do it for her (Eva)

[Ivan Avlang]

If you work for the devil you better be ready to die for him.

But what happens when one you love works for him? What if you had to go back to Russia while she worked for the man with the cloven hoof and you could do nothing? And that man was the one who made you restless enough to leave a place that could have been the freedom you needed?

What then?

Well, when the battle has been fought and the devil lays dying, you must return. That world may be resistant, and they may even hate you, but it's time to go back, because if they hate you, what do they think of her?

Ivan's return was one that was almost completely undisturbed. No one cared about him whenever Eva wasn't near, though his massive stature did turn some heads. He moved quickly through the streets, finding his way to the manor that Eva had gotten them to live in. It must have been lonely. He didn't know how he could have left, though the choice wasn't his.

Though it was still winter, the cool air wasn't that cold for Ivan, considering his disinterest in the environment around him, though it did make his jacket feel tighter. His only luggage was a duffel bag, as being a soldier had taught him, he should pack lightly. His hand found a key buried in his pocket, and he used it to open the heavy wooden door that served as the entrance to the van Drakke manor. It creaked as he opened it, slammed shut once he moved into the large house.

He dropped his bag on the table, and moved upstairs. She wasn't there. She wasn't expecting him or anything, but he would have know, she would have felt him, and she would have given him a rush of excitement once he entered. It was for the best, but he hoped she was doing alright.

The dark eyes shifted across the house as he moved upstairs, rotating his wrists as he went. Once in the glorious bedroom with a hand-carved mahogany bed in the center, he pulled the colors and paints that he had left behind from a trunk in the walk-in closet.

The room smelled of fur, a scent that he loved. She always smelled of fur and pastries. He sat down and got to work on the wall that was painted the color of eggshells. He twisted his fingers around his hand, a paintbrush forming from the energy he found in himself. Ivan dipped the strange brush into the paint, and began his work. Her face was clear in his mind. It had been since the day that they had met. Her almond-shaped eyes that were both harsh and charming, feeling so much, knowing so much. Her lips and acute jaw angle were formed with a pale porcelain color and the yellow-gold hair with his favorite browns and platinum hues worked in.

Ivan was trained to be a killing machine, but his artwork meant the everything to him.

And for the woman he painted on the wall, he would make the world his enemy for her. So the devil may want her, but he would have to go through Ivan first.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

It was a disaster. Gabriel was dead; they didn’t have a chance. She knew that. It was why she had pulled out of the MSAD. And while she was sure the others did not understand, she did not care. It wasn’t important. Nothing really was anymore. All she could do was go home, pop a valium and wait this one out. There was a plan for keeping her out of the school’s prying eye, once she could muster herself to do it. An effort of any kind was a strain now.

As her car drew up to the manor, a tiny frown creased her otherwise blank expression. The gate had been left open. Had she done that? She could not remember... and she had yet to hire a new security team since she had fired the last one for letting someone break in and steal her files. Their idiot excuse about electricians had been pathetic. Well, if someone was in the house she could handle it herself. She needed someone to unload her own frustration on; a cat burglar would do nicely.

Pushing the door open with a sigh, Anastasia suddenly froze. There was someone here. Most assuredly. Not close enough to sense anything other than <confidence> she started at the stairs, not bothering to be silent. It was getting stronger as she neared her room, and Anastasia saw red. If anyone was in there, if they had touched anything...

<affection/love/concentration>

Oh god..

Every inch of her screamed to race up the stairs and see, make sure that she wasn’t in fact finally insane, that her mind hadn’t snapped and left her imagining things that weren’t there, shouldn’t be there. A van Drake never runs, but Anastasia’s walk moved quickly as she reached her room and stopped. Taking a breath, bracing herself, she pushed open the door.

Ivan. ”Ivan,” she said faintly, gripping the small table just inside the door in case she fell. ”You’re back?” Without waiting for an answer she strode (not ran) to him and glanced at the portrait, then back to him. Carefully, slowly, in case she was hallucinating, she touched his cheek. Real. He was real. Her knees were shaking but she would not faint, only weak willed girls fainted.

Her other hand was shaking, so she clenched it into a fist to hide the tremors. If he was here, if this was him... her hand moved to cup his cheek and after looking with concern at a new scratch down his temple she finally smiled, faintly. Why was she bothering with words?

<love/need/missedyousomuch>

[Ivan Avlang]

He watched her come in, and both of them seemed to be frozen for just a moment in time. Then she came to him, and her hand was upon his face and she almost seemed close to breaking. And then came her words.

"You're back?"

They were relived, wonderful. He let the corner of his mouth trail up, but at the same time a rush of pain came over his chest. Had she thought that he would not return? How could she doubt him for one moment? And then, with her standing before him, he felt the rush and high of her emotions projected into him. Before Eva, he rarely felt anything but so much hate, and though his heart was still dark, it was a burden lifted when she could make him feel things, using her abilities or not.

He was on his feet in an instant, the brush he had formed from his energy dissipating, the paint that had been on it falling to the floor with the quietest slashing sound. He didn't care, because he had her in his arms, one hand snaked in her thick blonde hair, and his mouth upon hers. He projected all of his affection, his passion and his need into her, knowing she could feel it, wanting her to know how hard it had been since he had left.

He devoured her with that kiss, tasting her lipstick and her tongue, he didn't care. The scent of her furs and her thousand-dollar fragrances in his nose. He wanted her in every way, to feel her in every way. But he had to speak, though it was something that didn't happen often. So with all of his power, he pushed her back onto the bed, lying on top of her, his dark eyes staring into hers.

"I'm taking you away, Eva. Oh, god, whatever it takes. I've disappeared before, I can't let you stay here with that fucker. They're dogs, nothing more, nothing less, I've killed too many of other just like them in my time, and others won't have a hard time killing them, either."

He took a breath, pulling her closer.

And when you go back to hell to find the one you love, is it even possible to come out again?

[Anastasia van Drakke]

Anastasia’s fingers traced the corner of Ivan’s mouth as he smiled. Without thought her own lips curved, even as she his felt <regret/pain/didyoudoubt?> It lasted only a moment, enough to sting, before it was crushed by the <affection/love/needyou>. Empaths Anastasia had met always complained about their issue with touch, of loosing themselves in how other people felt. The heiress couldn’t really sympathize: being able to let someone else’s emotions take you over was otherworldly, something no powder or pill could ever emulate.

God, she had missed him.

Her back hit her bed with a soft thump and she detangled her arms from their place around Ivan’s neck to start pulling off his coat (and what was he wearing?), her fingers moving fast on his shirt buttons. She wanted him, now. It was almost an ache. When he pulled back she looked at him with mild surprise, eyebrows raised even as she worked to control her breathing and bring it back to normal. He wanted to talk, now? It was hard to hear him over the surges she was feeling from him, from her. Just want, .

Ivan was a man of few words, and Anastasia’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. For him, that was like reciting War and Peace. Anastasia opened her mouth to answer, then paused to think. ”Ivan, no, it’s alright,” she said slowly, <calm/relax> rippling from her, one hand on his back even as her leg wound around his. ”I left. I only found out today... Underwood’s dead. I left. They’re screwed, and I didn’t care enough,” without you here she added silently, ”To throw myself into a suicide mission.”

Her eyes suddenly widened and she gripped the back of Ivan’s coat tightly, her nails digging in. ”You can’t go there,” she said quietly, one hand running through his hair. ”You can’t see them. You did not coming back to me just to be killed in some kamikaze battle with that fucking school.” Gabe wasn't worth that. Hell, Anastasia doubted anyone, anything was.

If I had one day left to live
I'd lock the doors and windows
And keep you in

It would kill her. She would loose her mind, she would go insane, he couldn't leave again. She wouldn't let him. He couldn't. The thought made her feel sick. Her arms tightened around him, making sure he was solid, was safe. Her fingers felt the hard ridge of old scar tissue along his neck, checked for any new marks apart from the one she had identified at his temple. What had happened to him? Who had hurt him? No one would do that again, not while she could breath, or twist a mind.

If I had one day left to live
I'd wrap myself around you
And breathe you in

[Ivan Avlang]

Ivan's eyes narrowed as Eva told her what had happened. He knew now that he shouldn't have left. He hated that faggot in death more than he had while the devil had been alive. How could he have let himself die and leave the others in this situation? How could he have died and left Eva?

No one had even called him from the slums of Russia to come back to help. He won't have minded if everything that meant something to him had been in danger by just being associated with the pathetic group.

But, he couldn't deny his relief that she had left. He could fend off them all if they came for her, as desertion was something that had consequences so often, and he would end them before the school could even get their hands on the useless activist group.

Ivan pulled Eva into him, breathing her and holding her. If there hadn't been anything else he needed to know, he would have her, and they would be wrapped up together like some beautiful type of human origami. He couldn't just yet. He needed to know what had happened while he was away.

"If you are rid of them, then I won't go back." Ivan said simply, his discomfort with talking coming back. It was only with her that he would say so much. The useless man that had been the leader of the MSAD was gone, and there was nothing left. What had happened in his absence? Ivan held himself above Anastasia, looking into her bright eyes. He liked having her to himself again. It was just them, the two that would make it out of Armageddon.

Ivan was many things. He was a mercenary, a soldier, a killer.
But with her, he became something else. Something between the waves of emotions and her way of choosing his clothes and his paintings and her words, he became gentler, but only for her.

He pressed his relief and his love into her, breathing evenly. "God damn, the fag's dead," he sighed, his mouth smiling the slightest bit. He couldn't help it. "I've liked it better with just the two of us, anyway." He kissed her, her body familiar and soft.

"Don't let me leave again."

[Anastasia van Drakke]

The <anger/disgust/contempt> Ivan was feeling was not perhaps justified, but the Russian duo had their own sort of logic. Anastasia ran her fingers down his cheek, making sure Ivan didn’t get too caught up in his anger and disappear into it for too long. Ivan and Anastasia where not strangers to all consuming rages, but now was not the time.

She pressed her face to his neck as he pulled her closer, smelling smoke and vodka and paint. His <want/lust/now> made her gasp, and though she felt it lessen when he decided to wait her own mind started to race. The honeypot. She had to tell him. She couldn’t lie with him while holding that back, it wasn’t how they worked. No secrets. No lies. Not to each other.

Soon. She would tell him soon. In a moment.

”Good,” she whispered, her lips still against his neck. No one was taking him away from her, the meta cause could wait. He was more important anyway. His <curiosity> pressed her, but his <love> was stronger, was always stronger and she smiled in relief as the curiosity lessoned. Soon. He would be angry, he would be furious, but they would be alright. It would take more than this to hurt them. Anastasia had forgiven him for leaving as soon as he had told her. It had hurt, more then she realized she could live with, but she had not held it against him.

It was them against the world, and she knew it. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

A small laugh; Ivan’s intolerance for homosexuals was rivaled only by her own. Abominations the lot of them. She looked up at him with a satisfied smile, and kissed him softly. ”Just you and me,” she repeated, sighing and letting her own <love/affection/satisfaction> ease through his emotional spectrum.

He made her feel safe, he grounded her and made sure she never got lost in the rage and emptiness that pressed on her, and the surges the people outside gave her that drove her to madness. He loved her, without her ever planting the feelings there.

And so, she would tell him that she had almost slept with a teacher from the very school they wanted to destroy.

”Ivan, I wouldn’t,” she said softly, then sighed and fell back, closing her eyes. ”I need to tell you something.” She did not want to explain this, even more so when he as lying on top of her and all she wanted to do was enjoy him. ”I was given a mission while you were gone.” Her mouth twisted, and she shifted back so she could sit up and cup her hands to frame his face. ”It was a honeypot,” she said finally. ”New teacher at Hammel. English. Old. We didn’t,” She couldn’t actually say any of the words that would be used to describe... it. He would understand.

It wasn't her safety she would have to worry about, though.

”We were interrupted and my cover was blown. He destroyed the downstairs guest room, and I may have torn apart the parlor.” she finished, then smoothed her hair behind one ear. It was a little mussed from the mattress. ”I don’t need to tell you it was nothing. You know that. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have agreed, but I was,” she looked down at her hands, nervously. ”I was loosing grip. Ivan,” her hands still cradling his face she lent forward, hoping he wouldn’t lean back.

”I need you to stay calm. You can’t go after him, we can’t afford a dead teacher being pinned here.” she was sending as much <calm/restraint> as she could, though was ready to loose a few breakables in her room. ”I need you to control it, I need you to stay here with me.”

[Ivan Avlang]

He stopped breathing, and he could swear on his life that his heart stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment, her words falling on top of him, hitting and burning and tearing. It was worse then the shots that were poured into his veins to make him stronger, it was worse than his worst torture he had been in years ago.

Knowing she was offered to someone else, and the fact he couldn't do anything was infuriating. He couldn't go after the man, who probably still smelled of Eva. His body shook in rage, and he sat up, running his hands through his hair. He had to calm down, but he could feel the rage wanting to be made physical, but he couldn't. He didn't dare let one of those creatures out.

He felt trapped. There was nothing that he could do with all this rage he had. He once used this kind of energy to tear apart soldiers that kept him captive, but there was nothing that he could do here. He couldn't even hurt the devil that had sent her on the mission, that had let her go on the mission, for he was lucky enough to be dead. Luck that Iva hadn't been around to wring his neck like a hunter would a half-dead duck's neck.

"Fuck it all!" Ivan roared, his heavy boot coming up to smash the lamp that sat next to the bed. The glass shattered, some pieces sticking into the thick rubber sole of his combat boot. He wanted to kill something, to take it all out on someone he hardly knew. He wanted snap necks and tear people apart. He wanted blood, but he couldn't get it.

He looked over towards her, her hair disheveled and her dress slipping off one of her thin shoulders. Never could he be mad at her, all his anger went to the man who sent Eva on her mission, and the man who she went to seduce. He was mad at himself for leaving. How could he have let that happen?

His back teeth ground together, and he tossed off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. He took a heavy breath back in, turning to her again.

"You are all I have, " He murmured, drawing close to her, cupping her face in his hands. "I won't let anyone take you away from me, but I won't-" he paused. Though he was a specialist, he wasn't comfortable with talking about his missions out loud, Ivan was conditioned to be uneasy about it, but this was Eva. "I won't kill him if it risks you. And an apology is not needed, for I do not see you at fault." He swallowed more of his burning jealousy and inner pain, trying to put it beneath the blanket of calmness he usually sported.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

<hurt/helplessness/frustration/rage> swept through the empath like acid, and her own frame shook with the force of it. Anastasia kept contact, leeching it out of him slowly. Without an outlet it could turn inward, self destruct. She was not letting that happen. A flinch twitched her as Ivan kicked out, but it was at the spike of <anger> that had pierced her. Violence was nothing. The glass shattered and she pressed one hand to her temple as her mind pitched and reeled.

When he looked back to her she pushed away the <selfdoubt/anger> she felt in him and and held out her hands for him. Come here, I’ll fix it. I’ll help. I’ll do anything. Not your fault. Never your fault. His back was ridged, everything tense even as the mattress dipped to accommodate him. She looked up with worried eyes; even kneeling he towered over her. She felt him start to bury the <anger/jealousy/fury> deep down. The throbbing in her head lessened, even when he touched her the rage was starting to fall under control. Still, she was able to help properly now, covering his hands with hers and twisting the rage away.

”No one could take me from you,” Anastasia promised, her hands moving to finish off the last of the buttons on his shirt and easing it off his shoulders. ”I’m here. You’re here. That’s enough.” That's all we need

<calm/peace/loveme/rest>

The shirt mostly taken care of, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, looking up at him and, despite the lasting pangs and spikes of <anger/wrath> smiled slightly. He had nothing but her, she had everything but would set it alight and watch it burn for him. And as much as she wanted him to do what would make him feel better, no matter what it was, there was a big picture to think of. One that involved Ivan Alvang staying with her and not rotting in prison.

”I missed you so much,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his neck. If he couldn’t find a bloody outlet for his emotions, she would provide one of a different sort. Her mouth found his and she kissed him hard, her embrace tightening even as she let <love/want/need/now> slip through him to wash away the rest of the surface <hatred/anger> away. ”You’re not going away again.” It was not question. Her fingers ran through dark hair and she sighed happily, leaning into him as her cheek fit beside his collar bone as her nails ran over his back.

<missedyou/needyou/loveyoumorethaneverything>

[Ivan Avlang]

Ivan was not romantic, at least, no one would dare assume that of him. A better way to word him would say that he wasn't actively romantic. He didn't believe in roses or chocolates, or pretty rocks in precious metal. He never thought that petals leading to a meticulously-made bed with silken sheets made someone love you more or less.

And when the one you loved already had everything, all you had to offer was yourself. Suddenly, hiding behind roses and chocolates and lovely dresses didn't work.

Others had silver tongues and compared their loved ones to roses and the moon. Or to a piece of artwork painted by a master. Or they knew how to write poems to make a girl love them.

Ivan knew none of these things, nor did he ever have the desire. In fact, back in the darkness of a cell in Russia, where a young Ivan had painted pictures of things of a different world, there was never a doubt in his mind that he couldn't be a man like that. He had been sure as he was put through tortures that his empathy for any other humans was gone.

But Eva had been different. She made him feel things outside of hate and anger. She had inspired him to paint so much more, and probably most impressive at all, she knew his smile. There was probably no one else on earth who knew Ivan's smile. There probably was no one else on earth who knew Ivan even could smile.

The rush of serenity she pushed into him allowed Ivan to breathe again, feeling her give the emotions that she felt. The way she needed him and the way she loved him. It was so much different from his rage. Though he really felt the need to kill something or hurt someone, her words and feelings kept his anger at bay, the potential destruction that could come from his energies now dissipating.

He breathed her in again, letting the familiar and feminine scent filling his lungs. She fit into the contours of his body, the muscles and scars that made falls and rises of skin and mapping his body. she was warm, and her emotions gave him a new sort of energy. Her touch was intoxicating, her need and love infectious.

Her head nestled on his shoulder, and his hands fell down to her waist, slipping under her blouse, feeling her skin under the pads of his fingers. He didn't have words anymore, just what he felt, his dying rage and anger and jealousy being replaced with her affection and the feeling of need. Perhaps it was her, trying to stop him from destroying himself with the complex power he had been given. Or maybe it was him, trying clam his own emotions down so she would not feel the pain his emotions would project onto her.

In Russia Ivan was told of the army that he was to be a part of. Once enough metas with powers that could be used as weapons it was said that Russia would take over the world. Ivan's success had been proof of that.

"Don't you want to be part of this, Ivan? Don't you want to rule those beneath you? Don't you want this to take over the world?

"You are my world."

[Anastasia van Drakke]

His touch made her sigh and sink against him, Anastasia’s eyes growing hooded as she felt the rough scar tissue mapped out on Ivan’s back under her fingers. Not enough. More. She had waited, she had fasted, she did not want to wait any more. His <fury> was fading back into the soft buzz that she recognized him as, and she let what was there now, oh, there it was, sink through her veins and make her skin hum. She didn’t reply to Ivan’s words, though the truth behind them thrummed through her like the vibrations of a plucked guitar string. <loveyou/loveallofyou/always>

You’re everything. Stay.

Her hands slid down over his back, over his hips (new bruise, new scratch,) and deft fingers made short work of his belt. He was so warm. He was always so warm. She had noticed when he had carried her to his apartment, so long ago now. So warm. Her eyes slide shut as her blouse slipped off, and had she done that, had he? His heartbeat was echoing, loud and fast. She had missed it. She had missed him so much. Her arms were around his neck again as she kissed him furiously; his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, his neck. Everything she could reach. Each contact fizzed through her and it was perfect.

Slowly, she pulled him forward. If he had a care to, he would have had no problem resisting, throwing her off. Ivan could snap her like a twig, as her parents had noted nervously upon meeting their daughters tall, silent partner. Anastasia curled on leg around his thigh, her arms around his shoulders. For all the impatience that was bubbling inside her she didn’t make another move, her eyes were moving quickly to take in his face. But eyes could only do so much.

All yours. Anything you want.

He loved her. He had loved her unbidden, unordered. Anastasia had learnt very early that people never meant what they said. Her parents loved her, her brother loved her, but the rest? They lied. They used words without meaning them and Anastasia had despised it but accepted it; after all, what did emotions matter when she could shape them? She could be hated, feared, loved by anyone she chose, with a little effort. The finished product was warped but it was something.

Not Ivan. Someone who knew what it felt like to have nothing but hate and fury and to feel so empty, hollow.

And he loved her and she loved him for that, for loving her and for letting her love him.

<now>

Even monsters had hearts.