tough as nails under that corset

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Well, if it wasn’t so appalling to her, perhaps Ben could stay there, sans shirt, for a little while longer while he navigated them both through another one of his uncle’s lapses of bloody judgement.

“Kidnapping you?” Ben echoed, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Now, he knew Quentin to be a little forgetful at best. He had never managed to keep a plant alive, yet insisted on buying several more with every trip he made to the local florist. He seemed to understand every lecture Ben gave him about Ayden being a growing boy for whom nutrition was a necessity, not a choice, and dutifully made a monthly trip to Whole Foods, buying all sorts of vegetables and grains that eventually began rotting in the fridge in favour of him ordering Ayden take-out instead. Ben had been on his hands and knees scrubbing their fridge and cupboards out to get rid of the sour smell of food that had gone off more times than he could count. Overall, Quentin wasn’t always the most reliable, but a kidnapper, he was not. He simply didn’t have the drive for something as long-term as that.

“Oh, how awful,” Ben mused dryly.

There was no hiding the smile now, even when he glanced at his uncle who continued to scratch the top of his head, glancing in between Ben and Daniela.

“I’m sure I told you that she was going to be living here,” he murmured, reminding Ben about why he’d even been confused in the first place.

“I think I’d remember something like that, Quentin!” he sighed.

“For how long?” Ayden piped up, still staring at Daniela in amazement, like he wasn’t sure if she was about to set their apartment alight or not.

“For… well, we haven’t known for long. Everything moved quite quickly.”

“No,” Benji cut in, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head. “He’s asking how long she’s staying here.”

“Ah!” Quentin nodded. “However long it takes.”

Ben blinked. He turned to Daniela, looking at her expectantly.

“As illuminating as that was, perhaps you could shed a little more light on the situation? Unless you’d like me to open the window a smidge for you so you can call out to be freed from your captors?”

She rolled her eyes petulantly, falling short of simply stomping her feet. She was a gracious woman, and she liked to think she could handle this with the class required of her, but he was certainly doing well to push her buttons. Remaining as poised as she could, Daniela allowed her gaze to trail back to Quentin’s as she fixed the older gentleman with an unfiltered look of blatant irritation. Still, it was better to look at him than Benjamin, who for unknown reasons was still completely starkers! Well, with the exception of a very loosely secured towel that she was certain could drop any second now. Not that she wanted to be thinking about that possibility right now. 

She blinked, surprised to find that she had, in fact, been staring at the flimsy knot at Benjamin’s waist. She cleared her throat, reentering the conversation that had apparently moved on just fine without her, only to find that he was mocking her. Again. What a surprise! 

“Oh, quite the comedian, aren’t you?” Daniela snapped, perhaps a little harshly. As much as Benji could be a pain in her bottom, she liked to think she was the bigger person for not having risen to his goading. Unfortunately, she’d been having a rather rotten day, and he was doing a rather stellar job of making it worse. 

Exhaling slowly, she recentered herself both physically and emotionally. After a pause that seemed to stretch out for an eternity, she appraised him slowly before addressing him, this time with a little more candor and a lot less entitlement. 

“It appears that, as of last week, another rather libelous smear campaign came hurtling into my mother’s office. Only this time I appear to have been caught in the crosshairs,” she informed him, feeling herself deflate. 

Quite honestly, she knew that the situation they were in was quite serious. She was no fool. Daniela knew how dangerous her mother’s job could be, and she was well aware of the dangers that it often landed them in. That said, it had taken Daniela a lot of years well into her adulthood to finally be granted her own freedom. She had her own home now, her own life, and it was swiftly being ripped away from her, leaving her no place to interject or fight her cause. 

“I rather thought I’d convinced her I could handle it, until this morning when a brick was delivered through my bedroom window.” Setting down the surplus of luggage that she’d managed to bundle into her arms, she lifted her hands to rub gently at her temples. She really was tired. “Apparently, my mother and your uncle believe I’m incapable of looking after myself.” 

He rubbed a hand over the scruff about his chin, unable to stop the smile that twitched the corners of his mouth upwards. He stepped to the side, letting Daniela stride into the apartment, carrying the scent of coffee and something sugary with her. His stomach lurched uncomfortably, a pang he associated with hunger. It had been a long time since he’d last eaten, sleep making him oblivious. Now that he thought about it, his head felt like it was filled with cotton wool, too. His body was always a little slow to alert him to his base needs. 

 “Good. I won’t put on airs and graces for you, my love.” he chirped, fighting to keep his voice cheery. He vaguely kicked the door into place and moved into the small kitchen space, pulling a somewhat clean glass from the drying rack and filling it up with water. With his back to Daniela he drank greedily, water spilling from either side of his lips and hitting his chest, catching in his moustache. 

“What did you bring me?” he asked, pulling back from his drink with a sharp breath. He found himself wandering around the kitchen like it was an unfamiliar space, pulling open cupboard doors at random til he settled on what he needed. 

“LR’s cat is around here somewhere.” he murmured, pulling free a bag of dry cat food. It was the brand Lily-Rose had specified in her care sheet, and without glancing over at the cat’s dish he knew it would be overflowing. He tended to overfeed the thing, on account of late nights at Spectre. 

He shook the bag absently, making various mouth sounds he hoped the cat would find pleasing. 

“Marshmallow!” he called, wrinkling his nose. “Keeps outta my way usually. I think she knows my sinuses are rejecting her.”

He smiled at Daniela, sitting down at one of the mis-matched chairs around his kitchen table. 

“Is it your turn to check on me?” he asked, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. 

Sufficed to say, Daniela knew there was nothing to his flirty banter, shrugging it off just as easily now as she had when she’d first met him in grad school. Besides, anybody with half a braincell understood that unless your surname was Desphande and you looked as though you’d been deprived of at least 6 weeks of sleep, then Arturo couldn’t bat an eyelid your way even if he wanted to. Bless his little cotton socks. 

“Tsk. Don’t you let her hear you calling her that,” Daniela gently scolded him with a smile. Everyone at Spectre knew that Lily-Rose loathed any and all abbreviations of her name. In fact, it had been one of the very things that had endeared her almost immediately to both of the Reyes siblings and Ravi himself. Their insistence on getting her name exactly right had made her smile so bright that Skye had been convinced she wouldn’t last an hour in the office. 

She decided to politely ignore the way he was currently guzzling water from the kitchen faucet, no doubt trying to speedrun some much needed hydration after a rough night. Unfortunately, Daniela wasn’t sure her friend knew what it was like to not have a rough night, these days. Instead, she set down the coffee and donuts on his kitchen counter, opting for the neatest corner she could find. There were takeout boxes and crumpled sheets of sketch-paper littered all over the place, a sign that Elena hadn’t been around in the past day or so. She wondered if Arturo even knew how much he relied on his darling sister, or if it was lost to him in the fog of sadness and alcohol that he appeared to be drowning in. The thought gave way to a sad tug in her chest, an ache that stretched wide enough to reach the pit of her stomach. 

“Why ever did you agree to take on that gorgeous lump, hm? You and I both know you don’t need to do a single thing to win Lily-Rose over,” she teased, finally turning to face him. 

She thought it best not to dwell on the mess, lest she agitate him past the point of conversation. Daniela adored the socks off of Arturo and wouldn’t trade him for the world, but he made her sad in ways that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He carried so much sadness everywhere with him, masking it behind flirty remarks and sardonic quips, but everybody that knew and loved him could see it for what it was. At heart, he was just a boy crying out for help, but he was quick to sour too. Now wasn’t the time to start therapising her lovely friend, not when he’d so readily invited her into his home despite her showing up unannounced. No, if anything, she thought it might be better to help him feel useful. She believed Arturo could move mountains if he put his mind to it, all he truly needed was a little nudge in the right direction. 

“Check up on you? Whatever for, little light of mine? I’ve actually come to ask a favour of you, believe it or not. Beacon of wisdom that you are!” 

“Ayden,” he called. “Ayden.”

There was no answer, not that Ben really expected one with the tone he was taking right now. His uncle’s ward rarely responded to any voice that suggested a reprimand was on its way.

Sighing to himself, he scrubbed the towel against his head, quickly drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist, holding the two ends together securely. As he opened the bathroom door, he poked his head around the corner to the living room. Ayden was lying on the sofa, thumbs furiously jabbing at his Nintendo Switch, in perfect earshot.

“Ayden, what have we said about using up all the hot water? I don’t know how many times I need to keep telling you this,” he sighed.

“I grew up in the desert, dude. I need heat,” Ayden said, around the string of his hoody that was crammed into his mouth. He didn’t look up from his screen once and all Ben could do was sigh, this time in defeat.

“You really know how to wind me up, don’t you?” he said, although he would be lying if he claimed that his expression wasn’t a little bit fond.

Shaking his head, he straightened up, ready to make his way to his own room when the front door swung open. His Uncle Quentin walked in, carrying two suitcases with him that instantly had Ben wondering if he had forgotten something important, a trip they were supposed to be taking, perhaps. That was altogether ridiculous though. It was right in the middle of the academic year, so there was no way his uncle would see fit to take him and Ayden out of state when he knew Ben’s job required his presence there. But then again, he wasn’t all too sure if Quentin would take note of that caveat, scatter-brained and uncaring of routine as he was. 

“What’s all that then?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Quentin looked up, blinking owlishly at him. 

“It’s her stuff,” he said, rather plainly at that.

“Whose stuff?”

Ayden glanced at something over Quentin’s shoulder and then sat bolt upright, hoody string falling from his mouth. 

“Holy shit,” the teenager said.

Benji frowned, craning his neck to see what all the fuss was about, only for the door to open even further and welcome in a rather disgruntled looking Daniela Lopez, another bag in her hand. At once, his eyes widened. He looked between the woman and his uncle, the latter’s expression suggesting that he was completely baffled by his nephew’s apparent confusion.

“I told you Daniela was moving in with us,” Quentin said, with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.

Mouth falling open, all Ben could do was stare. His grip on the towel tightened when he remembered his state of (damp) undress. Part of him wanted to shy away, perhaps retreat further back into the bathroom, but right now he was worried that he might have accidentally stumbled into some sort of hostage negotiation if everything about Daniela’s demeanour was anything to go by. She looked like their tiny little apartment was the absolute last place she wanted to be.

“Sorry, what?” Ben asked. The mind truly boggled.

Daniela had been well into her 20s when she’d finally been afforded the freedom to live alone. She worshipped the ground her parents walked on and was endlessly proud of their achievements, but she’d never had the same luxuries that most teenagers did. She’d never been a reckless teenager going out and getting drunk, nor had she ever particularly wanted to be. She’d enjoyed working late into the night with her mother on campaign slogans and pulling together punchy statements to scrawl across banners and picket signs. Her weekends were spent going door-to-door canvassing, her mid-term breaks usually occupied with a string of protests that her parents had allowed her to accompany them on. 

She’d grown up happy, educated, and more than content with the life she’d been given. The would never be a reality in which Daniela complained about her upbringing, but she’d also longed for the normal journey into adulthood. She wouldn’t give up the politics and protests for the world, but she wouldn’t have minded being a little more reckless. She’d have kissed more boys and suffered through more hangovers if she could have. 

Of course, by the time she finally managed to make a home for herself, she’d been altogether displeased to learn that she’d be getting a permanent bodyguard. Admittedly, Daniela Lopez was no fool. She understood that her mother’s career placed a certain target on their backs, particularly given the colour of their skin. It was New York, after all, and Trumps America at that. The Lopez family hadn’t ever been foolish enough to believe that they were entirely safe, but Daniela had never thought she’d be subjected to her own personal security detail. 

Quentin was quite alright, she supposed. He was scatty and had absolutely no interest in taking in a word that she said, but she knew he was only doing his job. It was impossible to get the slip on him, meaning her Wine Nights with the girls (featuring Dawsey) were often accompanied by an additional party of One, in all his semi-menacing glory. If he was ever around on her days over at Spectre, she would give him a very stern talking to upon insisting that he wait outside. The last thing she needed was for Quentin and Ravi to be nose-to-nose. She was a healthy young woman, but even her blood pressure had its limits. 

She’d lost much of her freedom all those many months ago, and in the process had been subjected to the irritating whims of one Benjamin Kent. Had she met him under any other circumstances, she might have been foolish enough to find him charming. As it was, she hadn’t, and she didn’t. She could just about stomach him in small doses on her best days, so long as the two of them kept a polite and respectable distance. 

So, of course, it was only natural that some absolute maniac had decided to plant a tracker in her apartment, no less than three days after her mother had increased her own security detail. It had taken Quentin no less than 38 seconds to find the device in her home, and a further 4 minutes and 52 seconds for her mother to decide, over facetime, that she should be moved to a safe house. The request had not gone down favourably with her as it was, and you can only imagine her surprise when she found out the full extent of Quentin’s dreadful plan. 

Daniela Lopez was far from being a brat, but she’d certainly done her fair share of stomping her feet in the 24 hours that had followed. By the time she found herself standing firmly on Quentin’s doorstep, she thought she might wallop the older man with her luggage. Furthermore, when she stepped inside his apartment, it seemed everything she already so desperately loathed about this situation had just amplified tenfold as her gaze landed on none other than Benjamin Kent. 

Wet. 

Shirtless. 

Naked, if you will. 

His usually golden locks spilled out around his face, his ringlets unkempt and spilling water droplets onto his – rather surprisingly broad – shoulders. 

“Oh, holy shit, indeed,” Daniela lamented, echoing the sentiments of new young, hooded roommate. 

She stared across at Benjamin, gaze travelling from his face down to his torso, before her eyes landed squarely on the dip of his hips, his (admittedly pale) v-lines leaving very little to the imagination. She swallowed back the rather unwelcome lump that was forming in her throat, absently noting that she suddenly felt incredibly parched. Perhaps Quentin would fetch her a glass of water, since he’d decided to ever so kindly uproot her life. 

Tearing her gaze away from the rather flimsy towel that was preserving Benjamin’s modesty, she finally let her eyes meet his. 

“If you must know, your uncle has decided to make my already tedious week altogether more difficult by kidnapping me,” she informed him. 

Of course, Elena had a key, meaning she could come and go whenever she pleased. But it was common knowledge that Arturo's landlord was also a piece of shit, and the lock on his front door been broken since Arturo moved in. If you pushed the handle up and leaned all your weight on the door, it more or less gave. Arturo had tried the trick once or twice himself when he'd misplaced his key.

All of this to say, he was a little startled when he heard somebody knocking. He lifted his head from underneath the den of blankets he'd crawled under, cocking his head to the side, as though he'd imagined the rap on his door.

He considered ignoring it. He'd already made up his mind about not going to work today. Ravi never noticed when his desk sat empty, and anyway, he'd try and draw something later in the day, when his head felt clearer. Sometimes it helped, to draw a little.

But the knocking continued. It was a polite little sound, persistent, spiking his curiosity.

"Alright, I'm coming." he tried to raise his voice to no avail. His throat was thick and his tongue sat heavy in his mouth, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. His head stung a little too. He kicked back the blankets - he'd just about managed to strip to his boxers before falling asleep - and pushed his messy mane of hair off of his face.

It was exactly four strides from his bedroom to his front door (he'd counted, in his aimless, unemployed day) so he cleared it in no time, hand fumbling for the doorknob - he had forgotten to lock the door last night! - and letting the light from the hallway flood in.

His features softened, a smile breaking out across his face when he saw the woman standing there.

"Beautiful Daniela." he beamed, opening his door a little wider. "I'm not dressed for company."

For one, anybody with a brain could deduce that the name littered across each and every arrest report was of some sort of Spanish descent. If, like herself, he was latino, she could only assume that the severe lack in documentation was a result of some incredibly biased policing. 

By 11:30am, a lightbulb had exploded into a glorious beam of light just above her head as the pieces fell into place. Roberto Silva, ex-law student. He’d been a classmate of hers, though she’d hardly known him at all. She’d racked her brain trying to remember what his major had been when it dawned on her that he hadn’t graduated at all and instead had dropped out. Well, if the endless string of arrests and stints in prison were anything to go by, that appeared to make perfect sense. The vast majority of his arrests appeared to vary between criminal trespass, criminal damage and, most seriously, assault of an officer. His most recent charge appeared to include assault with intent to resist arrest. Daniela had sighed as she’d studied his case, knowing almost immediately that he didn’t deserve the charges being carried out against him. Everybody deserved the right to a peaceful protest, and even the briefest of glances had told her that was exactly what he’d been taken in for. It was just like the New York Police Department to try and twist his actions into something more vulgar and sinister. 

It didn’t take long at all for Daniela to decide her next course of action, and no sooner than she’d recalled just how she knew his name, she’d hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, blown Geoffrey a kiss and a 4-fingered wave across the office, and headed for the subway. It had taken her a solid 25 minutes to arrive at her destination, and she’d only stopped off once to acquire two coffees and a box of donuts. By the time she arrived outside of Arturo Flores’ apartment, the dingy hallway looking like it required more than just a fresh lick of paint, she had the coffees poised precariously – though, she liked to think they were steady – atop the box of donuts and balanced in her left palm. With her right hand, she was knocking politely on his door, awaiting his response. 

She hadn’t texted or phoned ahead. Daniela Lopez rather imagined she knew the Spectre schedule better than most of its full-time employees. She liked to keep on top of things, just as she knew the ins and outs of Benjamin’s rota, even going so far as to have memorised the days his students had exams. It was in her best interest to keep him as caffeinated as possible, if only to ensure he didn’t drive her complete batty with his flouncing. That was really all there was to it. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Daniela noted, a smirk twisting at the corners of her lips. Her friend was devilishly handsome and he knew it, but she was also acutely aware of the fact that he was devastatingly hungover. Not to mention, looking as though he’d gone ten rounds with Satan himself and lost. If she knew Arturo well at all – which she liked to believe she did – then she thought it was safe to assume that, in that beautiful head of his, he likely had. 

“On the contrary, I think you’re dressed exactly to my liking, dearest!” Daniela teased, before stepping around him, expertly balancing the coffee and the donuts without even the slightest tremor. 

With his back still turned to her, she quickly scanned his apartment, quite content that it wasn’t in total disarray. There was an easel sitting slightly askew in the corner of his living room, pencils and paintbrushes littered across the coffee table and onto the floor, with what looked like an empty bottle of wine wedged between the sofa cushions. All the same, she’d seen his apartment looking worse, and she knew Elena had pulled him free of worse ruts than this one. 

“I won’t bother popping the kettle on, since I’ve come duly prepared!” she informed him, so effortlessly comfortable as though it was her own apartment she’d entered and not his. 

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