"Another!" I say, slamming the now empty glass cup on the wooden bar-top.

"Ma'am, I think you've had enough for tonight," the old barman replies, taking the glass away.

"I don't pay you-u-u, to tell me when I've had enough," I burp, "I pay you to give me vodka."

"Actually, you don't pay me. You pay for the drinks," he shakes his head, "What am I doing, trying to reason with a drunk?" he mutters to himself.

"Then, what's alllllllll this?" I produce a stack of bills from my wallet and start peppering it on the bar.

"Ok, that's enough. I'm calling you a cab." He turns around to where a phone is hanging on the wall. Who still has phones with cords?

I stand up abruptly from my stool, knocking over the one next to me by accident. "Whoops." A small hiccup escapes me.

"I can wa-a-alk, sir." Just as I am about to show him how much I can indeed, walk, I stumble and fall face first on the grimy floor. "Owww!" Thank god there are no other patrons here. This is actually why I chose this place. No one ever comes to this seedy pub.

I had come with the full intention of getting hammered tonight. The alcohol cabinet at home was empty and most grocery stores were closed by the time I dropped Margaret off to her place.

I hear the bell at the door chime. I start pulling myself up, aware that the bar tender and the new arrival are talking amongst themselves.

"Ok Lady, your friend is here to get you," says the bar tender. I lift my head up to find Death looking down at me with a rather displeased expression. Of course, here comes the big, bad wolf.

"He is not my friend," I hiccup, "He is actually very unfriendly, sir. As in, do not be his friend." I start shaking my finger at him.

Death cocks his head at me. His scowl turns into a barely concealed amused expression.

"Ok, Emma. Let's get you home," he says. Then, turning to the bartender with an apologetic look, he adds, "Thank you for looking after her, sir."

He tries to help me up to my feet, but I shrug him off. I am not handicapped.

"Wait, before you go. She left all this money," he motions to the numerous dollar bills scattered around the place.

"Keep it, you more than deserve it," replies Death with a small smirk. He grabs my arm and starts pulling me to the door.

"But there's about two grand in there," he says in shock.

"Don't wo-o-oorry about it," I wave him off, "I can make that back just by kill-" Death clamps a hand on my mouth.

"I'm sure you'll put it to good use. Have a nice night," he tells him with a tight smile while I am struggling to remove his huge hand from my face.

We come out onto the deserted street and I get a sense of Déjà Vue. He pulls his hand away from me before I have the time to bite it.

"Wow, I have no words for what just happened," says Death, looking perplexed.

I walk up to him with confident steps, grab both of his arms and shut my eyes tightly. I take note of the fact that my hands barely cover a third of his bicep. I have never touched him there. His arms are quite hard. You would never know he sports such big muscles under all the hoodies and cloaks he always wears. I wonder if he has to workout like us mortals. Or maybe he is just blessed with eternal fitness. Lucky bastard.

"What are you doing?" he interrupts my thoughts.

I open one eye to see him looking intently at me with one corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Waiting for you to teleport us," I nod my head and shut back my eye.

"What am I, your personal lift now?" he scoffs.

"No, more like," I tap my chin a few times, "my fairy godmother. And giving me a ride is a part of your fairy godmother responsibilities." I hiccup.

"You did not just call me that," he says with an edge to his voice.

"Yes. I've got you alllll figured out, Death," I poke his chest, but because my eyes are closed, my finger does not hit anything. Instead, I stumble forward a little but he catches me by placing both hands gently on my waist. "That's why you're always there getting me out of trouble, isn't it?"

"Something like that," he mutters.

The next second, I feel my bedroom carpet under my shoes.

When I finally open my eyes again, Death is staring at me with those beautiful, black eyes of his. They are so dark, so intense that I could get lost in them. When I think he is about to let go of me, he pulls me closer. I become aware of his hands on my waist and how our bodies are brushing against each other. Normally, I would push him away, but the alcohol fogging my brain forces me to stay there. I breath in his deliciously masculine smell, like the earth, the wind and the trees. As though an invisible force is pushing me, I feel the need the run my hands all over him. To touch him, taste him.

"Death..."

"Yes?" he answers huskily.

"You should probably go." I mutter without moving out of his arms.

"Yeah."

A moment passes during which neither one of us moves. I admire the moon light reflecting off his face. All sharp, perfect lines. I want to run my finger along his scar, smooth out the lines of his frown.

This has to be the alcohol.

"Go to bed, Emma." Then, his eyes take on a strange yellow hue. As they bore into mine, I am unable to stare anywhere else but at them. "And tonight, there will be no nightmares. You will sleep all night long without interruption. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I hear myself say in a faraway voice, feeling as though I am stuck in some sort of trance.

The last thing I remember is of someone laying me down in bed.