HAVE I TOLD YOU RECENTLY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU


Ben is safe asleep and her hands have stopped shaking. The TV is not mute, but plays at a whisper; she isn't ready for complete silence. She wants a cigarette, but she promised herself she'd quit by the end of the month and she is doing so well. Besides, cigarettes won't be doing her any favors the next time she's running away from monsters. Not that she will be. Because this is the last. She promised herself that, too. The morning will come and Claire will go back to school, finish her thesis, graduate. Ben can... do whatever it is he's been doing. He can do it without her. ("We make a great team," he grinned, pale cheeks splattered with werewolf blood.)

Ben when he sleeps usually goes all octopus and hogs all bedspace, but his injuries keep him fetal on one side, small. Claire leans against the headboard beside him, and switches between watching the TV and watching him, the white noise of the TV's mutterings and the contented breathing of the boy who taught her how to shoot a gun.