like a doll!”

He wonders if this is what Rin would be like if she had time to grow up, too, childishness and all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They read your smile as nothing but teeth

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Keep it quick.

What?

Sasori raises his head. Having had no reason to leave the attic— workshop, actually, so much better than a mere dusty attic— he’s used to little sounds here and there. Damn mice in the walls, for one, muted speech for another. Not much difference; both are noise and noise alone. He blinks, long and slow in contemplation before returning to his current project, holding the stem between his fingers.

Say it brief

Brows raise though brown eyes stay hooded, if not narrow even more. He raises his head again, turning it towards the source.

If it's fast, it will be a relief

Short on time, that's a gift

She’s right there, bottom of the ladder to his makeshift sanctuary. He can tell now that she really is that close. Ah well. The girl will conclude her business and then walk away; that’s how it is.

Count your seconds, and they'll catch the drift

But it the sound does not drift, too. With a “tsk” under his breath, he sets down pink glasses and moves towards the exit. In one smooth motion, like a firefighter sliding down a pole, he lands on the floor. Head turns side to side. She’s no where to be found, at least not visually.

Disparate parts, desperate hearts

Pulled through a sieve

Hand me a chart, so I know how to start to say

"This is all I can give"

Around the corner now, obviously. He lingers in that direction, weaving past the garbage he threw out when first moving in, but the voice softens as he gets close. Assuredly, as he turns the edge of conjoined walls, she is already out of sight again.

To summarize seems incomplete

How novel is a novel that can fit on one sheet

It seems that I'm destined to fail

To compress myself to the size of a thumbnail

The scorpion catches a glimpse of her hair, trailing behind a wide-brim hat, as she crosses the gap in the hallway and goes down the stairs. He blinks his eyes and purses his lips, expressions often reserved just for when people are around to see them. In no hurry, he goes down the stairs, following the sound of her voice and sparsing these strange, bittersweet lyrics.

Don't like what's revealed here

When your depth of field's near, it's hard to come close

Chip stones from the boulder

Suddenly, my vulnerability shows

Down the stairs, past the kitchen, out the back door he hears the siren’s call. Deidara be damned, color him curious. He hasn’t...heard a song like this before. One that makes so much sense, isn’t just about poetry or flowers. They’re not feelings, no— Sasori does not feel— but this song does think and think mindfully. The cracked entrance to the outside world finds him standing there, and Sasori in turn finds she’s finally stopped, sitting upon the swing with her back to him, head tilted somewhat to the side so he can see the profile of her face but not if she sees him too. The cut on her arm, so poignant as it is raised to hold the rope, is the only thing marring the perfect image.

Hm.

Her voice…These words...

…

He listens intently.

Oh, you can crop and trim, 'till all that's left

Is the essence of a presence that is feeling bereft

Avant-garde, just the gist of a tale

That is less of an image, and more of a thumbnail

Her heart is beating out of her chest, wondering if he’s followed her all the way out here, unable to stop and look back fully to see lest the act come undone. Lips dyed pink with a smushed berry sing, sing for them both, try to let Sasori know that maybe they have some middle ground to plant their white flags. To be shy and sensitive is a curse, after all, and one should not inflict it upon the other without need.

Na na na, na na

They'll catch the drift

Na na na, na na

They'll catch the drift

Soft doll hair drifts ever so slightly over the puppeteer's forehead with the pleasant breeze outside, though he cannot sense it in the same way living people can. She hums the rest of her parable about isolation and communication butting heads, her feet swinging back and forth to make the toy worth its name. On her end, she just continues. Whether he is here or not, that’s what the relief is; it is good to simply be done. This short little song about being afraid is over, at least in words. She’s said what she can. If he is there— or even if he’s not, just heard some of it and left— it is his turn. She will not chase.

But she can’t help but look back when the wind picks up and takes away her sunhat, ribbons trailing behind. “Ah,” ah SHIT. “No—!”

But before her very eyes, then it lands right in a dollmaker’s hands, almost like that is where it was trying to go. His grip is so gentle— so precise— it’s like he’s a fairy tale. She can’t help but ogle.

Oh, dammit.

“A-... ah.” So feigning ignorance is over; eye contact is made and cannot be undone. He looks so calm, but she can’t help but grip her fingers around the rope tighter as he walks up, tilting her head further and further vertical to keep on him while he says not a word— not until he’s close enough to put it back on her head. That motion, too, is even as if a human hand is not there, so soft like the hat never even left.

“…” he says.

“…” she replies.

They both aren’t very good at this. That much is obvious. The woman dips her head, answer predictable and instinctive:

“Sorry.”

But the living doll still says “…”

The leaves rustle so comfortingly under a cloudy sky, a little crowd encouraging the two along. Come on! her imagination hears them egg on. You got this! Just say hello! How you feel!

...But Sasori isn’t ready. He turns around, retreating to his solitude. She panics.

“Wait—”

And so he does, turning at the heel to look back, more malleable than he’s ever been to her whims before. She makes a deadly mistake in her worry of not saying enough. Every memory of regret swarms back at once, all the times she wishes she said something and did not. She forgets that they live together, that tomorrow is another day and time will keep going, will in fact give another chance unless something drastic happens.

But life is drastic, she knows. So she opens her mouth and tells him too much of the truth:

“Sasori?” she sputters. Unlike her singing voice, this is so shaky, as it is unrehearsed. He looks on, so she continues. “I...I was hoping...we could be friends. I know how hard it is to try to talk to people,” the singer confesses. “That...it’s easier to deal with what you like and know and can predict, make that last instead of going through the trouble wasting through things you don’t just in hopes of it being better. I want to help!” Her breath hitches at this sudden reveal, but she takes a deep lungful to quickly correct. “I mean...I want it to be... easy for you.”

One thing is certain: he has her full undivided attention. That’s a start, right? She grows too confident, so desperate for approval she’s busting down the door. The dam is bursting.

“I found myself wondering, you know? You know good things are eternal. So why is it so easy for you to feel your time is being spent badly? At first it seemed weird to me...but now it makes sense. You want your time well spent, to be full of things you enjoy or can at least tolerate. I get that.” In the kindest way possible, the woman is telling him that he is shallow.

And then the most painful thing of all, and she offers the poison with a bright smile:

“You’re like me.”

The crowd in the trees mutter, sighs of relief that she finally said her mind. During the monologue, the traveler’s spun around in her seat as best she can, legs facing perpendicular while torso and head face him. Her stomach is twisting, but...he doesn’t look mad. And so she grins wider, hopeful and safe now that she’s being understood. After all, everyone else has apparently taken well to her honestly—

“Be quiet.”

...

Huh?

Deidara’s advice was both entirely unneeded and entirely misunderstood. He put it out plain and simple; Sasori is merely answering as can be predicted, condensing the bad as briefly as possible: “Do not insist you know me. Understand me more than I understand myself. You, girl, are ignorant of everything and everyone around you. Do not mistake my disinterest as playing coy. I am not your shy, wandering puppy. I am not a problem to be solved.” His eyes narrow, and the disgust— only emotion of his she’s familiar with— emerges again, and she is abruptly so very slimy and gross and small.

“You are worthless.You are not worth my time, the Akatsuki’s time, nor that of the air in your pathetic little lungs. It is beyond fathom you are still here. Get out of my sight. Leave. Me. Be.”

A longer answer than he’d give anyone else, lest anything is unsaid and he need repeat himself. It is clear now: this was all on purpose. She thought of him with pity. He is only returning the favor.

The smile remains on her face, but it does not reach her eyes. It twitches— it twitches with pain and a broken spirit. She’s so stupid. Why would this world be any different…?

The grin is a grimace. Her head lowers, eyes averted. A “sorry” is muttered so quietly it might as well not have been said at all. Slowly, as to not betray her real self any further, be more vulnerable to attack, she stands up.

One step.

Another.

Step.

By.

Step.

She leaves.

And Sasori lets her, despite what he knows. When the only living piece of you is your heart, that means that when you feel, you feel so very, very much. Sasori got rid of all his humanity, has had little interest in understanding the little bit he has left. After all, he’ll figure out someday how to throw away his heart, too, and still live. What’s the point?

The point now is that in one brief moment, he had allowed himself to acknowledge his heart, his feelings, let them rise up to the mind until he began to drown. It had to get out somehow, lest it fill him up and he explode with no space left in him to give. The traveler gave the perfect excuse, and so he turned to sting as soon as it was known she had in some way set this up, MADE him reveal more of himself, be lulled into ease by a siren’s damned song.

They are nothing alike.

He repeats this to himself over and over, as to question otherwise is to doom himself. Especially as he is left facing what fell off her lap as she stepped off the swing. A gift. Just for him. A long term effort that was presented to match his view on art and existence…and he returned it with nothing but his disdain.

Deidara will find him like this later, standing in the back yard among faded rose bushes and her ghost in the wind pushing the swing back and forth. One artist will be appalled with the other that he let her leave, escape into the forest, run away on her own while the scorpion knows what is happening out there right now, this very second. Sasori will have blank eyes as he is gripped by the shoulders, only living piece of him so emotional that he doesn't know if he feels righteousness or regret. A flower from her press holds his gaze, sitting on a plank of wood— the same material that holds his fragile heart in place. A little piece of him begins to know the hypocrisy that he, too, has made the time to rearrange himself to her, to fix her step, to take her hat just to give it back, and then complain that she was doing the same with him merely by murmuring a silly melody.

But even as Deidara asks why, Sasori will not admit it.

All at once, deep in the woods, a stranger bloody and stained remembers every single time at once in which she said something and she shouldn’t have. The ink around her eyes drips, and she doesn’t know how Sasori was unkind not just in his words but in leaving her to the wolves.

Wolves don’t care how much like a doll you are.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They looked at you with pity first, then disbelief

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Someone Saved My Life

(Jack x Rin Davies, Pt 1)

Word Count: 3600

Warnings: nothing just intimacy, implied sex and a bit of angst thrown in for funsies

A/N: Jack takes Rin to the Yorkshire Moors for their first holiday together. After all they've been through together, they could use the time away. And yet their first night ends with the arrival of an unwanted guest. ((Totally didn't plan on writing anything let alone another story for the two of them. Was going to try to work on an Ivan story, but I tossed around this idea for months now, and it just felt right? Self indulgence is my new name when it comes to writing!))

Things weren't always perfect between Jack and Rin. Jack had days where he slipped back into isolation. The sadness would swell and he wouldn't sleep. Rin knew those were the times he was surrounded. Overwhelmed. And while he mostly ignored the dead, she could feel when they simply refused to ignore him.

They would come in droves and scatter about any room Jack was in. Crammed together like sardines in a can all shouting for messages to be passed to the living. Sometimes Rin would give him a wide berth, the death and decay crawled along her own skin. She would dress with every inch of her skin covered and attempt to sleep alone while Jack banished himself to the sofa. Those nights resulted in him exploding with anger and shouts of desperation to be left alone.

The guilt would wash over Rin. They're a couple, she would remember. Partners. Not just lovers and friends. You take the worst of one another as your own, and she could ACTUALLY do that for Jack. Letting him be was not a choice anymore, no matter what he believed.

Rin would go and gently talk Jack down into her lap. His thick mass of waves and curls against her bare thighs would be sweaty. He would curl on his side with a hand under legs instead of his cheek. His other by his mouth so he could anxiously chew on the already devastated thumb nail. She knew his eyes would be jammed shut.

Rin would brush the curls off Jack’s forehead with fingertips. Fingers that traced delicate and light patterns over his temples and cheeks where they wiped away tears as she hummed. Her thumb soft along his lips before they ran back up where she would press her index, middle, and ring finger into his temple. Then she would sing and fill his head with warmth and love to bring the light instead of death.

“Someone saved my life tonight..” And Rin would look up and around at them all. Her voice came out soft and full of affection. She would narrow her eyes in their direction. Silently chastising them all the while comforting Jack.

His body relaxed as she continued, “You almost had your hooks in me. Didn't you dear. You nearly had me roped and tied. Altar bound, hypnotized, sweet freedom, whispered in my ear. You're a butterfly, and butterflies are free to fly. Fly away..” Her hand would sweep in a wild gesture along the lot of them. He would be asleep, and she would be alone with the shock of the departed that they had another to see them.

As long as Rin connected with Jack he wasn't alone in his ability. They discovered that with Finch. Jack was the conjurer; Rin the conduit. A hundred years ago they would have been rich in the spiritualism movement. Now they were labeled mental and mad and stuffed full of chemicals, their gifts silenced.

Never again for either of them, Rin would hold back the dead so her love could sleep and get peace. When she interfered the protection emanated from her. They would stop shouting, stop begging, just.. stop. Rin would flick her hand like she was casting a powerful spell, her eyes set in determination. Then they would be gone.

Then there were times like this. When Jack closed up his shop with a sign that said “I'm on Holidays. Dunno when, I'm almost thirty and this is my first one.” He put himself and Rin on a train up to Yorkshire where they hailed a cab to what was theirs for the next month.

Rin gazed in delight at the two story stone cottage. It was covered in ivy and moss with a carved stone fence and a picket gate. There was a little English rose garden off to the side of the house, and wildflowers simply everywhere else. In the hills beyond stood grazing cattle and a pond. Behind the hills of Yorkshire.

“Oh, Jack,” it was just a breath that managed to escape her.

“D’you reckon it's alright?” he scratched his shaggy head. There was worry in his green eyes as he glanced towards his partner for approval.

Rin’s eyes met Jack’s, and she slipped her ungloved hand inside of his. Their palms together, she squeezed. “This is stunning,” she hoped to reassure him. Her gratitude and pleasure flowed from her body to his through her touch.

Jack had just bent to kiss Rin when someone interrupted them and cleared their throat. A feminine voice shouted, “Yoo hoo! Hello!”

The couple turned to see a stout, round faced cheerful old woman in the garden. She wore a wide brim straw hat, an old dress and an apron. Rin was reminded of a human Mrs. Potts as the elder smiled wide.

“Aren't you a delight!” she beamed. Making her way to the gate she stopped. “I'm Mrs. Barrow. My husband, Henry is round back in the barn. Oh it's been AGES since we've had newlyweds.”

Jack's cheeks pinked, but Rin giggled. “No. We're not married.”

“Oh, sinful little doves.” The old woman winked. “By the looks of him, I can see why.” She fanned herself dramatically and Jack now turned red. He scratched at his head even harder whilst his eyebrows disappeared in his hair.

“This is Jack, and I'm Wren. But you can call me Rin! Are you the caretakers? Is this your house? We're on our first holiday together.” The words tumbled out of the young woman before she could stop herself.

“Oh no, little Wren. Henry and I..” Rin had let go of Jack's hand to shake Mrs. Barrow’s. The moment she let go, the old woman disappeared. Rin gasped and turned to her boyfriend.

“She was telling us she and her husband did live here. Died from the Spanish flu a hundred years ago.” Jack gave a little shrug, but a tiny grin had crept into the corners of his mouth. “They love it here so much, neither moved on.”

Rin reached for him, and his hand covered hers. The old woman reappeared. “Sorry, Missus. I didn't know?”

She laughed heartily in response, “Sometimes Henry and I forget we're dead. Never had someone who could see us before. Let alone a couple. The moors are full of ghosts, mostly long gone. None of us here for a bother, especially since your beau here looks exhausted. Just popped in for a bit of cheek and a greeting. If you need us, give a shout ok?” Then she was gone.

“Why can't they all be like that?!” Jack almost shouted his question.

“Maybe we should move up here where they've had time to get used to it? The ones in Manchester are all.. fresh and selfish and confused.”

Rin pulled Jack towards her for a kiss. His tongue teased her for the briefest moment before he picked her up and carried her in his arms towards the cottage.

“What are you doing?!” she squealed.

“Dunno. Little biddie thought we’re married,” he leaned in to kiss her a few more times. He waggled his eyebrows, “Might as well act like it.”

“Jack, we just got here!”

“I've been ready since we woke up. We’ll have a shag then go out to the pub for a few pints and some fish n chips.”

“Romantic,” Rin rolled her eyes as Jack opened the door around her.

“Oh, you love me!” Jack set her down in the foyer then playfully slapped his girlfriend on the ass.

Rin jumped and bolted up the stairs before he could catch her. “I do!” she called down to him. “What's that vow? Till death do us part?” She started to strip her clothes off to her bra and panties. Her finger made a come here motion before she disappeared around a corner.

Jack's face fell, but only for the swiftest of moments. “Even then you wouldn't be gone.”

------

Rin snuck out of the bed as she so often did after they had sex. Mostly because it was the soundest Jack ever slept with his long limbs stretched out as if she wasn’t there. Or he would envelop her in his arms without a choice. And even though she understood Jack's desire to be with her constantly, sometimes Rin felt smothered.

Now she stood at the foot of the bed to watch Jack's breathing as his sternum rose and fell with a steady rhythm. He laid on his back, arm above his head in a languid position. The sheets barely draped across his hips to reveal the V shape of his pelvis and just a tuft of pubic hair. Rin’s eyes kept going until she felt her heart between her thighs and not in her chest.

“Go take a bath,” her brain scolded her. “Wash off the train and sex before you go out for dinner. You stand here any longer, you'll wake him up by straddling him.”

Rin’s body wavered. I mean, that was an idea. “BATH, ADERYN DAVIES!” At least her inner monologue didn't use her middle name.

Rin closed the door and turned on the hot water. She was lost in thought as it filled. How she and Jack developed a willingness to share their bodies with one another in the light. That she relished how their chests and mouths and skin dissipated into reciprocated emotions. Jack was addicted to it the way she could absorb him and switch places with him. Show him what it was like to be her. Empathy became his heroin.

Rin climbed into the tub and settled against the porcelain. She relaxed her mind and body until only her breasts remained afloat. She never took a bath. Not since her time in hospital when she and Jack met. Where the dead tried to drown them. But she and Jack saved each other.

Maybe because they were nearing the three year anniversary of that awful time, but Rin thought about it more these days. She held her hands above the water and ran her scarred fingers over the further damage she had done to herself. The long jagged line from her wrist to forearm. Usually she wasn't quite THAT bad off when she tried to commit suicide, and even now she couldn't remember what was her trigger that day.

“There's not even a word to describe how bloody melancholy suicides are when they come ‘round,” Jack would say. “Maybe desolate?”

“Did you ever try?”

“Not that I remember. Didn't wanna upset Emma. Always seems so messy. Guess maybe I was doing it slowly though, the way I lived. We're ok now, right?” he would ask and kiss her hand.

“We're diamonds, Jack,” she would respond, "Unbreakable.”

Now Rin knew he was in the doorway. It was hard to sneak up on her if you gave off too much emotion. Currently Jack was as warm and comforting as the water she floated about in.

“You alright?” his sleepy voice carried a trace of concern.

Rin looked up and back at him, her fingers still on her scar. “Yeah! Just thinking about us. This.”

The air shifted. A wicked grin played across Jack's face as he walked around the side of the tub. His naked body in full view. Rin’s face flushed and her heart raced, but she kept her composure on the surface as he stepped in to join her. His hands on her waist drew her into his lap. She threw her arms around his neck as they held onto each other tightly. Jack pressed his lips to Rin’s neck where he kissed a trail down over the curve of her shoulder.

“Jaacckk,” she whinged. “Come on I was sat here having a think, and you’re like a teenage boy with this!” She tried to hide a moan when he bent her back to capture her breast in his mouth. “Bless,” was her response.

“I can't help it!” he teased from between them. “I have so much lost time, and you’re so bloody sexy.”

“Will you put that thing away!” Rin’s voice was louder, but still had laughter in it. “C’mon Jack. This should be sweet and romantic. Somehow you always turn it into a porno.”

“I can't help that my,” Jack pointed his finger towards the water and whistled, “likes you. Loves you? Always wants to be in you.”

“Cock, Jack. It's called a cock. Shouldn't it be used to me by now? It's been almost a year.”

Jack stopped teasing Rin. He looked at her seriously now. Those green eyes seemed to search her soul as they moved back and forth over her face. “One year?”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe I had forgotten you all the time between..” his voice trailed off.

“It's ok,” Rin spoke softly.

Jack turned his bottom lip out, “Now I'm sad. So we should shag in this bathtub, then I won't be!”

Rin groaned for a long time after that. “No!! Sex in hot tubs or bath tubs or pools isnt the best. Water is a shite lubricant, trust.”

Jack pushed her away and feigned disgust. “Have you shagged in them before?”

“Once or twice.”

“With Roland?”

“What?! No! I told you we only had sex once. Then he left LITERALLY the next day. Why are you so weirdly jealous of him? It wasn't my first time. I've been with loads of men.”

Rin sat back again on her side of the tub. She reached for the body wash on a shelf, and started to use it on her arms and chest. Her eyebrow arched as if she was trying to challenge Jack to get angry at her sexual history.

Jack pulled his knees to his chest. “Are you hoping I get pissed that you've had sex with other guys? Of course you have, you're beautiful. Roland is just so.. Roland.”

“Fair play, but he has a gift like we do.”

“Ghosts and music. Worst super powers ever,” he mused.

Rin opened her arms and motioned Jack to settle in between them and her legs. He turned and laid down with his back completely pressed into her. She kissed his cheek then gestured for him to tilt his head back with her finger under his chin. Jack obeyed with his eyes closed.

Rin cupped water in her hand and poured it over his hair. She repeated the process a few times before he sunk down under the water. She marveled at how long his hair was when wet or straightened. At how long his arms and legs and torso were as he held on to her own knees that were drawn up around him. At how far he had come from the man drawn into himself high, on psych meds, with dirty fingernails and rough cheeks. Now he was open and present and relaxed in her arms.

“Birdie,” Jack started calling her that out of a desire to give her some kind of nickname. Love and darling and babe weren't enough.

“Jackie?” only Rin got away with that. She put some shampoo in her hand and lathered them together in front of their bodies before she dove into his hair.

“You're making me sad thinking about how poor I was when we met. You know, passing it from yourself to me without meaning.”

“What?” she was concentrating on massaging Jack's entire head. Her light fingers made circles and gentle scratches. Then they widened and she drew bigger circles. She didn't want to leave out one inch of his scalp.

“You're body, it's pressed to mine? You're passing along your thoughts without noticing because we're relaxed. But also, please keep doing that. Holy shit that feels nice.”

Rin kept on. She alternated from soft to a little harder to as much pressure as Jack allowed. He gripped her calf and ankles now wrapped around his waist. She used her thumbs to stroke his temples and rub across his forehead before going back to knead the rest of his head again.

Her attention back to reality instead of just on making sure Jack was cared for, she realized what had happened. “I'm sorry! Sorry. I can block it if you want?” She separated her body from his and unwound her legs. Jack held on.

“It's fine,” he reassured her. “Just let me mind your body too?”

Rin snickered, “You minded my body for about an hour already.”

Jack gave an annoyed smirk and rolled his eyes. “I mean like this!” he gestured towards her washing his hair.

“You can wash my hair. That would be lovely.”

“Why don't I..” he stroked his chin. Jack's eyes settled on the stuff she had spread out on the sink. “Shave your legs?”

“Blimey,” Rin whispered. “Really?” Her heart took to pounding in her ears. She eased him down into the water to rinse everything from him clean. “Jack that's very..”

“Intimate?” he was already standing to carefully choose what was her razor and shaving cream. He held them in her direction for approval.

“Actually, yes.” Rin nodded, “And yes. This is really different from shaving your face, y’know. I've got to trust you completely because that is a new blade, and I always nick a damn patch of skin.”

Jack sat back down in the water, placed the razor on the edge of the tub and lifted Rin’s ankle. He pinioned her foot to his chest and bit his entire bottom lip. She felt exposed, made vulnerable by this position. He was looking at the half of her naked body just below the water’s surface. The can of gel faltered as he shook it.

“Jack! You're shaving my legs, not my twat. Eyes on what you're doing!” Rin snapped her finger to catch his attention.

“I can do-”

“Keep speaking, and no sex for two days.”

Jack frowned but sprayed the soap on her shin. He spread it around from the ankle up to her knee before trying to go higher. Rin held up her hand, “Only strippers and sex workers shave that high!”

He snorted and continued on the back of her leg and made sure to get the back of her knee. She was especially ticklish there and jerked her body and giggled as a result. They both could be in trouble: Jack with a sharp object; Rin with the ability to kick him in the sternum if he wasn't careful.

“Better luck if you're facing away from me. You have to shave with the blades towards my knee. You best sit back against me like before.”

“Or,” Jack held the razor backwards with the head towards his wrist. His thumb on the grooved grip as he placed it delicately by Rin’s ankle. The handle was awkward in his large fingers as he took it gingerly and with the utmost of care upward. The blade made a path in the cream as he moved it up to her knee.

Rin inhaled as he did the same gesture again. She exhaled when the razor met her kneecap. Steady breathing with each swipe along her leg. The tip of Jack's tongue stuck out from his lips as he concentrated. He worked and focused and shifted her calf just enough to get the sides and the back. The only sound in the bathroom was the splish of water when he cleaned the blade after each path.

“Oh,” was all that left Rin’s mouth the entire time. Her eyes never left Jack's face while his own refused to break away from her leg.

“You alright?” Jack finally looked up at Rin just as he was getting a start on her other leg.

Rin shook her head with enthusiasm. Now her turn to bite her bottom lip before a giant smile crawled from ear to ear. “I'm grand! I love you.”

And just like he always did when she said that, Jack looked sheepish. Like he still couldn't believe that any.one would love him let alone a whole family of them. Rin. Emma. Billy. Jerry. They all loved him without condition.

“I love you too,” Jack smiled in kind. It reached his eyes in wrinkled skin in the corners of them. He made his way around his girlfriend’s other leg and realized something had grown inside of him. He was starting to care for himself.

So this is it, Jack thought as he finished shaving Rin’s legs, I think I love myself?

Before he could say anything the doorbell rang downstairs and scared the shit out of them both. They scrambled to their feet and started to dry off in a harried way. In the bedroom, they threw on clothes as the bell rang out again with more insistence.

“Can ghosts ring?”

“No! Not usually. BLOODY HELL WE’RE COMING!” Jack shouted as he rushed down the steps. He turned the light on in the foyer and opened the door. Rin couldn't make out anything but Jack’s shocked voice. “What the fuck are you doing here? You're two weeks early, mate.”

“She.. I should've.. Wren.. I lost my..” the words were broken up by Jack's body.

Rin made her way down and peered around Jack's shoulder. A tired, swollen eyed man stood on the front stoop. His hair was a curly mess; his goatee and mustache looked like a positive fright. She could tell he hadn't been sleeping much. It was the first time Rin had seen him alone in the last year. It was the first time Rin had seen him in PERSON in maybe seven in spite of all his promises.

“ROLAND?!”

Both he and Jack turned towards Rin and shouted simultaneously, “Surprise!”

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