Roll for constitution...

“Alright, but, if you get caught later-“ She warned. 

“And I never do.”

“-then I cannot help you out of this one.”

“You never do.”

She scrunched up her face to stifle an annoyed groan. Mr. Hanson Lerning, the subject of this private investigation, was the husband of Sadie’s friend. On Sadie’s recommendation, if she wanted to get some PI work done, she ought to go to Mortimer Biddley Kyrios. And she did. 

Lerning was apparently a two-timing scoundrel, and the hotel was his most recent HQ. Rumours of flashy partners who would have their hands around his arm and orders of wine or champagne sent up at late hours. The job was almost completely cut and dry, Biddley figured he’d just need some physical proof, a photo or two…

And he knew his way around a hotel. Sadie did, likely as someone who’s stayed in many, but Biddley had the experience of knowing the type who worked there on the regular. Grew up eating lunch in a hotel in his neighbourhood, often ran checks late at night when he was still part of the force, and of course, had more than a few cases that took place in hotels. 

Lerning was no different. 

He managed to saddle up a room not far from him. When the housekeeper came in to open the door, he merely posed as the room’s temporary resident and rooted around all the drawers and furniture under the guise of missing something. A man like Hanson would never be caught dead conversing with housekeeping, so he wasn't nearby. And of course, once Biddley had left, the room was tidied and not a trace of him was left. 

It was so formulaically foolproof.

He was posted up in his room now, knowing Hanson could be not too far away, but who cares? He had a copy of the hotel bill for multiple drinks in room service, too many for one person, old makeup packages, etcetera. There was little he cared about when snooping aside from being spotted; it’s what made everyone who worked with him grimace from a five-foot distance, bare minimum. He’d dig through wastebaskets and wrangle through pillows to find his loot: evidence of a mistress, in terms of disposable cotton swabs with makeup of the same tint. In hindsight…the man had a lot of used tissues he'd had to sift past. It caught his attention then, but he didn’t have the time to focus. He did now, and it gnawed at him like an insatiably ravenous wolf. 

Sadie was sitting on the bed, looking him over as he pondered feverishly. 

“So are you going downstairs or…?”

“I think so. Soon.”

That’s right. He was to stake out the bar and snap a picture or two of the man and mistress. But that could wait. It was too early for them to be at the bar. Biddley leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. The cracked open window let in a sharp draft that tickled his neck. 

“You look to be scheming on something.”

He didn’t respond. Smoke poured from his nostrils as he turned his attention to his watch, then the half-finished crossword on the paper. The easiest way to get photos was to pose as the press, which he often did. Sadie helped too, when the press story didn’t work. She would pose, and he would go in as her photographer, hopefully getting his target in the background. Easy. Helps to have a showgirl who loved to snoop.

“Let’s go down,” He said after a while. Sadie had busied herself listening to the evening news and turned down the radio to get him to repeat himself. He pulled on a coat, gathered his props and ushered her out the door. 

“You look deep in thought.”

“So?” 

She scoffed, “You’re awful at small talk.”

“When we get there…perhaps find somewhere a few tables away. I’m sure I can spin it to have good lighting.”

“Right…! You’re gonna buy a drink for me to pose with?”

And to drink, her tone implied. He relented with an affirmative sigh and rubbed his eyes. The bar wasn’t busy, which was great; almost every other seat was occupied. They were lucky enough to find something, and it wasn’t awfully strange when he slid her a martini glass and started directing her to pose. 

Hanson was there. What Biddley was actually paying attention to. He was having a chat with some nicely dressed lady, looking maybe only five years his junior. His nose was red, and he occasionally turned to the side to cough or clear his throat. Biddley’s ears felt hot, but he eventually raised his camera to Sadie, who gave a flirtatious wink. 

The snap of the shutter got the attention of a few, but, ever quick as his partner in crime, Sadie chimed in with a, “Wait! I blinked! Do another one!”

People shied away but acted as natural as they could, just the way he needed ‘em to. 

A few more proved useful, with Hanson in the left corner of the pictures, hand over hand with his ‘friend’. Biddley cast a glance at Sadie, who had begun to sip. 

“Huhh-hhrsscHHHhuh!!”

The sound from behind her caught her attention as her eyes drifted. Biddley’s did as well, but quickly darted back. Sadie stared at him as he sat. 

“You going to get yourself something, detective? Or am I here to nurse this drink alone?”

“I don’t feel like being drunk. We’re in enemy territory.”

“Suit yourself,” She twirled her finger around his tie and continued with her martini. To leave right away would look incredibly suspicious. It would be better to wait until Lerning and company headed off, and then they could tail, catch the same elevator perhaps. Of course, there would be the risk they’d notice they were rooming, but that was easy enough to fake, as there was a balcony at the end of the hall of their floor. In the meantime, Biddley opened up his newspaper, using it to shield his face, but occasionally glanced over to watch. 

Watch that man sniffle and discreetly wipe at his nose before palming the woman's hand. Schmoozing...

He felt like a voyeur. Some kind of pervert. The crossword may as well have cleared its throat to ask for his attention back with how much he was distracted. 

A ten-letter word for an irresistible urge to act in a certain way, often against one’s wishes: compulsion. The graphite of his pencil scratched in the letters. 

Com-

“HUH—“

-pul-

“HhuUSSCHhuhh!!”

-S. I. O. N. 

His fingers gripped the pencil, hearing Mr. Hanson Lerning sniffle into his handkerchief, only to get a teasing laugh from his mistress. His eyes darted from over the paper to Sadie across the table. She was staring him down like a hawk. 

“How about a six letter word, opposite of exhibitionist?” She muttered, getting daggers stared back at her. 

“Funny stuff…”

“Can you even last until they leave?”

He shushed her. God forbid they hear. Maybe he should drink something. His partner gave a smug bat of her lashes as he rose. Going up to the bar, he ordered an old-fashioned. 

Sadie was toying with the food pick from her drink, scratching in answers to the newspaper as the bartender did his dues. Ugh. Biddley could feel a weird churning in his stomach. Not unpleasant, and perhaps churning was the wrong word. Stirring. A real unrest. It was the idea of digging through that man’s trash and seeing all the used Kleenex that was substituted for his handkerchief, how it was probably a night of misery while getting off with this other woman. It made his head spin a little more than he’d like. It also meant he wanted time alone in his room.

He returned and rested his chin on his palm, his other hand tracing the rim of his glass before taking in a slow sip. 

The sniffling two tables down was so loud and obnoxious, how could he hear it over all the bustle (what little there was) just baffled him. His perception only clued into what he wanted to hear, he supposed. The wet sniffling, the words of sickeningly — in multiple ways — sweet, manipulative affection. He wanted to punch him and fuck him all at once. 

What a thought. Biddley grumbled and returned to his crossword. 

“What’s gotten you in such a mood? I never knew you’d be so annoyed by such a…delightful treat,” Sadie scoffed, “I’m sure you’ll hang onto those photos after the case, a copy for yourself.”

“You are poking a sleeping bear,” He warned. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

He heard the couple stir. They were going. Sadie looked up, which prompted Biddley to lock his muscles in and be still, as to seem unaffected. He waited a moment before downing his drink — rough — and hurrying out. They were by the elevator, which was about to close before he flagged down the attendant to wait. The grate swung back shut as they entered, beside and behind the target. Biddley felt his fingers itch to steal something out of his pockets. A handkerchief within reach, but it wouldn’t be good evidence. It would have no purpose at all. He stared forward, trying not to look too disappointed as their shared floor approached. 

“Oh, excuse us?” Hanson Lerning seemed surprised as they all stepped out. His voice was thick and laced with something sick. His lady stood beside him. Biddley merely raised his brows and thumbed around for a cigar with a nonchalant nod. 

“Mmh-“

He was going to say something. Something less dumb. Maybe a “pardon” or “just heading out.”

Nothing. Just mum. His brain couldn’t think fast enough. Sadie followed him to the balcony, where he held the door for her, long enough to watch Hanson return to the room, sneeze, then shut the door. He lit the cigar. 

“He’s thrown you off! Weak-willed much?” Sadie joked.

“Stop teasing me about it. It’s driving me insane, and I’m supposed to be working.”

“I think you’re done getting all you need,” She jabbed back, “Pretty sure the job is over. Just send the film to a developer, and you’re set. You basically have the night off. Ugh, and let’s be honest, with the way that was going, you’re probably going to end up catching it, too. I’m starting to suspect you went through more than just his dresser...”

He felt her finger toying with the button on his shirt. 

“Need to blow off some steam? I can leave you alone for an hour.”

“An hour? You think so highly of me,” His turn to roll his eyes. 

“I’d join you, detective, but I’m not in the mood to catch a cold this time. I know that’s disappointing, but it'll probably be stealthier if it’s just you,” She quipped, “Once you’re done, you can walk me home, then I’m assuming you’re coming back here to finish your 'stake out'? Everything else is just bonus points, isn’t it?”

High risk, high reward. He had the evidence he needed. But at the cost of risking being caught, he could get more. The room was booked out for the night after all. He could get into Lerning's next time he left for housecleaning. He could…get in there. The bed. The pillows. 

“Besides,” She continued, taking out a cigarette of her own, “You should probably be sleeping in. If you end up catching that cold, I suspect you won’t leave for days.”

He narrowed his eyes. Implying what exactly?! Sure. Not confined to bed from sickness alone…

“Probably going to be sneezing into your handkerchief more than he was-“

“Alright, that’s enough!” Biddley huffed. Sadie laughed her melodiously chipper laugh. He felt sweat bead on his forehead. 

“I’m just saying…if there’s any night to spend alone…”

“They’d be next door, don’t be ridiculous.”

Absurd to even suggest-

“Isn’t that better?” Sadie smiled devilishly. He felt the snare tighten around his leg, and he was suddenly caught in this conversation, “You can hear everything. As long as you’re quiet. And in a day? That might be a challenge. You sneeze like you're trying to be heard.”

Biddley furrowed his brows. His mind felt flooded. Thin hotel walls. Listening to some cad fighting off a cold while going down on his lover, and at the same time, he himself muffling both the sounds of cold and of pleasure into an adjacent room’s bedding. He could switch pillows. He could—

Ugh! His thoughts were so intrusive. He couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t help it. 

“Let’s get you home. You goddamn busybody.”

Sadie pinched his ear and, triumphantly, reentered the building. He bundled his camera and his newspaper under his coat.

“—hHHIH! HHDNgkkshh’tt!!” 

The chatter across the table paused briefly at the disruption. Some of the silverware clattered. Someone blessed him, which got a quiet apology in return. Elanos had a hand to his nose, partially to shield it away, but also to keep whatever was about to leak out at bay. No armour at the table, but you could only imagine what he’d looked like with those strong gauntlets doing such a delicate task. 

“Bless you…” You offer under your breath. The cantrip, message, to deliver words in a more discreet way, to which he sniffs and answers with a sharp thanks.

“Excuse me…” He added a moment later, after blinking and lowering his hand. 

Your head tilts. It’s the weather, isn’t it…? The flushed face, the somewhat raspier tone to his voice. The sneezing. You linger on the thought before asking about it. 

This sort of conversation would usually be reserved for a more private time, with your particular interest. But you knew Elanos wasn’t a prude by any means. He drank, he slept, he enjoyed the more earthly things in life…he’d never judge, if you told him about your peculiar taste, but you hadn’t.

You mumble something about the weather being the cause. He hears it anyway.

“I’d hope so. I just came in, but my nose has been bothering me since I awoke.”

Hm. Interesting. A thought for later to daydream about instead of sloughing through petitioners or whatnot. He wasn’t the most talkative sort during the morning, so you let him finish eating before he was excused to tend to his own responsibilities. 

While you were his charge, until you needed him, he was under the contract of the house. The lord had assigned him to you, but it meant he was to be consistently trained and ready, and couldn’t spend his time mingling while you went about getting ready for the day. That duty was reserved for butlers and handmaidens. As he left, you caught the sound of another sniffle and another stifle. Something was happening; his facade would likely give in the privacy of training.

————

Thus…the walk. You’d been thinking about it for the past half hour, between breakfast and starting the day proper. There was a loft by the stables that overlooked the training in the indoor courtyard where he often did his drills. Open windows meant the weather would be part of the challenge. The chill of the air was refreshing as you stepped out and wandered to a corner of the mezzanine where you could observe, but remain relatively covered. Something made you suspect him to always know if you were there, but I’ve never acted like it.

“HhiIH!hH!—…hHIYSSChhhihw!!…hah…”

That was definitely him. A sound semi-muffled by the surroundings, but unmistakably his voice. It was a lot louder and more animated than you had expected. Not the first time you’d seen him sneeze openly, but it never grew old. He was rubbing at his nose, sword drawn in one hand…fully armoured. Ugh. A man in uniform. A polished, sleek black metal that only enunciated each of his movements. 

“IH—HiISSCHhhuhhww!!…my god…”

Your stomach fluttered. You could see the dust in the air disturbed by his sneezing by one of the tall grated windows. Mess dripped onto the metal of his gauntlet as he tried to keep his nose from leaking. Did he have to swing his head back like that? It was so dramatic. As a soldier like as he was, the man was cut from a noble cloth, which meant all the dramatics of one. 

He sheathed his sword, playfully shouldering the arcane mirror image of himself as he walked by. Echo knights, frightfully lethal with their duplicates. His was a perfect silhouette of himself who often mirrored his movements, but made for a very good training dummy. 

You watch a little closer as he drank from a water skin and got a handkerchief to wipe his nose with. A second later, he relents and just blows it instead. 

Ah…perhaps a cold. No amount of cold weather would make one sound like that. 

How exciting.

He fumbles for a moment, the fabric in his less-than-articulate gauntlets, before tucking it into the loop of his belt. Watching him swing his sword is a grand display of strength and accuracy, but there’s something a bit different. He falters. He coughs. Every so often, he’d just stand there, shoulders jumping with rhythmic hitches. 

“HiIH…! HHEH!” Absurd that nobody could hear him. Maybe his stifling was the quietest he could get, “HiiHSSCHhww!…adDT’tscHHUhhw!!”

Good gods. He’d sniffle and continue. At some point, the handkerchief was rendered useless. How many minutes has it been? Felt like a while since you entered.  With a voyeuristic level of rapt, you watch him search for a dry spot to wipe his nose with before opting to just scrub at it with the bunched-up handkerchief. He doesn’t bother to blow his nose, what could he do without making a huge mess? You could hear it, though, in the next several maneuvers, the heavy breathing, the gasps from his lips. Then—

“HHUH..adtsscHHHihhww!!”

The fool. What had he expected to happen? If not for the decision to refrain from blowing his nose, he wouldve spared himself the embarrassment. 

Mess pooled onto the front of his breastplate, made worse when he tried to wipe it off with the minuscule spot of his sleeve behind his gauntlet and pauldrons. Perhaps…

The blood rushing to your face made you dizzy for a moment. You replay the moment and your next course of action in your head. Quietly, you slink out of sight so you could make your entrance downstairs instead. Elanos had enough training, he should be taking it easy. That was a cold and he could barely breathe. 

You open the door as quietly as possible, but he’s already waiting. 

“My liege- awfully chilly out here for you to be out without a cloak,” Elanos says, head dipped. Though he’s done a subpar job of tidying himself up in the split second of knowing you were here, he didn’t get all of it. You withdraw a handkerchief and go for his chest first before holding it up to his nose. His look of surprise is endearing, if not crossed over with slight horror. 

“I’m sorry-“ He mumbled, “I must sound awful if-“

Not in the slightest. You reassure him of such, cutting him off, and offer an instruction to blow his nose. It’s a scented handkerchief, and you knew from experience it tends to make his senses go a little haywire. He, unable to hold his breath for much longer, exhales, but waits until you let him take the handkerchief for himself to properly do so. The sound is dense, a little strained. He clears his throat with some relief. 

“Not the first you’ve offered me,” He comments. Ah yes, great many a tourney ending with your handkerchief in his hands. He tidies up a little more with a sniff, handkerchief dabbing at his reddened nares. There’s no chance for him to give it back. 

You straighten yourself up. He, likewise, stands attentively. 

“Are you planning to go somewhere?” He asks as you lead him out, “If yhh- you are going into town, I can…hHIH-IHh…I-I can ready your horse.”

That would be nice. Though, you think going out might be a bit much. You decline and ask instead for him to rest in his quarters instead after another sneeze is directed into the handkerchief. The lingering perfume off your person must be making it worse. 

“I don't think I understand,” He prompts you further. You can hear the waver in his voice, “Iih—if! HhiHSSCHhhh!! If I’d done something to…warrant…?”

Not a reward nor a punishment, you calm his concerns quickly. His eyes are slightly wet from all the irritation to his nose as you turn to look, giving the impression of a dog who’s been told to stay inside. You emphasize again he’s not in trouble. 

If he’s a little under the weather, there’s no harm in taking the day off. 

“I don’t think a cold is serious enough to…to dismiss everything,” He says with a slightly quieter sniff. He had a handkerchief now, why wouldn’t he use it? “But…if that is what you request of me, then I accept. You’re not planning on going anywhere?”

No, likely not. All that paperwork and spellcrafting would keep you indoors for today, unfortunately. You figure he wouldn’t mind if you continued your work in his room, so he could keep an eye on you, settle his nerves. 

“IhHSCHhhh! Hahh…aptsSSHhhh!…excuse me.”

Yes…if he was going to be sneezing like that behind you every few seconds, it'd best if he'd stayed in anyway. A bad look to those around to witness and quite honestly, a minor biohazard. You don’t comment on your presence at the mezzanine. 

Elanos follows behind you dutifully until he’s in his room. You offer to get him out of his armor, and he doesn’t refuse. When you place a cool hand on the back of his neck, he doesn’t refuse either. 

This would be mutually beneficial as Aaron, not giving two fucks about mortal matters, offered up a favour as an exchange rather than money, and a favour from a fiend was a powerful thing to have. Especially if he needed him alive.  

“HhH-! HHEH!!hHEDT’zzSSJhhhww!! HhHuh!utsHHHyiihww!!” 

“Sheesh…”

The fire crackled from the speckles of moisture. When Aaron sniffed, Red caught a glimpse of the glowing embers just beneath his nostrils. A forked tongue ran over his dark lips. Their reflectivity reminded him of scales…like those of an asp. 

He avoided offering a blessing: saved Aaron the embarrassment and himself the belittling. Who knew that the furies — or any fiend for that matter — could catch a cold? They did have to eat and sleep, so, it wasn’t too far of a leap, but it felt so painfully mortal. 

His pity smelt like spices, Aaron had said. Sensing it now, he’d taken a handkerchief from his back pocket and noisily blew his nose. 

Cut that out, an angry swipe ordered. Red looked away innocently. 

“Everythin’ a-ok?”

“It’s fide…”

“You going to sleep?”

“Yes, I am. That a problem?”

“Not at all, no. Carry on, sir.”

Red crossed one leg over another and leaned back against his pack to twiddle his thumbs. They were out by a large looming cliff face, a dusty canyon to one side and a sparse forest to the other, the rocky surface of which would’ve been uncomfortable to most but Red had his genasi lineage and Aaron didn’t seem to care. He watched as his companion’s silhouette vanished behind the tent flap before folding his arms on his stomach and exhaling slowly from his nose. A piece of wheat was stuck between his teeth. The stem wobbled slightly to the cool night breeze that stoked the fire and made the light waver. 

From his back pocket, he withdrew a small notebook and a piece of charcoal, beginning to make some fine hatches; it was the first step to making paintings, which he’d be able to sell once they were back in town. 

Meticulous and fine yet rough in every way, it passed the time.

The light from the fire would dwindle, he’d barely noticed. It wasn’t until he pulled out his canisters of pastels did he notice the dulling hues. Chilly out…hopefully Aaron wasn’t feeling it. It wasn’t right to feel compassion for fiends, sympathy for the devil, people called it. But it was inherent, part of their charm, their wiles. Lured many into Faustian pacts. Maybe it was due to his proximity, he couldn’t help but think about the discomfort this temperature would cause one with a blocked nose. 

A sudden rattle came from the tent. 

Red turned away. 

That’s another thing he realized; Aaron could smell pity like a bloodhound. Amidst a myriad of things actually; issue was, he was too stuffed up to hone that ability now. So if he was picking up a scent, best to dial it back. 

Red shuffled closer to the fire and knelt, lightly fanning the flames and giving it a soft blow. What it needed was wood, a bit more fuel. 

The paper of his notebook was replaced soon by the hefty wooden handle of an axe. He wasn’t going to cut down one of the many trees around them but there were enough branches and twigs he could chop up to make some more firewood. Wiping ash from his hands, he pocketed his pieces of charcoal. 

Red turned on his heels. He wasn’t two steps from his pack before something snagged him by the ankle, sending him falling flat onto his stomach with a loud clatter of rock, leather and metal. 

“UnFGH!” Came his unflattering, winded cry, “What the devil!?” 

His eyes fell to a glowing blue rope laced snugly around his ankle. On the other end, Aaron, squinting at him. His blue eyes, framed by stray locks of maroon hair, were piercing against the dusty red dirt. 

“Where you off to, boy?”

“Firewood-“ He winced, “Get that thing off me! You know I wasn’t about to sneak off into the woods!”

“Being precautious…” Aaron muttered. He scrambled out of the tent — looking very much like a skittish cat, if Red could admit. It was a funny thing, Aaron wasn’t all that tall and he was on the thinner side. In fact, by appearance, Red could easily throw him sideways, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight with one of the furies. It was just a funny thought. 

“Hh—! HHIH! HIH! Hhd!-tcHHOOo!”

“Damn, bl-“ He coughed, partially to hide a chuckle, “Health to ya…”

Aaron sniffed, head raised. A faint drip vanished, followed quickly by his gloved finger scrubbing at his septum. It was amusing, the way he would hitch so rapidly in succession, only to sneeze in such a vocal, nearly-acted manner. 

“I thought you were going to sleep. Cold keeping you up?” Red turned onto his back, lifting a leg so he could untie the rope himself. 

“Can’t smell a damn thing. My head is about to cave in,” Aaron muttered with a wet cough, “Thicker than a gutter full of mud.”

“Surprised you can’t do anything ‘bout it…”

“Gotta play to the rules of the plane. Too many fey folk, no rhyme or reason bout it…’no cure for a cold’, horseshit” Aaron retrieved his handkerchief to blow his nose again, “Tsch, fuck, when I’m layin’ my head is plugged and when I’m up it won’t stop…”

“We could boil some water and you can stick your head over it,” Red got up again, lifting his axe, “Or in it. M'sure it’ll be a bath to you. I’m going to get firewood over there, I swear it. It’ll only take a sec.”

“Don’t waste your water.”

“Well, we can drink that! Little bit of tea time never hurt no one! You ever have a cup of tea?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Aaron growled, waving him off dismissively. He watched as he sat down, flopping back awkwardly against the stump of a tree with a palm pressed to his eye. 

Must be a pain in the ass, Red mused, carefully feathering a stick with his axe. To be at such a lofty tier in the divine order only to be forced to play by the universal rule of a cold. He shifted the wheat in his mouth to the other side as he muttered to himself in thought. From the dark of the woods, the sound of a swift axe.

—————

“HHEH! Hh’AETSCHhhhiih!!”

"Health to ya."

Aaron’s eyes darted his way for only a split second. The bastard’s keen senses were second to none. He swore Aaron would be able to hear his heart pick up pace if it came to it. 

The fiend turned away, looking back to the fire with his lips still parted. A sigh brought on a swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing unsteadily; he licked his lips again. Two glassy eyes stared ahead, red rimmed, slowly shutting as another ragged breath was drawn past his chapped nares and shiny lips. 

“HiIIH! HHYEH!-HhITSCHHYIhhhw!!”

“That feel any better?”

“Barely…”

He blinked, not even bothering to sniff. A string of mess hung from his nose to his chin, clinging to his narrow flaring nostrils. He looked itchy, his pale skin having grown chapped and pink as any humanoid would. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the edge of his nostrils became deeper in the light. Then, they eased. After one more breath, he furrowed his brows and shut his eyes to begrudgingly scrub it away. 

“Keeps going away, hm?”

“Pain in the ass…”

“Need a hand?”

“With what?”

Aaron humoured him with a proper look, eyeing his expression with one cocked brow. Red merely shrugged and set his twigs into the fire to get it burning again. He finally drew the wheat from his teeth and waved it. 

Aaron squinted. 

“You’re a real comic, Cadmium. That is… the stupidest thing to suggest.”

“You sure? You can have it yourself, it’s just more satisfying than waiting for it to come along. Go on. Make use of it.”

“Y-…you can’t be serious.”

“You smell a lie on me?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes. 

“Can’t smell a fuckin’ perfume bottle if you stuck it down my throat right now, that meant to be funny?” 

“No, sir.”

He held his stare for a while longer. Aaron’s eyes remained fixed, even when the drip from his nose finally fell loose to his shirt. 

“Fine…” Red sighed at last, returning it to his lips. He smiled, unafraid to flash his fangs, “Just trying to help..!”

Aaron scoffed. He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a quiet grunt. Something was shifting, the way his expression flowed from concentrated to hopeful to irritated and satisfied all at once. A snarl revealed a dribble under the hood of his nares. 

“Hh!hEH!..HEH! HAHDt’tschHHYIIhw!”

“…hm.”

“Huhhh…” He sighed. Mess dotted the creases on his sleeves. 

“Messy business. You could go back to sleep.”

“So you could ambush me in the middle of the night with that thing? Nice try.”

“It’s not like you’re incapacitated. You’re the one with the rope,” Red pointed to his lasso, a faintly glowing blue emitting from it. It only made the moisture on his leathers more visible, even as Aaron wiped at them with his handkerchief, “And I’m wise enough to know you could probably shimmy outta that whenever you want.”

“Right you are. Aren’t you clever?” Aaron mocked. He let out a low chuckle, reaching for a smoke, “You oughta know, Red, only thing that stings is the holy kind of shit. Though…if it hurts me, I assure it’ll hurt you. Ten. Fold.”

He spat those last words out, his tongue pressing on the back of his sharp teeth. The cigarette was raised to his lips, moving past the streams of mess before he exhaled heavily from his nose. Red glanced aside and dryly smacked his lips.

“Bless you, Aaron.”

“HhT—? DhHIH!hHHIHTZZSCHhhyihw!! Goddamn-!”

“I said bless you. Holy as anything, gods bless ya.”

“ShUT uHHP-! HhizzSSCHHYiiehw! HHZSTT’tchHHOOo!”

“That feel better?”

“Hell no, it didn’t! HUUH! Hhk-!”

He coughed. A bit of smoke clouded his face; it looked like it stung. 

“Would you humour me for somethin’?” Red leaned in. Aaron replied with a smack to the back of his head, “Yow! Easy! Now, I said I know you can slither out whenever suits your fancy, but I’m just…curious ‘bout how that works on ya. I mean, I’m just saying, maybe it would be easier to let me do the work. You get too caught up trying to clear your head up on your own, instincts take over an' all.”

“It’ll be a cold day in the hells before you try that, son, you are testing my patience,” Aaron warned. He’d stood up, and turned about to wipe his nose. A faint rattle came from his tail. 

“What about with some regular rope? You can burn it up, if you want, no catch.”

Aaron’s ears suddenly flicked back. He turned about with his eyes narrow and his lips parted as if trying to read writing etched between Red’s brows. He gave a sniff. Licked his lips. Sniffed again. It sounded more productive the second time. 

“You're trying to suggest something..."

"You don't have to go through with it," Could he read minds? Hope not.

"This some sorta…fancy little-?“ Aaron motioned vaguely with his hand, “Alright, what the two-toned fuck are you on about?”

“Nothin’ devious-! It’s- well, it’s this…it’s a thing my friend, old travelling buddy had, I picked up on. Didn’t really get the gist, never bothered to ask…”

“Cut the shit.”

“I just wanted to see what the fuss is about! Look! I’m-! I’m not doing anything malicious! And it ain’t to humiliate you, I swear on my oath to you! I'm offering to help you with this headcold issue, if you'd allow me.”

“…Fuck me sideways, Cad. If I had a silver piece for every time someone’s asked to string me up and make me sneeze.”

“Who 'n what now?”

Aaron leaned down at him with another sniff. This one was probably to test his honesty. His eyes looked watery. His nose was leaking and the way he breathed and curled his lip only made the mess run freer. Red shrank back.

“You didn’t think a…a person of lesser importance would be suitable to the task?” He had his cigarette raised in his mouth. Strings of liquid and saliva clung to his gloves as he moved his hand away, they threaded the space between his closed lips and the smoke that spilled from his nostrils. Those greyish ribbons, almost like a ghostly mist, filled the blank space between them with air that had a warm sting and buzzed against Red’s metallic skin. 

“No, it was…just a spur of the moment.”

A silence was settling in at an alarming rate. Red felt his stomach turn instinctively. 

“…get up.”

Red’s eyes drifted to the cliff side. 

“Please don’t—“

“‘Kill me’? Get a grip. Do a bowline, farm boy, wrap it round here.”

“Yessir…”

Red could only assume there was an ulterior motive but to take it back now would probably result in something worse. A show of cowardice. He stood, hastily retrieving his rope and hastily forming a knot around Aaron’s hands as instructed.

Thank the gods he knew what knot that was. He felt a pang of pride from it, followed by a nagging thought — if he hadn't then what? Surely Aaron wouldn't do any harm...he might have some choice words. A tender scolding, if he was so lucky.

The quietness was permeating, and Aaron barely moved at all; he could’ve been knotting up a statue, were it not for the searing warmth seeping through his clothes. A cough rattled loose this stony disposition. 

Aaron turned around, which tugged the rope forward and brought them together. He raised both hands to hold the cigarette between his teeth. 

“You’re gonna have to manage this for me, partner,” He muttered, deftly stepping through his hands so they’d be behind his back, “If you’re gonna tie me up.”

Red kept his head down, the brim of his hat obscuring his downcast eyes. He could see Aaron’s tail lashing behind him, the way he shifted his weight on one leg implied impatience. Whenever he sniffled, he’d clear his throat too.

Hurry up. Get it over with, this is the most awkward part. 

He wrapped the rope around once again, knotting his arms close to his sides, then around the top of his hips. He swallowed again, catching a whiff of the smoke lingering. His mouth was watering. His teeth ached. 

“What’s your, uh…what tobacco do you use?”

“Making small talk?”

“No harm in it…”

He finished his ties with a hefty tug, as one would securing cargo to horseback. For good measure, he gave Aaron a smack on the hip too — ‘that ain’t going anywhere!’

“You’re welcome to try a puff. It won’t taste good, it’ll hurt ya,” Aaron muttered, dragging in another breath. He looked up and blinked a few times before coughing, “T-take that won’t you? Just a second…”

Red hesitantly plucked the cigarette from his lips as Aaron stepped back, head shaking, staring up. Lazily, as if he had his hands planted on his hips, he whipped around on his heels. 

“HhHIH!!hhyzshHHHihw!”

The rope went taut and Red tugged at it. Aaron staggered back, half recovered. 

Red didn’t register it at first but there was a dull pain in his ankle; it settled in as he fell face first towards the ground again. Aaron had delivered such a swift sweep of his legs they practically flew out from under him, quick enough to go unnoticed. Red coughed out some dirt as a pair of white boots stood inches from his brow. The cigarette had fallen in that stunt, now smothered under a metallic heel. When he lifted it, it had vanished, the dirt smouldering in its place. 

“C’mon now…” Aaron’s voice urged, hoarse and low. Dripping too, the congestion was so apparent it would’ve been annoying if he wasn’t so sultry with it, “Put up a fight, won’t you? Show me how you wrangle your game.”

The tip of his boot slid under his hat and flicked it off from the brim.

Red reached for his ankle and pulled. His back hit the ground with a thud; Aaron writhed, kicking at the dirt. With a huff, Red planted his hat back on.

A manic grin was on the fury's lips, a challenging one. It invited Red to scramble over him, his sturdy chaps and metal buckles rattling as he locked Aaron’s thin waist between his knees. Snagging the loop of loosening rope, he slammed Aaron by the chest onto the ground. 

To his surprise, there was a genuine wince. 

“Don’t move-“ Red grunted, pressed his weight onto his hands. Aaron’s shoulders rolled in discomfort. Balancing himself on that point, Red withdrew the wheat balanced between his teeth. 

“Cutting to the chase-“ Aaron muttered, “Was more fun when you were mortified…”

He blew a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Red let go of the rope in favour of grabbing Aaron by the chin. He hissed, his eyes went wide and his pupils narrowed in disgust. There was a hollowness to his cheeks, a void, and the primal fear in Red’s stomach told him it was probably so Aaron could unhinge his jaw, and bare his fangs. But he felt warm and tangible, made of flesh and bone. The ache in his teeth returned as Aaron huffed from his nose. 

‘How dare you!’ His glare screamed. He could get out whenever he liked. His tail curled up around one ankle. 

“Easy now. You’re not too different from a rowdy goat, you know?” Red gritted his teeth and pressed the tip of the wheat to his nose. In the firelight, the shadows from his creasing nares and snarling lip only grew darker, and the bright hues of red and orange around his nose were made visible again. Poking the wheat against the opening of his nose caused the fibres to bend back — their dry and scratchy texture scuffing against raw, irritated flesh. The top of Aaron’s nose crinkled and he saw his brows momentarily upturn. 

“HhEh—!”

He twisted the wheat between his fingers. 

“HHIID’dtscHHHiiihw!! IHH’hIDTT!-yssSSCHIEHw!”

The wheat was stiff enough to not bend, nor was it expelled immediately. Instead, the resulting spray and mess had splattered against Aaron’s flushed cheekbones and the knuckles of Red’s gloves. The light showed some of it dispersing. 

“FFuCk-!” Aaron groaned, about to tilt his head back. Red held it still, withdrawing the wheat to find its tip dripping and slick. Missing a few fibres too. No issue, with Aaron gasping and hitching under him. 

“HHINGt’zzshHHIHWW! Fuh! HHEH!”

He didn’t even need to breathe in. His eyes watered as the scratchy stem dragged adjacent against his septum. The edges trailed against the sorest spots, which were burning an angry red. His nostrils flared, their narrow shape revealing another sensitive patch under the roof of his nose. 

That’s where Red would aim, with the stiff tip of the wheat, poking at the sensitive membranes under Aaron’s core tensed once again. Some tiny flecks of wheat dribbled out over his chin. 

“HHEH!ADTSSHH’iiihh!! God damn, Red!” He growled at him, “Move your fuckin’ hand!”

He was still holding him in place. Each sneeze, uncovered, out of control, was let loose with Aaron’s overstimulated nose aimed right towards his chest. He arched his back, head pressed against the dirt with his chin high. His heels, once dug into the earth, had stilled.

Red clicked his tongue.

The oddity of the situation he'd quickly jumped over. Now, he was looking at the way Aaron's lithe muscles strained against the rope, watching the minute bumping rhythm along his neck and temples. His thumb tugged up Aaron's lip to look at his fang but moved to his nose so as to not linger. Tugging at the edge of his nose, the alar crease, Aaron's eyes fluttered shut again.

"I won't bless you," He reassured, feeling a twitch under his thumb as he spoke. A dry, scratchy breath only resulted in a cough.

"Are you done?"

“Depends. How’s it for you?” Red asked with a laugh. It just came up, from nerves. He couldn't stop it, “Damn, it’s a good thing I’m no posh peacock! You're one nasty bull-”

“Ihht-It’s annoying, that’s ‘how it is,’” Aaron growled, simmering. He gasped again, his chest rapidly falling and dropping before the sneeze was forced, as if out of spite, from his tender nares and curled lip, “--iiHHDT!’ySSCHIiihhw! Hah-...”

Another burst of spray. He was running out of steam, the sound now was just itchy and hot, like a dry tingle in the back of his throat. 

Aaron swallowed, and Red was suddenly made aware of the tendons running along his neck. He slid a finger around his collar, the end of the wheat brushing against Aaron’s clenched jaw. His thumb dragged along his neck. 

His pulse.

Every breath, each hitch, the bastard took in made his Adam's apple shift, and the muscles around his jaw and neck would tense. He sniffed, then sighed. Satisfied and cleared up, at least for now. Aaron's body went slack. 

Instincts taking over, Red slid the wheat between his fingers and gave his neck a gentle backhand. Smacking, teasing at his flesh, so it’d be easier to see-

“Hey now. And just what do you think you’re doing?” 

Aaron’s hands were suddenly squeezing his wrist. How he’d untied himself in an instant, Red couldn’t even fathom. All he could focus on was that hefty, thudding from Aaron’s chest cavity.

“...Something strike your appetite suddenly?” Aaron continued with a murmur. Red nodded, his legs shimmying tighter around Aaron’s hips, “Didn’t think twice…”

“S-sorry,” He answered with a swallow. Oh gods, he felt his mouth get all gummy, like he was going to drool. About to sit up, Aaron’s hand appeared behind his neck and kept him locked in place. His thumb pulled back his lip to look at his gums as was done to him, the singe of tobacco still lingering on the warm leather. And as if deeming him up to par, Aaron pulled his head closer; Red cleared his throat, “Wait, I…it’s- it’s poisonous- Or, rather, I’m-”

“Venomous,” Aaron sternly said, licking his lip. Another sniff brought on a brighter gleam in his eyes, “Lucky for you…poison ain’t anything more than an itch to a devil. Go on. Your desire’s got a scent second to none…”

Red’s wrist pulsed as Aaron let go and rolled his head. His hands slipped behind his back as if the rope never untangled. Red’s thumb angled Aaron’s head further up, the grip sturdy enough he’d worried he’d ache, but there was no resistance. 

—————

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t look so smug. A good deed doesn’t count if you’re doin’ it for yourself.”

“And I suppose you’re about as good-natured as they come? You’re the expert?”

“Oh, I’m very well behaved. I have been,” Aaron muttered with gritted teeth. He turned around, handkerchief dabbing at the spot on his shirt before doing the same to the two little marks on his neck. The lasso, having fallen from his wrists, wriggled. It slithered, and rapidly snaked back around Red’s hip and arms. He gasped lightly, “I’ve let you have your fun, don’t you get cocky.”

Aaron tugged at the rope over his abdomen, lifting him from where he sat a few inches. The way he flexed his nares with each bite of his lip revealed the aftermath, an infernal head cold that was festering. Though cleared, they both knew it was a temporary relief, “You listen to me, Cadmium. You’re a righteous fellow, a helpful boy, I highly doubt you’ll ever end up on my lists. But that doesn’t give you the luxury of running that tongue of yours whenever it likes. I won’t hurt you, no, but you’ll bend the knee to me when I say so. And I’m saying so. You hear me?”

His voice, smooth and gentle yet authoritative eased off with a sigh. Aaron drew in a breath, and let it out. 

“HhIH—…hh…”

He set him down again, leaving him tangled up. The metallic, undead blood in his veins felt cold. Aaron stood over him and sat on his bent knees, his bleached leather boot digging into his shoulder. He could see the heaving from his breath, the redness below his watery eyes and leaking nose. Aaron was selfish whether he chose to be or not, he had tendencies, and the way he was breathing over him with his lips parted, fangs showing, was slightly sadistic. 

“HhHEH!! HdttTSHYYIIEEHww!”

The heel pressed in and Red gave a lowly grunt. Spray dotted the front of his vest, against his pale, stony skin. He would've grimaced but instinct told him to resist.  

“Sensitive feelings for a fiend,” He snided instead, “I’ve been cooperative!”

“Pardon me. You still are,” Aaron answered hoarsely. The leather of his glove was soft and warm, worn down, as it grazed his chin. A finger snuck down past his jaw, pressed to his collar, and with a tug, the neckerchief he wore was loosened and drawn away with a smooth grace so Aaron could wipe his nose. It was tucked back between two loops of the rope on his sternum, “But you got greedy. I’m righting your wrong, Cad, consider it a favour. A good deed comes with some sort of sacrifice on your part, and you’ve already taken more than your share, don’t you forget it.”

He yanked on his collar to flash his neck. Red ran a tongue over his teeth.

"I can think of an appropriate consequence. What's your say, Red?"

Maud was saying this as if his leg was broken and he had just hit his head. He hadn't. He’d just come down with a touch of flu, that was all…guilty on the sleeping through dinner thing, he woke up feeling so weak and nauseous last night that he’d stumbled into the bathroom to throw up. That’s where she found him and all but dragged him into bed with food to mend his vertigo. He was feeling better now — not much better, but better — and had a little plate of crackers on the nightstand to keep him going.

“They’ll be missing you…on short notice,” He mumbled. Maud was flipping through a small booklet where she kept her calendar. 

“I…hold on…”

“Don’t miss out on my behalf…” He continued. The meeting — book club to the public but really a ladies' society in private — would start in two hours. And Maud kept minutes, she was very good at it. If she wanted to make it, she should’ve started getting ready fifteen minutes ago. 

His head was spinning again. He shut himself up as she paced by the window. 

“Perhaps I could make a call…” She hummed, “Have them come here instead…would you mind? We’d only take up the den.”

“I wouldn’t mind…”

“Really?” As if she hadn’t expected it, “One moment then. I’m using our neighbour's phone.”

Biddley groggily nodded and sank back into his propped pillows. They hugged his shoulders and cradled his feverish head, the cool linen on his burning ears. As much as his head urged Maud to leave, knowing very well he would survive the evening alone, his soul screamed and ached at the idea of being left here, miserable and ill. It was a nasty habit, he knew, but he never thought straight with a fever. 

His sniffling punctuated the silence of the house after Maud exited. He could hear her knocking on the neighbour’s door before he dug a handkerchief out from the blankets to blow his nose. 

A telephone...he mused. He ought to get one set up within the next quarter, perhaps, if he could convince his superior officer for a raise…

“HhRSCHHhhww!! HHUH! HhdtscHHHhhuue!!…Jesus…”

It might be a while before he gets back to work. A week, if he was lucky.

His throat stung as he tried to clear it again, only for it to build up into a cough. A ragged, heavy one; perhaps Maud was right. He was in no condition to be left by himself. 

Reaching for a cup of water resulted in it spilling all over the floor, and he was on his hands and knees trying to dry it with a spare towel when she returned. 

“Anne is coming over,” Maud said with a hint of a hurry, “And three others, I don’t think you’ve met them. Ah, and- and Constance, I believe you met, she might join us.”

“I’ll just be up here…” He croaked, pawing aimlessly at the mattress for the handkerchief before giving up and bunching up his collar. One arm wobbled from under him as he held himself up on the floor, “—hhd!hhdscHHHhhuhh! Khh…HHRzzschhhhhw!”

“Bless you. What are you even doing?”

“Spilled the water.”

“Oh..!”

He stood, wavering for a moment before placing the towel into the hamper. His head was hurting and he had to sit again as Maud hurried around the room, putting in her earrings and rifling through the closet. Sometimes it was just nice to hear her footsteps in the house, he’d never know how much he’d miss them in a few short years. 

“Do you need anything? I’m going to get started on making refreshments and dinner.”

“No…thank you.”

She slid out a dress from the dresser and hung it on their screen before disappearing from the room again. Biddley shuffled under the covers and sighed heavily. His eyes stung, the underside of his eyelids hot and his dark circles sore. 

When he closed his eyes, it was to sleep, not much could be done about it. 

————

He was roused with a pounding headache and a burning throat sometime later. He mentioned both of these when Maud had woken him to give him a small helping of potatoes and stewed pork for dinner.

“Do…you thigk they’ll mind? If I’b here?” His voice strained to her ears.

“I really doubt it. Anne’s husband is around half the time, but he never comes in to comment. It’s all quite usual…and it isn’t as if you are a stranger.”

“I suppose…”

“You can always come down if you feel up to it.”

He ate quietly as Maud tucked a hot water bottle into the sheets. She could understand what he meant, at least. Things were fairly open between them, and though it had been a bit tense at the start, Maud had convinced the rest of the suffragettes in her party that she trusted her husband enough with their agenda. It would be nice to have some support, anyway, and it wasn’t new — Biddley tended to sign off on whatever she thought was best, the ‘face’, on paper, she used to joke. 

If he didn’t want to impose, he was fairly good at lurking in the shadows, too. He often did in their home even when she was here, like some spectre. 

“I’m going downstairs. I’ll be up if you need something, just call. Are you going to sleep more?”

“I think I’ll read…”

She turned the lamp on for him as she left so he could do just that, a thick novel that kept him occupied despite the half-muffled coughing and the occasional sneeze. 

————

This was still book club, they called it. Usually, it would be held at a tea house or someone’s parlour; Maud had only hosted once or twice, near Christmas, and though she’d been acquainted for years, still felt somewhat self-conscious of her hosting skills. Their small group, made of well-dressed ladies and some of their maids, hung around the fireplace while tea and pastries were shared. Dinner too, though in considerably small portions, since she hadn’t planned to cook for so many. Oh well. The pastries made up for it. 

“I don’t understand what they’re doing with the library,” Constance was in the midst of saying, “I mean, a donation of that size would be beneficial mostly for textbooks. To renovate the space, a waste!”

“Yes, but I doubt that’s what the average person wants to read.”

“I’m sure most go to study.”

“I was going to say the same.”

Maud was playing chess with Anne, chin propped up while her tea sat on the side table. It was nice…the privacy of a home allowed for such camaraderie usually afforded only in halls or gentlemen’s clubs.

“You’re quiet, Maud,” Anne said after a moment, “You know we don’t mind changing locations last minute. Rather you be comfortable than cancel.”

“Hm?”

She looked up. Her eyes had been heavy for a while, and her throat was dry. There was a faint sniff before she shook her head. 

“Just a smidge tired, that’s all. I’m…fighting the urge to check up on Mortimer, he’s probably asleep by now.”

Delilah, who’d been going back and forth with Constance, looked between them all in question before Maud clarified.

“He’s upstairs, fighting off just the most horrid cold. Or, flu, possibly. I’m unsure.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m certain he’s fine—“ she cleared her throat, “And if he isn’t, well, he’ll come asking.”

“You know what works well, in a pinch?”

“Hm?”

“You can make your own cough syrup. It requires honey and onions and ginger…”

The chatter would continue, drifting up from the den before a faint creak had Maud raising her head. It came from the top of the stairs, meaning…he’d likely been there for a time, trying to eke on by in silence. As Biddley shuffled down the stairs, the conversation got slightly quieter as a few people turned their heads. 

“HH—hhUH!hh’ktpscHHh!”

Almost silent, but audible enough to halt the conversation altogether for but a second. His ears must’ve been plugged because he didn’t look their way. 

Instead, Biddley sniffed, burying his nose into his handkerchief with his brows furrowed in misery. He blew once as he got to the bottom of the steps, nearly colliding with one of the maids. After giving her a surprised, quizzical look, he sheepishly apologized and dipped around her to go to the kitchen. Maud excused herself, brushing her dress. 

Her shoes clicked against the floorboards and tile as she entered, seeing him sitting at the kitchen table in his robe, wiping at his nose with as much reserve as possible. 

“Making tea?” She asked, breathily, “The kettle should still be hot, we just boiled some water.”

“Sorry— I didn’t want to interruhH!-pt..”

“You weren’t interrupting!”

“—iiHHSChhhhhehhww!!”

“Bless you!”

“Oh, Lord…”

She felt his head as they waited for the water to boil, despite Biddley clearly trying to shrink away. He looked pale, awfully clammy. And the cough could be heard in every strained word he spoke. By the looks of it, he’d only just woken up and the slight shuddering indicated a chill. They did prop the window open upstairs, just to circulate the air, but it’s probably also dropping the temperature a fair bit up there. 

“Would you like to sleep downstairs? Might be easier to get tea…and I’d be here, too, if you need anything.”

“I-I cuH-couldn’t. Erh…everyone’s here. I look awful and underdressed.”

“I doubt anyone will mind.”

“HhH!!NGgxscchh! Hhuh…it’s not polite…”

“Just sleep on the divan. It’s close to the fireplace, it’ll make you feel better...we aren't keeping you up, are we?”

He gave her an apologetic look, the corners of his eyes pinched in a way that answered a definite but reluctant yes. That turned into a crease on his cheek as he turned away, nose buried into a handkerchief.

“Hdt’GnkKSCHhhhuh!!”

“Oh my.”

He winced and released the pinch he had on his nose. An uneven blink indicated imbalance, perhaps stuffy ears. Maud sighed and gave him a sympathetic hug before rubbing his shoulder. 

“The option is there, should you wish. Enjoy your tea.”

Maud returned to the quiet murmurings of her friends. 

“You should get something to drink, Maud,” Constance suggested, “And I mean something warm. You look slightly peaky yourself.”

“Do I?”

“Just a touch. Best we don’t stay too long then, hm?”

“I do feel, mm, off—“ She gestured at her throat, “But I assumed it was just the humidity.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as another muffled sneeze came from the kitchen, no doubt startling one of the maids who had just entered. The conversation steered back towards the library, and some changes they planned to suggest when they’d eventually hold their demonstration there. It was engrossing enough that Maud forgot about the quiet suffering from the kitchen until Biddley walked out to return upstairs. She caught his eye and gestured him over, only for him to stand frozen for a moment. He looked stunned. Another gesture caused him to quickly shake his head and begin a hurried escape upstairs before she opened her mouth. 

“You’re welcome to rest down here, you know…!”

“Ah, um, no I— good evening, everyone…Anne, Constance.”

The others had turned to exchange their greetings. Someone offered a pastry, which he denied, looking more and more like a man with stage fright.

“You can come sit,” Delilah offered. 

“I’d really rather not,” He answered, pulling up his handkerchief, “I-Idt’s—hhSSCHHHhuuuhw!! N-not a good tibe, I’mb under the weather and would hate to intrude…excuse me-“

“It’s hardly intrusion! This is your house,” Maud folded her legs, “And I would not be so poor of a host of my party as to shoo you away.”

It would’ve reflected poorly on their part for him to turn it down so begrudgingly, he shuffled over and slumped onto the seat. She could see him turning red from the neck up. 

“Just…listen. And, I don’t know, should there be something you think would be appropriate to suggest to your chief officer, perhaps you could do that.”

“I…I could.”

She had a pressing nature to her voice, one that usually didn't come up. A touch of insistence for his help with something. Even though his brain was blowing a fuse, he seemed to pick up on it and obliged.

Surely, he’s done it plenty of times before. Tidbits he often ran up the ladder, about mistakes in legislation, public query, that sort of thing, on her behalf. It helped that he was curious and that he was part of the police, it was much more direct. 

Maud sat back, gesturing him to rest against her shoulder as the rest of them outlined point after point. There was a moment or two that ended in him ducking away to muffle a sneeze into a handkerchief followed up by a sniffle. And with every additional blessing, he seemed more sleepy than before. There was a deeper red colour staining his cheeks, she noticed, likely from the heat of the fireplace and the attention equally. After a particularly painful one, a sneeze that sounded like all the worst parts of a cold, he’d muttered an apology, the first proper sentence he’d said to everyone. It was into the handkerchief, which muffled the aftermath. 

“You’re already better for being on your feet with an ailment like that,” One of her friends has said, offhandedly, “I fear my husband is on death’s door whenever he comes down with so much as a cold.”

Another chimed in, “I heard it’s actually worse for them.”

“I doubt that.”

Maud had her hand on his arm, and he had slumped far enough to almost be laid on her lap. She rubbed at his shoulder before hearing him sniffle again. 

“What about menthol? Have you tried menthol?”

“Like a salve?”

“Yes exactly…Maud, have you got any?”

She jolted to attention. 

“N-no, I fear I haven’t,” She spoke, clearing her throat. God, how many times had she done that? Her lungs felt heavy, “Pardon me.”

“I’ll bring you some next time, actually. It’s very effective.”

“There’s another sort, that you apply on the back of the throat.”

“Really? That sounds dreadful.”

“Oh, it is. I hear Sasha coughing every time he uses it but he swears by his life…!”

The conversation dragged on, and eventually, Biddley’s weight sank fully against her, indicating he’d succumbed to sleep. Maud’s fingers slid through the thick brown curls on his forehead before resting her palm there. 

“I’m so sorry…” She said with a faint rasp, “I believe it’s getting late. I’m not feeling as awake as I ought to be and...”

Her knuckle went to her temple with a sigh as the others looked over with concern. Constance was first to stand, gesturing over her maid who was quietly embroidering to tidy up. 

“Of course, darling, we best head out. Give the two of you some much needed rest.”

“That would be best. I do apologize for the short notice-“ She smiled, brows furrowing, “Thank you for stopping by…!”

Biddley remained asleep as she stood up to see the group outside. When she returned, he was still limp against the divan. 

“Mortimer…” She whispered, kneeling down. Her eyes felt sore, she’d been awake too long and the return into a stuffy house from the night air had made her woozy, “Are you coming to bed?”

She shook his arm lightly and after a bit, he was finally able to raise his head. 

“Coming upstairs?” She asked. He glanced with watery eyes to their clock before nodding. His palms felt warm as she helped him up, her hands still feeling his burning forehead. 

“Sorry to keep you down here for that long…”

“It’s fine…” His voice betrayed his words.

“I needed an excuse for everyone to leave.”

“Why?…” He cut himself off with a series of coughs. It sounded especially bad after waking up like all the nastiness had settled in for too long. 

“I’m not feeling too good myself, actually. Would prefer to turn in, that's all…but I didn’t want to force them to go.”

“O-oh…oh, god, I’m sorry-“ He put a hand to his head and slouched his shoulders. His voice was really waning, he must’ve been exhausted, "S-since...since when? I thought I'd been careful."  

“I think it was inevitable. I’ll join you in bed soon, alright?”

“Mnhn, al-alright…hHHISCCHHhuhhww!!”

“Bless you.”

———-

“How do you feel?” Maud asked when she had finally sat back on the mattress. Her head was beginning to hurt in the way a migraine would, and she debated on taking something before going down but figured to ride out the unavoidable. It would likely hurt worse tomorrow.

“Like death…”

He was shuddering slightly, and his hair had gotten slightly damp around his forehead. When he turned over, even in the dimness of her lamp, she could see the sulking complexion on his face and the moisture on his lip. He looked pale and slightly afraid. She rifled around for a spare handkerchief before wiping at it to his dismay. He looked utterly beside himself. When she pulled away, he gave a sad little sigh.

“Your moustache is growing in.”

“It’s hardly there…”

“It looks better every day. Cheer up. You look so dejected.”

“Are you going to lie down?”

“You’re not upset with me for using you as an out?”

He shook his head. Maud shuffled into the covers and stared up at the ceiling. 

“Must have been embarrassing. Everyone talking about their…cold remedies and such. And you.”

“Don’t tease me,” He turned away as she muffled a laugh. She rolled over to hug him from behind and put her head against his shoulder. 

“I’ll make up for it…I promise…” She hummed. He sluggishly draped an arm over her, finger caught in one of her braids, “Goodnight…”

“Goodnight…thanks for staying.”

“God’s sake what? I can hardly hear you! Speak up, old boy…”

“Thought the phone would never stop ringing,” Biddley muttered, looking around as Rashun scoffed in disbelief. It was dark as hell out, save for a street lamp. He swore he saw something moving around in the edge of the light, “It’s raining…any chance you got it in you to drive?”

“Where are you now?”

“Hmm, corner of Leeway and and Providence…”

He couldn’t see the street signs in this weather but knew roughly where he was. The phone booth provided momentary shelter, even if it was in the dark, away from the reach of the street lamp.

“Right...There’s a diner a block down. I’d hate to ask, but if you are calling me from some phone booth, you are likely going to leave to make the walk to wait for me, I assume? Unless you’re feeling bold enough to stay there…”

“I’ll make my way…how long will you be?”

“I can aim for twenty. Or- perhaps twenty-five. Low traction and low visibility.”

“Fine— I-“

Biddley cut himself off. The phone shifted, pressed tight against his cheek. He breathed once into the mouthpiece but stopped. A crackle. 

“…Biddley?”

“Shh!”

He caught a shadow from the corner of his eye: someone milling about near the street lamp. From his vantage point, there was a car in front, blocking out a majority of the light, but he saw a figure appear, wielding an umbrella and emerging from the darkness. They snuck into the backseat, illuminated by the street lamp. 

He heard Rashun on the other end. A faint buzz of electricity as his breathing crackled through the wire. 

“Spotted my man…”

“Where?”

“Right in front of me. I recognized his hat…He’s getting out.”

He did. In a change of clothes. Biddley could tell by the silhouette as they slipped out. Something was in his hand. A shovel of some kind? Or a wrench…?

He gently set down his arm, resting it against the booth’s small counter for stability. Last thing he wanted to do was make himself known and startle this guy. Discretion is key…

Water dropped from his hair and crested his cheek. Another slid down the side of his nose and pooled around the curve of his nostril. He was holding his breath to keep still and instinctively exhaled.

“Rashun…” 

“Yes?” Replied quietly, “I’m going to keep quiet so long as you whisper first.”

“He’s picking a lock to some building…snf! Uhh, I think red brick. Or dark, at least…”

“Noted…”

“Huhh…khrmm!”

He delicately pressed a knuckle to his nose. The man had taken out his tools and began to fiddle around with the front door of this supposed red-brick building. Biddley saw him lift his head as he cleared his throat and immediately swallowed to prevent a cough. 

“D-Damn-“

“Everything alright, s-“

“Hh—mMPF!’dSSCHhh!! Huh!rRRSChhh-!!”

Biddley opened his eyes in time to spot the man tense, look up, then pivot his head. In the booth, he remained perfectly still, the wet gabardine lapel of his coat smothered over his face, the phone earpiece still up. Rashun was silent on the other end. He heard a hesitant breath, which indicated a question, but he couldn’t risk an answer. The crook’s gaze passed right over him; he felt it, like a lighthouse beam catching a stationary vessel, unacknowledged. His nose was running from the sudden disturbance — curses, he’d broken it too many times for it to just stay idle! The muffled sneeze had done something to the healed-over fracture that grazed his nerves, and he found himself biting his lip in hopes of staying still. 

His head turned away. A sneeze was painfully stifled between his thumb and forefinger, numb from the cold rain. Pain shot between his eyes. He hated stifling. That’s what a broken nose gets you. It itched still, and he was forced to muffle another, head dipping in a violent but thankfully silent jostle. 

After the third, he gulped down some air and squinted to find that the man had stood. 

“Hhf—“

“Biddley-“

“Sh!”

His voice was sharp. Breath whistling over the old, rattly wires in a distorted crunch on the other end. 

“HhdH!hHNGkksshhh!! Hah…Jesus…”

His stomach rolled to his throat, seeing the man take a few steps back and eye the streetlamp.

A few steps closer.

Biddley reached into his coat and felt the warm grip of his revolver. A car rolled by on the main street, and the rushing sound of water and rain hitting its roof provided a decent enough cover for the noise. 

“Hh—!hrssSSCHHhff!!”

Fuck. He blinked back tears. He barely moved, staying positively still save for a deeply repressed jolt of his head. One could only hope the minimal light didn't give his position away. Smothering his nose hurt like the devil. The man had skittered back in fear of being spotted by the random driver and ducked into the open door. A light inside flickered on for a moment, then off. 

Hm. 

No nearby buildings. Seemed like a storefront. Maybe roof access…

Biddley shakily brought the mouthpiece back with a wet, sniffly exhale. 

“Rashud…”

“Thank goodness you’re alive.”

“I’ll meet you in half ad hour. Going to figure out what’s up with this guy…’n get the law on the line. A little breaking and entering, nothin’ big. On standby.”

“You’re going in after him?”

“I’ve got a hunch. Somethi’g tells me he’s here to tie up loose ends, if this is his place of business.”

“See in you a bit, then. Keep well. Don’t do anything foolish. And for the love of God, sir, don’t sh-“

He hung up with a scrub under his nose and another sniffle. 

Oh. Wait. Bother! He fished around his pockets, hoping to find another dime, but he only dug out a sopping wet cigarette and a set of house keys. He was going to ask Rashun to bring him a dry handkerchief. Oh well. Wouldn't be worth the time.

He exited the phone booth and breathed in the smell of rain on wet concrete before slipping in through the open door.

-------

The most the fuzz would find by the time they arrived was a man tied to the handrail of the stairs, a suitcase of stolen bills laid open at his feet, and a single photo neatly in front of it of an older, more horrific crime scene. On the back, a number to a private investigator's office, one that the men at the precinct would know well enough. 

A street over, in a diner, Biddley had wrung out his coat (to the owner’s distaste) and was drying his hair with the napkins at a booth seat. A plate of mostly eaten pie sat in front of him, sentineled by a few used tissues. He blew his nose only to sneeze again.

“Unsure that isn’t a broken nose at this point, going out in the rain all the time- Paying at his expense?” Rashun pointed as Biddley thumbed over the only dry thing he had on his person. Just a few bills from a recently collected folder of documents and photos, enough to cover a single order of dessert and two coffees.  

“Considering it as a bonus. I’ll invoice the boys if they call.” 

He watched as Rashun ran a few numbers through his head. 

“Hardly ethical.”

“And I’m no Saint Mary. You want a coffee before we head back?”