Disclaimer: I don't own Thief.

He woke to the smell of rosemary and freshly baked bread, the unfamiliar feeling of sunlight warm on his face. His limbs felt sluggish, mouth caked with the sourness of being asleep for too long, his eyelids gritty. Garrett forced them open, keeping his breathing slow and deep, taking in his surroundings with tense suspicion.

The room was small; worn wooden walls whitening with age, old floorboards scuffed and smoothed with use. It was plain, shabby even. Just like any other house he'd broken into in the slums of the crumbling city. But he could make out signs of its occupant: a small cross-stitched poppy hanging in a wooden frame above the nightstand to his left, the threadbare quilt at his feet and a short cracked vase filled with wilting flowers on the window sill. The window itself was open, the hum of activity that only comes from a market floating up through it with the wind.

His sight flashed over to the ragged bookcase lining the wall to his right, alarm doubling the longer he stared at this strange environment. His trained eyes skimmed over the spines with practiced ease, the bent quality of their bindings hinting at frequent use, but the books themselves lacked the tell-tale hardback of a secret trigger, hiding a hidden cache he was now sure didn't exist. He passed them over quickly, sharp gaze catching on a glint of metal. The pendant was small, but untarnished and would fetch a fair price. The Master Thief made a note of it as he looked away, sight lingering on the lock of the yellowed door opposite the bed where he sat. Garrett's eyes narrowed. There was a chair in the far corner, his neatly folded clothes on the seat and his leathers hung gently over its back.

He sat up, finished pretending to be asleep, and promptly slumped back again in pain. The thin blanket that covered him fell from his bare shoulders with the movement, pooling gently around his bandaged torso. The pain hit him with a flood of memories: his swift flight from enraged guards, the scuffle and stab in a back alley, and then darkness.

He had been reckless, a mistake that should have cost his life. Yet here he was.

Someone had helped him, but for what reason, he had no idea. He grimaced at the thought and slowly lifted the sheets. His anxiety lessened slightly. Linen bandages clung firmly to his abdomen, starting at his lower ribs and extending beneath his navel, where they disappeared beneath a pair of rough trousers. They were too large for his slender form. He had to have been completely disrobed at one point. It was a sobering thought.

Garrett gritted his teeth, fighting to ignore the stabbing in his left side as he eased himself upright. He paused at a new wave of pain, a thin sheen of sweat beginning to form over his pale skin. Nausea made him reel and he brought a scared hand up to his face. He ran it up and over his head as the feeling passed, ignoring the way his fingers tangled in his short dark hair.

The thief took a deep breath, bracing himself, then with one fluid motion, ripped the covers off his legs and swung them over the side of the bed. He couldn't contain the groan that left him as the sickness returned. His body begged to retreat back to the comforts of oblivion, white knuckled fingers reminding him how soft the sheets were, how soothing it would be to just lay down. But he couldn't, not if his host was somewhere in the vicinity. Garrett the Master Thief did not owe people favors, and the sooner he escaped, the sooner he could avoid one.

His bi-colored eyes locked onto the chair holding his belongings, the blue and brown orbs igniting with determination. He began to raise, right hand falling to his waist as the fabric of his pants slipped. Garrett's bare feet shifted on the wooden floor, body swaying until he found his balance. A palm braced against the wall nearest the bed, steadying him, and he shivered. The open air of the window brushed by, bringing back the smell of freshly baked bread. The sunlight was warm, its brightness blinding. He was vulnerable, naked without the cloaked darkness of night, unnervingly exposed without his armor and hood. It nearly made him snarl. He raised a foot, side aching, and then froze at the sudden sound of creaking stairs, his head snapping up towards the door.

Garrett had flung himself back into the bed and under the covers before the latch had even begun to turn, pulling the blankets up with a silent curse and shutting his eyes as he once again feigned sleep. The sudden twist of his body had upset his wound like nothing had thus far. He clenched his teeth hard, struggling to relax from the pain.

The door squeaked open with a swish, soft footsteps pausing in the threshold. He could hear breathing, light and even, the room filling with the soft smell of rosemary and flour. Silence lingered, the sound of shopkeepers promoting their wares filtering in through the open window.

"I know you're awake. You don't scowl in your sleep."

Garrett let the unconscious expression drop, opening his eyes to stare blankly at the woman standing across the room.

She was plump in a way that distinctly fit her figure, the extra flesh rounding her body and face so it came off more pleasant than fat. The laces of her green dress pulled it to comfortably cover her chest, fabric flaring below her bust to flow down the rest of her body in the least cumbersome way possible. Her sleeves were folded up at the elbow, one arm resting over the covered basket that rested on a cocked hip. Though her brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun, wisps of it had fallen to frame her face. They accentuated her most startling feature: her eyes. They were uncanny, milky blue orbs gazing at him knowingly. If Garrett hadn't seen the direct way she looked at him, he might have thought she was blind. Her lips were pulled up in a quirked smile, amusement shifting the lines of her face.

Then she was all business, tone clipped and precise.

"I found you in an alley not far from here. You've been asleep for three days."

He twitched at her voice, expression tightening. She stepped into the room, placing the basket at the foot of the bed, before moving back to the still-open door. She did not turn her back to him, he noticed, and firmly kept eye contact.

"Your things are over there."

She gestured at the chair, then pointed at the bed.

"There is fresh food in the basket. Eat it." She paused, mouth thinning unhappily when his eyes shifted with distrust. "There is nothing wrong with it." Her gaze softened, though her no-nonsense attitude still held true. "You lost a lot of blood, so the sooner you eat, the sooner you can be on your way."

Garrett nodded, grudgingly appreciative of the blunt way she spoke. She had answered all his questions with a few pointed sentences, clearing any confusion. And though her orders chafed at his pride, he understood that it was for his benefit.

Still…

He was a strange man, a wanted criminal. If she had been the one to help him, pawing though his things and daring to remove the clothes from his body…

Garrett's eyes narrowed, taking in her posture. She held herself calmly, if a bit cautiously. One of her hands rested on the door latch, the lightly tanned skin flecked with some sort of white powder.

Then she was stepping out of the room, last comment flying at him with a snap. "Close the window when you leave."

His rough voice stopped her.

"What do you want?"

Garrett's face was hard, stone like, gaze sharp. Nothing came without a price. And Garrett the Master Thief did not owe people favors.

The young woman framed in the doorway tilted her head. Sunlight from the window caught on her face and adrenaline spiked though his blood when those perceptive eyes locked on his. They seemed to glow for a moment, as if seeing though him, past him. There was a hollowness to her gaze, a kind of loneliness he had never experienced in another person. She turned away with a soft sigh.

"Nothing you can give."

The soft click of a latch signaled her departure and Garrett frowned, unable to shake the feeling that he had missed something.

But time was of the essence.

And he was wasting it.

He pulled the basket towards him, picking though it to find spiced bread and wine. He almost rose, ignoring the offered food, but something about the way she spoke made him reach for the bread. It was bursting with delicious flavor, but he held it in his mouth by instinct, his suspicions nature making him wait before he swallowed it.

The food was gone before he realized he'd decided to eat it all, the wine soothing in his throat. He felt better almost immediately, having no trouble rising from the bed and limping over to the far corner. His worn shirt was covered with fresh stitches, straight and even, the string soft and strong. Lifting his leather chest piece revealed similar work, and he ran a thumb over the dark lines thoughtfully.

Wincing as he pulled the shirt over his head, Garrett ignored the way the bandages had reddened beneath it. He would have the wound looked at by the usual person, but only after he delivered on his Contract. He had been given four days to do it, and, to his annoyance, today was the last day to cash in. Hands flew with practiced movements, assuring that every buckle was in place, every secret pocket checked and every belt tightened. Pulling up his hood brought a shadow to his features, blocking out the sunlight.

His boots felt good on his feet as he stalked across the room, snatching the silvered pendant with a smirk and stowing it in one of his many pockets. Garrett paused at the bed, considering, then moved to fix it. The room would look as if he had never been there, everything untouched save for what he had taken.

He flitted though the shadows made in the light, perching on the window frame. The movements made him wince. But he ignored the pain, keen eyes trailing over the oblivious crowd, automatically picking out potential marks. He recognized the street as South Quarter's market, the cobbled road showing the first sign of industrial construction. Peering at the clock tower in the distance, he could just make out the larger hand nearing one. Scowling, he slid from the third floor window, itching to be rid of this place. He trailed over a cross work of supportive beams, their length spanning the entire street. The thief turned back when he reached the opposite roof top, gazing at the little shop below for a brief moment.

Then Garrett turned away from the Bakery, forgetting about the girl who smelled of flour and rosemary.