lex talionis.

“I would love to touch on you finding me terrifying, but alas, I suppose that is a topic for another day,” she says, jest clear on her tone even as she nods in reluctant acknowledgement. “I won’t deny that it is a sacrifice, but it is one I am choosing to make.”

She doesn’t expect a return of the favor, Minerva just wants him to understand. It is entirely unlike herself, she knows, but she has long since admitted that for some reason the man in front of her had slipped through her defenses. She had unconsciously made herself soft on his presence, and she doesn’t want to lose it, even if part of her knows that she likely already has.

“Yes, it hurt,” she admits through near gritted teeth, a hand raising to rub the bridge of her nose as she debates whether she wants to say more or not. At this point, she truly and desperately wishes for a drink, but she understands it would be rather stupid for her to imbibe throughout this conversation. “I realized later that it is a compliment, but for it bothered me that it was you that thought so,” she says, and holds back the desire to wince at the words. It is more of an admission than she would like, but one she soon forgets as she lowers her hands as Erik trails off, a question in her eyes. One she doesn’t think she will get an answer to, as Erik keeps talking. She doesn’t mind, though, because as much as she realizes that his words do not represent forgiveness, they still tell her a great deal of the man before her. How he thinks, why he acted the way he did.

She had wanted to understand him since the beginning, and this conversation, from amidst all other, is the one that has done the most when it comes to her understanding of Erik Ashford.

“I figure, but— I don’t want to cross those lines, not yet. When the time comes when I must, I will deal with the consequences of my choices, but for now, I will try and hope my disguise keeps the choice away for a little bit longer,” she says, watching as he moves around the room as if he were a prowling predator, all fluid grace and danger. “As, like you said, once I begin making those choices, there will be nothing left of who I was, and no one to remember it.”

It is a brief acknowledgement, one she continues as she speaks despite her desire to smooth it all over by moving along with his point, but she had said she would be honest, and she meant to keep her word. The near silence admission that unlike him, she is alone in this world, with no Astrid or Gladys to hold her chain as he calls it.

“That is something I am clear about, that the notion that you find lovely is the only path that I have ahead of me.”  Love might not be a weakness in his eyes, but whatever she had hoped for regarding their flirtation will lead to nowhere in his eyes, and somehow that realization is the most crushing blow of them all. Not that she allows her eyes to show that, though, focused as she is on memorizing his words so that she can break them down later to understand him.

“I am not asking you, not when I now understand your reasons,” she says slowly, eyes lifting to rest on the side of his face as she spoke with more confidence than she felt. “I merely wanted to apologize and explain my side of things, but your apologies are not something I will demand, nor your forgiveness.”

His desire to protect himself from the possibility of Minerva learning more of him is the final nail in the coffin of her affections, a clear sign to show that whatever her tumultuous emotions desire it is unlikely to happen, and while she is bothered at the thought, she cannot help but interject.

“Rather hard to take you as a man of no depth when every time you speak there is depth to be found in your musings, whether it be regarding a lack of architectural taste or something else,” she interjects softly, but ends acknowledging his point with an inclination of her head. “I will give you the space you want. Would you like me to alert you of my visits as to not to encounter me at your home?”

But he didn't. He'd remained standing very still, even after she'd finished and time became another weighty, suffocating thing. Then he nodded and looked out towards the street, his jaw moving as if he were about to choke on the words. "You know what I just realised?" But this wasn't really a question, nor was he about to give an answer, at least not one any sane person would expect. "Ever since that day, I keep entering every conversation with you like it's a war. Like I'm huddled in the trench, feeling the wind blowing my way and waiting for the blast." He waved his hand out in a sweeping, all-encompassing gesture, frustration evident. "Fuck, even me saying this feels like giving ground. It shouldn't, I think. Right? But I don't really know." For a moment there was another silence as he tried to gather his thoughts - errant, ill-defined things - and Erik found his gaze drawn back to her, looking desperate for words that felt just a bit out of reach. "But you keep giving ground. And I look at you now and I realise it's because you're not fighting me. There is no war. Is there?"

Some part of him knew this was probably a misstep - in his mind, this conversation still felt like a minefield - but it was either that or silence, and he couldn't decide which was worse. "I feel like..." He trailed off, the words clinging to his throat until it felt like he would choke on them. This was precisely why he'd avoided this as long as he did. Everything felt like the edge of a blade, like walking along a precipice. "It feels like I'm only capable of saying the wrong things. I say things and I see you flinch. And if I say I hate that feeling, you'll flinch again. Or you won't because I'm not the only one in this room gritting my teeth and keeping shit down. Which is fine, you've bared yourself enough while having me pointing a gun at you. Except now I feel like I owe you." He pushed himself off the table fully intending to go to the window where he could turn his back to her and not bother with keeping his expressions in check. "Fuck. Wrong again, right? Now I made it sound transactional." With a sigh, he turned around and crossed the room back to her, coming to a halt only when he was close enough to give her a very good view of the warring emotions on his face. "Back at the country house, when I lost it when you had every reason to back off - you didn't. Do you remember that? You didn't just say it, you came to me and you touched me. That... it grounded me. I've spent weeks trying to erase everything that came after from my mind because I wanted to remember you the way you were in that moment before everything went to hell, the way you felt. Safe. And that terrifies me." 

At some point, he realised now, he'd leaned in pulled forward by the force of his own words as he struggled to get them out. Now he straightened up, pushing down the bile in his throat as he closed his eyes and tried to recentre himself. At his side, his hand flexed - once, twice - the feeling returning back to the tips of his fingers. "You were right about one thing then," he said, eyes still closed, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. "I'm not a danger to you. But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of hurting you - which I didn't realise I was. And for that, I apologise." He opened his eyes then, to look down at her when he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I promise. But I did, and I'm glad you told me."

He watched her for a moment longer before shaking his head and allowing himself a mirthless chuckle. "God, don't listen to me or my advice." They weren't the kind of words that often left Erik's lips, but at that moment he meant them wholeheartedly. "I'm maladapted on the best of days, even by our standards. Just don't tell my mother, I'm sure she still thinks I spend the nights... actually, I'm not sure and at this point, I'm afraid to ask." Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes as if that could somehow ward off the oncoming headache. He was in the process of pressing the heel of his hand against his eye when Minerva said something that made him open the other one as crinkles appeared between his brows. "What do you mean? There has to be someone Minnie," he said, quite serious, and then as if to soften the blow, "You didn't just spawn here from the ditches of Malebolge as the cops would have me believe." 

Still frowning, Erik made a valiant attempt at levity as he offered her a half-baked smirk and lowered his voice, sounding conspirational. "I'm all bark, no bite. But keep it to yourself, I thrive entirely off my reputation as the beau idéal of misunderstood antiheroes." But when he went to rise an amused eyebrow at her, his smile turned just a bit less facetious, as if he were acknowledging the lack of sarcastic bite to her words. "Oh yes, let's do that, sounds rather practical." He snorted, without malice. "I'll be fine, you don't have to coddle me every step of the way. Though your thoughtfulness is noted. We're not a pair of divorced twelve-year-olds sharing custody of a turtle." Then, after a moment's consideration and a rather impertinent grin. "Though that does sound tempting since then I could just yank at your pigtail or something."

“Either or, either and,” she replies primly, another eyeroll following as he keeps talking. There is no denying his words, not when that part of their dynamic, and yet she can’t deny the faith she has placed on Erik. Granted, her faith is placed on his abilities, and not usually on his claims. Minerva is well aware of Erik’s predilection towards irritating her, well aware that he seems to enjoy their repartee too much to let it flow smoothly, without any stones thrown at it. They both enjoy the give and take of their conversations, the flow of their jabs and witticisms an inexplicable draw.

“Pardon?” Minerva asks, eyes narrowed at his words. It could be nothing, she hopes is nothing, but someone going out of their way to provoke the new consigliere so soon after he was promoted could not mean anything good. Not for him, not for the Vincelli and not for her. She will have to keep a careful track of all the rumors the soldatos deign to give her, hit the speakeasies to head the whispers. It is most likely nothing, but it would be better if they try to prepare herself otherwise. “They provoked you? If that is the case, I would like more detail on the provokers, just to ensure I keep my eye out for them.”

A bark of laugh escapes her at his mock offense, the worry from his admission set momentarily aside to focus on the more amusing topic of conversation.

“You are well aware of who I work with,” she says, her only explanation of who she believes her first biggest headache to be. Vera is many things, but a second best is not one of them. She has made sure to excel no matter the situation she is excelling at, and right now she is excelling at giving Minerva the most headaches between the two. There is no denying that Erik is a close second, but his boss edges him out rather quickly. “Careful now, Ashford, anymore and it would seem as if you want my eyes on you,” she drawls, mimicking his words for emphasis, unable to avoid the comment when it fits so well upon their established dynamic. Not saying anything would be much more noticeable, much more telling, and she has already told him too much in this matter whether he notices or not.

“Do try to avoid it, however, of you must at least for a couple of days,” she says, the silent plead loud enough for Ashford to hear, she is aware. “Just until your wounds close, so that I don’t need to drive you to the hospital next time around.”

She nods again, feeling as if she has been doing too much of that lately.

“Do illuminate me on how you plan to sharpen my edges, Ashford,” she says, eyes narrowed for a moment as she glances away as she tightens her jaw in mild annoyance but unable to deny that her tongue will likely cut him once more. It’s an instant reaction, one that she had cultivated as her most ardent defense against the world. One that she cannot stop herself from using once she feels attacked. “I can’t deny it, but I will attempt not to cut too deeply.”

Another laugh escapes her, and she can’t deny that she has laughed more on his presence than she has in anyone else’s for a while.

“Vera? A soft spot for anyone?” She laughs again, shaking her head in disbelief, smirk turning into a genuine smile of delight at his choice of words. There is no denying that the implications that follow could be construed as an insult, but she is well acquainted with Erik’s belief on her skill, so she allows that implication to brush her by, a wicked grin crossing her lips as she rolls her eyes a third time in so many minutes. “Oh, plenty of woman appreciate it, but Vera has not had first hand knowledge of it,” she tells him, amusement more pronounced on her face than ever before on his presence, true delight dancing on her eyes as she shakes her head. “And because I am calmer now than I was in September, I can tell you that it is not about the Vincelli’s charm, nor rank, but about the individual.”

Erik Ashford would be someone that in any other circumstance would get the demonstration he implied he wanted, gladly. Unfortunately, the current situation made it just about the worst thing she could do or tell him. Things are too fragile as they are, and sex never has done too much to fix a messy situation, just make them worse.

She ignores the comment about the bruises, even if part of her files it away just in case.

“Do you promise?” Minerva asks, sarcasm thick and deep even as she tilts her head curiously. “Because we both know I could talk all day to prove a point, and getting checked for a concussion would be proving a point.”

The desire to deny Erik her weakness is there, but she nods instead. A slow deliberate thing to accent, pulled out of her by sheer stubbornness and her own desire to fix things.

“You did indeed, and we can talk about why in my office if we get that far,” she admits, once again nearly reluctant but as willing to extend the olive branch as she had been during the party while she was drunk. Still, she takes the opportunity he gives her to take a deep breath and gather herself.  “I appreciate the not asking, however,” she offers with a nod and a brief snicker at his last comment, an indescribable fondness on her chest. “And yes, likely. I was much more uptight than right now.”

Once they walk the office, a wash of renewed confidence washes over her, the knowledge that she built the place brick by brick. It’s something she takes pride in, something that brings her relief, and just an edge of calm to her current worries.

“Some people perhaps, but I am well aware of your own self-image through our interactions to identify the fact that you are being shrewd,” she admits, head tilting as she examines his smug smile with a raised brow. “I suppose it’s true, but you are rather too pretty for me to belief yourself humble and I am too sharp to show my embarrassment. The disadvantages of working together, I suppose is that we see each other enough to notice things,” she continues, voice calm even as her heart races as he gets closer. Chin tilting up, she keeps her eye contact going until he breaks it himself. “But alright, I will call it shrewdness from now on.”

She allows herself one last laugh to fortify herself for the conversation that it’s to come.

“Do make yourself comfortable, we will be here a while,” she says dryly, eyes lingering on the undone waistcoat for a moment before she focuses back on Erik as she walks to her desk. “Erik Ashford? Blushing? That will be the day,” Minerva says, before she takes the recent batch of paperwork from her desk and settles down for a long couple of hours. “Let’s begin, then.”

____________________________________

It's getting ridiculous, she knows, the way her eyes linger on Erik’s frame again and again throughout the day. As the time passes, he pays less and less attention to her, eyes wandering, and that is when it begins. Eyes lingering on the slope of his neck, his open waistcoat— She makes sure not to linger for long, in case he starts paying attention out of nowhere. She doesn’t have to worry, she knows he has long checked out from the paperwork, but the worry lingers exacerbated by the conversation they are about to have.

Minerva is finishing the last document, her signature lingering on the bottom of the page when Erik speaks again, and she holds back a sigh. Setting her pen aside, she glances up and shakes her head, bracing herself for whatever is to come.

“Not truly, I mean to apologize after all,” she reminds him, hands coming together as she settles them on the desk, eyes meeting his as he lowers his face and responding to his smile almost by instinct. “Yes we did,” she says but before she continues, he mentions the change of clothes and she nods. “And yes I did,” she admits and gestures towards her coat closet, by the door to her office. “They should be hanging inside, please feel free to change there, it should be big enough.”

Forcefully, he shoved those thoughts into some deep, dark crevice of his mind, still feeling them gnawing at his subconsciousness but so used to it he could easily slip back into their less intense topics. Minerva laughed at something he'd said and Erik didn't bother trying to remember what, just used the familiar sound as an anchoring point to stabilise himself once again. It didn't matter anyway, the whys and hows, he just liked the familiarity of it, and it had been a while since she'd laughed so easily in his presence. "Who says I'm denying it?" He cast a glance her way, an easy, languid sort of smile slipping across his lips, and didn't elaborate further. This was easy, uncomplicated - him with his insolent smiles and her playing along with the over-the-top charade he put on half the time. If at the beginning of their conversation, he'd been far more intense in his avoidance of any sort of true meaning to their conversation, now he felt his mind grow hazy and pliable with time and ease. Their conversation oscillated between thinly-veiled insinuations and occasional brush against true intentions, and when Erik heard the plead in her voice this time, he was far too exhausted to genuinely fight it. "I heal like a dog, so it truly will be only a few days," he said, half-amused, "But I'll lay low. Just for you." 

"Ah, ye of little faith." But she did have a point there. Erik still wasn't sure what to expect of their conversation after the business of the day was done. And by that, he meant that he wasn't sure what to expect of himself. He'd kept his cool at the party, for the most part anyway, but Minerva had a way of getting under his skin and pulling at something raw inside him, that thin string that just barely held closed the dam inside him. There was no sense of duty to stop him today, no audience that would keep him leashed. He looked at her for a moment. "I was aiming for innocence, but if we do get that far, you might as well tell me about that uptightness of yours. Didn't know it was chronic." He smirked at that, feeling insolent, before slipping back into the lull of their conversation.

_____________________________________________

Sprawling about, everywhere but where he was supposed to be, Erik felt twelve again. He'd used to stall like this back then too, all charming smiles and agonizing slowness to his movements, less-than-eager to move on to some topic of study that didn't hold his interest in the same way languages or literature did. Except his tutor didn't use to grace his pleas and attempts at distraction with that indulgent smile that painted itself across Minerva's lips. Erik revelled in it for a moment before chuckling. "Perhaps that's what I'm afraid of." And perhaps that wasn't a lie either. But Erik could hardly elaborate on that when he himself wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was feeling, so he said this with a sort of airy, playful smile that alleviated the seriousness of his voice. He'd promised her this. It did not matter how he felt about the topic when Minerva had made it so clear that she had to do this for herself. He pushed himself off the windowsill and sauntered over towards the closet. "You sure you don't want me to pretend it's not big enough?" he said even as he opened the door to the closet and peered inside to find the folded clothes where she usually put them for him in emergencies. "I couldn't tell if you liked the unbuttoned waistcoat or were offended by it. Perhaps sometimes it's the same thing." This time he was being impertinent for the sheer sake of it. He didn't do it to piss her off or derail the inevitability of their conversation, but simply because some part of him still thrilled at the cat-and-mouse game they used to play, at expecting a certain reaction and getting another instead. 

He offered her one last smirk before slipping inside, suddenly engulfed by the warm, close air, smelling faintly of something that was very distinctly Minerva. He didn't let himself dwell too much on how familiar the scent was, or why he recognised it immediately and instead focused on the buttons of his shirt as he raised his voice so she could hear him through the half-shut doors. "So what is the first order of business? Are there bullet points I should get familiarised with?" He came back out with the bloody shirt held up in front of him as he inspected the damage. The splatter of blood was haphazard, not abundant as with firearm damage, but abundant enough that it couldn't be fixed. And besides, there was a much larger patch of blood on the forearm, where he'd been cut with something. He rolled up his sleeves as he walked back towards her desk, careful not to stain the new shirt, and dejectedly tossed the ruined shirt on a wooden armrest where it couldn't ruin anything. "I'll just start wearing all black." Leaning his forearms on the back of the chair in front of her desk he tipped his head slightly as he watched Minerva for a few drawn-out moments of silence. "For the record, I don't require apologies," he said and continued before he could get her blood pressure to skyrocket, "But you expressed that you do, so here I am. Just wanted to get that out in the clear." Then, hesitating for a moment, he decided to get another thing out in the open, one he wasn't exactly sure was a mutually understood thing between them the way he'd thought. "I just... I don't think I took you for someone who'd apologise, or feel guilty for that matter." His eyes narrowed as he searched her face, mapping out the expression with the careful devotion of a mapmaker observing seemingly new grounds. "Before you get worked up, it's not a bad thing. It's just that --" Trailing off for a moment he searched his mind for the right words. Everything felt too loaded with gunpowder and he was standing in the midst of it with a lit match. He sighed and looked at his hands where he was playing with the ring on his finger, a slight frown between his brows. "Never mind. You wanted to speak your part?" 

More like she had assumed that Erik would have to go through either a training phase or be confronted with a level of work he is unused with and that would lead to less than the usual level of encounters for at least another week or so. Minerva had miscalculated, she supposes, when she forgot to add foreign action into her estimates. Shame on her, she supposes.

“Please,” she scoffs exaggeratedly, even as she turns away to track a familiar figure to the crowd and makes a note to follow up with them, because it is rather curious to see him walking around without company at this hour. Thankfully, Minnie is quite capable of multitasking, and continues next to Erik as if she hadn’t found yet another tidbit to add to her growing list of secrets. Those are the benefits of being a lawyer working for the mafia, she supposes, there are secrets she will always be privy off. “I have kept my edge for far longer than I have known you. And regardless, I get plenty of practice, with or without you. You might be my second biggest headache at this point, but you are not my sole one.”

Minerva tilts her head in consideration as she steps off the curve as they cross the street, eyes glancing at Erik from the corner of her eye with mild interest and an entirely new undertone of amusement.

“To each their own, but Vera was quite pleased with my compliments the last time we met, so perhaps it is not that you are merely easily swayed,” she comments idly, the memory flitting through her head as she continues forward. It’s funny, she muses, how there is a steady give and take of information on their banter that clues the other of comings and goings without giving too much away, without meaning to say anything at all. Rather curious, too, that it only happens to her on the presence of the man next to her. “But perhaps I am as good with my tongue as many tell me I am.”

Minerva leaves the double entendre hanging, both having meant to say it and not quite believing she did at the current point of time. She hates to admit it, but even while carefully sidestepping the minefield they will be walking through when they get to the office, conversing with Erik Ashford puts her at ease at an alarming rate. Something to work on, if the conversation ends more explosively than she had hoped. Something to work on, if there is nothing that can be done to fix what has been broken.

“I would appreciate the effort, though, it would make such a nice change of pace,” she admits with a small shrug, eyes wandering away once more.

“I have yet to expand my business, but I aim to excel and to please, and truly, the healthier you are, the easier my job is,” she says, the half-truth dripping from her blood red lips like honey upon a dainty teacup. Her sentiment is sincere, if nothing else, but there is much she is yet to say, for she doesn’t believe Erik will believe her if she does and she would rather not have him distrust her further for the truth. The simple truth, really: that she had grown to care for him, for his mother and grandmother. That she would rather not see any of them suffer needlessly, that she would much sooner have them safe than not. It’s the truth, but Minerva cannot say this. Not with things between the two being as they are.

There is more she can say, too. More she could snap back and keep things at their usual level and yet— With everything, she has become hesitant to say too much.

And yet—.

There are some comments she can’t ignore, not when they force the bitterness and contempt that had led her down her current path to swell on her chest, a sardonic smile coming to decorate her lips.

“I was born dutiful, yes, but I am anything but—,” anything but the dutiful daughter, she wants to say, but the words are lodged in her throat and she shakes her head, knowing they won’t come out now, even if she tries. “The dry irritation look is new, however, learned less than four years ago.”

His words are placating, she can see it clearly, and yet she accepts them as they are, unwilling to start the conversation now rather than hidden behind the walls of her office. Much less public, less prone for rumors to spread. So she nods, tabling the conversation aside.

Then she prepares herself for his reaction relating her confession and can’t help the smile of amusement at his reaction.

Yes, just as she expected.

Funny, how she had felt a level of aversion about letting him know the reason behind her current attire, but that now that she told him, there is none of the dread she had been fearing sitting at her chest. Rather, his smile and laugh send a blanket of warmth through her veins, something she refuses to name stirring on her chest. Minerva has to avert her gaze and look away as he laughs, pretend she is embarrassed b the whole ordeal, lest he realizes there is something aside the mild feeling of embarrassment on her eyes.

His laugh is rather beautiful, she thinks absentmindedly, remembering suddenly that he had not heard him laugh like that in quite some time.

Regardless, she must continue to pretend that the fondness she has realized she holds for Erik Ashford does not go beyond any boundary of appropriateness. They have established that they do not know each other in most ways that are meaningful, after all, and it had been implied he did not necessarily like her presence. Allowing him to learn of her tentative affections would be an overwhelmingly bad mistake, one that she refuses to make.

“You are truly the picture of restraint,” she says primly, wiping the amusement of her face with a well crafted mask as she looks back at Erik with a perfectly sculpted brow raised, giving her an air of mild amusement instead of the fond emotion settled on her chest. “Describing yourself only as handsome? Never have I imagined you being so humble.”

Minerva fails to mention that the sheikh in question would be interested in Erik, not wanting to continue down that path of conversation.

“There is a handful of scenarios where I enjoy teasing, this one in particular is not one of them,” she says simply, not wanting to drag that conversation further with her office getting closer with every step.

“Yes, almost,” she insists, voice clear even if there is an uptick on her lips betraying her words. She does admit the man is awfully attractive, even covered in blood and yet—. “I do think that while you look handsome right now, I can remember more than a couple of occasions where you were truly dashing,” the joy on his face as he had received the news in Vera’s party still haunted her to this day, the way that it took her breath away repeating on her mind when she becomes distracted. But she can’t very well say that, can she? “Alas, those few instances are quite rare,” she sighs in mock disappointment, before rolling her eyes. “Do leave my predilections out of this, will you? I don’t question yours nearly as often, but I can do so more if you keep insisting.”

Her light smile flattens at the near mocking comment regarding the troublesome soldatos, but she tilts her head in acknowledgment, unwilling to touch on the ways the soldatos had been giving her trouble.

“That is all I am asking for, thank you,” she confirms with a nod of acknowledgment, before a brief and wan smile flits through her lips. “No, I wouldn’t lie for something as simple as that,” she is making an attempt not to lie to him at all, but she keeps that truth close to her chest. “You can remain confident on the fact that the most boring, mind-numbing bait ever is not that, but a reality. Unfortunately, there are documents we must go through. Would you like to go over them first?”

If he was being fair, Erik himself had assumed the grace period following his promotion would last considerably longer. He'd never say it outright, but a good portion of the trouble he got into was intentionally allowed to spiral out of control either because he couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences or because he couldn't be bothered with control. There was something cathartic and familiar about the ritual, something to ground him, something to make him feel real. "Expected or hoped it would continue for a tad bit longer?" A chuckle followed his words as if to emphasise that it was less a question than an involuntary reflex. "Oh, don't answer that. Your faith in my claims is such a sparse occurrence I dare not question it too much." It was a strange talent, the way Erik had a way of speaking that made a genuine truth come out sounding like a sly falsity. He supposed that too was a way of keeping the people around him on the edges of their seats. "It was supposed to," he said eventually, squinting towards the gleaming rooftops, "Last for a while, I mean. I didn't lose my shit on a night out or grow careless on a job. I reacted to a provocation, one I couldn't ignore after a while." Though careful not to insinuate too much, not to make it sound like at other times he did grow deliberately careless or unintentionally volatile, he wasn't exactly sure why he was explaining this to her. What did it matter? The results were the same - cracked skin and bloodied shirts and Robinson straightening it all out with cool efficacy. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment before deciding to nip this thought process in the bud. It was too early to be paranoid, too early to let the thoughts overwhelm him again. 

"Only second biggest? Are you trying to make me envious Robinson?" This, on the other hand, was a familiar sort of play, a well-trodden path. His voice was low and overtly offended, the frown between his brows at odds with the way he pressed his lips into a tight line to hide the smirk in the corners. "Careful now. I was spoiled rotten and bathed in favouritism as a child and now I ache for that favour. Which is why I feel an impulse to do something disreputable just to prove a point." Then his features leaned into that smirk he'd been holding back and he chuckled softly. "Though I suspect I only have to follow you back to your office and that will do half the work for me." It was a joke, one could tell from the off-hand way he'd said it, but Erik supposed it only worked because there was truth to it. If one was to go by how their conversations had ended in the past few weeks, headaches almost felt like an inevitability. And saying it felt like walking the very edge of a blade. "I don't doubt your edges Robinson - but that doesn't mean I won't try to sharpen you to a point. I'm sure you won't hold back from cutting me with it either." 

He'd never given much thought to Minerva's relationship with Vera, now that she had mentioned it. He'd seen them interact, of course, but Erik didn't pay the same amount of attention to Vera's mien as other people might have. Even when he doubted her motives it was hard to make himself pay attention given that he'd spent years in comfortable familiarity with her. But if he was being fair, compliments directed at Vera had never been on his repertoire - the cogs of their relationship were so finely tuned that their interactions boiled down to either smooth efficiency or comfortable silences. "Oh no, I still am easily swayed, as you so politely put it," he said, entirely unconcerned with his own characterisation, "But perhaps it is Vera that has a particularly soft spot for you?" He'd turned to look at her as he'd said it, eyebrow arched as amusement flitted across his features. There was a moment of hesitation there, constructed out of a beat of silence and a barely-controlled smirk, where Erik weighed stopping there against speaking further. But it was such a lovely morning, and Erik always thought ill-considered decisions shouldn't be reserved only for the nighttime. "Especially if Vera is one of those people telling you how good you are with your tongue. I know she appreciates that in a woman." And even as her eyes wandered away and she had returned to whatever their conversation had been about a second ago, Erik still looked thoroughly amused by this diversion. "And since we're pretending not to be at each other's throats right now, I almost feel compelled to ask whether it's only reserved for that notorious Vincelli charm. Just in case my new rank brings me close enough to it for a demonstration." He looked at her for a moment longer, a sly smile at his lips, before breathing in and looking away, "But I won't - we're not that good at pretending, and I prefer the bruises on my neck surface-level." 

And even if both of them were aware that much of it was pretense, Erik could appreciate her spinning her words into something much more unsentimental. It allowed him to not dwell on it too much, even if some part of him wondered why she'd cared enough to be so precise with her words. Or perhaps cared wasn't the right word for it. Everything about their recent interactions felt like a careful exercise in reading comprehension and diplomacy, and Erik was growing impatient with it. "How... pragmatic of you." It was an indulgence, for both hers and his own sake. Though he wondered if he should've acknowledged it at all, this way in which she'd deftly placated him before it spun out of control. He leaned in slightly, even as they walked, his voice lowered as if he was just about to say something thoroughly salacious. "Keep taking like that and I might actually go make sure I don't have a concussion." 

As she spoke, Erik turned over his words in his mind. They'd been said lightheartedly, almost reflexively - a thing to distract from the topic at hand - but some particular part of them had snagged against her, and now Erik was watching her carefully as she spoke. They were at the entrance to the building now and Erik stopped in such way that his body obscured the entrance as he narrowed his eyes slightly. "I've touched a nerve, haven't I?" he said thoughtfully, head slightly inclined to the side as he watched the emotions slip across her features, indecipherable. It wasn't really a question he'd needed an answer to - he could tell he did accidentally brush against something in the way her lips curved and her voice got drowned out by something inside her. "Hmm," he hummed, vague sounding, "I don't think I've ever seen you falter like this before. Or I have, but not..." He'd meant to say sober or in this setting, but for a moment his thoughts ran away from him and he thought of how hard it would be to fake this sort of reaction, this quickly. He'd never doubted her capabilities, but this felt far-fetched, even to his paranoid mind. He looked away from her, as if to give her space to recuperate, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, a slight frown between his brows. "I don't think you wanted me to hear it, so I won't ask. Though I will say, I do wonder what you looked like before you learned the look of dry irritation." He looked back at her for a moment, hand resting on the door handle. "I imagine like someone I would've stayed away from."

It was cooler inside, the thick walls keeping the temperature constant against the whims of the outside world. Erik followed the familiar path in silence, waiting for her to continue the conversation when she could slip back behind her mask. "Oh, I'm being shrewd, not restrained." He said as he looked down at her at the top of the stairs, something overtly smug about the way he smiled, "I've found people like a certain amount of unawareness when it comes to my good looks. Adds to the charm. Like that little thing you do with averting your eyes - all sweet and bashful, as if I'd embarrassed you. I almost bought it." He waited for her to come up before he turned around to face her, intentionally close, eyebrow raised. "I don't. Just like you don't buy my play at humility. But it makes it so much more fun, doesn't it?" Then he was walking towards the door, voice carrying behind him, "And besides, restrained is another one of those things I would rather not be seen as." 

Once in her office, Erik fell easily back into the familiar rituals - undoing his waistcoat and heading for the scotch, his movements languid and unhurried. "A shame, really... I did hope for at least some amount of teasing to lighten the mood but I suppose I'll have to improvise." He headed for the windowsill, propping himself against it as he swirled the liquid in the glass and waited for her to settle herself. "But do be careful with all that denial. You know what they say about being too adamant about something. Keep at it and you'll have me blushing." Winking at her over the edge of his glass, he took a deep sip before closing his eyes and leaning the back of his head against the window frame. "As the lady wishes, the predilections will remain unquestioned for now." With a sigh, he nodded towards her desk, "Go on. We'll go over the papers first. You said you like to please and Vera will be decidedly not pleased if it doesn't get done because we got into another fight." 

____________________________

By the time they finished the light slanted through the windows at a much lower angle and Erik was sprawled in one of the chairs opposite Minerva's desk, legs stretched out and head tilted against the backrest. He was balancing his glass on the armrest, holding it still with the tip of his finger placed against the rim and watching its contents glint in the sun with a sort of dazed look of boredom. The part of him his mother had raised was considering straightening up just to pretend he was somewhat interested for Robinson's sake, but Astrid was not here and so Erik simply directed his gaze towards Minerva and raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet. Should I be afraid?" He didn't move, but he did tilt his head up from where it was almost leaned against his shoulder and smiled at her. "We ran out of papers to stall this thing, haven't we?" He let go of the glass, catching it before it tipped and finishing his drink. Then he was standing up and stretching out as he made his way towards the window to look out into the street. "Very well. I'm sufficiently worn out that I will be pliable. Or was it amenable? I have to admit, it was a good decision to do it here." He turned to prop himself against the windowsill and look at her. "I also distinctly remember I was promised a change of clothes. Just no doctors, the bleeding has been stopped a while ago and I feel like this might take a while." 

Even if she is missing quite the brunch for him, even if she knows her reasons have to do with the desire to mend bridges and close the gap that she has recently realized has always existed.

The procedure goes smoothly, wheels of the political machine greased due to her connections and her words, and soon she is exiting the building, wondering if Erik had chosen to remain or had left her behind due to the unacknowledged tension between the two.

She almost sighs in relief, as she sees him as she exits the station, a weight she didn’t know she held lifting from her shoulders. This is a beginning. A beginning, and hopefully not an end. God, she hopes it’s not an end. She had jumped far too quickly into the current situation and now she is not sure she will be able to bear it if it’s an ending.

“Isn’t the 4th a bit too far from your usual routes?” She inquires, words slipping her lips before she realizes it, falling back into comfortable patterns despite her mixed desire to move beyond those. Minerva pauses midstep at his words, however, head tilting and eyes narrowing as she absorbs the information even as her brows begin to raise in incredulity. She makes the executive decision to sidestep the inquiry in order to focus on the more important side of the conversation. “Concussion?” The word is repeated slowly as she moves to stand in front of him, hands finding their way to her hips as she looks at him with a concerned gaze. “Ashford, your blood might be all inside your body at the moment, but a concussion is equally concerning.”

She snorts regarding his died comment despite herself, fondness settling on her chest despite her desire to fortify herself against it.

“I offer a counterproposal. You left a change of clothes on my office a while back, and we need to review some documents regarding your new position sooner rather than later,” she says voice slow and measured. “I also happen to have a doctor that does not ask questions on call, to check on that concussion of yours. On top of that, your Gladys diet will remain unblemished. It does, however, mean that we will be walking on the same direction if that is an issue,” she pauses, considering her words before speaking again, albeit more hesitatingly this time. “And I believe I am more than capable of giving you answers —  If you are amenable, of course.”

He clicked the watch shut, running his thumb against the delicate engravings on its lid - once, twice - as if it were a ritual, and saw Robinson shift to stand in front of him, a tightness to her posture. His head was still lowered as his gaze went up, observing her under his lashes for a moment, like an animal caught doing something it knew it shouldn’t. Regretful only because it had gotten caught. “All that worry Robinson, it’s not good for the heart,” he chided in that same soft, languid drawl his mother employed for when Gladys was being particularly high-strung. It never worked, and he didn’t expect it to work now either, but he knew she’d find the words familiar, maybe annoying even. A slow, nonchalant smirk appeared as he pocketed the watch into the waistcoat. “I’m joking. It’s a line. Please don’t make me dissect it, that makes it lose its charm.” Though it was a lazy mistake - he should’ve known better than to give her something to latch on to right in the middle of his question. “What is actually concerning is that you still take my shit seriously. Concussions pass, all this worry sounds chronic.” 

He was looking down at her, blocking his path, amusement on his face. “Avoidance, avoidance.”, he tutted, a playful, sing-song harmony to his words, before slipping past her. “You could’ve just lied, Robinson. Or tell me to fuck off, which would be fair considering I’m ruining your Saturday. All that act of concern just to avoid a question says a lot.” Not that the specifics really mattered, Erik just found her reluctance and her diligent avoidance curious, delighted by the chance to taunt her. He stopped, spinning around to face her, a hand placed across his heart as if he’d been startled, entirely overdramatised. “You know what had just occurred to me? – I didn’t tell you it had to be you to come get me. Not even my arrogance is vast enough for that.” He raised an eyebrow, amused and unrelenting like a dog with a bone. “I just said competent. Is that it? I am interrupting something - but you came. How sweet. My arrogance is flattered.”

But perhaps he shouldn’t have been so intentionally glib and irritating. He’d made the jokes because he’d assumed no higher purpose to her coming down to the station personally, but now the office was being mentioned and Erik couldn’t help the defeated chuckle that left his lips. “I walked right into that, didn’t I? Bureaucracy.” He’d made the distinction intentionally, as if between the lines one could see the subtext - I’ve been avoiding you because I hate documents, not you. But that wasn’t entirely true either, Erik was just good at handling half-truths. He couldn’t back down now. Play along - unconcerned, lighthearted. “Did I? I thought you burned that, or made a voodoo doll to torture.” The easy way words left his lips and the loose set of his shoulders as he stood in front of her with hands in his pockets was at odds with the measured slowness of her words. Erik pretended not to notice. It’s fine. See? I even joked about it. Let it go. 

He laughed, “No questions? I should hope there would be some at least - Are you nauseous? Do you have double vision? Can you follow my finger? - See? I can practically do it on my own by now.” And he knew all the correct answers. This was particularly useful when one wanted to be left in peace. There was a pause in her words then, as if she might have expected him to object. Erik didn’t want to dwell on the implications of it too much (Should he have objected? Why was this such a big deal?) and so instead he leaned down slightly, voice conspiratorial. “I’m not sure you’re asking the right person. I’m the bloodied one with the split lip. Are you sure that’s not an issue?” This was easy, uncomplicated. But he should’ve known this was leading up to something he couldn’t just twist into a jovial, careless thing. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if defeated, and straightened up with a sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in telling you that I never required those answers when I asked the questions?” When he opened his eyes they were trained on her. He worked his jaw for a moment. “Well since you asked so nicely Robinson, I’ll be amenable today. If you would just relax for two seconds - I’m afraid people will think I have a gun pointed at you.”

Federico García Lorca, from Blood Wedding