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There had been a pull, strong and unignorable, and she hasn't confessed this since but she had been appreciative of the fact that he'd taken it upon himself to seek her out after the fact, even knowing what it might bring to light as far as the possibility of attachment is concerned. From moment one, though, she'd been drawn.

It's her turn, then, to dwell, to recall back on some of her own conversations with Crais — as intermittent as they'd been. She'd always had the vaguest impression that he was somewhat intimidated by her, or, at the very least, didn't quite know how to behave around her, and she in turn had strived not to make any interaction between them more awkward than it already had the potential to be.

Meanwhile, Grayson's response is the one she'd been anticipating — not simply because she can feel his distinct lack of interest in anything having to do with socialization or alternate distractions, but because he's hardly struck her as the type of man who wants to occupy himself with empty diversions.

"I'll always be here," she vows, whispering the words in his ear as their heads tuck against one another. She may not need to say it, but she will regardless, and it feels even more important to reassert it now in the wake of them both sustaining these recent disappearances.

Always isn't possible for vampires. They do have a larger taste of it than most. He has lived long enough to understand the press of years and how heavily they weigh when one is isolated from all but bonds of obligation rather than those taken in love. His hold tightens, as though he could physically prevent the march of attrition or disaster just by willing it to stay away.

"I'll do everything in my power to ensure it." Against the city he has little power. If those who rule it choose to eject her from this plane, or him, then they will experience loss. Against almost any other force, he has a better chance of keeping her intact and at his side.

"You're part of me now." Empty space full to bursting. A feeling he hadn't known how badly he missed until he had it, not that any bond is interchangeable with another. She feels very different from Meerlinda or Mary, different from Mornay or the rest of the Council of Seven.

But he feels like Kindred, not just a vampire, and he once more has a sense of clan. This will outweigh any grief or longing for lost friends. It's already a balm to his spirits. There's more calm in holding her than most other things he could do.

It may be a worthless promise to assert when neither of them can snap their fingers and issue a reversal of any disappearance; if it occurs, she can only hope that it will happen when they are together, and that they will depart in the same manner. She'd been a risk to her own world while she was still living, and in her mind, the best thing she can do now for its future is to never return, the lack of her thereby circumventing the prophecy of her destiny to undo it.

"We have our own power," she promises, even if it doesn't extend as far as having control over these particular circumstances, and while she doesn't know what future days will hold for them she does know how much stronger she feels with him by her side.

She presses her lips to his temple again, nudging her cheek there, her fingers sliding against the front of his body, mapping the already familiar shape of him beneath their descent. She hadn't quite understood the extent of how it would accentuate the feelings she possessed before dying; now, there are moments when she fights to separate his emotions from her own, strong enough to leave her breathless if she still had the need for it.

"That we do," he murmurs, finally feeling as though he could smile, if he were to reach for it now. He doesn't, content to be in such a space with her.

He shifts his hold, working an arm beneath her bent legs at the knees and wrapping higher up her back to lift her when he stands. "Let's go lie together."

It will mean they don't have to stir when it's time to go into torpor. They can transition from awake to not without having to think about the passage of time or anything to do. He carries her from the sitting room to the bedroom before setting her down so he can draw back the covers for both of them.

Stripping from his clothing down to his boxer briefs and singlet, he uncharacteristically leaves them where they fall then gestures for her to climb in ahead of him. He'll hold her through to his next awakening.

Her first instinct is to insist that she can walk on her own power, but before she can even think to voice such a thing she finds herself swept up into his embrace, carried in his arms with the same ease he's always borne her. Inwardly, she finds that she does enjoy this, being plucked off her feet and carefully taken from one room to the next, her arms reflexively resting atop his shoulders even though she knows there's no chance of him dropping her or his hold weakening.

She hadn't worn anything intended to be seen elsewhere, and the simple day dress she's in, paired with stockings and slippers, is an indication of that; the buttons down the front enable her to remove the outer layer swiftly, followed by the latter, and she finally climbs in between the covers in only her slip, settling in a recline along her side as she beckons outward with an arm for him to join her.

Once they're both tucked in, she arranges herself in a position well-known to both of them at this point, her head tucked into the cradle of his shoulder, her arm draped across his midsection, one leg slightly hitched up at the knee to rest over his thigh.

If anyone had told him he'd ever find joy again in heading into torpor with another vampire, any vampire, after his loss in Paris, he'd have thought them sorely mistaken and entirely too optimistic. This is something he'd choose every dawn if he didn't know both of them still had separate lives and a good reason at times not to awaken together at the next sunset.

With dawn a couple of hours away, it's just as good. He's done talking for now, appreciative that she isn't the sort who insists on filling every waking moment talking, especially when he's in a melancholy or somber state of mind.

It's enough just to have her weight against him, have her where he can touch her with slow strokes and finally let his hands still. His mind. Everything. He instructs the phone app to kill the lights so that they're lying in relative darkness with only the ambient street light spilling through the sitting room windows beyond the open double doors of the bedroom.

Deciding that's too much for him for now, he closes them with a telepathic nudge. As he turns his cheek against the top of her hair, he has one final thing to say. "Thank you." It's less a matter of feeling that he has to and more of wanting to.

There had been nights before this she had not spent alone — evenings when she had drawn Morgana into her bed and taken full advantage of their contract to allow herself the simple pleasure of not sleeping alone, even though she and the other sorceress had long favored more vigorous pursuits. There was something about the mere notion of simply holding someone else, of permitting herself to be held, and when her lover and dominant had departed, a piece of her had considered the possibility of when or if she would have it again.

She can safely reach the conclusion that, for all that occurred between herself and the one who holds her now, she had never imagined it would culminate in something like this.

She sighs quietly, a wordless agreement to his sentiment; it may not be entirely altruistic, her reasons for lying here with him, not when it brings her just as much comfort to have him this near, but she also doesn't suspect he'll have any complaint to voice about it. Instead, she simply nestles against him further, closing her eyes and letting herself fall into the stillness that night brings.

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