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He should have been looking where he was going. He really ought to have been. But well— maybe it was a happy accident that he hadn’t. One second he had been going along, trying not to focus on the scholars filing into hometrains, going back to their stations, back to their homes for the day, trying not to find anyone particular in the crowd. The next, that particular scholar was right in front of him.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see—” she started to say before her brain seemed to reboot and she paused.
“Mog!” he said, a strange mix of guilt and happiness making itself known in his gut. Guilt won. She didn’t want to be called that anymore. He probably oughtn’t take that personally but it was hard not to. “Morrigan. Apologies. Hello! Sorry—”
“It was my fault,” she said. “I wasn’t looking.”
“Not at all! I was daydreaming,” he knelt down alongside with her to pick up their respective papers, his eyes catching her handwriting and sorting into one pile, while his took his meeting notes, Guiltghast reports, League minutes. All boring things. They dived into awkward silence, but something was bubbling up in him, words, anything to keep her here for a few more seconds even though it was selfish, and anything other than what she wanted. She had made that more than clear. If he were being decent, he would let her go, back to the Silver District for yet another night. But he was speaking before he knew it.
“It’s your birthday on Sunday!” he said just as she said, “You didn’t need to send Fen.”
“I— Sorry?”
Morrigan explained that apparently his housekeeper had used her Sunday morning to try to break into the Silver District, nominally on his behalf. Morrigan wasn’t quite glaring at him, and she didn’t exactly sound angry, but he didn’t want her to think that he was stalking her or anything. No more than - well - the amount of stalking he was technically doing. It wasn’t stalking anyway. It was just… keeping an eye on her. Because Divine Thing knew he didn’t trust the Darlings further than he could throw the whole lot of them. Maybe that was worth a try though. The elder abuse charges would be undoubtedly stunning, but so would the sight of Mallory Darling being thrown into a canal.
Still, he didn’t want her getting the wrong end of the stick, “Morrigan, I didn’t send Fenestra. I would never ask her to do anything on a Sunday morning; do you think I want to find prawn heads in my suede loafers again? I think…” Oh, well, that was sweet of Fen. No wonder she had lied to the guard on the gate. No one could ever find out. “Honestly, I think perhaps Fen sent Fen to check on you.”
“Oh,” she said, embarrassment curling up around her.
He rushed to mend the damage, “But of course I’m very happy to know you’re well.”
“No, I didn’t mean to… of course it was Fen!” She tried to laugh but didn’t quite carry it off. “I should go, Miss Cheery’s waiting.”
He needed to keep her here, for as long as possible. This was, after all, the first time he had seen her in months. Even five more minutes might be enough, “Really, Morrigan, I am relieved to hear it. But I don’t need to send anyone to the Silver District to check up on you.” This was a lie, but he brushed it off. Explaining Birdie would be a whole ‘nother can of worms. They had opened more than enough for now. “—and there are few people in the world on whom I would spring a surprise Fenestra. I’m saving that for my worst enemies.” Which might very well be the Darlings adult, but she didn’t need to know that.
She laughed now, and he could see the generosity bloom out of her. He just needed to stick this landing, and maybe it would all be alright again. Maybe Morrigan could come home. Even if it were just for the weekends. “I know you’re safe and and healthy and… happy, I think? I’m still your patron after all. I receive the usual reports from Miss Cheery and Rook. Of course, I’m curious about…” He didn’t know how to finish that properly. So he didn’t. Might be best to end on a high. Quit while he was ahead, “But you told me to back off, and I’m respecting that. I promise I won’t—” he looked down at the papers he had just been about to hand her only to catch sight of something he had really hoped to not see. “What’s this?”
Take a candidate they said, the annoying voice in his brain whispered. Wonderful opportunity. Nurture the youth. Give back to the community. Influence the future in a positive way. Try and make sure they don’t investigate murders in their free time.
If it hadn’t been so serious he might have laughed to see Birdie on the list. But there was nothing funny about this.
She tried to grab it off him, but he had a foot on her and was quicker besides. This wasn’t about getting Morrigan to come home anymore. This was about making sure she didn’t get herself killed. “We talked about this. Morrigan, tell me you are not investigating Dario Rinaldi’s murder. Tell me you are not so foolish—”
“Hometrain’s leaving,” she said, cutting her losses. Again. “I have to go.” She grabbed her bag, and the remaining papers, pushing past him so quickly that he couldn’t even register it until he lost her in the crowd.
“MORRIGAN CROW—” But she was gone, and less than a minute later he spotted the hometrain with 919 painted on the side chug-chug-chugging out of Proudfoot Station, leaving him on the side of the platform, still hugging his papers to his chest. Still waiting for her to come back. In any way. Whatever way she wanted.
But it wouldn’t be today.