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Late evening was her favorite time to be in the Annex. The others were…wherever it was they went in the evenings, including Jenkins. There were times she thought he put on an old-fashioned nightcap, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and folded himself up onto a little bed on one of the bookshelves like one of his books, but she dismissed the irrelevant thought. It was quiet; that was all that mattered.
This was her time. She could un-do her bun, shake her hair loose, and just relax as she tried to come to terms with the craziness of her new life. 98 percent of her rational consciousness told her the things she saw were imaginary, but that part of her was undergoing a rapid reassessment the longer she remained Guardian.
She passed a wet bar on her way, a recent discovery that she and the rest of the team enjoyed equally. Fortunately, their tastes differed, so there was never a shortage of anyone's particular favorite drink. Cassandra preferred red wines from Spain and Italy while Ezekiel liked expensive vodkas. Jacob was a beer drinker and Jenkins loved cordials whose name she couldn't even pronounce, but other than the occasional beer, her favorite drink was always whiskey. Being a woman in a stereotypically man's world made her have to work harder to fit in, and drinking whiskey was one of the ways she blended.
Ha! Blended in drinking blended whiskey. That was a good one. She gave an amused snort before her next sip, feeling the warm, pleasant burn settling down into her stomach. In any event, she'd grown to like both the taste and the reactions as, the woman drinking whiskey usually caused a few raised eyebrows at the least – in her experience anyway.
After pouring a tumbler of good Irish whiskey (her personal favorite; she wasn't sure exactly how he'd found out, but thank you, Jenkins!), she walked into the main Annex area, hearing the click of her boots on the stone floor echoing around the emptiness of the central chamber. Eve smiled at the lack of any other noise. She was indeed alone, and free to be herself. Free to be Eve. Just free.
Then her eyes fell on the biggest irritation she'd yet encountered in her role as Guardian. Sure, the Minotaur and the fairy tale mess were life-threatening and she'd had to fight off villains, but in terms of pure annoyance, the desk in front of her was easily the worst.
It was re-set, as always. She gave a rueful grin as she strode over to the offending desk. Kindling, an unkind part of her thought. I could make you into kindling, and then whatever would this Annex do?
Swirling her drink, Eve regarded the desk in front of her as if it were one of the artifacts that Flynn and the other Librarians before him had so painstakingly acquired over the years. The way it rearranged itself whenever she cleared it off to her own tastes, it might very well have been a magical artifact at one point or another. Or maybe Flynn had just magicked it somehow, leaving it the most annoying piece of furniture in her life.
She'd expected a desk that appeared as old as this one did to be somewhat rickety, but it was remarkably sturdy. More than just a collection of assembled wood and metal parts, it was a rock. It was her rock, the one bit of constancy in her fluid, sometimes scary new world. When she and the Librarians-in-Training flipped through a magic door to find enchanted baddies, she knew it would be waiting when they all got made it back, hopefully in one piece.
Some mystical power in the Library kept returning it to the way Flynn wanted no matter how often she tried to clear it off or rearrange it. Jenkins tried to explain how the desk kept itself to Flynn's standards to her, but her eyes glazed over when he started getting into the more arcane bits of magic. Snorting just before she took another sip of the amber liquid – the water of life – she had another one of those 'what the hell?' moments. Before becoming a Guardian, the word 'arcane' wasn't one she could ever remember using. The only interest she had in the monsters, creatures, or whatever supernatural beings they came up against was how to kill them, capture them, or otherwise disable their evil powers. Let the Librarian and his LITs research their natures and motivations. She had no interest in the minutiae of their debates. Her job was to protect and defend them.
Librarian and Guardian. The job's more important than what we want.
Her words given to Flynn weeks before returned unbidden to her consciousness.
The job.
In the beginning, it was just Flynn's desk. Another piece in the Annex's collection, something to learn as she learned her new job, if it was indeed her job.
Spoiler alert: it was.
The desk was just as Flynn left it when he went off to find the Library after their first kiss. And what a kiss! Eve felt a warm flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory. To this day she wasn't sure exactly what possessed her at that point. Sure, he was a very good-looking man in his unassuming, boy-next-door type. Since then she'd learned more about this new world, of Flynn's bravery, his search for the library, and what kind of man he was overall, but in that moment all she knew was the desire to crush her lips on his.
It was still Flynn's desk during their early case tracking the Minotaur and the descendants of the Minoans (more words she never expected herself to think, much less say), but she was slowly beginning to think of it as her workspace, too. Ezekiel, Cassandra, and Jake all had their preferred areas to do their research – God knew that Jenkins regarded the entire Annex as his – but Flynn's desk was hers.
Jenkins finally tried to explain the desk's mysterious power just before she met Santa.
She met Santa. The list of things she caught herself saying these days without the slightest bit of irony or surprise kept growing.
When she got Jenkins to speak using actual modern English words, she was able to understand that the Library – the same seemingly sentient Library that recruited her to be the Guardian – had some power to rearrange the desk to Flynn's specifications when he was gone. He was the Librarian, and thus (she had to chuckle quietly at her use of a word that boggled Flynn when he overused it) it only made sense for the Librarian's desk to remain ready for the Librarian to use.
Still, to test it, she spent a week clearing it off to her own clear, uncluttered preference. When she got back from helping Santa on Christmas Eve – and actually becoming Santa in that one moment, which was still somehow too big of a thought to really wrap her mind around – she'd been dismayed to see that the desk was back to the way Flynn left it.
By the time they had to deal with the dragons, she'd taken to calling the desk hers, and the LITs understood. When Flynn was there, it was his desk. When he wasn't, it was hers. Librarian and Guardian, they were bonded. Their connection just extended farther than anyone else knew, with the possible exception of Jenkins. The crafty old man seemed to know far more than anyone had a right to. Still, the others were smart enough that they probably at least suspected there was more than just a Librarian/Guardian thing going on between her and Flynn.
Flynn left right after they'd dealt with the conclave of mystical beings, but not before giving her another toe-curling kiss. Still the desk was reset to his style. She'd hoped that after demonstrating his affection in the Annex, the mystical force that somehow kept rearranging things on the desk would understand that she was the authority in his absence.
Not even close. The desk was still Flynn's.
Leaning back in the chair, Eve took a petty revenge and crossed her boots on the desk. It may be Flynn's desk forever, but it was hers for now.
As she looked at the items he had left, she experienced a strange sensation. Intangible, it was a shadow out of the corner of her eye, a twinge in the back of her mind. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Eve couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't exactly alone. She looked around the Annex, but the LITs were still gone, as was Jenkins. Looking back at the desk and seeing the way he'd arranged whatever he thought he would need most, the sensation grew. When she reached out and ran her fingers along the worn wood, the presence became stronger. When she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could just barely sense the touch of his hand on her shoulder. More than just an annoying desk that wouldn't listen to her – as if an inanimate object could, in fact, listen – it was a touchstone. She felt Flynn’s presence when she sat at the desk.
The thought gave a degree of comfort that surprised her. The desk was a way of not being totally separated from Flynn when he was searching for the Library.
Damn it all.
She liked the desk.
It was her connection to Flynn. She blew out a sigh before slugging back the last of her whiskey. An idea wormed its way into her mind. If she could arrange for Jenkins to train the other Librarians on something outside the Annex when Flynn came back, they could make love right here on the desk. Maybe then the Library would understand it was a shared workspace.
Her raucous laughter echoed around the Annex for long minutes after that particular mental image.
Come back alive, Librarian.
Come back to me.