The steady rumble of the car engine was the only sound as I sat in the front passenger seat of Aslo's beloved Black Betty. The fabric on the seat was synthetic, but the cushioned softness felt like luxury against the ache in my joints.

The car wasn't anything fancy. It didn't seem to deserve the level of reverence Aslo treated it with. But, as I took in the obscure collection of music stashed in the centre console, and the obnoxiously sweet air freshener dangling from the rear review mirror, I wondered if Aslo's love wasn't for the car itself, but what it represented. It was his, a place where the Council's influence didn't stretch. He could listen to what he wanted, go where he wanted, and pack it full of the things he enjoyed without fear that the Council would one day send him somewhere new. It gave him a belonging, both a thing to own and a place in this world that was his.

Or maybe the past twenty-four hours had taken its toll, and I was seeing meaning where there was none. Nothing more than a guy and his car, and whatever weird bond machinery and speed created.

Either way, I was glad of the distraction, rather than dwell on what Aslo had meant when he looked towards R's body and told Atticus he would 'fix it' before he left. So, for once, I ignore the thirst for knowledge pinging questions through my head, of how and what and when, and instead I took the keys Aslo offered and trudged outside. The cold had pinched at my skin, even through the black hoodie Atticus had given me from the back seat, but there was something comforting about feeling that nip. It reminded me of the difference between R and I. One body, as cold as the air around us and soon to be as hard and brittle as the frost under foot, and the other warm and alive.

Atticus had started the car and turned the heating up before he'd left to finalise plans with Aslo, but even in the warmth I could feel myself shaking. The kind of juddering that made my teeth chatter and my fingers tremor. I clenched my jaw and sat on my hands as soon as I saw Atticus close the door to the Centre. The cuts and burns on my arms stung as they rubbed against my jeans.

Atticus slid into the driver's seat, and I mustered a weak smile while his eyes scanned over me. His gaze darkened until it met mine.

"Never again." His voice was soft but full of violence. I shivered as his fingertips lightly touched the bruise around my neck then carefully moved the sleeves back to inspect the rope burns on my wrists. His book flickered into existence from wherever it had been, and he reached to tear out a page.

With a quick painful movement, I placed a hand on top of his to stop him.

"But you're in pain?"

Years ago, I'd often sought solace in pain. But this felt different.

"I am, but it's a good kind of pain." Before, the need had been wrought from feeling weak. A need to escape, to feel something other than the self-loathing I'd drowned myself in. This felt stronger. "The last twenty-four hours have been surreal, and the pain helps me remember that it was real. That I survived... even if it was a bit closer than I'd like," I mumbled the last few words as I traced the bruising on my neck.

Atticus leant towards me in a movement that still made my blood simmer, in spite of the adrenaline leaving my body. I fought the inappropriate urge I had to lick, and suck, and bite the thick column of his neck, while he reached behind my seat. I wished I could say shock had a strange effect on a person's body, but I knew shock had little to do with it. Even when I denied it in our early weeks, Atticus had always had a feral effect on me. Now, with my emotions heightened, and the pressing dark around us, the itch wanted nothing more than to pick up our kiss from where we'd left it.

Whether he could hear the way my breath hitched, or the flutter of my heart, Atticus pulled back slowly, until I could almost feel his lips brush against the shell of my ear. An infinitesimal turn, and I knew his mouth would be on mine.

"Are you going to kiss it better?" I teased, tilting my neck to bare more of my throat. His breathy laugh fluttered against my skin. The light delicious feeling of his lips followed. Soft kisses traced the dark red bruises ringing my neck, irreverent and careful. His tongue brushed against the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending a shiver of delight down my spine.

"I thought I would try something more conventional," he murmured before he placed a final kiss on my cheek and pulled back with a small first aid kit in his hand.

"Since when does a Watcher need a first aid kit?"

"We may be more durable than humans, but sometimes faster healing isn't enough."

Olivia's blood on my hands flashed through my head. I swallowed deeply and the sting of pain from my throat sliced through the desire dancing in my veins.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any painkillers in here, but I'll get you some when we get back," Atticus said while his expressive eyes tightened with my pain.

I willed the gruesome image away. Instead, I chose to focus on the way Atticus' eyes watched me closely in the dim light cast by the car's headlights.

"Don't worry about it, I've got some in the flat. Pain and being a girl kind of go hand in hand." I tried to joke but from the way Atticus' lips flattened, I knew he heard the truth behind my words.

He reached for my hands. "Can I?"

I nodded, wincing at the movement, and placed my hands in his. Carefully he cleaned the cuts and burns. Even with his deft touches, I swallowed down the urge to hiss with pain whenever the swab touched the angry rope burns.

Sometimes I thought that pain was the cost of femininity. We had to learn to endure it, embrace it, imbue it into our very fabric, because from it we could draw strength and resilience. From those first growing pains when our body stretches and contorts, forging curves from supple, pliant bodies, to the gauntlet of hormones running rampant, twisting and cramping. Like some bizarre exposure therapy for life's many allergens, we'd been conditioned to deal with pain. So that when shit hits hard, we don't break, we bend. We suck in a breath, absorb the agony and greet it like an old acquaintance on the street, before letting it pass by.

I had never done that with the pain R caused. I'd held on to it, forced it to stay where it didn't belong, because it had seemed better to cling to that old acquaintance, and the memories of times long passed, than let it go and risk walking on alone. Was it any wonder that it had festered, grown angry and poisonous?

One day, all that hurt and rage is going to bubble over. Olivia was right, on some level, and as I looked out into the darkness - towards the place where R would lay slumped in a chair - I knew that I had to let it go. I wanted to leave it here, in this place that smelt like wet rotting wood and sodden soil. I wanted to bury it amongst the decaying leaves and let it rest with Mr R. But to do that I had to face it, to own it.

I pulled my gaze from the doors of the Centre and looked back at Atticus as he finished wrapping a bandage around my wrist. I drew a breath, expecting the words to catch in my throat like they had with Olivia, but the fear which had gripped me then didn't come.

Despite all the things we still had to talk about, one thing I was certain about was that I trusted him. It went against the one rule I'd lived by for the past five years, but I could feel it rooted in my core, he was the exception. With him, I could weather this storm.

"That man in there..." I started, dropping my gaze to the way our hands entwined in the space between us. I didn't look up, but I could feel his eyes on me.

His hands stilled where they were tucking the end of the bandage.

"You've been through a lot tonight, Anna, you don't have to do this," he said softly while his thumbs drew reassuring circles on the back of my hands.

I glanced towards him, my breath catching at the ardour burning from his gaze. It was nothing but warmth, and safety, and something that made me feel strong and brave.

I squeezed his hand gently as I replied, "yes I do."