hi, i’m egg

By two o’clock in the afternoon, it’s already been dark outside for a few hours when they meet at the white-domed museum. The winters are tough, but the locals find solace in the well-lit cultural hubs. The brand new exhibit of artifacts Sansa and her colleagues have spent two years excavating has brought hundreds of people to the national museum in the past week since it opened. So far she’s pleased with how the curator and her team have promoted everything. Her boots are muted as they walk in, but Petyr’s shoes click against the caramel wood floors and it sends a thrill down her back as they enter the gallery buzzing with the muted whispers of everyone who has come to see her hard work on display.

The icy blue walls contrast the tarnished creams, browns, and greys of the findings she and her team have rediscovered. She’s inspecting the brackets they’ve chosen to hold a painted fabric when she feels Petyr’s hand leaving hers as he walks towards a darkened room holding light-sensitive items. Sansa doesn’t follow him, content to let him browse alone as she continues to revel in the findings. Then it hits her. She turns and walks as quickly as she can to the small, dimly lit annex to the gallery. It isn’t hard to find him in the crowd or the book he’s stopped in front of. She winces. There were only four manuscripts found, one of which Sansa discovered while she was very much not in the field.

“This doesn’t belong here, sweetling.” Petyr says when she’s by his side again. She shivers, cursing herself for forgetting to keep an eye on where he went, too excited about everything on display to remember what she needed to hide.  

She shrugs without taking her eyes off the pages depicting the Great Chain of Being in front of them. “You can use that argument for any item in any museum really. Everything is stolen from the land.”

“You know as well as I do what I mean when I say this doesn’t belong here.”

“It’s Icelandic, of course it belongs here. It’s being protected and preserved in a museum, Petyr. I’m surprised. I never thought I’d have to have this argument with you.”

He turns to look at her and suddenly she feels compelled to turn to him too, even though her stomach is bubbling at the idea of seeing his face. He tilts her chin up to look him in the eye. “It was extremely protected and preserved in my home two months ago.”

It’s barely an ounce of his power he’s using right now. She knows he could use more. If he was, she wouldn’t be able to get distracted by the child near tugging their nanny near the case or reply, “Look how much joy it’s bringing that child.”

“That child is screaming about chocolate,” he replies without looking away from her.

“Not at all, you should brush up on your Icelandic. That child is screaming with joy about history. They’ve never seen an original illuminated manuscript from their birth country. They’re so eager to tell their friends and family all about it.”

“You’re a sweet little thief, but a thief nonetheless.”

Obviously, he isn’t too angry or he would have broken the glass and walked out with the manuscript under his arm with no one the wiser of how it was stolen. She sighs when he lets her chin drop. “When did you notice it was gone?”

“I was in the middle of reading it so, immediately.” His lips quirk and he slips his arm around her waist to pull her close. “I don’t particularly have a current interest in 16th century volcanic eruptions, but it was a clever attempt to place another book on my desk. I did want to see what you’d done with it. I’m not very pleased though.”

“You think I’m clever.” She smiles, but he frowns as the child near them gets louder.

“I think that no one has done a thing about that child’s screaming and I would like to finish my book which is inconveniently locked up in a glass case.”

There’s a glint in his eyes which she’s only seen twice and both times had consequences she doesn’t think will bode well in a busy museum. She touches his cheek and shakes her head.

“That child don’t deserve whatever you’re imagining and you know the sugar running through their veins would give you a headache.” She leads him away from the room as they continue their conversation in the connected gallery. “I knew I should have gone with the Eastern European upheavals of the Middle Ages. What page were you on?”

“Six hundred and sixty six.”

“You’re very funny has anyone ever told you that in your centuries of stalking the earth?”

“If they didn’t, I killed them.” He chuckles as she rolls her eyes. “I was on page three hundred and four. You’ve actually spoiled it by having it set to the middle illustration.”

“What if I asked the museum to turn the page every week, under the guise that the spotlights would damage it if it wasn’t adjusted, and then you could come and read it?”

“You really want this book here.”

“Well, now the discovery is international news. It would be quite a heartbreaking moment for the archeological community and Iceland if it were to disappear. And my career would suffer. Do you really want me to suffer?”

He smirks and she doesn’t want to think about what that means. “On the contrary, I think your name would end up in a lot of newspapers if it went missing in the middle of the night and the camera footage didn’t even show a person walking away with it.”

“Petyr.”

“As for the country, the tourists will still come in hoards to the Blue Lagoon and waterfalls. I’m sure they will be fine.”

“Petyr…please. You have so many other illuminated manuscripts. You shouldn’t hoard them all from the world.”

“The art in this one is unmatched. You wouldn’t have stolen it otherwise.”

“What can I do to make sure you won’t steal this book?”

“You’re a very earnest thief. I won’t take my book back on two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“You get the museum to change the page every other day. I would like to finish it sooner rather than later. A week is simply too long.”

She chews her lips at that, thinking of the ramifications of the climate and air in the museum and what they might do to the book, but nods anyway. “And the second?”

“You invite me into your home…” He watches her pupils dilate, hears the increased pace of her heartbeat. She turns away to walk swiftly towards the museum lobby as if her footsteps will cover the beat he’s grown attuned to. He follows with a grin. “Oh, listen to your heart go. Is my thief frightened at the very idea?”

“When?” She asks when the hub of people seeking warmth from the icy wind outside can cover her voice better than in the whisper-filled gallery.

“Tonight. We can adjust our usual plans.”

“It’s an incredibly tiny flat. I don’t have as much room as you. My kitchen is nothing compared to yours, let alone the bedroom.”

“I’m sure we can make do.”

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your home?”

“I can find comfort anywhere, but comfort isn’t the point of tonight’s dinner.”

“Two conditions?”

“Just two measly conditions.”

“I honestly think you misunderstood that child’s pleas for the manuscript. They really wanted to stay and keep investigating it.”

“They wanted chocolate, Sansa. Now,” he steps closer, strokes the length of her cheek before gently pushing her hair away from her neck. His thumb circles her pulse as it picks up in speed again. “Will you give me what I want?”

She breathes in, tries to focus on anything other than his skin on hers, his lips and the threat that lies behind them. “Maybe it would be easier to get the book back.”