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"What the hell happened to you?" Tina shouted from the doorway.
Ophelia winced at the volume and then winced again when pain stabbed through her jaw at the sudden movement. She'd done her best to cover the discoloration from her morning altercation with the Trappers, but she rarely wore more than tinted sunscreen, which meant her make-up skills were nonexistent. Douglas hadn't noticed a thing, of course, but she should've known better with Tina. She reached up to touch the red, swollen skin, thought better of it, and dug into her drawer for a couple more pain relievers instead.
"Just a tiny incident with a belligerent drunk," she said carefully. "Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to—" Tina sighed and shut the door behind her before marching around Ophelia's desk to gently grasp her chin and inspect the injury. "At least I'm getting some use out of all that first responder training. Did you go see Doc Turner?"
"No, because it's—ow—nothing. Ow." Ophelia swatted at Tina's probing fingers. "Are you trying to make more bruises?"
"I was barely touching you!" she protested. She leaned up and put her hands on her waist. "Come on. We're going to see the doc."
"What? No. I'm fine." Ophelia turned back to her computer but flinched a moment later when Tina poked her cheek. "OW! What the hell?"
"That's what I asked. Now get your ass out of that chair and into my patrol car before I drag you there myself."
Tina stepped back, adjusted her belt, and pointed to the door like some sort of grim reaper pointing Scrooge to his grave. Ophelia closed her eyes.
"You're not going to let this go?"
"Are you seriously asking me that with a welt the size of the moon on your face?"
Without another word, Ophelia stood, gathered her things, and marched out of the station with Tina hard on her heels. The day had turned progressively cloudier as the morning waned, and nothing was left of the sun but a slightly brighter section of clouds overhead. She wondered if it might rain. She hadn't thought of checking the weather—too busy frantically trying to cover up her unexpected injury while replaying the attack over and over (and over) in her head.
The thing was, she knew she should've gone back into the Facility to have it checked out right after it happened, but the idea of anyone prodding at her, especially after... everything, left her cold in a way that made her fear she'd never warm up.
As they approached Tina's car, a sound like tree limbs straining in the wind cut through the stagnant afternoon air. Ophelia caught a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she whirled toward the stretch of forest that lined the street next to the police station.
"What is it?" Tina asked, looking around.
Ophelia hesitated while slowly reaching into her bag to curl a hand around her Volt gun. She was probably imagining things. She'd only noticed the peculiarities because her senses were on high alert from the attack. Besides, what could she say to Tina?
Oh, it's probably just people trying to kidnap me. Again.
Or worse.
Nothing to worry about. It's just the hot vampires who like to follow me around and break my things.
Tina definitely didn't mind the hot agents who followed Ophelia around, but she wondered if her friend would feel the same way if she knew who—and what—they really were. Verda certainly didn't seem to be taking his realizations about the possible existence of supernaturals as well as she'd hoped.
She couldn't blame him, though. A chill slithered down her spine at the sudden flash of restraints, of needles, of unending pain. She stuttered out a soft breath before forcing herself to breathe at a normal pace and think rationally.
The Trappers wouldn't attack again so soon, especially not with an armed Tina around. She was becoming as paranoid as Adam.
She swallowed at the thought of him, her mind wandering to soft gazes and barely-there touches, to the unnatural way his mere presence calmed her anxiety. She shook her head to clear it and turned away from the forest.
"It's nothing. Let's go."
*
The cold examination room sent a chill through her as Dr. Turner examined the injury while tsking at her and asking a load of invasive questions that she might have appreciated under different circumstances. She stuck with one-word answers when possible and repeated her story about the belligerent drunk. Turner side-eyed her, but Ophelia held firm and stiffly promised to take his recommendations under advisement. The medication for pain and swelling she received with more graciousness.
Tina was unusually silent on the drive back. Instead of going straight to the station, she pulled into a spot in front of Haley's, put the car in park, and rolled her lips together as she stared hard at the steering wheel. The soft idling of the car permeated the space, taking up residence with the tension that threatened to suffocate them both. Ophelia watched her warily out of the corner of her eye until, finally, Tina pinned Ophelia with a hard look and a raised brow.
"I know something happened. I also know you're not going to tell me what it is. So, here's the deal. I won't pry. I won't dig into anything." Ophelia's shoulders relaxed as Tina spoke but tensed all over again when she continued, "But. In return, I'll expect a phone call any time you're somewhere you don't feel safe."
Ophelia sat in silence, her body rigid as she stared through Haley's front window. A heated pressure flared up behind her eyes, and the world around her blurred. She blinked to clear it away.
"Of course," Ophelia lied.
"You promise?"
No. "Yes."
Tina sighed and turned off the car. "Come on. You need food, and then I'm taking you home."
"No."
"Lia, don't be—"
"No, Tina," she interrupted, a sliver of emotion slipping into her normally impassive delivery. "I need... I need to work, okay?"
"Not okay," Tina snapped before letting out a grumpy sigh.
Ophelia kept her gaze straight ahead, her heart pounding like it might break her chest open. She hated it—the subterfuge for an Agency she still didn't trust and the feeling that she'd let Tina down yet again.
But she'd already risked Verda finding out, and he'd been avoiding her lately—so blatantly that even she'd noticed. If it was because he'd figured things out… if she lost him as a friend and put him in danger because of her own weakness, she wasn't sure what she'd do.
She couldn't afford to lose Tina, too, even if she had to fudge the truth. She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes closed to focus on keeping her voice devoid of emotion.
"I was helping the Agency with a case out of town. The target got the drop on me, and I'm… I'm still a little on edge."
"Shit," Tina mumbled. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Where were those beautiful agents of yours?"
"They weren't there. It was just me. It… it wasn't supposed to be dangerous. Another Agency coworker had my back, though, and helped me take them down."
And thank the universe for Elidor. She might have been doing fine fighting them on her own, but it didn't mean she wanted to be alone in a fight. She touched her tender jaw, wincing at the sting that joined the constant, dull throb. The skin was hot, a precursor of the vicious bruise to come. Tina pulled in a long breath and then unbuckled her seat belt.
"Stay here. I'll grab your order."
As soon as Tina disappeared into Haley's, Ophelia let herself double over in the seat. The burning pressure returned, and with every tear that fell, she berated herself for her weakness. She'd lived through a fucking vampire kidnapping her, experimenting on her, and damn near killing her. Getting jumped by some dumb Trappers shouldn't send her into a sobbing fit.
She forced herself to sit up and breathe slower, fighting back the hiccuping sobs until the tears stopped. She wiped at her face before flicking the passenger seat visor down. One look in the mirror had her flipping it back up.
So, that's what it looked like to take a punch to the face and then cry about it. Pathetic.
The first raindrops were splattering against the windshield when Tina ducked back into the car. She handed over a large coffee and two pastry bags, keeping another two for herself. Ophelia blinked, and Tina huffed.
"It's like you don't even know me... or get that I know you," Tina complained before pointing to each bag in succession. "This one is for now. This one is for when you need a snack. You get peckish in the afternoons."
Another wave of tears threatened, but Ophelia just nodded, sipped her coffee, and nibbled on the first pastry while Tina drove them back to the station, filling the silence with her usual chatter about her shift the day before. If Tina had noticed the tear tracks, she kept quiet, and Ophelia was grateful.
By the time they reached the station, she felt almost normal again.
*
"Who's there?" she barked into the dusky evening shadows, her pepper spray gripped in one hand, Volt in the other.
The pepper spray might not affect a supernatural, but it could certainly bring down a Trapper. She had no plans on being caught unaware by those fuckers again today. She shoved back against her car, glad that she'd channeled Adam's paranoia enough to deliberately park under the streetlight now throwing a broad pool of light around her. The silence stretched until—
"It is only me, Detective."
Think of the devil…
Adam stepped into the light, and Ophelia's entire body slumped back against her car as she shoved the weapons back into her bag. She opened her mouth to yell at him for scaring her, but her mouth clicked shut when, with a sudden flash of movement, Adam's face appeared inches from her own.
"What is this?" he hissed, his fingers grasping the uninjured side of her face to angle the swollen skin toward the light. "Elidor's report did not mention that you were injured."
"It was from the beginning of the fight when they first snuck up on me," she grumbled while half-heartedly attempting to pull her face away from him. "He might not have seen it happen."
"Then you should have told him!"
"I had just been attacked, Adam. As much as I appreciate organization and efficiency, I wasn't really thinking about making a report at the time."
His expression froze, eyes darting from the injury to catch her gaze. "That is not what I…" He trailed off before shaking his head and stepping impossibly closer, boxing her against the car with his other hand. His brows furrowed, and his voice took on an oddly frantic tone. "That is not the point."
"Care to share what it is, then? Because I'm at a loss here."
"You should have come back inside for treatment!" he burst out.
"I know that!" she shouted back, closing all but the last inch between them as she stared him down.
He blinked and opened his mouth, but only a rasp of uneven breaths escaped him, sawing through the silence and mingling with her own harsh pants in the scant space separating them. His grip loosened, fingers gently curling around her jaw, and goosebumps erupted over her skin as he swiped his thumb across her chin, the pad brushing the edge of her lower lip. A bolt of something that felt too close to want sliced through her chest and settled low in her gut.
"Ophelia," he murmured.
The tension melted out of her body at the sound of her name in such a soft tone—especially in the wake of their harsh words. He'd practically wrapped himself around her, but instead of being frightened or angry at his proximity, she only felt a profound sense of relief, like the sudden flip of a release valve. Adam's presence cut through the fear that had encased her like creeping vines, and the stress of being constantly on guard, always ready for a fight, slipped away. A shudder worked its way from the center of her spine as another kind of want rocked through her.
A thread of panic weaved into the relief, jumpstarting her frozen limbs, and she broke free of his loose grip to slide out from between him and the car. She expected him to move away as usual, but he only stood there with his head down, gaze boring into the side of her car as if it might offer some explanation for the oddities of the past five minutes.
That desire for relief urged her to turn back, to let go, to place herself in the safe cocoon of his embrace and let him protect her from the world… and maybe from herself. But she pushed away the unrealistic desires and reminded her traitorous heart that Adam couldn't be around all the time—didn't want to be, for that matter.
And she shouldn't want it, either. She needed to figure this out for herself.
She huffed a tired sigh and turned toward her apartment.
"I went to see Dr. Turner," she said without looking back. "I'm fine."
It was the best she could do for a peace offering. After such an intense moment, he'd no doubt be gone long before she got to her door anyway. If she had the energy, she would run away, too.
"I am glad to hear that."
She jumped at the sound of his voice beside her before jerking her head around to glare at him as he followed her up the sidewalk. "I've had enough surprises today if you don't mind."
"I am sorry."
No reply came to mind for the unexpected apology, so she kept walking. The gathering silence was interrupted by a scuff of Adam's shoes on the concrete. Then another. And another.
And she laughed.
It was a dry, thin kind of joviality. Barely more than a huff of air. But it was the first hint of amusement she'd had all day—perhaps all week—so she ran with it.
"Is something funny?" Adam asked.
She hummed an affirmative. "It's just… You don't have to be purposefully loud when I already know where you are. Just don't sneak up on me."
The scuffing stopped. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and found his intense gaze boring into her. She wet her lips and looked straight ahead.
"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked.
"I happened to be patrolling in the area when I heard your… vehicle approach."
She snorted. "Such contempt for my poor car from a man who gets a fancy, free work vehicle. You do realize I wouldn't keep that car if I could afford something better?" A sigh escaped her in spite of her attempt to stifle it, and a bit of longing seeped into her otherwise dry tone. "All the cars I want are out of my price range, so I might as well drive this one until it dies."
"If money were no object, what would you buy?"
She shrugged as they climbed the stairs side by side. "I don't know. Something fast. And shiny. I haven't let myself look at what's out there in a while because… because it's not realistic."
Adam hummed, but said nothing further. His calm quiet surrounded Ophelia, and despite her earlier resolve, she settled into it, her mind going pleasantly numb after being on guard all day. Even the dull throb in her jaw lessened.
When they reached her door, Adam hovered beside her as she pulled out her keys. She shot him a questioning look.
"After such an unexpected attack this morning, I would prefer to ensure your apartment has not been compromised," he explained.
She glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. The want warred with her usual reticence, fear whispering a familiar refrain of the dangers of relying on others and allowing anyone that kind of power over her.
"For my own peace of mind," he tacked on when she didn't respond.
His gaze seemed calm, but his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The throbbing pain in her jaw intensified, and want won the battle. She nodded, stepping aside for him to go first.
Adam took the keys and preceded her into the living room. She stood by the door, shoes still on, as he strode to her bedroom first. The sound of doors opening and boxes being shuffled around echoed through the bare apartment until he appeared at her bedroom door, gaze caught by something on the other side. Her cheeks heated as she remembered the slide lock she'd installed after Murphy's thrall attack.
Fat lot of good it did against supernaturals. Falk had simply stepped through her mirror, while most other supernaturals could break the metal in half without even trying. It had never been about rationality, though.
It took him a few minutes to clear the whole apartment, poking through all her kitchen drawers and cabinets with blurred movements before returning to the living room. He ran his fingers under the window sill trim and then under her coffee table. The steel-frame couch came off the floor with little more than a hum from Adam as he peered at the underside before he did the same for the two side chairs and side table. She frowned at the odd actions… until she realized he was looking for listening devices or perhaps some other type of supernatural tech.
With a final glance around, he set her keys in the bowl on the table, right where she usually put them, before shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing up at her. Unsure what to say, she licked her lips, awkwardness rising up to steal her calm.
He cleared his throat. "It appears to be safe."
She managed a nod, and he nodded in return. Their gazes caught, and her heart jumped.
"Eildor's report said that you had incapacitated the first Trapper and were well on your way to putting down the second when he arrived."
She tilted her head, brows furrowing. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to say… good work."
He cleared his throat again. After ten seconds of silent staring, he visibly jolted before nodding again.
"Good evening, Detective."
He brushed past her and disappeared down the stairs before she could even think to say goodbye. She stared at the empty hall for a few seconds before pushing her door closed and locking it.
He'd left all the lights on, so she went through her homecoming routine—shoes, coat, bag, mail all in their proper places—and then walked through each room to turn them off. In the bathroom, the medicine and sink cabinet doors stood wide open, and the shower curtain was pushed back to reveal the tub. She righted everything and flipped off the light.
In her bedroom, she found the closet door, nightstand drawer, and all her dresser drawers open. Heat bloomed in her chest and worked up her neck as she stared at the neat rows of her undergarments. Even if he'd been looking for listening devices or other supernatural traps, he could've at least closed the drawers again so she didn't have to imagine his big, warm hands rummaging through her underthings.
The heat shifted to anger and embarrassment, clouding her thoughts as she pushed the drawers closed while muttering under her breath about overbearing vampires. It wasn't until she reached the closet and saw the few boxes of mementos, previously organized on her upper shelf, all lined up on her closet floor with the lids neatly placed to the side that she considered another possibility.
Perhaps… he'd wanted her to know? Perhaps he'd done it as a courtesy so she wouldn't have to wonder what he'd seen and what he hadn't.
Unsure how that made her feel, she pushed it aside as she fixed her bedroom and closet, closed the curtains, and then turned out the lights on her way into the kitchen. The laminate counter was cool under her palms as she leaned against it, head dangling between her shoulders.
A growl cut through the silence, her stomach making itself known, though it wasn't accompanied by the gnawing sensation she got when she forgot to eat. Tina had forced a meal on her around lunch time, and she'd eaten the second pastry in the afternoon as Tina predicted.
Tina, who took care of her. Who she feared losing almost as much as she feared being known.
And Verda, who was barely talking to her now. Who looked more worn and frightened every time they crossed paths, which was notably less often than a few months ago. Perhaps this was her punishment for allowing herself to rely on a friend like him.
No.
She gritted her teeth and seethed, fighting the fear and the negative thoughts that hovered at the dark edges of her mind, waiting to consume her. She had to get herself under control. She had to fight this, or she'd be no good to anyone, least of all the town.
Despite the vines creeping over her, searching for places to dig deep once more, she forced herself through her evening routine, taking a pre-prepped meal from the freezer and popping it in the oven. She moved back to her bedroom to change into lounge pants and an old t-shirt and came back to the scent of savory vegetables and garlic filling the kitchen.
The silence no longer soothed—she refused to think about why—and she put on some music. The soft tones of an orchestra filled the apartment. A few minutes later, the oven timer beeped, and she set up her meal at the small dining table in her eat-in kitchen.
And with each bite of dinner, with the cleaning of the dishes, with the slow walk into the living room, she shoved and pushed and willed the fear away. Her reflection in the living room window mocked her, a reminder of once-hostile people who had simply walked into her apartment through that window, but she ignored the shiver of fear that tried to take hold.
She perched on the firm cushions of her serviceable brown couch and pushed her hands into her eyes. A sharp sting followed, and she hissed as she stood once more to grab medicine from her bag before trudging back into the kitchen. She took a full dose, thankful for the side effect sticker that warned of possible drowsiness.
The oven clock read 7:13 p.m. She sighed and willed herself to move back to the living room, but her feet decided the bedroom was a better idea. She turned, locked the doorknob, and grasped the slide lock. The metal was cool under her fingers as she leaned forward until her forehead connected with the door.
The exhaustion of the day hung heavy over her, and in the quiet, her mind tried to replay the attack yet again. Questions of her readiness, of her ability to survive in a world so immersed in powerful supernaturals, plagued her, and she huffed out a breath, her hand curling into a fist before slamming against the door.
The harsh buzz of her phone against the nightstand broke through her spiral, and she pushed away from the door, leaving the slide lock unlatched. As she approached, she recognized the photo on the screen and her heart leapt into her throat.
"Tina? What's wrong?"
"Well, hello to you, too. Nothing's wrong, worry wart. I'm just calling to check in. How's your fat face?"
Ophelia couldn't speak. She grit her teeth to fight back another bout of stupid crying, but it took too long to pull herself together.
"Lia? You still there? Need me to come punch anyone for you? Or arrest someone? You know how much I love working with handcuffs."
Ophelia managed to choke out a laugh as she sat down on the edge of her bed. "No, I'm fine. Just getting ready to read for a little bit before bed."
"Oh, well, if you've got exciting reading plans, I can let you—"
"No!" It was way too strong of a reaction. She knew it. Tina, for all her occasional obliviousness and suggestibility, knew it, too. Ophelia cleared her throat, wrangling her voice into her usual passivity. "That's okay. I'm good with talking… if you want."
"Okay, then. Get ready for a wild story. Bet you'll never guess who I ran into at the end of my shift today…"
The tension that had been holding Ophelia hostage all day eased as she fluffed her pillows and leaned back against the headboard. Tina's voice ebbed and flowed through one story to the next, Ophelia humming and asking questions at the right times. And as the meds kicked in, she let herself float along, the words blurring into a blanket of comfort as she fell asleep to the melody of her best friend's voice.
*
On her way out the door the next morning, she stumbled over a small paper bag. Inside was a jar of some kind of salve along with a note.
Courtesy of Elidor, to help with the bruising. -A