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“My best friend died tonight.”
She doesn’t miss the pain that flashes across Eric’s face. It’s no secret that his best friend, Alan Humphries, isn’t long for this world. If there’s anyone who can understand her right now, it’s Eric. Though, Eric’s lucky – Alan won’t die at Eric’s hand.
Eric takes an audible breath, composing himself, and ventures out a cautious, “How’d they die?”
Grell doesn’t immediately answer. She instead chooses to gather her legs against her front and to loosely wrap her arms around them. The jacket Eric had given her when he saw her come in with Will sags around her shoulders and hangs off of her delicate frame. She distractedly fingers at the ends of sleeves that stretch far past the edges of her chipped nails. The scent that lingers on it is a surprisingly pleasant one; heady cologne and cigarettes blanket her and she finds herself burying her face in the fabric, seeking out the smell. It’s a good enough excuse to hide the tears gathering in her eyes.
“Grell?”
“I killed her,” she whispers, unable to keep her voice from cracking.
Eric doesn’t respond. He seems to understand that Grell doesn’t want him to. Smart man. She allows herself a moment to crumble apart here with Eric, hidden away from anyone who might be brave (or stupid) enough to walk by. Grell can’t rationalize her emotions at the moment, let alone her actions earlier, so she’s grateful for Eric’s silence.
Hot tears sneak past her tightly closed eyelids despite her willing them not to. As she swipes at them, undoubtedly ruining the sleeves of Eric’s jacket, Eric shifts beside her. These chairs are hard and unforgiving if sat in for too long, but Grell is numb to discomfort.
I killed her.
“Sutcliff,” comes Will’s stern voice, an echoing distance away from them. Grell lifts her head slightly but doesn’t look at him. “It’s time.”
“Give us another minute, boss,” Eric says beside her.
Will looks Grell over for a moment, then nods stiffly. “You have five minutes.”
After Will goes back into the room he came from, Grell tears her eyes away from the long hallway and presses her face back into Eric’s jacket. She inhales a shaking breath as she considers what might happen while she’s in that room.
“Hey, hey none of that,” comes Eric’s voice, in front of her now. Her eyes rise to meet his but tears make his features blurry. “I’ve never met a stronger, more intimating woman in my life. Grell.” He touches her chin with a gentleness he often keeps hidden. “If anything, those judges should be worried about what you might do to them.”
Grell breathes out a small, broken laugh at that. Eric runs his thumb under a split in her lip. She allows him to tilt her face up and he starts dabbing at her skin with a cloth, wiping away blood and tears and smeared makeup. She studies his face as he does it, the lines carved around his mouth from worry, the dullness in his eyes. He’s a young man but worry makes him look haggard. As she watches, his serious expression melts into a smile and he looks decades younger.
“There,” he says quietly, touching her cheek with his thumb. “Now your war paint is all fixed up. There’s only one thing left…”
He rises from his crouched position with Angelina’s bright red coat held in his arms. As he unfolds it, the hole in the back is revealed as newly mended, albeit slightly lopsided. He must have stitched it while she was busy crying into his coat and she hadn’t even realized. “Your armor,” he finishes.
Unsteadily, she gets to her feet and shuffles Eric’s jacket off of her shoulders. Her body is battered but as Eric helps her slide her arms into Angelina’s coat, she feels her resolve strengthen. The weight of those words settle deep within her soul and calm her. Whatever is in store for her behind that door, she can face it.
“Sutcliff,” comes Will’s voice again. “It’s time. Now.”
A light kiss touches her cheek. She blinks and Eric’s hand is at her back, nudging her gently toward Will.
“Thank you, Eric,” Grell whispers without turning. She walks toward Will, feeling armed for the battle ahead.