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Being summoned to the office late at night happened often enough that Matthew didn't immediately give thought as to why. He hung up the phone, pulled on some appropriate clothes, and grumbled only a little as he drove downtown.
Sam didn't usually work nights, nor were they working on any cases together right now. Both were suspicious. Why, he wondered, would she have called him? Matthew squinted his eyes against the glare of some overly-bright headlights and mentally replayed the phone call.
"Can you come to my office? I found something I need your help with."
She hadn't identified him, by either name or title. That didn't tell him anything. She made a point of not calling him Dad—except when they were away from the office and alone together—and still wasn't comfortable with referring to him by his new name. That would come in time, Matthew hoped.
Nor had she sounded scared. While there'd been a tremble in her voice, he hadn't heard fear.
So, what had he heard? The call had been brief, long enough to convey the request and for him to respond. That the summons came from Sam instead of Diana sunk into his sleep-fogged brain while he was parking the car. It was probably nothing. She could just be wanting to check a detail on one of their old cases without going through formal routes.
Even so, he checked that his gun was loaded before he headed inside.
The flags outside the OCME's office hung limp in the winter damp, heavy and tired despite the floodlights that shone on them from below. At this hour, most of the building was dark, save for the scattered office, that gave the effect of a building struggling to fall asleep.
Not until Matthew stepped out of the elevator on the floor that held his daughter's office did the frisson of Immortality sweep over him. He stopped, eyes first scanning down the cross halls, then to each of the other office doors. His hand crept to his holster.
He hadn't brought his sword. There was no point in trying to get it through Security, especially because he wouldn't use it in the building itself. Yet, despite his facility with a firearm, he felt unarmed as he crept down the hall.
When this was over—no matter how it ended—he and Sam needed to have a talk. She'd known about his Immortality since she was in high school, but Matthew had never seen the need to tell her about the rest of the package: the Game, and Quickenings, and Challenges. She understood that he wasn't the only Immortal out in the world, but she had no inkling how dangerous some of the others could be—or what they might do, if they set their sights on Matthew.
He'd heard countless stories of Immortals torturing or murdering the mortal friends and lovers of intended opponents in order to psychologically defeat them before issuing the official Challenge. While he'd been able to avoid that particular Hell so far, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that it couldn't happen to him.
That no one in DC knew about his and Sam's relationship didn't mean no one at all did.
That he didn't know if anyone was after his head, didn't mean no one was.
Buzzing from the fluorescent lights prickled at nerves that were already on edge from the sensation of the other Immortal, and Matthew forced himself to slow down, to pay attention. He couldn't keep his approach secret. If he felt the other Immortal, the other equally felt him. At the door to Sam's office, he paused, listening carefully for any hint of whether he needed to go in with his weapon drawn.
Despite the eerie silence of a government building after hours, all he heard were the faintest strains of two people talking—not even enough to identify who the speakers might be.
If Sam was in danger, acting rashly wouldn't help her.
He pushed the door open, prepared equally to fall back or to spring forward, depending on what he found inside. The door was heavy, the hinges stiff, and he caught the quick rustle of fabric as the barrier to the office vanished.
And then he had a view of fate he hoped would never befall his family. A loud swear tore from his lips before he could stop it.
Sam had moved an armchair into her office so that she'd have someplace comfortable to sit and do the immense amounts of reading the job often required of her. The figure currently seated in that chair let himself fall deeper into his slouch, bare feet kicking out across the vinyl floor. He was wrapped only in a blanket and had ash smudged up his face and into his hair.
"Well, that's a blasphemous interjection that I haven't heard in a long time! Hello to you too," the man stated.
Sam was perched on the edge of her desk. In a pair of jeans and a ratty sweatshirt, she was not dressed for work. She must have come in to grab something quickly, only to end up needing to stay. Her mouth twisted into an awkward smile and she gestured toward her visitor. "This is why I asked you to come in, Agent. I … kinda found him, and I thought you could help. Do … do you two know each other?"
Matthew pushed the door shut. Now there was no way out except through him. "Let me guess," he said, not even trying to temper his tone, "someone who isn't supposed to be in this part of the world made a idiotic decision, got killed, and woke up in the morgue." Again, he thought, remembering that the last time he'd dealt with Cory had been under exactly the same circumstances. He sighed. Both of them knew the summary was rhetorical. "Did anyone except S…Ms. Grant see you?"
"Nah, I got lucky. Didn't come to until after the night shift went on their lunch break. At least, I think that's why they left. I didn't stop to check the schedule." He shrugged, entirely unapologetically. "Sam caught me sneaking down the hallway. Color me lucky that she knows about us."
Matthew pinched his eyes. If he could get stress headaches, he was sure this would do it. "So you brought him to your office?" he asked Sam. Yeah, he was definitely going to need to have a long conversation with her about how picking up strange men from the morgue wasn't a good survival tactic. Hadn't all her Stranger Danger lessons covered that?
"I thought he could use help. And a blanket," she explained. "Mostly the blanket. But I didn't know what to do next."
"That is why you called me," Matthew continued. Of course, it would fall on him to clean up this mess. He pressed harder at the bridge of his nose, thinking. He had extra clothes in his car. Retrieving them wouldn't be too difficult. The guards at the front door might question a person exiting whom they hadn't recorded entering, but that could be dealt with. What Matthew didn't have was space in his apartment to put up another person—especially not this person.
"Can you get Brad somewhere safe … and far away from here? I think I can fix the records in the morgue so that they don't realize they lost a body, but it would be easier if I didn't have the two of you standing over me." She slid off her desk and crossed around to the other side, where her chair and access to her terminal sat.
Matthew opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again when the name Sam had used sunk in. "Brad?" he asked. "You told her your name is Brad?"
"It is! Well, it's the one I was using legally until a few hours ago," Brad answered. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "I guess I've outstayed that welcome."
"If that's not your name…?" Sam cast the question at Matthew too, and he realized that her understanding of how Immortals changed lives was restricted entirely to how he had done it. As he firmly believed that keeping a consistent first name made it easier to adapt to a new identity, she'd had no reason to think that this other Immortal hadn't done the same.
Perhaps, he acknowledged, he should have been a lot more forthcoming in what he'd explained to her. They'd had a chance after he returned from South Dakota, yet discussing the nuances of identity-creation had hardly seemed the topic that needed addressing.
Since he was the only person in the room who knew both parties honestly, it was on him to do the introduction. Matthew affected a small bow. "Ms. Samantha Grant, allow me to introduce my first student by his original name, Corwin O'Green. Corwin, Miss Samantha Grant." He hesitated, mouth pursed and eyes squeezed shut while he debated how far to go. Discretion, however, was pointless. Cory would find out eventually. "Sam is my daughter."
Despite how he often acted, Cory understood how Immortal life worked. His gaze flicked to the nameplate on Sam's desk that confirmed the name Matthew had used, and then to the ID badge clipped to Matthew's belt that presented a very different one. Samantha had no ring on her finger nor personal pictures around the office that might indicate a spouse, so that really only left one conclusion.
Cory gave a small nod of understanding, then he slapped Matthew on the back. "Congrats, Old Man! If I'd'a known, I would've sent a Christening present. I've got a few antiquities that've been burning a hole in my pocket…Anyway, as they say, any family of yours …" Cory stuck out his hand for Sam to shake, then yanked it back when the blanket threatened to slip off from all the movement.
Samantha didn't notice either action. Her gaze had turned thoughtful, in an expression Matthew knew meant that she'd finally figured out something that had been bothering her. "Corwin? Your name is Corwin?" Again, she brought her question to Matthew, an accusation tingeing her tone. "Like my cat?"
"Like your cat," Matthew confirmed, with a sigh.
Cory's insouciant slide off the chair abruptly reversed. "You named a cat after me?" He chortled. "A cat that you lived with and took care of?"
"He stole sausage off my grill while I was cooking it," Matthew groused. "What else would I name it?"
Teenaged-Samantha and the thieving-feline had formed an immediate and deep bond that had made it impossible for Matthew to turn the animal over to the pound. Ten years later, Corwin lived a life of quiet retirement in Samantha's apartment, alternately sleeping in a chair beneath the one southern facing window and in a nest of blankets on her bed.
"I always knew you couldn't stop thinking of me." Cory swiped at his eyes, as if brushing away the mistiness of strong emotion. Collecting himself, he turned his attention back to Sam. "Until I have the next identity set up, you can call me Cory." A dangerous curl twisted his lips. "Unless your cat has a nickname that you think I should share. What do you call him? Cory the Destroyer? Hm, how about the Mighty Mighty Cor-Meister? Oh, I know. Fuzzybutt."
"She's not going to call you Fuzzybutt," Matthew stated, knowing that he needed to shut this down before Cory latched too deeply onto the absurdity. Cory would view the name as the height of humor, and then there would be no changing his mind.
At the same time, Sam also weighed in. "I … don't use any of those names."
"Really? None of them? Cats always have a buncha names, so I know you got something. What is it?"
"He's just Corwin," Sam answered. Jiggling her mouse, she brought the monitor back to life. A few key taps threw varying patches of light on her face while she searched for the screen she needed. Her fingers stopped, coming to rest on the keyboard. "Maybe there is one."
Cory rolled his shoulders, as if gearing up to fight. "Well, sweetcheeks …" he started. "A good moniker is worth its weight, you know? And I haven't had a worthy one since your dad and I were out West." He blew out a nostalgic sigh that begged for someone to ask what that nickname had been. When no one bit, he made an impatient gesture. "Nickname. Lay it on me."
Samantha poked at the keyboard again, either slowed down by the need to multi-task, or enjoying the drama. "Sometimes," she finally admitted, "when we're alone, I call him Captain Dumbass. Sorry, Dad. I know you don't like me swearing."
It took all Matthew's willpower to not laugh. Now that nickname he could see himself using. "You're an adult now," he reminded her, "and the name does fit." In the interest of further reducing the number of secrets between them, he made another concession. "I prefer to think of him as That Damned Cat."
"Dad!" Sam protested. "I thought you liked him. I mean, I know he isn't the brightest cookie…. Wait!" She leaned closer to the screen, her interest piqued. "According to this, Brad … Cory … whatever your name is … was brought in yesterday morning. Early." She squinted at the screen and amended, "Very early. What were you doing awake at that hour?" Before he could answer, she shook her head, "Never mind. And you didn't come back until—" She glanced at her watch "—an hour ago? I thought healing was faster than that."
While Samantha had been too caught up in Corwin-the-cat's well-being to witness the first time Matthew tried to show her his healing abilities, she'd had several opportunities since then to witness Immortal healing. What she'd seen had always concluded in minutes — albeit, they hadn't involved recovery from a fatal car accident.
"It usually is," Matthew answered, frowning his own confusion. To spend nearly two days dead suggested that Cory had had a lot to heal from. Fatalities like that were bound to make the news, so why had Matthew not heard anything?
"Yeah, it's probably better if you don't read the accident report," Cory commented. "I may or may not have been involved in a high speed chase, and, well—" He rubbed at one of the soot marks on his temple, succeeding only in smearing it further. "I'm famished. What do you say we blow this joint before I starve to death right here? We can deal with all the i-dotting and t-crossing tomorrow."
Matthew nodded, empathizing. Long recoveries really took a toll on the body. "I'll go grab some clothes out of my car. There's a restroom down the hall. Go … try to clean up a little. Sam?"
"I still have to do what I came in for," she answered. "And I think I should get Brad's 'body' transferred before anyone notices it's missing." She stilled, caught in thought, then blinked back. "You know, that's a sentence I never imagined saying."
"Dollface, you're doing God's work. What can I do to show my appreciation?"
Samantha drummed her fingers on the desk, then grinned. "First student, huh? Not sure what that means." She shot a teasing look at Matthew, a promise that soon she'd pry loose this secret too. "When were you a teacher, anyway? I can't really picture you doing the whole classroom-thing."
"'Mentor' is a better word," Matthew corrected. He opened his mouth to try to explain the distinction, but Sam waved him off.
"I'll bet you have a lot of great stories about my dad," she said to Cory.
"Stories? You bet I have stories. Did he ever mention—"
"You've heard them all," Matthew asserted. "All your bedtime stories…"
"Oh, no," Sam countered. "I'm an adult now. Remember?"
With a languid stretch, Cory rose to his feet, repositioning the blanket so that it hung less tenuously on his body. "I think I can come up with one or two you haven't shared."
Adult or not, she was still his daughter, and there was a certain image that a father needed to maintain for his children. Matthew's voice deepened in warning. "Cory?"
"Don't worry, Daddy-O, I know which of us will win if it comes to blades. I'm not gonna say anything to test that." Cory grasped Matthew's forearm and Matthew's reflexively grasped back. It was an old gesture shared between two warriors; they were on the same side, it said, and now they'd affirmed their intent to watch out for one another. "Trust me."
On some things, Matthew did trust Cory. He trusted him to take any situation and to execute it in the most chaotic way possible. He trusted Cory to have great intentions, and to exhibit no care about the havoc created in trying to fulfill them. He trusted Cory to show up in his life just when he could least afford to have it upended.
And, now that Cory had met Samantha, he trusted that he was never going to get a good night's sleep again.