Loss

Sheridan studied the man before her with a cold expression that would worry the savviest poker player. He was atypical for a bounty hunter, sporting an expensive 3 piece suit on his six foot, medium build frame, clean-shaven, and steel-eyed. She knew this would not be one of the usual simple fights that generally ended up with her pursuer in the hospital or dead while she was long gone. No. This was going to be...fun.

“I don't think you look like a Cynthia,” he said with a bit of teasing in his deep, clear tone that reminded her of those sexy baritone jazz voices she liked so much. If this guy wasn't so clearly dangerous, she'd already be trying to get him into bed. “You look like a Sheridan to me.”

Her suspicions confirmed, the demonic shadows that to this point were simply waiting with her sprung to life, encircling her, infusing themselves with her, anticipating the gun before she ever saw it. With a lightning-quick leap, she was behind the bar before he could get the shot off, and with the sound, the music in the club stopped as people screamed and ran for the exits.

----------------------------------------------------------

With a sly grin, Sheridan rolled off of him and left the bed. She'd been right about how much fun the fight itself would be, and the sex after was almost as good. With a lazy flick of her hand, the shadows gathered her strewn clothing and settled it in the bathroom as she stopped just at the door to turn back and look at the bed.

“Don't overstay your welcome, Samuel,” she said in a soft, almost tender way, giving him a playful grin. She knew he'd be gone by the end of her shower. They always were. If the fight hadn't shown them that they were out-classed, the sex was a more than satisfactory trade-off for the lost bounty and often bruised ego.

In the end, though, they meant nothing. In fact, of late, it seemed like everything was nothing. Ever since she'd gained control of the demonic entities that once enslaved her, she'd enjoyed everything her new-found freedom could afford her. She took jobs that she knew she shouldn't be able to walk away from. She partied hard. She drank too much. Her bed was rarely empty. She'd made a mint and spent it.

None of it meant anything. She'd already lost love more times than any woman should have to. She'd pushed away any meaningful friendships she'd had. She was lost in the darkness that the demons were, and she welcomed the sense of oblivion they brought. In being given control over them, she'd been influenced by them more than ever before. Why not? She no longer had to fight their control, so of course, she'd let them in. After all, they'd at least remained constant in her life when no one else would be.

Well...when Jadzia wouldn't be.