The Repaid Favor Job

Things were progressing nicely along the path Eliot had laid out earlier that day, so to speak. A casual day out, an excellent dinner that he had prepared, a good bottle of wine; they were just settling in for the evening. So when Devil started barking like Hell was at the door, they were both more than a little frustrated.

“Stay back here,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry.”

Because that combination of words, Ophelia thought, would inspire confidence in any person.

It took some difficulty to get between the dog and the door, and finally Eliot had to point furiously back at the room he had exited.

“Go sit on Ophelia,” he ordered. Devil sat, an obstinate look on his face.

“I got this, okay? But just in case I don’t, I need you with her.” Reluctantly, Devil left Eliot to deal with the situation. Eliot was certain he’d find the dog on the bed, where he wasn’t supposed to be. But Ophelia was very soft hearted and Devil was crafty and would claim he was only following Eliot’s orders.

Eliot reached for the bat he kept behind the coats before easing the door open to find…Quinn?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eliot hissed.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Are you here to try to kill me, because I don’t have time right now.”

“You don’t have time? What are you doing?”

Eliot jerked his head toward a back room.

“I don’t have time,” he repeated. Slowly.  Menacingly.  With a glare. Quinn only grinned.

“That’s too bad, because I need a favor and you owe me one. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Eliot would rather have burned the place down, but that kind of response always raised more questions than it answered.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back to allow the man in. He turned on the tv then went back to tap on his own door, sticking his head in to find Ophelia and Devil on the bed, both reading something she had composed on her typewriter. “You two can come out,” he said. It was definitely against his better judgement, but the quality of the favor Quinn was about to call in might be swayed by his having a noticeably pretty girl and her large dog in his house.

Ophelia, preceded by the dog, padded out of the other room still carrying the typewriter and trying not to obviously smooth out her hair. Quinn stared; he hadn’t expected Eliot Spencer to have such a high-quality girlfriend, nor would he have expected the girlfriend to have her own…guard moose, he guessed.

“Quinn, this is my girlfriend. She’s a lot smarter than you so don’t think about it. Cupcake, this is Quinn. We have occasionally worked together. And this is her dog Devil. Devil, don’t eat him.”

Devil made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cupcake.”

“Charmed, Mr. Quinn.”

“Ah! Georgia!”

“I told you not to start, Quinn!”

“I’m not starting anything, I just asked—”

“Cupcake, do you want something to drink?” He had never, before tonight, called her Cupcake. He hoped she got it. She did: if her name wasn’t out there, whoever this guy was wouldn’t know it and be able to use it later. No, she thought.  There had been no need for her to worry about anything at all. She almost wished she gone out the window.

“No, Sweetie. I’m fine. I’ll just be here.” She half-heartedly gestured to the sofa, which Devil immediately jumped on to make sure it posed no threat.

“Do you want something, Quinn?”

“I—”

“Then come in here and get it.”

This was the closest to angry she’d ever heard him. He generally took things as they came; he was a pro at making the best of a bad situation. She angled herself away from pass-through to the kitchen so as to look like she was paying them no mind.

Eliot had a knife ready just at rib height when Quinn entered the kitchen.

Through gritted teeth he asked again, “Are you here to kill me?”

“Well if I was, your girl and her rhino just threw a wrench in that, didn’t they? I couldn’t kill you in front of witnesses without having to kill the witnesses too, and you know what a mess that can make.”

Eliot tossed the knife into the sink, knowing Quinn wasn’t under the impression that was his only weapon. It was part of the reason he’d called the other hitter into the kitchen. Knowing where the weapons lived was an advantage.

“Then what do you want? Make it fast.”

“Is that really a typewriter she’s using? I thought it looked like one but we can hear it all the way in here.”

“I can kill you with a scouring pad,” Eliot promised, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I need a little problem in Belarus solved,” Quinn said. “And I need to not be in Belarus when it gets solved. Two days, in, out, and you no longer owe me a favor.”

A long weekend in Belarus wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t great, especially popping up in the middle of the night as it did. But not owing a favor to Quinn any more would ensure this didn’t happen again. And maybe he could get Parker to—

“I’ll even babysit your girlfriend while you’re gone,” Quinn offered. “Because she’s the only reason I can think of you wouldn’t jump on solving this problem.” He passed a picture to Eliot, who didn’t need to see it. He knew.

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Eliot growled.

“Worse than letting this guy get free again? I only try to kill you for money, Spencer.” It wasn’t a threat; it was just the truth.

“Fine,” Eliot said. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I would never.”

“And don’t let me find out you put a hand on her either. I’ll let her dog eat your face off.”

“You always used to do your dirty work yourself, Spencer. I’m glad to see you branching out.”

“Shut up. When does this need to be done?”

“No later than Friday.”

It was Tuesday. Great.

“So we’re agreed? Great! We can all stay here!” Quinn said, loud enough for Ophelia to hear.

“That can’t be good,” she said to Devil.

When they emerged from the kitchen without drinks, Ophelia thought she got the picture.

“I’ve got to go, Foxy Chops,” she said. “I have an early meeting in the morning.” While Eliot thought it was admirable that she was making the attempt to not blurt out what she did, he was sorry he’d inspired that in her so quickly. She hadn’t hesitated to tell him what she did when he was a total stranger invading her booth on a Saturday morning.

“What is it you do, Cupcake?” Quinn asked from the loveseat.

“I’m an art dealer,” she said, with only the slightest hesitation. “I have a demanding client in New York who always wants to meet first thing, because he doesn’t care that he’s three hours ahead of us here.”

“How interesting. I look forward to hearing more about that. I don’t think I got your last name?”

“No, I don’t believe you did,” she answered with a smile before departing to get her shoes. Eliot turned a fierce glare on him.

“Look, man. I had to try.”

“Do not try anything with my girlfriend!”

He attached Devil’s leash while wondering whether there was any way out of this at all. Nothing came to mind. She reappeared a few minutes later with everything neatly packed away including, he presumed, her underwear that had been hanging on the lamp when last he saw it.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Quinn. His tone was clear: don’t touch anything.

“Nice to meet you Cupcake!” Quinn called. Eliot led her to the elevator without speaking, waiting on the elevator door to close behind them before even trying to address this debacle.

The second it started to move, he hit the stop button.

“Ophelia, I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” he began.

“Are you all right?” she asked, peering at him as she reached a tentative hand for his face.

“Fine,” he said briskly. “I just…I have to go out of town for a couple of days, but you’ll hardly notice I’m gone, I promise.”

Here she grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“You underestimate what I notice,” she said. “No, really. Are you in trouble?”

“I’m not, but I can’t talk about it,” he said. “I owe Quinn a favor, and once this is over, it’s over.”

“Um…”

“But he’ll be here while I’m gone.”

“What on earth for?”

“I asked him to stay and watch out for you while I’m gone. But I should be back by Friday. You won’t know he’s here.” He bent to speak to Devil. “And if you know he’s here? Eat him, okay buddy?” Devil’s tail thumped against the floor of the elevator. He was glad to help Eliot.

“What do you mean you asked him to watch me?” she demanded, and she wasn’t entirely friendly about asking. “And won’t that entail me knowing he’s here?”

He pulled her against him gently, because she might punch him. That’s what he’d do to him in this situation anyway.

“I promise, I will keep him out of your way as much as possible. But it’s best while I do him this favor that someone is here to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why not Parker?” she asked reasonably. Sure, Parker was crazy, but she was a known crazy.

He would rather lock her in her own closet than leave her with Parker, and somehow both were a better option than leaving her in Quinn’s care. On the other hand, Quinn was probably armed to the teeth, which meant she’d at least have an armed guard if this all went completely wrong. Maybe locking her in the closet wasn’t such a bad idea. He wasn’t sure how long he thought he’d be able to get away with this charade that he wasn’t all the things he’d told her he wasn’t, but he’d been certain it was more than six months.

“He’s more qualified, Princess,” he whispered. “I promise you’ll be okay.” She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Can you promise you’ll be okay?” He reached for the button to start the elevator.

“I will be if you promise to stay here and—” worry for him? Pray for him? “Stay safe,” he finished, aware that this was not an answer. “For me, Ophelia?”

With her head still on his shoulder, before the door opened, she whispered back, “You have to come home. I never told you why we have ghost stories.”

He held her tighter for a moment.

“I promise. I’ll see you Friday.”

As she and Devil drove away, he resolutely did not think about who else was likely to find him if Quinn had.

Quinn cracked open one of Eliot’s beers, listening to the man stomp all the way up a flight of metal stairs like half the area code couldn’t hear him. At least he didn’t have a dog to contend with now too. The door slammed open.

“Where did you even find a girl like that?” Quinn asked. “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“She’s not,” Eliot snapped. “And she’s not your type either. I don’t want to talk about it. Who said you could drink my beer?”

“You’re going to have to tell me something if you want me to watch her. I mean, I could try to find her myself, but we both know I wouldn’t be doing it myself and that someone else might get curious about why I need to find a girl who is not, as you’ve pointed out, my type. Which: how do you know she’s not? She could be.”

“She’s a history professor, and I need you to watch her without bothering her.”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “She has no idea what you do, or that you’re leaving town to kill a man. Does she know the rest of the Robin Hood gang?”

Eliot’s silence said more than he wanted.

“She does not,” Quinn guessed. “Or you’ve introduced them as ‘friends’ without clarifying how you really know them.” Great. He was doing the air quotes too. “What does she think you do?”

“I told her I’m a retrieval specialist,” he said. “And if she asks, that’s what you’ll tell her too. Except I don’t want you to get close enough to talk to her.”

“What do you suggest I tell her I do?”

“Tell her you’re an accountant. Or a fight manager. Or a pilot. I don’t care, but if you tell her why you’re here, I will kill you when I get back.”

“Do you want to hear about this job or not?”

“Let me get a beer,” Eliot said, knowing it was going to take well more than one beer.

Of course, it started going off the rails almost immediately.

First he got a call from Hardison, which he was obligated to take unless he wanted his face plastered everywhere as Missing, or Abducted, or whatever else the hacker might come up with.

“Go,” Eliot ordered.

“Quinn’s in town,” Hardison said. “I don’t know why.”

“Don’t get involved.”

“Dude, I’m just warning you that—”

“I have to leave town for a couple of days. He’s supposed to be watching Ophelia by leaving her alone.”

“That is a terrible idea.”

“I know. Can’t talk. Gotta go.”

Next he got a text from Parker.

10lbsofcrazy: <That psycho guy is following Ophelia. Want me to taze him?>

Psycho: <No tazing! Just make sure he doesn’t bother her. Can’t talk.>

10lbsofcrazy<Are you sure?>

<blocked>

The department admin knocked on Ophelia’s door, which was standing open.

“Hi, Janet. How can I help you?” Ophelia had learned that pleasantries were unnecessary unless she wanted a lecture on how Janet didn’t work for her. Since she had her own lecture to give in 20 minutes, it was best not to take that route.

“Dr. Mason, if you’re going to have visiting professors in, you know we require at least five days’ notice for a background check.”

“I…”

“It’s for the safety of our entire community, Dr. Mason. Remember that next time.”

“But…”

“In the meantime, since Dr. Jones said your request was urgent, I’ll make an exception.” For the love of Pete, Ophelia thought. Janet was running down a process that currently did not exist at the university, no matter how much she might love administrating it. If she couldn’t hurry this along, Janet would have a stack of forms to fill out by the time her next class was over.

“Dr. Jones?”

“Dr. Henry Jones.” Quinn waved from behind the woman’s head.

Damn.

“I apologize, Janet. I won’t let it happen again.”

She sniffed, mollified but still annoyed on an administrative level.

“See that you don’t.”

Quinn shouted his thanks down the hall before seating himself in front of Ophelia’s desk.

“Howdy.”

“Henry Jones? Really?”

“I count on admins not being up on popular culture,” he explained.

“And if they are? This is a history department, after all.”

“You pass it off as coincidence,” he shrugged. “You mean you don’t believe I’m a history professor?”

“I’m curious as to what you think qualifies as a history emergency, and that’s Eliot’s jacket.”

“He’s right: you’re not his type.”

He looked around the office for a moment while she typed on her machine.

“Are those you?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the pin-up posters. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“I…Why would you think those are me?”

“Because she looks just like you.”

“I don’t even want to know how old you think I am if I’m in those pictures. Because if I ask, you’ll tell me, and the answer will have to be somewhere on the immortal spectrum and I’ll have to ask if you’ve ever actually met someone who’s immortal and there’s a good chance you’ll say yes and I have a class to teach so I obviously don’t have the time to pursue that today.”

She gathered up her typewriter and her notes.

“Come on.”

“What, me?”

“Yeah, you,” she answered. “You don’t think I’m crazy enough to leave you in my office, right?”

Her classroom was on the top floor. She directed him to a seat on the side.

“Nobody sits there, so just camp out and make yourself comfortable.”

“Is there beer here?”

“Not that at comfortable,” she sighed. As she started sorting her notes onto her desk, students filtered in. All of them looked at the new person in the corner, but nobody asked. The group chat immediately lit up with questions about whether this new person was Dr. Wes Abernathy’s rival, either for Dr. Mason’s hand, or for some artifact that Dr. Mason had but refused to surrender.

“Good day, everyone. Glad to see you here, especially after what I here was an epic night on campus last night.” Several of the students giggled, but nobody offered an explanation. “We’re going to have an observer in class today. Dr. Jones is visiting the department, but he’s just here to watch. You shouldn’t even notice he’s here.”

He was pretty sure that last over-enunciated sentence was directed at him. He grinned in return.

Then there was a knock at the door which grabbed everyone’s attention because nobody ever knocked on classroom doors except in the commission of a prank.

“Sweet Jesus. What now,” she thought to herself, hoping she managed to keep that expression off her face.

“Hang on,” she said. “And be ready to discuss horses vs railroads as a system of troop movement.”

She opened the door to find…Parker.

“Hi,” Parker said cheerfully. “I’m a transfer student! Alice Johnson? You should have a note or something.” She shoved a handful of papers at Ophelia, who was too stunned to do anything but stare. “Where do you want me to sit?”

“Any…anywhere there’s an open seat I…transfer student?”

“Yes ma’am! From West Virginia!”

“Oh…kay. Well then. Um…Class, this is Alice, she’s a new student who will be joining us. Alice, just take a seat wherever you like.”

“Don’t you need to read my papers,” Parker prompted, pulling one from the stack, blocking anyone else from seeing it by moving just to Ophelia’s side.

YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED. 😊

“I know…that you’ll be a welcome addition, Alice. We were just getting started.” She nodded at Parker, who winked that she understood. She turned then and took the seat directly behind Quinn. Ophelia was almost positive Parker kicked him on the way past. She would deal with them later.

Quinn had to admit, her class was cool. He hadn’t been to college as a student, but this is what he had hoped it would be like. Hers was a small but vocal group, and she didn’t mind to step out of the way to let them argue something contentious. Sometimes she would offer pointers to one side or the other, or both. She never quite let the students get angry, pulling them back with a guiding word or two or asking them to cite a source for whatever they were arguing about. Parker, who thought Ophelia was magic anyway, found the entire experience fascinating.

Once, Quinn offered his opinion into a particularly lively discussion about Teddy Roosevelt. The entire class paused to look at him, then three of them dove into books to research what he had mentioned. When their attention was otherwise occupied, Parker leaned forward.

“I have a taser,” she hissed. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

Ophelia dropped her head into her hands, which Parker figured meant she’d been a bit too loud.

Nobody seemed eager to leave, and a number of the students were actively disappointed when she called a halt to the discussion for the day.

“Enough! Enough! Time’s up,” she called into the fray. “Remember where we were next time, and we’ll pick up the discussion there. In addition, I will be looking for a discussion on railroad labor in American history. Come prepared to discuss China. Y’all go out and try not get into trouble, okay?”

As per usual, a line formed at her desk after the students were dismissed. Most of them just had questions about books or sources, but one had some interesting ideas about the ancestry of another. The last made her despair for humanity. Parker and Quinn were having an argument in their corner, although neither was as quiet as they probably thought they were.

“Are you all right, Dr. Mason?” her last student asked. He was one of her more vocal students, but just for now he was very quiet.

“Yeah, Connor. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“It’s just, there’s a lot of weird stuff going on today, and you look like you don’t feel very good. Do you want me to call the campus police for you?”

“Bless your heart, Connor. I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me. Worry that it was cheap tequila in all those water balloons, okay?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Mason. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m the TA in Dr. Hutchen’s class this afternoon.”

Dr. Hutchens had been using illegal TAs for his core classes as long as anyone could remember. And in this case, ‘as long as anyone could remember’ was 1956.

She leaned against the closed door after letting Connor out.

Quinn made a show of casually checking his watch.

“Looks like it’s lunch time!” he said. “Where do we eat?”

“I already had lunch plans with her,” Parker countered. “New student orientation.”

“You know I know you,” he shot back. “You’re no more a student than she’s an assassin.”

“Oh my god, I should send both of you to Dr. Hutchen’s class. I assume you’ve met?”

They exchanged a guilty glance. Parker had no idea what was going on, but she was sure Eliot wouldn’t appreciate her telling Ophelia how they’d met. Or how Eliot knew him. Quinn didn’t doubt for a second that Eliot would kill him.

Fortunately, her phone rang.

“Dr. Mason,” she answered in a resigned tone. It almost didn’t matter who this was, but she hoped it was someone calling to sell her a car warranty. Not because she hadn’t already voided her own a thousand times, but 20 uninterrupted minutes of someone not being helpful would be immensely soothing right about now.

“Ophelia, are you all right? My phone’s been lighting up all morning.”

“Hi Sophie. I’m fine, thank you for—”

“Are you quite sure? I understand Eliot has been called out of town and—”

“It seems like more than a few people know that,” Ophelia replied. “At least two of them are here with me.”

“Right now? Who? Parker and who? Don’t tell me it’s Quinn.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice neutral. Sophie tamped down the urge to panic.

“I’m sure everything is just fine; stick close to Parker if you can. She has a plan. I’m certain of it.”

“A plan? I have a class this afternoon!”

“I’m sure it will be fine, darling. Call if you need me. If you need company. If you need to get rid of company.”

“You will be my first call,” Ophelia promised. “I have to go break up a fight now. And then maybe get some lunch.”

“Check in with me maybe? If things go wrong. We’ll try to fix them.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you for the call!”

Quinn and Parker were on the verge of a brawl when Ophelia finally summoned the will to push herself away from the door.

“Hey! You two! Cut it out!” she called, hoping nobody in the neighboring classrooms could hear. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to have been said in this room, but she just didn’t have time for questions right now. Plus, there was always the possibility that Janet would swoop in like the Admin of Doom over this whole Parker situation.

“I’m going to put this down in my office, then we’ll go to lunch. That all right with everyone?”

“What are we eating?” Quinn asked.

“Well, since you’re here and I have another class in two hours, we’re eating with the students,” she announced. “Pray to whatever god you wish and come on.”

Quinn didn’t relish the prospect of cafeteria food, but Parker couldn’t wait, grabbing Ophelia by the arm and asking a dozen questions on the way back to her office.

“I think you’ve confused a cafeteria with an automat,” Ophelia tried to explain. Quinn didn’t bother to hide his laughter as he listened to the two of them. “This is not one of those places where you put in a quarter and get back Jello.”

Which Parker found disappointing, but she perked up when she saw there were several food chains represented here. Since Hardison had sent her out to watch Quinn watch Ophelia, he had also given her money for lunch and a stern reminder not to pickpocket the college students. When everyone had finally settled on something, Ophelia led them to a table outside. Not in the courtyard of her building, where she had lunch with Eliot. It seemed too personal, and also she didn’t want either of them guessing he’d been here; she just wasn’t up to it today.

After narrowly (very narrowly) avoiding a food fight between Parker and Quinn at lunch, Ophelia met her second class of the day with what could only be described as grim determination; not unlike that of a person who has to climb a mountain again because they left their phone at the top. Not only had she received a string of text messages from Melanie, her geographically closest colleague, inquiring about (in no particular order): Why Janet was so snooty today, what had happened in her first class, could she have dibs on the new hot guy, and since when did the university accept transfer students, Ophelia had also been apprised by another student that the chat forum was nearly ablaze with speculation and curiosity.  They, at least, were not fooled by the name Dr. Henry Jones, and at least four people were currently involved in trying to suss out the man’s real name and his specific beef with Dr. Abernathy.

Hardison would never mentioned that he intercepted all of that traffic and virtually directed the students down the most harmless rabbit hole he could find: online speculation about whether Dr. Henry Jones and Dr. Wes Abernathy were long lost brothers/friends/lovers/all three and which of them had been responsible for the loss of a valuable monkey. If he had, Ophelia wouldn’t have had to muddle her way through nearly as many monkey-related questions later, but he felt like that was a small price for her to have to pay.

She was resolutely packing her stuff for the day while Parker and Quinn argued about where any of them should go next.

“Don’t you have to sign me out with that charming secretary,” Quinn asked.

“No! She has to show me where the dorm rooms are!” Parker snapped.

“I! Am doing neither,” Ophelia shouted. “I’m going home and to eat something and to go to sleep, not necessarily in that order. Quinn is going back to…where are you staying?”

“Eliot’s. Where else would I stay?”

“And Parker, you can go home and tell everyone I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

Finally, Parker and Quinn agreed on something, which was that Ophelia going home alone was the last thing that was going to happen. And they agreed on that loudly.

“Fine. If we go to Hardison’s bar and eat, where everyone can watch everyone else, will you both be happy with that?”

“Where do you plan to sleep tonight?” Quinn asked.  Parker tased him.

When Ophelia left the bar that night being followed by two separate cars, she wondered if maybe she should just keep driving until she found ocean or mountains or somewhere with no cell service. Parker peeled off, demonstrating why she hardly ever got to drive. Quinn parked his car and, unnervingly, seemed to vanish.  Wherever he went, however, he found his way back. He was sitting on the hood of her Jeep the next morning drinking coffee in a to-go cup.

Thursday was only marginally better, but it was because Ophelia had one class of History for Non-Majors. She cancelled her office hours, which disappointed Quinn a little.  The line of students outside her office had promised to be entertaining, anyway.

“I can’t meet with them with you in here,” she said. “Student-teacher confidentiality.”

“That’s not a thing,” he scoffed. “Is that a thing? That’s not really a thing, is it?”

“It will be if I meet with a bunch of students with a complete stranger in the office, and I can’t have you roaming around wreaking havoc on campus,” she explained. “I’m taking papers home to grade. It’s going to be an extremely uneventful night.”

He had other plans, and all of them involved a guitar of unknown origin and a number of songs he apparently made up himself.  She broke after 30 minutes,  opening the door and leaning wearily against the frame, three different ink pens stuck in her hair.

“If I promise to come back to Eliot’s place with you, will you please stop singing country songs outside my door? I don’t feel like dealing with the neighbors or the police.”

“Just you?”

“Of course not. What did you do with the car you had earlier?”

“Probably best you don’t ask a lot of questions, Cupcake.”

“You might as well come in while I get some stuff together,” she said, holding the door open for him. “Give me about 10 minutes.”

“Take all the time you need,” he offered graciously. Devil followed her halfway up the stairs, settling on a step between the landing and Ophelia’s room. He did not trust Quinn at all, and not in the way he didn’t trust Parker. Parker was hyper and enthusiastic and louder than Ophelia and tricky although even Devil recognized that Parker thought Ophelia was wonderful. Quinn, however, was more than tricky; Eliot didn’t trust him so there was no need for Devil to trust him. But Devil was a vigilant dog who was wise to tricks, so Eliot would have no need to be disappointed when he got back. And he was sure Eliot would be back.

Slightly more than 10 minutes later, Ophelia came back downstairs with an overnight bag and Devil’s hiking vest. He had already eaten for tonight, so she grabbed enough food for breakfast plus the bottled water he liked.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Do you want to get takeout on the way?” She locked the door and hooked Devil to his leash. Quinn didn’t offer to take her bag.

“Depends. Can he get good Chinese delivered to his place?” He followed her to the car, where she opened the passenger door on her way around the Jeep. She tossed her bag into the back and slammed the gate shut.

“There is a good place near him. We can see if they deliver.”

“Great,” he said, putting his foot on the running board. Devil barked in a way Ophelia rarely heard. It was his “I will kill you and snack on your remains” bark.

“That’s his seat,” she said.

“You surely don’t expect me to sit in the back.”

She flipped her seat forward.

“If you want to go in the Jeep, you sit in the back. He sits in the front.”

“But—”

Devil growled and bared his teeth, which seemed to decide the situation in his favor. He didn’t settle down until Quinn sat down and put on his seatbelt.

“Is he like this all the time?”

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Ophelia replied airily. “You must bring it out in him.”

She had to be right, Quinn thought. Eliot would have shot the dog by now if the dog treated him like this.

Friday, incredibly, was even longer than Thursday. Ophelia had no classes (which did not translate into ‘nothing to do’), but she really didn’t want to spend all day cooped up with Quinn at Eliot’s place.  She also didn’t want to inadvertently lead him to Sophie, and she wouldn’t have taken him to the botanical garden even if there had been money on the line.

“Ghost tour,” he repeated, completely without inflection.

“Two, in fact,” she answered. “And one of them ends at a brewery, which is great because we can pick up the Taste of Portland tour across the street. And that’s how we’re getting lunch. I hope you brought good walking shoes.”

Quinn really wanted to argue that, while he was compelled to watch out for her, field trips had not been part of the deal. After a great deal of internal debate during which he realized that staying at Eliot’s place would trap him inside all day with a large dog who did not consider him a friendly, he gave up and went on the tour. Even when she didn’t mean to be–and in this case she very much did not–she was an interesting person with whom to tour. She was at least as knowledgeable as the guides on all three tours, gladly offering help or context when she felt like it was needed.  Quinn had absolutely no idea what she saw in Eliot Spencer.

Devil was the first to hear him, which only proved that he could move quietly when he wanted to. The rain, which was never far off in Portland, had started shortly before Quinn and Ophelia arrived back from the last ghost tour of the day, and had been coming down in sheets ever since. Eliot opened the door to an overjoyed bark from Devil while he quickly took in the scene. Ophelia was sitting in his chair with a blanket over her, wearing his plaid shirt, reading as if it were an ordinary Friday night. Devil could have told him she’d been staring at the same page for hours while she worried him home. Quinn was sitting on the couch, almost as far away as he could be while still sitting in the same room. Devil had dragged a towel into the floor between them. Eliot doubted Quinn had been much more than annoying for Ophelia, but Devil seemed to have decided he could be annoying without being within twenty feet of her. Even though Eliot was soaked, he could tell Devil was wetter than normal, and Quinn seemed a bit soggy too. Eliot smiled at the thought that Devil had conned him into going outside in the dark, apparently multiple times. Because it wouldn’t be right for Ophelia to go outside in an unfamiliar neighborhood on a night such as this one when Quinn had been tasked with protecting her.

Quinn tried to read anything but resignation out of Eliot’s expression.

“Is it done?”

“It’s done,” Eliot confirmed. “Get out.”

Ophelia had sat up straighter when he came in the door, clearly concerned at the circumstances of his arrival. She didn’t move out of the chair, because she felt like between the two men was a bad place to be. She exchanged a glance with Devil, who seemed to agree she needed to stay put.

“Pleasure doing business—”

“Out,” Eliot repeated. Devil growled a low, menacing “I’m about to spring on this dude” growl.

Once he was off the couch and moving, Eliot crossed the room to where Ophelia sat, scooped her up, and took her back to the bedroom, where he deposited her, the blanket, and the book all on the bed.

“Do you need this,” he asked, grabbing the blanket like he intended to strangle it.

“No?”

He left, carrying the blanket and without turning on any of the lights, which Ophelia found very disconcerting. Once he bolted the doors shut behind Quinn, he dropped the blanket in his chair and picked up the remote before giving a sharp whistle for the dog.

“Here’s her blanket, here’s my chair, the tv is on your favorite channel.” Devil jumped up in the chair and licked Eliot on the face. “Listen, my dude. I will cook you your own pound of bacon when I get up and two eggs cooked any way you like if you stay in here. Got it?”

Devil cocked his head to one side.

“Yeah,” Eliot said, his voice a deep with exhaustion. “I think I have some of that Gruyere cheese you like. Deal?”

Devil held up his paw, which Eliot shook before petting him on the head.

“Good boy.”

With that, he stepped out of his wet boots and soggy socks, leaving them where they fell.

The trek back to his bedroom took a lot longer than he ever remembered it taking, and sliding the heavy door closed took a profound amount of effort. Ophelia was off the bed and tentatively crossing the room to him, having turned on only the desk light. So the room wasn’t what he’d call bright, which was a small mercy right this second. She came to him at the door. God, he was tired.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She was flattered and deeply concerned.

“Are you? Did you swim home?” If she relaxed her hold on his shirt, she was afraid he’d slide right to the floor.

“I don’t remember,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she promised. “But you are starting to worry me.” He couldn’t hide the flinch when she put her hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t tell if she was clinging to him because she was glad he was back or trying to push him off before he soaked through her clothes too. Or something else that eluded him just now.

He took two steps then staggered, almost dragging her down with him. She half-pulled him to the edge of the bed.

“I got your clothes wet,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, Phee.”

“It’s okay, Jones. Come on,” she urged. “You need to get out of all that before you freeze to death. Help me, okay?”

It took longer than she might have expected to peel his wet clothes off, but they finally did it, working together while she whispered words of encouragement to him. They were the only warm thing in his universe right now. The part of his brain that noted things like that wished it had been a more enjoyable experience for either of them, but romance novels never included multiple beatings in a foreign country and an assassin in the hero’s living room. He was confused by that thought, because she didn’t read romance novels. Or he thought she didn’t, but maybe she could and maybe she’d like to be in one with him. His train of thought had completely jumped the track. She almost righted it with her stifled shriek at the condition he was in: bruised, cut, and bleeding from three different places.

She reached back with one hand to pull back the sheets for him, urging him towards the bed before he collapsed again. Because she felt like if he fell to the floor, they’d both just have to sleep there. She could make it passably comfortable, but felt like being welcomed home to sleep on his own hardwood floor was wrong in every possible way.

“Here,” she whispered as she pushed him gently towards the pillows. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’ll stay?” he slurred, tugging at her hand. “I like it when you stay.”

“Of course I will,” she said softly, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. “I won’t be two minutes.”

Thus assured, he passed out. She went back to the bathroom to see what he had in the way of first aid; bleeding all over the sheets wasn’t healthy, she was sure. She poked around under the cabinet and behind the mirror in the bathroom before she found the disturbingly well-stocked first aid kit on the floor in the back of the closet. There was enough equipment in there to perform minor surgery, which she found alarming; on the other hand, she wouldn’t have to leave to get anything.

He was so far gone, he had no idea when she returned to the bed and cleaned his deeper wound and bandaged it, pulling together adhesive stitches while trying not think about what might have caused a cut like that. Finally, every injury was clean and dry and covered; only then did she feel somewhat assured he would still be alive in the morning.

She hung his wet clothes on the shower rod so they wouldn’t mildew and quickly stepped out of her own. Then she crawled into bed, pulling the covers around them both. Frankly, she didn’t think he had nearly enough blankets on the bed. He couldn’t understand how she slept under what he could only describe as a mountain of textiles. But for now, she pulled his hands between them and put her arm around him, wondering if it was normal for heat to radiate off a bruise like that.

He shifted at some point later. To him it felt like days. She moved into a position where he wasn’t as likely to cut off the circulation to her arm, causing him to give an involuntary groan of pain.

“Well goddammit, Indy, where doesn’t it hurt?” she whispered, kissing him lightly on the forehead. It would be a week before he realized he didn’t dream that.

He awoke with a shock and a gasp later. He wasn’t sure how much later, or what time it was, exactly, or what day it was, or what had woken him up. He knew he hurt everywhere, but that wasn’t clarifying. Then he heard the sound that woke him up again. It was Ophelia, her teeth chattering because she was so cold. Because she had cared enough about the state he arrived in to do something about it and not leave him, even to get a blanket. He went from feeling terrible to feeling worse. Her hands felt like icicles in his, while his temperature had finally returned to normal.

“Phee?” he said softly. “Can you hear me, Phee?” Very gently, he shook her. She didn’t respond. He checked his phone, shocked to find it was Sunday. Surely he thought, it hadn’t really been two days of her and Devil coming and going that he had missed. In fact, she had been awake the entire time, only leaving to walk Devil a couple of times a day, and never for very long. She had been living on toast and iced tea.

As a gesture of goodwill after the first time she stayed, Eliot had purchased Devil’s favorite brand of dog food plus two bowls to keep at his place, eliminating at least one worry if Ophelia decided to stay the night.

She had lost the fight with sleeping early that morning, when Eliot’s breathing finally settled out. She had never brought the blanket back with her, despite reminding herself to get it every time she passed it. Now she was so cold she was shivering.

At the foot of the bed was a trunk; he hadn’t opened it in years because if he ignored it, he could ignore the contents and the memories and all the things about his past he couldn’t be bothered to confront. But it held an old, well-loved handmade quilt, and there would never be a better time to use it than now. He pulled it out, shaking it gently, then draped it over Ophelia, taking care to tuck it around her freezing feet. Some mostly forgotten memory tugged at him. He would think about it some other time when his head wasn’t throbbing. Groggily, he staggered to the bathroom where he didn’t turn on the light before he threw back some Tylenol. He grabbed the sides of the sink when his vision started to tunnel, gripping it tightly until the headrush passed. When he straightened back up, he bumped into something hanging from the shower curtain rod, which was when he realized she’d hung up his clothes up too. She’d made sure that his floor wasn’t ruined by his own return. Flexing his arms proved to be a new and entirely different kind of painful, but felt different from the last time he could remember; this pain pulled. He felt around carefully, finally finding the bandage on his side. She had fixed that too, which made him dizzy.

Once, just once, Parker had described the resulting carnage from a bomb with a little too much enthusiasm when the four of them went to dinner. Ophelia had abruptly but politely excused herself from the table, which was unusual. After a decent interval, Eliot had faked a phone call in order to look for her, and he found Ophelia sitting outside with her head between her knees, shaking.

“Princess?”

Her head snapped up, which was an action she had immediately regretted.

“Are you okay? Did something here make you sick?”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t that,” she said. She looked more fragile than he’d ever seen. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

He sat down next to her, trying to figure out the problem. Because he was well aware of her base-level fine, and this wasn’t even close.

“Oh. Parker’s story,” he guessed. “That was it, wasn’t it.”

“Don’t tell her,” Ophelia requested. “She’d just feel bad, and it’s not her fault. This is my problem.”

“I can tell them that something came up and we need to leave,” he offered. “Lots of people don’t like stories about bombs. Parker just doesn’t…get that sometimes.” He’d never seen anyone turn quite that color when talking about explosives, but he understood the topic could be overwhelming.

“It wasn’t the bomb,” she answered, swallowing hard. He put a careful arm around her shoulders; she really wasn’t a healthy color. “It’s the body trauma.”

Oh. Oh no.

“I understand,” he said. “I didn’t know. Just sit there and breathe, okay? We’re not in a hurry.”

“Don’t tell Parker,” she repeated.

“I won’t.” He was lying.

After that, nobody ever mentioned an injury where she could hear about it again. Eliot made sure of it.

He gingerly struggled into some sweatpants before he slipped out to check on Devil, who welcomed the opportunity for a very early morning walk. Owing to Eliot’s precarious state of consciousness, it was a short walk. Devil could tell that Eliot wasn’t feeling at all well, but he was certain Ophelia could take care of him. She always took care of Devil when he didn’t feel well; she loved Eliot nearly as much, he was sure.

“Same deal applies,” he told the dog when they returned upstairs. Devil leaned against him affectionately. “It’ll be a while. Ophelia’s cold.”

Devil cast a worried look at the door.

“I got it,” he promised. “But thank you. I know you love her too.”

He slid the door back into place, closing the two of them back into the little world here in his room. Just maybe, they could steal a few more hours together in peace and quiet. She had barely moved at all since he left, which meant she was soundly asleep. He wondered why, then realized he was an idiot; she had worried the entire time he was gone, plus had to contend with Quinn. Either of those things could be exhausting. Both of those things plus her job plus the dozen other things she worried about every day could, he conceded, have combined into a force strong enough to put her in a coma.

At least her teeth weren’t chattering anymore, which meant his quilt was doing its one job. Deciding that getting out of his sweatpants was a lot more trouble and pain than it was worth, he very carefully got back into bed, moving gently as he could so wouldn’t pull something loose and make this all worse. As long as she was here and she was safe, he was glad to let her sleep against him. He gathered her in carefully, as much for her sake as for his. They would be fine, he was sure.

Finally, lulled by her quiet breathing and the stillness in the bedroom, he fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.