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OA grinned when he heard the key turn in the front door of Fatima’s apartment, only half turning from the stove to shout over his shoulder. “I’m in the kitchen,” he called. “I hope you’re hungry… I may have gone a little overboard.” In point of fact, he’d gone a lot overboard but that was what happened when the first day of his LA vacation had been spent alone while Fatima had been called into work. Which sucked, sure, but she’d texted him to say the case was closed and that she was officially off work for the remainder of the week so they had plenty of time together to eat all the leftovers.
He was kind of hoping that they’d need to keep their strength up.
He expected her to bound into the kitchen, wrap her arms around him, full of energy like always. But as he listened, he noticed that her footsteps seemed heavier than usual and she hadn’t spoken at all yet. That was not like Fatima.
Curious, he shut off the stove burners, removed the pots from the heat. “Fatima?” he called, moving into the living room, stopping dead when he saw her.
His mouth stopped working, his brain stopped working. All he could do was stare at her, at her slightly bent posture, her split lip, her bruised cheek, the way she held up a hand and winced at the movement. “Trust me,” she said, “it’s not as bad as it looks.”
OA’s first impulse was to ask her who’d done this to her and then find them and hurt them. He tempered it down. Knowing Fatima’s team, it was probably a done deal. Instead he went with, “Really? Because it looks pretty bad.” He even managed to keep his tone light. He was pretty proud of himself, all things considered.
“Just a few bruises.” She smiled, but it was wobbly. “Nothing a hot shower won’t fix.” She made to step towards him but froze, hissing with pain.
The sound and the expression on her face broke OA’s trance and he was beside her, his arm around her waist, before he even registered moving. “Let me see.” It was a request, not an order, one made gently and even so he could see Fatima consider refusing. Then she sighed, nodded once and let him pull up her shirt so he could see her back and side. The red and purple marks he saw there had him drawing in a sharp breath. How was she even walking? “Baby, this does not look good. You need to see a doctor.”
“EMTs checked me over, I’m fine.” She rested her hand on his arm. He didn’t know if it was to comfort him or to support her.
“It looks like someone hit you with a two by four,” he countered, leaning in to inspect the marks.
“Close. It was a two by two actually.”
He straightened up, frowning. “You know it worries me that I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
Fatima snickered, a sound that turned into a groan as she clutched her chest. “Okay, laughter is bad.”
Shaking his head, OA began to put a plan into action. “That hot shower sounds like a good idea,” he said. “It’ll loosen up your muscles… then I’ll help you rub some arnica on those marks. They’re going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”
“Oh, Omar.” She squeezed his arm. “It’s so cute you think they’re waiting til tomorrow.”
“I’ll get you some tylenol too. Then we can have dinner and you can take it easy for the next few days.”
She actually pouted. “But you’re only here for a week… and we had so many plans…”
“Fatima…” He cupped her cheek, the one that wasn’t turning half the colours of the rainbow. “I’m here to see you, not to sightsee. I don’t care if we spend the whole week doing nothing. In fact, I want to spend the whole week doing nothing with you.”
Fatima smiled; a tired, wan smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Will you kiss me better?” she asked, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into him.
He chuckled, pulling her close very, very carefully. “I thought you’d never ask.”