Prompt: journalist
When she stepped out of the bathroom clad in her pajamas and hair still wet from the shower, Cassandra was expecting to see her ritual before-bed glass of milk waiting for her on the coffee table.
She was not expecting to see Ezekiel lounging casually on her sofa, engrossed in whatever game he was playing on his phone, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be there well past midnight and uninvited.
The question "how did you get in here" was discarded from the start – world-class thief and all, she doubted that breaking into a cheap condo could be much of a challenge.
The "why are you here" was also pretty easy to guess: it only took her a glance to the hard line of his mouth, the vicious way he was tapping his fingers on the screen, the tense angle of his neck.
Oh, she knew why he was there, and a painful knot settled in her throat as she pushed aside her surprise and sat beside him on the small couch, their shoulders barely brushing.
«Hey» she greeted tentatively.
«Hey» he replied not taking his eyes away from the screen «You've been in the bathroom for ages. Five more minutes and I was going to pick the lock to check on you».
It was probably meant as a joke, but Ezekiel's voice was so hollow that it didn't sound like one at all.
«Long day, long shower» she murmured quietly, folding her hands in her lap.
A crushing silence fell on the room like the swing of an axe, so heavy that it seemed to swallow even the chirping noises from Ezekiel's phone.
Long day.
Well, that was an understatement.
But really, what do you call a day where the price of success was a life?
«It wasn't my fault» barked suddenly Ezekiel, not looking at her, the anguished anger betraying the fact that he was about to break «I stole the bloody silver feather right from the Enchanted Swan's bloody arse» he barreled on, the words bursting out of his mouth as if he needed space in his chest to breathe again «I did it right, nobody asked that stupid kid to butt in and get eaten to buy me time, nobody... I...»
The phone, thrown with savage force, shattered against the floor.
Cassandra wanted nothing more than to cup his face in her hands and tell him that he was right, that it wasn't his fault, that the young journalist had sacrificed himself to be absolutely sure that those twelve little girls could be saved. But she didn't want to spook the thief, knowing that sweet, empty words would just push him away.
So she did the same thing she had done the only other time she had seen Ezekiel lost like this: right after the huge fiasco with Tesla's lamps, when he was shaken to the core and ready to bolt because failure, caring and responsibility where unknown, scary words.
She reached for his wrist and rested her fingers there, her thumb drawing slow, slow circles on the back of his hand.
Just a quiet offer of comfort.
I'm here.
A silent plea.
Don't run away. Run to me.
Ezekiel looked at her for the first time since he came into her apartment.
His face was unreadable, his eyes black holes that searched her face in a way that made Cassandra hold her breath, and then he leaned in.
After the party, Cassandra had been good: she had squashed that flicker of romantic attraction she had for the thief with methodical precision, and had convinced herself to be almost off that dangerous path.
But having him so close, so intense – and what a rare sight it was, an intense Ezekiel – with his eyes trailing briefly along the lock of her damp hair swirling down her neck...
Completely inappropriate as it was, considering the moment, that flicker came back and flared up to a full-blown fire, making her shudder when she realized that she could almost feel his breath on her cheeks.
And then he retreated, leaving Cassandra trying to cover her gasp for air.
«Thanks» he said somberly, the tension that had kept his body taut as a bowstring finally drained «For, you know. Not throwing my whiny burglar's ass out. And for letting me crash here tonight»
Still frantically trying to recover her wits, Cassandra just stared at him.
«You want to... sleep here?» she repeated, caught off-guard.
«Why yes, thank you for offering»
The smug smirk he flashed her wasn't quite as bright as usual, but it was more like him than he had been all day, so she'd take it.
Forcing her ill-timed impure thoughts in the back of her head, Cassandra playfully swatted his upper arm.
«Smartass»
«You love it»
With just a touch of utter panic, Cassandra admitted to herself that yes, she did love it.
And that she was so screwed for it.
ooo
A.N.
1) ESL writer without a beta. If you find out anything wrong with grammar and such, pointing it out will make you fabulous.
2)Wangst. I try to avoid it and then it sucks me right back in.