She fights like she's dancing, all twists and twirls and flying curls.
He shouldn't think it's beautiful - death and more death in a blaze of light, at the hands of the woman he loves more than life itself - but he does. Always has.
He can't help it. He knows he shouldn't like it so much. That he shouldn't want to pull her down on the ground immediately she's finished killing every enemy in the room bar him. It shouldn't make him want to pin her to the harsh metal of the floor and ravish her until neither of them can walk or see straight. She's a killer, after all. He's not supposed to want her. Not after what she's done. But oh, he does. He does.
After all, he's a killer too. It doesn't make a difference that he never meant to be, not really.
Intention and action and reaction are so disparate and so intertwined with them both. He and River are the same, deep down inside. They both know this, and neither of them talk about it.
He watches her back while she's fighting. She leans and dives, ducks and spins like she's a ballerina.
Beta-read by dqbunny.