"and if I get burned,
at least we were electrified"
*begins at the end of season 2* (written before season 3)
One wrong move, and Valerie Claremont was dead.
on the Costal Venture, Rafe Cameron pressed a knife to her throat. In a life boat prepare...
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"What if he doesn't come?"
A day had passed, or so she had gathered, at least twenty four hours had been spent since they were locked up. The time was moving face pasted, with company amidst her usual solitude. Though her and Rafe hardly had much time to argue, yet alone speak at all, as the symptoms of his withdrawal had proved to persist and worsen with each growing hour. "He will." Speaking in barely a whisper he inhaled sharply. "He won't leave me in here."
A soft snort tumbled from her lips. "I really hope those aren't the odds you're betting on." She teased lightly, but it had seemed impossible to spark anger or even laughter in him lately. A challenge which she had took to rather quickly, helping pass the time.
His skin had grown pale, and coated in sweat. He looked concernedly ill and it had only seemed to amp up unlike she'd hoped. Though the ticking anger and growing craving for the drug seemed to turn into fatigue and a shaky restlessness.
"I'm going to be sick." The words left his mouth weakly.
It had been hours since the he first spoke the words, but with quite a bit of restraint he'd been able to hold back. Because frankly she could deal with the anger, the constant muttering, the tapping of his foot or even the punching on the door. But what she would not be able to handle was the vial smell of vomit floating around the tight closed cell, with no circulation.
"No." She spoke firmly, as if her words would be enough to stop his irking stomach from spilling its contents. "You're fucking not."
"Valerie." He groaned with a slight warning laced in his tone. She knew eventually he'd most likely have to give in. But hopefully, if he had just simply put if off long enough, the feeling would slowly fizzle away, and he'd move on to a new set of symptoms that didn't leave a lingering and atrocious smell.
He dragged a slow moving hand down his face with a heavy sigh. His breaths were slow and steady, trying to push away the constant waves of nausea rocking through his stomach.
"Rafe." She met his gaze slowly, and across the darkness she could barely make out the glint of his eyes. "You need to keep this shit down. Because if you throw up, its gonna stink up the cell, and then I'm gonna throw up."
His eyes fluttered shut, taking in quicker paced breaths as both of his shaking hands caught his face, while his head bowed. She tried to distract her mind, hoping that if time passed so would all of – this. That he'd grit his teeth and get over it. But all she could focus on was Rafe positively about to combust. She could see it etched along all of his features, how he held himself.
