It's happening. Things are starting, really starting. Yeah, it's just a local artist show, but there are some pretty hobb knobs in the good end of town, they come to things like this. They BUY things like this. Well, in Sadah's case they're more likely to look and admire but...even though she doesn't have a great deal of pieces that people are likely to purchase, she's got a good deal of pieces that satisfy her soul, and nothing else. That's all she needs sometimes.

Sometimes.

She's got a whole room to herself. Well, that's just for one piece, and all the others are spread out through here somewhere. Sadah's standing in one of the others. Other pieces, that is. She's standing in it, she's part of it, and damn is she proud.

The short, mocha colored girl is in a sleeveless white dress. Fabric rises before and behind her and she stands proud on the section in between. But the huge swath of fabric, and the dress, and her skin are all stained red in random splatters, and impacts, and blotches. The stains play on her skin like a huge, encompassing mark, in places obscuring even the tattoos on her shoulder and back. In places, the fabric and dress are so deep red that you expect them to start dripping.

She's here for more than just herself. Sort of. She knows some of the other artists and it's getting boring just standing here, letting people gawk at her while they get to eat hours d'oeuvres and drink champagne. So after a while, she leaves and explores.

She's here for Andrew. She doesn't think about it, doesn't acknowledge it, but every piece she submitted to the gallery is swallowed up in his memory. All of her rage, all of the tearing and wrenching emotions, all of the good and puzzled memories she has have taken shape in her art. Delirious joy doesn't allow for such realizations.

For a moment, while musing over a colleague's painting, she's stuck in the past. Things are good again. The hand that gently rests on her shoulder couldn't be anyone else's, she sighs when his thumb rubs her skin in just the right way. Just how she remembers.

"Kinda looks like..."

She turns without thinking. That smile is all wrong.

The present slapped her in the face. She can't breathe, the simple absence had knocked all the air out of her body. Hope had cracked through her heart and shattered it in an instant. It's like he's dead all over again.

Sadah starts to hyperventilate, she can't stand that hand on her shoulder, it shouldn't be there, no one else's hand had any right to be there.

"Sadah?" her gallery-mate asks, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," she answers quickly, with a voice more breath than sound, "I gotta go," and she runs. Runs out of those brightly lit rooms, the crowds, the congratulations, the food, those pathetically false smiles. She wants to scream, to break down, to mourn the loss all over again.

She runs to the far end of the museum, not caring where she is or what's around her. There are no people here tonight, all gathered at the gallery opening. Here it's not so bright, and no soul is going to hear her anguish.

Even so, she tries to stifle her tears while her knees fail and buckle.

No one bother's anyone here. Hugh calls this end of the museum 'The Land of the Dead' there's an exibit on ancient burial customs, mummies from various cultures, preserved skulls, urns of all sorts of well, dead things, from organs in funiary jars, to urns full of royal ashes. It's one of Hugh's favorite exibits.

The exhibit lights are all off. This part of the museum is closed. After hours only the security lights, that sense motion are on. They're set in the walls and trigger when any one walks past them. They're no brighter than those absurd tap lights. So the security guards still carry flashlights.

Security is busy at the other end of the gallery tonight. Besides, if someone tripped the motion lights, it's probably only the currator.

Hugh is wandering around. He's been thinking about where to put a few new pieces on loan. It helps to work through these things while the museum is relatively free of visitors.

He went and peeked at the art exibit on and off as it was being set up. He's rather proud of Sadah, but would never tell her that. It might seem, well clingy, and their relationship is anything but. They meet on Thursdays if she feels like, for curry and whatever else she decides.

Hugh is fine with this arrangement, she isn't pushy, overbearing, manipulative, nor does she seem to be a gold digger. She is what she is, and doesn't pry into what he does with the other six nights of the week, so he's extremely fond of her. Not to mention, she has a brain, and eight out of nine girls don't in his experience.

At the moment though he is not thinking about Sadah. He promised himself earlier not to meddle in her art exhibit unless invited to. Art can be such a personal thing, and Hugh understands this.

Instead he's thinking about where to put some ancient Sumarian musical instrument as he wanders back towards his office in the dark. As he rounds a corner, he can hear someone crying.

He tells himself 'that's odd.' perhaps someone has gotten lost somehow. So he follows the sound walking quietly as he tries to home in on it. It seems to be coming from the end of the hall, 'The Land of the Dead.'

Sadah missed last Thursday. There was too much work to be done before the gallery opened, too many pieces that were just on the verge of being finished. She started to feel bad when she realized that she hadn't let Hugh know she wouldn't be there, but quickly put a stop to any and all feelings lending toward caring. Because the last thing she wants out of their relationship is anything resembling fond emotion.

If the girl bothers to look up, she's sure to bolt in a different direction. She wants to flee death, flee memory, and this place doesn't help. But she's not looking, not now. All that's before her are planks of polished wood and the sight of her knees.

Her body is trembling with the effort, and there's nothing that can be done about the tears, but at least the cries have subsided. Her throat is raw and aching and she's sure there's a guttural sob pushing right behind her will power, but for now she's just cold and silent.

But not alone, apparently.

Sadah scrambles off of the floor at the sound of footsteps. She is not weak. She is not vulnerable. She'll be damned before she lets anyone think or see it. Out of all the people who've seen the true girl behind her facade, only one is still alive and Sadah doesn't want to add to the number.

A glance once she's standing and Sadah visibly shudders at her surroundings. A small sound of denial escapes her. Were she in a different mood, the artist would have laughed at the situation.

Her knees try and betray her again when she sees who it is, like they've got a direct wire to her eyes. She takes a step and steadies herself, schooling her face into a defiant glare. The image is surely broken by her quivering chin. Nevertheless she draws herself up and wipes at her tears to face Hugh with some dignity.

Completely not what, or who he was expecting. Still he isn't going to pry. It's extremely evident that she wasn't expecting him either. So he merely nods, notes the quivering chin, and looks away long enough for her to finish schooling her face at least. "There's a private washroom in my office, if you need to freshen up." he offers simply.

Whatever she wants to volunteer she may, but silence will be equally acceptable regarding whatever he just walked in on. It isn't that he doesn't care, Hugh tends to be quite doting when it's permitted, but he and Sadah have definitely not crossed the 'hey I care okay' line yet in their relationship. They're aquaintances with perks. It's likely to remain that way until she changes it.

Dinner conversation may never actually progress past small talk (or poorly concealed innuendo), but Sadah can feel the baggage. Sex creates baggage. It's like the side effect to every drug you've ever had to take in your life. It happens, whether you want it to or not. At least until now, Sadah's been relatively good at pretending it doesn't exist.

She's still trying, but a surge of gratitude keeps her from acknowledging Hugh's offer with anything more than a brief nod. If she opens her mouth now, there's no telling what sort of keening sob stories will pour out.

Sadah is glad to just walk and watch the motion of her feet against the floor, but her dress gets in the way sometimes and one of those security lights has thrown the unusual red pattern into relief.

He hadn't died in her arms, nothing quite so dramatic as that, but he'd been bleeding heavily. She remembers that deep gash in his arm, and that weird, glowing man. It all seems like a dream, but knowing now what she hadn't before, the complete lack of any evidence about Andrew's disappearance is more real than any death certificate. And the glitter. Now that she knows better, what a tell it was.

Now, though, he might as well have died in her arms, because Andrew had been at the end and Sadah left him alone. The dye on her dress looks frighteningly close to blood--Sadah'd spent hours getting the combination just right--too close to keep the damn thing in any sort of contact with her skin. If is wasn't for Hugh, she's sure she'd have torn it off three seconds ago.

"Do you--" her voice cracks. Sadah whisks more saltwater off of her face and speaks through a clenched jaw, "Can I change into something?" It doesn't help.

Hugh uses his swipe card at the keypad and unlocks his office. The motion lights are in here too, so he doesn't turn on the overheads. Easier if they don't have to make that transition.

He opens the washroom, a full bathroom off his office really, though the shower is only standup.

"I've got an overnight bag in my trunk. I'll see what I've got for you to change into." he says. Probably something like a stolen hotel bathrobe, Hugh is like a lecherous boyscout, who still adheres to the be prepared motto.

He let's himself out of the office to go get said overnight bag.

(I'll leave what he gives her to change into in your hands, thus I haven't specified what's in his bag of tricks.)

She strips almost as soon as she sees that there's a shower. The dress is thrown on the floor and only intact because 1) there's probably smoke detectors somewhere and 2) she has to put it up in the gallery. To tell the truth, she can't care less about reason number two.

Sadah doesn't bother with closing the door, although it's probably swung nearly closed of its own accord, and turns on the water as hot as she can stand. She grabs a wash cloth and soap, practically scrubbing her skin raw in an attempt to remove the dye. But that's the thing with dye, it gets into things. She'll have those stains on her skin for another week, at least. She's fed up, frustrated, and slightly hysterical. When the scrub doesn't rid her of the stains, Sadah throws the sopping rag as hard as she can out of the shower. The sound isn't satisfying in the least. She spends several minutes standing limp under the steaming water.

When she finally does shut off the valve, Sadah grabs a towel and dries off. She walks into Hugh's office area with no pretense of modesty, the door's closed anyway, and rummages through his bag. She goes with the old standby: boxers and a t-shirt. Curiously, she does see a bathrobe. Who keeps a bathrobe in an overnight bag? But times like these call for comfort and she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she wraps herself in that, too.

She has a significant amount of trouble meeting his eyes. The best Sadah can manage is, "Thanks," which is made even more pathetic by the terrible need to sniff in the middle there.

She feels like she owes him some sort of explanation. Little Miss Stand-Offish the girl might be, but you don't have a complete breakdown in front of the guy you happen to be sleeping with and not owe him one. It would be rude.

But when is Sadah a stranger to rude?

Too bad it's hanging there.

Clearly something's, well not right. Even for Sadah this is a little strange. Hugh's almost afraid to ask. He doesn't because he doesn't want to make whatever's going on here worse.

At her awkward thanks he nods and then jangles his keys in his pocket. "Can I take you somewhere?"

She does pretty much look like hell after her ordeals in the shower.

Hugh isn't a stranger to rude either, he's often been on the recieving end of it. He doesn't outright percieve her as rude, he accepts that she seems to be a very private person.

He knows he is only ever really dealing with a tiny splinter of who she is. Many people compartmentalize aspects of their personalities, with his love life, who is he to judge the way anyone else goes about such things.

It shouldn't be so difficult to answer a single question. She wants to tell him, 'yes, anywhere, I don't care,' but doesn't want to appear so lacking in control. She's better than this, damnit!

But she has to respond somehow, and has to stall and keep herself from asking for what she really wants, which is for him to hold her until she feels like moving again. So she asks, "You don't have plans tonight, do you?"

She still isn't looking at him, glaring fixedly at a corner, but she's praying for his company nonetheless.

"No, no plans." he lies pretty well. His date's about to get stood up. She'll get over it, it's happened before and she's just run up his tab.

This definitely seems more urgent than dinner and a movie. "You wanna make plans?" he keeps his tone light.

She pulls the robe closer, as if fighting off a chill. Of course she wants to make plans. The first and last thing that she wants right now is to be alone, but if she doesn't have to make conversation, it's all likely to be the same, anyway. At least if Hugh's there she'll have a designated driver. Not that she's in any shape to go out in public.

"Yeah," she settles, "That would be good." It's not a hopeful or even an optimistic tone. It's like she decided that it's going to be a good thing without any sort of emotional attachment but will.

Sadah's stopped crying by now, which is good. She hates being a simpering pile of estrogen.

"Do you mind if we just take it to your place?" He's got a better bed and a nicer selection of booze, s'far as she can remember. And sheets. He has nice sheets.

"My place, hmm. Sure. We'll just stay out of the living room. Had the rugs steamed today." He gathers up what's left in his overnight bag. "Anything we need to stop and pick up?" Food, booze, whatever. If she demanded gourmet icecream he'd indulge, it's just in his nature to do so.

She might've if Hugh had voiced that idea aloud. But what she really wants is unconsciousness, and not having to wake up wondering why her bed feels so large and empty.

He had his rugs steamed today. And life goes on. It doesn't stop, or even slow down. She still has to go in to work tomorrow, still has to clean the studio. No one gets a day off for detaching themselves from reality.

Sadah closes her eyes and let the air escape, "No, please, can we just go?"

Now she's asking, almost begging. If she looks back and cares to analyze herself, she'll see that she's stopped making demands, even statements, and has started asking for permission. That's always a dangerous road as far as her feelings go.

"Alright." he says fishing out the swipe card he'll need to lock up. "I'm pretty tired anyway. Let's go." No need to make any fuss, he walks over and puts an arm around her and moves toward the door.

There's an intense battle of thought going on in Sadah's mind. Part of her wants to lean into Hugh's embrace, accept his support and believe that all the bad things really will go away. The other side is throwing bricks at those notions, yelling out in indignation, and insisting that this man is completely unnecessary.

Sadah knows that it goes against everything she's built for herself here to accept his comfort, but in this moment...well, maybe she only has to betray her image for one night.

She doesn't exactly lean on him, or snuggle up under his arm, but she doesn't shrug him off, either, and adjusts her step so her gait doesn't make it harder for Hugh's arm to stay where it is.

"Not exactly the night you had planned, huh?" Who is that cracking fun? Oh, it's her.

"Oh no, I was going to just go home and watch all of my Divo'd 'Desperate House Wives' and 'American Idol' then drink too much and go to bed. You've spared me that now." he teases right back. Hugh only Divo's History Channel.

There are some brief pauses to lock things up. Then it's out to his car, which he unlocks. Of coarse he opens her door for her, but if he's got to walk over and unlock it with the key and all, he might as well open it.

After letting her in he opens the trunk puts his bag in, and then proceeds to the drivers side to let himself in.

Soon after they're in the elevator on the way up to his place. He reminds her about the carpet still likely being wet. Not so much because he cares if she messes it up, but because everyone knows wet carpet feels like ick on bare feet.

Though she'll never admit it, Sadah appreciates how much of a gentleman Hugh is being right now. She might not appreciate it tomorrow, probably wouldn't have appreciated it yesterday, but then she's doing all sorts of things out of the norm tonight. Things like wanting company and all such nonsense.

For the first time, the girl feels awkward going up to Hugh's apartment. She wants to say something, to tell him things. And that's just weird for her.

To offset the bizarre desire to talk, she decides to speak because she can't grab his arm close like this and say nothing.

"Don't read into this, ok?"

He nods. "Fine." he assures her. He might anyway, but that doesn't necessarily mean he'd treat her any differently. He's just a thinking kind of fellow.

He unlocks the door and they go in, him pausing to lock them in. He always does, just habit. Then he empties his pockets on his tray on the counter. Keys, phone, wallet.

It smells like carpet shampoo, and stir fry he'd made himself on lunch break today.

She really loves how normal he is. Sure, there's always the possibility that he is in on the whole magic thing. Hell, he might know more about the initiated community than she does (Which is likely, she' only been in it for about two years or so--two ridiculously crazy years), but he's a curator in a museum and he gets his carpets shampooed and he makes himself food and probably leaves dirty dishes in the sink. Nevermind that he has a devious sex life. He's normal. Ish.

Sadah wraps herself in the supposed knowledge of his normality and heads straight back to the bedroom. She sidles carefully past the living room, but knows where she wants to be. She doesn't leap into his bed with childish glee, but climbs in relieved. The bathrobe is lain at the foot so she can better snuggle into the sheets.

She hasn't asked Hugh to join her, but fully expects him to.

Thanks to the housekeeper there are no dishes in the sink. He takes off his coat, tie, and those sorts of things on his way down the hall. There's a hamper just for dry cleaning, and one for everything else.

Since they're doing normal, he sticks to his routines. Probably why so many women do like Hugh, he's normal dependable, into his routines, like how many of their fathers? Women are into father figures.

He goes into his bathroom to brush his teeth and change into pajama bottoms. If anything besides sleeping happens it's up to Sadah. Hugh isn't planning on it.

He gets in on his side, waiting to see if they're saying goodnight or what.

To tell the truth, once Hugh starts getting into his routine, Sadah lets herself drift off. The sound of running water has always calmed her considerably, and the mundane tasks that he's going through just serve to make Sadah feel more and more secure. In her hazy state between sleep and consciousness, she lets her guard down. Again.

She feels a body slip under the covers next to her and wakes enough to turn and open her eyes. She's shocked when the face she sees isn't the one she expects. Again.

"Damn it," she sits up quickly, fantastically angry with herself. Her elbow on her knee and her head in her hand, Sadah grits her teeth. She's not going to cry again.

"What the fuck's wrong with me tonight? This is ridiculous.."

"I don't know about that. I didn't mean to wake you though." For someone as abnormal as he actually is, he thinks normal thoughts most of the time. He has no idea at all what her problem is. At the moment he reads nothing more into her outbursts than he's woken her from drifting off while climbing into bed.

He hasn't forgotten earlier, and something's evidently still got her on edge, but it's not usually good to pick at things that might fester, so he let's whatever will happen be without his direct interference.

"Can I get you anything to help you wind back down?" Is the only thing he asks. No prying questions, no whispered sentiments about how she could tell him anything, and definitely no moves to actively comfort her unless she seems to cue him. He's figured out she's an emotionally guarded person before now.

"No, no," she shakes her head. There's that raw quality to her voice again, "it wasn't you." It sort of was, but that's just too much to explain.

"I work all day tomorrow and it's going to be a long day: do you have anything that'll help me sleep?" She doesn't want to dream, doesn't want to wake up until a full eight hours later. Looking over at Hugh, she's really kind of glad he walked in on her melt down. She's going to have to do something nice for him sometime soon.

"I'll get you something." he gets back up. "Anything I shouldn't give you?" Because whatever he gives her is going to look like a pill, even if it isn't an ordinary pill. Magic sleep aids have no side effects.

"No, but get me two or three. Normal dosages don't work with me." You wouldn't know it by looking, would you? She doesn't know why, either, it's a recent development in her life.

"Two or three it is." Then he goes.

A few minutes later he's back with two normal enough looking gelcaps. They look like nighttime cold, a greenblue color. He's also got a glass of juice. "Here."

If they're not real pills, Sadah doesn't know. She hasn't got a lick of magic in her body if you don't count her resistance to substances. Anyway, she doesn't need to be able to detect spells or magic, that's what hired help is for.

Oh, juice. She didn't even know that she wants juice. Juice it is and it makes her glad. Those gloriously teal pills make her even gladder. She knocks them back with no hesitation.

After finishing the juice, she plays with the glass in her hand.

"Thank-you. I really mean it, Hugh. I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you've done for me tonight."

She looks over at him, and there's barely a shadow of hesitation in her eyes.

"Can I ask for just one more favor?"

"Hmm, what's that?" he asks, as if it's no problem at all for her to ask for anything.

"Can I hold on to you tonight?" Her desire to be comforted has won out over the fact that it might send her into more flash backs. She's medicated, so she'll be fine. Besides, sometime during the night she's likely to kick him away by accident, anyway.

Sadah's lain back down, her eyes are starting to droop already.

"Sure, whatever you need." he says. Definitely something's bugging her. At least what he gave her will keep her asleep and dream free. He takes the glass and sets it on the bedside table then climbs back into bed.

She loops her arm over his waist and scootches over so that she can put her head on his shoulder comfortably. Ah, blissful slumber.

"G'night, Hugh."

"Goodnight." he tells her softly. He knows at anytime she ought to drop off now.

She does. And eventually she wakes up again. But it's a good, even number of hours later and they passed like a blink. Which is nice. Sadah wakes up slowly, languidly and with a long stretch that gets partially blocked by the headboard. When her eyes open, she notes with satisfaction that she did not, in point of fact, steal all the covers from her bedmate. Points to her.

Hugh is already awake, as the sounds of his shower attest to. He is also, a morning person. There's a pot of coffee already perking in the kitchen.

Sadah briefly entertains the thought of joining him but decides against it. Not after yesterday.

Speaking of yesterday, Sadah truly wants to do something nice for him. Thus, she decides to make breakfast. It's a short walk from the bedroom to the kitchen (to anywhere, really), and while on her brief journey, Sadah realizes that she has nothing to change into and no way to get home. Well, she has the nice guy, obviously.

Best not to worry about it now. Sadah rummages through the kitchen to procure the supplies she needs. Does Hugh like eggs? Well he better learn real quick if he doesn't because that's what Sadah's making.

Lucky for Sadah, Hugh likes food, with little real prejudice. Breakfast can be smelled as he gets out of the shower.

He dresses for work, if she's cooking breakfast, it would only be polite to skip the gym and partake. Besides, they probably should work out how she's getting home.

Are those footsteps she hears?

"Yo. Food's up."

She's prepared two plates with eggs and some bacon she found, as well as set out a glass of juice for each. She makes super short work of cleaning up the pan and utensils and sits down to eat.

"So..good morning."

He's fixing his tie as he comes out to the kitchen. He can't help but smirk at the 'yo' it's charming in it's own way.

"Good morning. Did you get enough sleep then?" it's a semi rhetorical question. She can answer but he's confident she did with what he gave her.

"You need me to drop you off at your place?" He's not sure how that may go over, she may not want him knowing where her place is afterall. She does have a serious wardrobe malfunction though, and going to her place should solve it.

He digs in while he waits for her answer, smiling and nodding approvingly. Mmmm, bacon.

Hugh gets a semi-answer to his semi-rhetorical question with a semi-nod. It's whole true, though, she slept great. That's what he gets when she doesn't feel like waiting till she's done chewing to answer. However, Sadah's fairly confident that Hugh doesn't really care how she answers.

She's glad he likes her cooking, but it's really not enough to say thanks. Maybe she'll keep her eye out for some rare and awesome artifact floating around the black market. If something shows that seems right, she'll probably swipe it if she feels like. Let's leave her feelings of gratitude at that.

Her clothing...is probably not quite appropriate to ride the bus in, huh? Shame. Her hair probably looks like Frankenstein's monster. "No, actually, I was going to walk back like this. Maybe take a detour through the Fast Food District, see what sort of crazy high jinks I can get myself into, maybe take down a few street gangs while I'm at it," she shrugs with nearly a grin. "Who knows? Could be fun."

"Could be stupid if you want to get to work on time too, but I'm not your mother." He shrugs. It's a shame that he didn't think to magic up some generic clothes for her while she was asleep.

"I could loan you a trench coat, or maybe even my jeep, but you'd have to ask nicely." He's not being at all flirty about that either, normally ask nicely means something lewd from him, but his tone makes clear he's actually serious. It's rare.