Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

You're WELCOME!

"You had no right to interfere!"

Priest's finger was nearly mining my nose with its proximity. I should have expected him to be mad. His slow recovery over the last three days was littered with glares, snarls, and not-so-witty insults about my personal faults. None of which bothered me, since he didn't know enough about me to hurt my feelings too deeply.

"You were dying!" I yelled back, nearly ready to bite his finger off.

My back was pinned to the stove. I was in the process of making him some cream of wheat for breakfast when I made the mistake of opening the can of worms marked: What's wrong? Traditionally men don't share their feelings, but given that Priest had no intention of rising on the third day, he had a lot to say to me.

"Why were you even there?" He pulled his finger back and ripped at his hair. The glossy black mess was freshly cleaned, but it still looked like he had just applied a hot oil treatment.

"To let you know my training was done! In case you were worried about me!"

"You should have left me there! How dare you interfere with God's will?"

"Overdosing is not God's will!"

"It is if he tells me to take it!"

"Jesus Christ, Priest, how nuts are you?" I hadn't expected him to slap me. I expected a lot of bluster and blow from him, but I didn't expect that. By the look I saw on his face after I recovered, neither did he.

"Oh, Lenore—" was all he got out before Devin tackled him to the floor.

"Damn it! Don't hurt him, Devin! I just put him back together!" I complained as I pulled at Devin's shoulder.

"He hit you!" Devin looked back at me, appalled by my casual attitude toward the abuse.

"No, he slapped me, and not even that hard." I squeezed his shoulder instead of pulling him. It seemed to draw him back more than my strength. "Besides, I'm on a first name basis with both Garrett's fists; I don't think one little slap is going to break me now."

Devin's eyes softened. He still didn't understand what had happened to me the last three months. He didn't need to. He didn't want to.

"What's going on here?" August came in from her sunrise watch.

"Nothing I can't handle," I said firmly, giving her a look that said stay out of it.

"Your breakfast is boiling over." She nodded to the stove.

"Son of a bitch!" I growled, tending to the mess on the stove. I could sense August smiling at me before I even looked at her. I narrowed my eyes at her even though my lips were starting to curl to mirror her. "What?"

"You cuss a lot more now," she said with a bigger smile.

I wasn't sure how to react to that. Her tone was complimentary. She seemed to be implying that my crassness was directly related to my confidence. If that was the case, I was very confident lately. "Shut up," I said when I couldn't think of a clever response. I had to look away from her, because I couldn't contain my smile.

Satisfied with the scene as such, and me in a state of flushed amusement, she headed upstairs. Behind me Devin had moved Priest to a chair and was brandishing his finger at him like Priest had only moments ago done to me. Devin's voice was too low for me to hear over the stove vent I had turned on, but from the look on Priest's face, he was no doubt discovering how thick Devin's chivalrous streak was. Priest nodded at him abjectly.

Devin turned around cracking his neck. I smiled, wondering if I should swoon so he could catch me too. He stopped before me and gently touched my cheek, as if he could undo the trauma of it all with his sweetness. His eye caught on something at my forehead and he shifted uncomfortably before plastering a smile on his face. He gave me a wet good morning kiss and shuffled off to give Priest and me privacy to continue arguing.

I instinctively touched the area that his eyes had caught on. A scar just under my hairline, long and ugly. I was thankful that it was there and not across my face. Garrett was just happy that I had managed to block him at the last second, since he would have split my skull. Not that the gash didn't bleed bad enough for us to be concerned about that.

It was one of many scars that Devin hadn't seen or noticed. My three months in training were no joke, which was why Priest's slap was more irritating than traumatizing. But once again, Devin didn't need to know all that. His knight in shining armor side would be outraged, and it would eat him alive to know he walked away so it could happen.

"Lenore," Priest said meekly.

"Oh, shit," I griped and turned back to the cream of wheat that had magically bubbled to near explosion again. "I was making enough for both of us, but this is only enough for one now." I turned back and Priest was right behind me. "Sit down!" I hadn't meant to say it so fiercely, but his presence had startled me and my only options were to yell or throw the mush on him. I never was much for wasting food.

Priest backpedaled with his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay." He sat down, placing his hands on the table flat like I might suspect he had a weapon otherwise. He watched me spoon the mush into a bowl and add an excess of honey and a little evaporated milk. Just a dash of cinnamon and I was pleased to offer my favorite childhood breakfast to him.

I slid the bowl across the table with a spoon stuck in it. He caught the dish, but kept his eyes on me. I sat down and waited for him to take a bite. His eyes melted into a flurry of desperate remorse. I already knew what he was going to say before he said it. "Lenore—"

"Shut up," I said, not wanting to hear the apology. It was written on his face the minute he did it. The sentiment in his eyes meant more to me than words. "Take a bite." He looked down at the unappetizing mush and dug the spoon in for a big bite. "Not like that, you heathen." I smirked. "Slowly. Let the texture be forgiven by the milk, and let the cinnamon just whisper over the honey."

He offered me a thin smile. He was trying to match my mood, but he still looked dejected. He took the bite, closing his eyes just as he had taught me with the strawberries. I smiled, watching him. It was probably a running joke among priests that if you couldn't have sex, at least you could have food.

When he opened his eyes, I could see a little of his agony had been eased.

"There," I said proudly. "Aren't you at least glad for that little Earthly delight?"

"Lenore—"

"Shush. Just eat. You need your strength. August doesn't let me keep strays." I winked. He narrowed his eyes, dubious of either my comment or my wink, I wasn't sure which. "I'm going upstairs to shower. Someone has kept me too busy to shave my legs and you know how women hate to miss shaving." His lip twisted in a smirk, but he didn't speak. "I trust I don't need to hide the steak knives." I said it like a joke but I raised my brow and waited for an answer.

"Thank you for the... breakfast," he said, stumbling over the definition of the sludge I was making him eat.

"It's cream of wheat, and if you don't like it—you lie to me and eat it anyway because I don't waste my favorite food on just anyone." I noted that he hadn't answered my question. "Priest..."

"I'm fine. I love the cream of wheat. I'm honored to be among the few you would offer it to. Go shave your legs." He nodded dismissively and I felt a tinge of guilt.

I wondered if he really did want to die. Maybe he was right about God's will. Maybe God just forgot him, and had planned to pick him up later. Conversely though, I couldn't help but notice that his suicidal overdose landed on the night after August came back. Any night before that and I wouldn't have been there. Wasn't that God's will too?