Dr. Leyla Balik

"i get that," she nodded in reply, "maybe you're just a social butterfly with those who've earned the privilege?" rosalyn definitely held people at arm's length until she'd gotten to know them better. it was a defence mechanism at this point to make sure she lessened the chances of getting hurt by anyone. leyla was a safe pair of hands though, she was sure of that. "hm? oh yeah, without a doubt, but then every city has its shady people. i suppose the promise of money and power here is a little more tempting than other places."

rosalyn loved how excited her friend was and she smiled widely. "well, i definitely have a lot of new things to try," she laughed, amused by her own lack of cooking expertise. her laughter intensified at leyla's comment about their teacher being swept off of his feet by her. "then i'll open my mouth and the spell will be broken." she joked back, well aware that she could be a bit of a marmite person at times, especially when she let her mouth run away from her. most men didn't like a woman who knew her own mind. "anyway, no matter what happens, i'm sure we'll have a great time."

Despite her experiences, Leyla definitely should have been more guarded when meeting new people. It wasn’t like she trusted just anyone but she did try to see the good in everyone. “That sounds more like it. Whether it’s a good thing or bad is a different story entirely.” She chucked although it was true. “I guess we can’t complain either way because it secures our jobs after all. You will always have more stories to write about and I’ll always have someone to stitch up” Her dry sense of humor came through a little.

Leyla laughed and shook her head again. “Or he’ll just fall for you even harder. If not, it’s his loss.” She winked at her friend teasingly and couldn’t wait for their first class. They were both independent women and it was still hard for many men to handle that. It didn’t stop them though. “We will. It’s more about the company than anything else anyway. And if we mess up the recipes we can always buy dinner or cook something we already know at home.” She suggested lightheartedly. “By the way, have you been at the derby too? I was trying to find you but it was hard to find a familiar face that place. It was so crowded, I could barely see my own feet.”

“Don’t go handing out compliments like that,” he muttered, more gruffly than he meant to. “You’ll ruin my reputation.” Honor. That was a word that sat strange in his mouth these days. Once upon a time, it might’ve meant something. Now it felt like a relic — one of those medals they’d pinned on boys too young to understand the weight of them.

“Corrupts or reveals,” he said quietly when she spoke of power. “Never sure which.” It was easier to keep his eyes on the track than to think too hard on that. Men didn’t change when handed the reins — they showed what had been there all along. And he’d seen enough of that truth to last a lifetime.

Her laugh at his wager remark drew a flicker of something real from him — amusement, reluctant but genuine. “Guilty,” he admitted, shifting the brim of his hat against the glare. “The long shot’s the only one worth betting on. Anyone can throw money at the favorite.” He didn’t add that maybe he liked backing something the world thought hopeless. Maybe he understood that too well. Also wasn't worth mentioning that Rileys had their minds set to make it so he wasn't quite the underdog some believed the horse to be.

When she spoke of childhood dreams, he glanced sidelong at her, brow lifting faintly. “Aye. That sounds about right.” The corners of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No horses in the smokey kitchens of West Belfast. Only thing I ever rode was a tram, and even that was a luxury.” He tipped his chin toward the track, watching the muscled bodies thunder past. “Beautiful beasts, but I’ll keep to the ground. I’ve no business on their backs — and they’ve no business tolerating the likes of me.”

It was as close as he’d get to admitting the truth — that they unsettled him, that their sheer power made something instinctive tighten in his chest. But fear wasn’t something he named out loud. Not ever.

“But in order to make sure it stays that way, I’ll need to drag you to a more private corner right about now.” Leyla teased, motioning her head slightly towards the imposing, white pillars next to the main building. “Follow me, discreetly.” It was only a joke though she couldn’t care less whether anyone saw them or not. She was really just mocking him playfully about his ever so persistent concerns of her ruining his reputation. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to harm what I’d have to stitch back up again anyway, so you’re as safe as you could be.”

With a slight tug at his hand, she pulled him with her, not forcibly but with a quiet determination. Once they’d reached the column, she grinned at him mischievously. “That should do to shield us from prying eyes.” She searched his eyes, pausing for a moment.

Leyla opened her bag and pulled something out, handing him the neatly folded shirt she’d tossed into the bin the other day, before she knew it was one of his favorites. It took days to find the matching fabric but eventually she got lucky and was able to fix it. Thanks to her grandmother, who taught her sewing. It was one of her well hidden passions. Needless to say, she made most of her clothes herself too but barely anyone knew. “Good as new. I felt like it was the least I could do, since I wasn’t entirely uninvolved in ruining it. Just had to replace the front piece and one of the sleeves and ta-da. Here you go!”

Seeing that small flicker of amusement in his eyes was new, unexpected even, but she liked it. Leyla couldn’t help but giggle as he pleaded guilty at her assumption. “Ha! I knew it! Sometimes you’re just too predictable, Mr. Riley.” Now she was only messing with him again, her eyes filled with mirth as she leaned back against the pillar. “Oh don’t tell me you’re a slow burn kind of guy too? They always get me. It’s the underestimated, the unexpected ones that will surprise you the most. All it takes is to give them a real chance. Be patient, take the time to see beyond the surface and watch them exceed your expectations.”

“Tram’s got horsepowers too, so I suppose it counts for something but I doubt it’s anything like riding a real one.” She mused back. Between the lines of his last statement, she could tell there was more to it than what he let on but Leyla didn’t ask, just nodded understandingly instead. “I think they’d like you. They have the sixth sense, you know? They sense a good soul.” It would have probably been best to bite her tongue next, but Leyla rarely ever did, despite the consequences it tended to have. “Maybe you should try. Life begins outside of your comfort zone, right? Besides… what’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?”

She nudged the remaining baklava toward her friend, the honey glistening under the fading light. "Eat, then. Can't have my favorite diary running on empty." Leyla chuckled, the sound low and warm as she painted soft patterns into the sand with her finger tips. “You’re always collecting secrets like seashells“, she grinned fondly, meeting Zara’s gaze once more. But her mind snagged on her earlier tease someone real. Leyla’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, her thoughts threatening to drift away but she snapped herself out of it quickly. She cleared her throat softly. "The derby," Leyla prompted, steering them back to safer shores. “Tell me all about it.”

The sea breeze whipped strands of dark hair across her own face as she leaned back on her palms. Zara’s hunger for intrigue was as predictable as the tide and just as relentless. "Juicy bits?" Leyla echoed dryly, shaking her head slightly. "You’re worse than a seagull eyeing chips." She laughed before pausing briefly, letting the crash of waves fill the silence for a heartbeat. "Fine. But only because you’ll hound me from here to Istanbul otherwise."

“Its a shame you were so busy solving the derby’s mysteries, you didn’t have time to see your favorite neighbor at the event. But I forgive you.” Leyla joked. With a soft sigh, she straightened up again to face Zara. "Okay, okay your extortion tactics win." She nodded toward the steep path winding up to the old town. "Halva at Omar’s? My treat. But only if you swear this story involves at least one stolen horse or a drunken superstar or something similar, worth remembering.”

She grinned when Leyla called her a collector of secrets, the expression softening into something almost fond. “What can I say? Some people collect stamps, I collect scandals. And they’re easier to trade.”

At the mention of the Derby, her eyes lit up immediately, the mischief rising like a tide. “Oh, it was glorious chaos. One jockey nearly threw a punch at a trainer before the third race — over a hat, if you can believe it. Some actor got so drunk he tried to propose to a jockey — and not even one riding his horse. And one of the city’s most beloved starlets found out her husband’s been keeping a mistress… two rows behind her. You could feel the air crackle when that shoe dropped.”

She let the laughter fade into a sly smile, gaze sliding out toward the water as if replaying the day in her head. “And beneath all the champagne and small talk? Let’s just say the usual suspects were circling each other like cats in a room full of rocking chairs. Riley’s boys and the Walkers weren’t there just to watch — and whatever they were planning, it had every other crew watching their corners.”

Zara blinked back toward Leyla, lightening the mood with a nudge of her shoulder. “So, no stolen horses — unless you count stolen glances — but plenty of drama to go around. And I did miss my favorite neighbor, which is the real tragedy of the day.”

She pushed herself up and dusted sand from her skirt, mischief dancing in her voice. “Now, lead the way to Omar’s. I promise to make the next chapter worth the price of dessert. Maybe even throw in a scandal or two for free.”

“I’ll square that debt yet,” he muttered, low, rough, his voice pitched for her alone. “Can’t have you thinking I’m a man without honor.” He left it at that. Her gaze flicked to the bruise at his throat, and he adjusted the line of his collar out of instinct, covering what couldn’t really be hidden. His fingers lingered there a moment too long, before dropping. “I ate,” he said, but the words felt thin. Bread, whiskey, a cigarette smoked down to the filter — hardly enough to satisfy a woman who kept insisting she was his doctor. “Better than the hot dogs they’re peddling here, anyhow.”

The threat of tying him up — meant in jest, he knew — made something sharp and restless twist in his chest. He huffed through his nose, shaking his head. “Careful what you promise, doc. Some of these men’d pay good money for less.” He let the humor stand, even as his body still hummed with tension, every muscle tuned to the possibility of trouble.

She asked if he was up to something. His silence stretched, long enough to say more than any answer would. The truth was, trouble found him even when he wasn’t looking. And she knew that. “Up to something?” He shook his head, tipping his hat lower to shade his eyes. “Only thing I’m up to is watching the ponies run.”

Still, he shifted his weight, scanning the crowd over her shoulder. Faces blurred together — Gallardo hats, Walker grins, Tanaka glances. A field of predators dressed in their Sunday best. His hand brushed the air just above her elbow, the smallest gesture of shepherding, of keeping her within his reach without making a show of it. “And watching my step,” he added quietly, almost to himself.

When her gaze drifted back to the track, he let himself follow. The horses shone like muscle and fire beneath the sun, lean and restless in their gates. He envied them — built to run, not to stay. “Aye,” he said, softer now, almost gentle. “Beautiful creatures. Deserve better than the fools holding their reins.”

As for his bet, he let the corner of his mouth twitch again, just enough for her to catch. “Course I did. Be a crime not to. What kind of Irishman’d I be if I came to the races empty-handed?” He didn’t say who he’d put money on, didn’t admit the bet was less about the horses and more about the men who’d tried fixing the race behind the scenes.

Instead, he let the silence fall, companionable for a change, the roar of the crowd building as the horses edged forward. For the briefest flicker of a moment, he let himself think maybe he could stand there with her, just a man at the track with another at his side — instead of what he really was.

"Do you know how to ride?"

Leyla watched him, the way his fingers brushed his collar—a reflex as ingrained as breathing. That bruise, faded, but not gone but she’d seen worse on him and without a thought, she reached out instinctively, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. No words, just a genuine gesture. Her eyes silently did the talking for her. Hey, it’s just me. You don’t need to hide anything!

By now she could tell, whatever he ate likely didn’t count as proper dinner in her books but she let it slide. She wrinkled her nose at the mention of the hot dogs served in this place. “Never tried them, not intending on it today either.” Leyla watched the ripple of tension in his shoulders, the careful way he scanned the crowd. Her gaze followed his own momentarily but all she could make out was designer dresses and suits. Of course she knew dangerous figures hid amongst them but it was hard to tell who they were. Too many faces in the same place wearing invisible masks.

His joke landed with a familiar, wry edge, but she’d seen the tension coiled beneath it. “I’ll remind you of that when it comes to it and you’re begging for release.” She teased back, aware of the double meaning of her words this time. Dangerous territory but he delivered that one on a silver platter.

Beside her, Eoin remained unnervingly still, his hand hovered near her elbow, a ghost of protection. Not possessive… not quite. Just… there. Like he expected the crowd to erupt any second. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the warmth of his arm brushing hers, grounding herself in the solidity of him. A silent anchor in the shifting sea of people.

His deflection about being up to something was expected. Like the bruise, it was something to be acknowledged silently, then left alone. Prying wouldn't change his path and she wasn’t going to try to hold him back. That was exactly why she’d brought her doctor’s bag in the first place. Because, just like him, she was set on keeping her promises.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” The way he spoke about horses said a lot about himself, whether he realized or not. His comment about the fools holding the reins drew a soft hum of agreement from her. "Power corrupts," she said quietly, eyes still tracking the lead horse. “I just hope they’ll treat them right even if they don’t win.”

When he mentioned his bet, a genuine laugh escaped her, bright and unexpected amidst the track’s din. "An Irishman without a wager is like a stethoscope without earpieces," Leyla teased, echoing his earlier sentiment. "Utterly pointless." She bumped his arm lightly with her own. "So? Let me guess, you bet on the underdog. The one everyone’s written off?”

For a brief moment, they simply stood there in comforting silence, just watching the race like two ordinary people living in the moment. “I wish. But I never learned it properly. My parents couldn’t afford it, so it always just remained a little girls dream.”

Her eyes glanced sideways to meet his gaze once more. “What about you?”

She leaned closer, elbow brushing against her friend’s as though sharing a secret. “Careful, darling. You keep calling me your diary, and one day I’ll start charging by the page.” Her eyes glittered, but there was no mistaking the warmth behind the joke.

Zara’s brows lifted, laughter bubbling up as she shook her head. “Wallah, I thought when you said ‘don’t get me started on that one’ you meant someone real. I was ready to pry names out of you.” She gave Leyla a playful nudge with her shoulder, grin teasing. “You know me — dangle a mystery like that, and I’ll chase it.”

She pulled her shawl tighter against the breeze, letting the salt air catch her hair. With a sly grin, she tucked her knees up, chin resting there for a moment. “And gossip? Mm.” She let the word roll off her tongue like something decadent. “The derby was a whole circus. Horses, hats, and more whispers than I could count. But if you want the juicy bits…” Her eyes glittered as she let the sentence hang, "I'm going to need more food." She gestured to the rest of the baklava.

She nudged the remaining baklava toward her friend, the honey glistening under the fading light. "Eat, then. Can't have my favorite diary running on empty." Leyla chuckled, the sound low and warm as she painted soft patterns into the sand with her finger tips. “You’re always collecting secrets like seashells“, she grinned fondly, meeting Zara’s gaze once more. But her mind snagged on her earlier tease someone real. Leyla’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, her thoughts threatening to drift away but she snapped herself out of it quickly. She cleared her throat softly. "The derby," Leyla prompted, steering them back to safer shores. “Tell me all about it.”

The sea breeze whipped strands of dark hair across her own face as she leaned back on her palms. Zara’s hunger for intrigue was as predictable as the tide and just as relentless. "Juicy bits?" Leyla echoed dryly, shaking her head slightly. "You’re worse than a seagull eyeing chips." She laughed before pausing briefly, letting the crash of waves fill the silence for a heartbeat. "Fine. But only because you’ll hound me from here to Istanbul otherwise."

“Its a shame you were so busy solving the derby’s mysteries, you didn’t have time to see your favorite neighbor at the event. But I forgive you.” Leyla joked. With a soft sigh, she straightened up again to face Zara. "Okay, okay your extortion tactics win." She nodded toward the steep path winding up to the old town. "Halva at Omar’s? My treat. But only if you swear this story involves at least one stolen horse or a drunken superstar or something similar, worth remembering.”

The noise of the crowd swelled as another race broke from the gates, all thunder and dust and cheers that rattled through the stands. Eoin stood a step back from it, hat brim tipped low against the sun, sunglasses cutting the glare. The coat was gone—lost to the heat hours ago—and he couldn’t be bothered to care where it ended up.

He spotted her then, the familiar cut of her posture a small anchor amid the churn of silk dresses and cigarette smoke. His stride carried him over without much thought, the weight of his brass still in his pocket, the ghost of old bruises along his ribs reminding him not to lean too easy.

“Never did get to taste that falafel,” he said by way of greeting, voice carrying its usual gravel, though his tone was lighter than most ever heard it. “Apologies. Duty called, as it tends to.” A faint curl touched his mouth, more suggestion than smile. “How was it? Tell me it was shyte, or I’ll have to regret it proper.”

He let his gaze flick over the track, then back to her, head tilting just enough to pass for humor. “Strange, seein’ you at a place like this without a needle in your hand. How’s it feel, not stitchin’ some fool back together?” A pause, the dryness sharpening at the edges. “Don’t get too comfortable. Might not last the afternoon.”

She knew. Her fingers tightened slightly on the program she wasn’t reading. A soft, almost invisible smile touched her lips when his voice finally came through, rough as gravel. “Duty comes first. But don’t think you’re getting out of this so easily. Still owe me a falafel date, Mr. Riley.“ She teased as she turned to face him, her gaze nearly cutting through the tanned shades of his sunglasses with their usual warm spark. “As you should! Besides I’m a terrible liar as you know. You really missed out.“ Leyla paused, raising a brow at him. “Not just on the falafel by the way.“

Eoin stood close, hat low, shades hiding his eyes. His coat was missing. She noted the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested lightly near his hip. Her gaze swept over him, lingering briefly on the faded shadow of a bruise peeking above his collar. “Unlike the company I ended up with after you vanished." There was no judgment in her words by any means, it was a simple matter of fact. “Did you eat at last?“

A soft sigh escaped her at the thought of whatever this so called duty entailed this time but she knew better than to ask questions. “I’m more worried about you not keeping your promise to rest.“ She wasn’t surprised but part of her wished he’d take his own well being more seriously.“Guess I‘ll have to actually consider that tying you up option next time. Doctor‘s duty and all.“

“It feels nice for a change. But then again it depends on what fool we’re talking about.“ She winked at him playfully, though she was obviously joking. Leyla would never call him a fool for a number of reasons. At his mention about it not lasting the afternoon, she coughed briefly. “Are you up to something, Eoin?“

Her gaze drifted back towards the horses. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Too bad they won’t let anyone near them. I would have loved to say hi properly.“ She chuckled, well aware there was no way she’d ever make it past security, not that she’d be foolish enough to even try. “Did you make your bet?“

When she turned, baring the stuck zipper, he stood still a moment like he might refuse on principle. But the request wasn’t unreasonable, and besides—he’d been raised better. With a short sigh through his nose, he stepped in behind her. His hand found the fabric, rough knuckles brushing once against the line of her back as he caught the clasp. He worked it free with care that sat oddly against the size of him, the steady tug sliding the teeth into place. “There.” The word came flat, but there was no mistaking the gentleness in the act. He pulled back quickly, letting the space settle between them again. “Don’t say I never did you a kindness,” he added, gruff and quiet, like the moment had been too close for comfort.

Her tease about taking the lead earned a short huff, not quite a laugh. “I don’t know where the hell we’re goin’, so I’ve not much choice, have I?” The corner of his mouth shifted upward as he tipped his chin for her to walk on ahead. He fell into step beside her once they cleared the door, boots striking a steady rhythm against the corridor floor. His men had already scattered, and the sudden quiet was noticeable—only the echo of their footsteps, the faint hum of the city pressing in from outside.

He let the silence ride for a few paces before breaking it, his voice low. “Falafel, you called it?” A brow lifted as though testing the strange word on his tongue. “What is it, then? Some sort of stew?” His hand flicked faintly, dismissing his own ignorance. “Don’t know a thing about Turkey beyond maps and the odd headline. Not much call to, growin’ up where I did.” He glanced down at her sidelong, tone even but curious. “You lot eat it often there, or is it just somethin’ for special occasions?”

There was no shame in the question—just the blunt honesty of a man who didn’t pretend to know what he didn’t. Still, there was a faint wryness under it, a trace of self-mockery. “Can’t promise I’ll have the taste for it. I’m a simple man with simple food—meat, bread, potatoes. Anything stranger than that and c-rations, I’ve not much practice with.”

For some reason, when she turned her back to him to give him access to the stuck zipper, she felt a little nervous. Not out of embarrassment, it didn’t unsettle her. She just didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from him. Bracing herself for protest, she was once again surprised by the unexpected gentleness of his action. Once he stood behind her, so close, she could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding just a little faster. His knuckles, rough, yet gentle, brushed softly against the delicate skin of her back. She swallowed hard, before holding her breath for a moment. While he worked her zipper expertly, she leaned into him slightly. Although it was just the ghost of a touch, he left a warm, tickling sensation in his wake. Her head tilted back a bit, her gaze searching his own as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Thank you. I owe you one.” The words came out in a low whisper, just below a breath. As soon as he pulled back, she took a moment to get herself back together.

“Nope, you really don’t. You’ll just have to suck it up for the night.” She joked, an amused grin following her words, while they exited the room and she locked the door. “Wouldn’t want anyone to break in and find your endless files of injuries.” A laugh escaped her lips, filling the empty hallway and breaking through the silence now that his men were out of sight. As they left the building, there was a long moment of silence between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable - peaceful if anything.

She smirked at him with a hint of pride reflected in her gaze. “Yes, that’s right, Mr. A student. We eat it a lot. It’s a traditional dish, so I guess you can kind of call it our stew in a way. But it’s not a stew per se.” Leyla mused, her eyes shining a little brighter than before. “It’s deep-fried balls.” She chuckled at the realization of what that just sounded like, shaking her head before she elaborated further. “Not actual balls, don’t worry. They’re made of beans and chickpeas. You’ll have to try to understand.” His curiosity made her smile even more, though she was more than happy to indulge him. “Next time you come for your check up, which is in two days by the way, I’ll show you some pictures of turkey. And maybe, if you behave, I might even take you there one day.”

“It’s a different world entirely.” She nudged him playfully at the trace of self-mockery. He wasn’t pretending to be who he was not and that was something she respected a lot. And unlike most, he didn’t just assume and rather asked what he didn’t know - another quality she appreciated. “Don’t worry. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat yours too and we’ll just order a burger for you. You won’t go home starving, I can promise you that.”

Her smile softened when the talk turned back to home, though. She rolled onto her back, folding her arms under her head and letting the sky fill her gaze. “Truth? It’s been… twenty years. I was just a girl when we left. Sometimes I think I remember the colors, the smells—the way the air felt different—but maybe I just remember the stories my sister tells, or the things I’ve dreamed since. Feels like another life, one I borrowed instead of lived. I don’t know if I’d even recognize the streets if I went back now.” She blew out a breath and tilted her head toward Leyla, grin returning. “So no, you’re stuck with me. I’ve been here too long to go chasing ghosts.”

She reached over and gave Leyla’s wrist a light squeeze. “And don’t you worry, darling. Even if karma’s busy, I’ve got a long enough memory for both of us. You say you’d be a terrible actress, but I think you’re selling yourself short. Men fall over themselves to believe what they want, and you’ve got the kind of face that could sell them the moon. Just say the word and I’ll start coaching you—first lesson free, friend discount. But only if you tell me about the one.” She finished with a raised brow, letting her friend know she wasn't about to let her comment slide.

When Leyla teased about pistachios, Zara’s eyes went wide with mock-solemnity. “Every year? Forever? Well then, I guess I’ve got no choice but to live forever, just to make sure you don’t waste your time baking for nothing.” The mischief softened into warmth, eyes crinkling as she looked at her.

She laughed at the mention of drunks. “You’d last longer than you think. There’s an art to it, trust me. Smile, nod, let them think they’re clever. Half the time I’m collecting stories without even asking. And yes—dirt, gold, gossip, you name it. People underestimate me, and I let them. It’s a trick worth mastering. They’ll never know how much you’ve heard until it’s too late.” She leaned in closer, matching Leyla’s mischief. “Besides, what else would I whisper to you if I didn’t keep my ears open?”

Truth was, she barely remembered anything about her life in Turkey all these years ago. But she knew how traditional people were where she came from and she chose to stay here for reasons. “I’ll just use you as my personal diary then. To make sure I don’t lose track of anything.” She joked with Zara, inhaling a whiff of the ocean breeze. “I wish. I already struggle selling some of them the medicine and treatments they need. Let alone the moon.” What was meant to be a joke came out a bit more serious than intended. “I’ll take that free lesson. Just because I’m curious. But don’t expect too much. I’ve warned you, canim.”

Her brows quirked up at the mention of the one and she considered her answer for a moment. “What do you mean, the one?” She asked, genuinely unsure who she was referring to. In her mind, Leyla added: The one who has no shame and literally has the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep because he did something stupid? Or the one who’s different to any other you’ve ever met? But she didn’t say it out loud. “You better, at least survive me, because I sure don’t want to have to miss you ever.” Her eyes lit up again at her friend’s smile. She just loved seeing everyone around her happy, especially the ones she cared about.

“An art I’ll never understand. You make it sound easy. But… I struggle enough trying to figure out sober men. Let alone drunk ones, who don’t even know who they are and where they live anymore.” She was all ears now, the mischief in her eyes reflected in Zara’s. “That’s true. Someone has to keep me posted and entertained. What’s the latest gossip? What have I missed whilst patching up a fighter and a silly boy?”

Cormac winced as the first dagger was pulled out, his body tensing before he tried to suppress a hiss of pain. "Easy, now.“ Once she was done with the second dagger, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the last one. "And here I thought I was being clever," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Guess I'll have to go back to the drawing board on these bad boys." He tried to keep his tone light, but the pain was definitely starting to get to him. Despite the pain, Cormac's eyes remained locked on hers, a challenge in his gaze. He knew he was pushing his luck with her, but something about her no-nonsense attitude made him want to test it, to see if he could crack that icy exterior.

The third dagger was the trickiest. As she started to work on it, he felt the muscles in his back spasm around it. Cormac hissed as she tugged at the third one, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. With a grimace, he focused back on her, watching her work in silence for a few moments before speaking again. "What can I say, we're a stubborn lot."The pain was starting to subside now that the metal was no longer buried in his flesh, and he couldn't help but feel a bit more relaxed. "So, what's the prognosis?"

When he winced slightly, she involuntarily smirked a bit in return. „Does it hurt?“ She asked ironically, fake-innocently batting her lashes at him. „Easy won’t be possible, I’m afraid. You’ve got those things in deep so better brace yourself.“ Leyla shrugged simply, before she set the daggers she pulled out on the table. „Do you still want to keep those?“ It was probably better if he took them with him instead of throwing them away and give her neighbors a chance to find them. “Or maybe you shouldn’t.” she mumbled more to herself, not that she expected him to actually listen for once.

Leyla didn’t let his attitude distract her from the actual task at hand and focused on extracting the last one. She felt his muscles tense under her care and she was glad he remained silent at least for a few moments, until she got the dreaded thing out. “That’s it. I hope next time you play with things like that, you’ll wear a bulletproof vest or something.” She suggested whilst tending to his wounds. A chuckle escaped her at his remark about the Rileys. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” Once she finished patching him up, she grabbed his shirt and tossed it at him. “All done. You can get dressed again now.” She paused, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “The prognosis is… you’re a lost cause.”

"you're just a social butterfly, that's the answer." ros laughed softly, unsurprised that leyla made friends so naturally. after all, she had immediately been drawn to her all those years ago, sensing her warmth, openness and kindness from a mile away. "that's true. some people you really don't wanna bump into at the local market. too many folks on a mission and not willing to talk about herbs."

ros wouldn't call herself a cook really. she often opted for convenience, so maybe learning a thing or two in the kitchen could be useful. she glanced at leyla with a look of intrigue, tipping her head slightly. "y'know what? sure. that sounds like a great idea! my cooking skills are basic at best, so maybe i need to learn something? and it'll be fun going together," she smiled, "i feel like i already know you're gonna be teacher's fave." she teased.

„I’m not sure about that. Sometimes, but it really depends on the company. Usually I prefer to keep to myself and enjoy a nice book or listen to music. You know, peace and quiet.“ Leyla admitted with a soft smile upon her lips. It didn’t take much for her to be happy, she was a simple girl after all. „That’s so true. Do you feel like there are a lot of shady people in this city? Because sometimes I wonder if it’s the Hollywood glam that draws them in or if I’m just imagining things, but to me it does seem like there’s more and more popping out by the day.“

She was already getting excited about the cooking class, eager to learn more and spend time with her friend. „Yess! I was hoping you’d say that! It’ll be amazing. Just wait and see. We’ll have so much fun. You never stop learning when it comes to cooking. There is always something new to try.“ Her excitement was clearly audible in her voice as she gushed about their plans. „What? Just wait until he looks into your pretty eyes, he’ll be swept off his feet right away.“ Leyla teased back playfully with a wink.

Her impression of him sulking earned her a long, deadpan look across the desk. “Don’t hurt yourself, now, picturing it. I’m very good at it, I’ll have you know.” A faint pause, then he tipped his chin slightly. “But aye. Keep clear of my bad side. It’s not half as entertainin’ as the good one.”

The shift in her eyes didn’t escape him—not much did—but he didn’t rise to the bait. Not directly, anyway. “Underestimated you, have I? That’d be a mistake I wouldn’t make twice.” The words came quiet, carrying a weight that was half challenge, half promise.

When she teased about his “friend,” his brows knit for a breath, then eased. “Bring him along?” He let out a low scoff. “Doubt you’d want him at your table. Bastard’s got a black cloud followin’ him wherever he goes.” He flicked the idea aside with a hand, though there was a glint of something harder under the dismissal. Her admission about the patient drew his gaze steady again. “Accident or not, man puts hands on you, he’s lucky it ended where it did. Next one won’t.” He didn’t dress the words up; they were simple fact. It was the least the Rileys could do for the woman who stitched up their wounds; make sure she didn't get any of her own.

Her surprise at his agreement drew the closest thing to a smile yet, brief but honest. “Don’t get used to it. You caught me on a weak day.” At the mention of falafels, his brow arched, suspicion laced with curiosity. “Falafels, is it? Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. But if they’re nearly as good as your mam’s, I’d best brace myself.”

When she told him to turn around, he gave her a long look first—like he might argue on principle—but then he obeyed, shifting so his back was to her. His hands fiddled absently with the unopened cigarette pack, a twitch of restraint. “No peeking,” he echoed dryly. “What sort of man d’you take me for?” Still, there was something about the request that sat oddly with him. Trust, casual and easy, wasn’t something he found often, and it stuck with him longer than it should have.

He rose when she gave the all-clear, smoothing his jacket into place. “Ready, then. Lead on. But if this place of yours poisons me, I’m comin’ back to haunt you.” He opened up the door to the hallway, giving his men a nod that was the Riley version of at-ease, and watched them disperse, as he waited for her to follow.

Not even that impossibly inscrutable look on his face could shake her, even though she knew better than to mess with this man. “I’ve imagined worse.” She assured him, her voice gentle and soft. “Looks like I just discovered one of your secret talents, haven’t I?” Leyla mocked softly, before her expression turned just a little more serious at his next words. “I’ll do my best to stay on your good one.”

There must have been something in the air that drew out a playful side of her she didn’t even know existed. She held his gaze, the glint in her eyes silently accepting the faint challenge in his words. “You tell me. Better don’t. Remember who’s surgical table you’ll be lying on again soon enough” A genuine laugh followed her little joke while she finished packing up.

“Why not? We’ll just have to run faster than the cloud and if all else fails, we can always dance in the rain.” Leyla meant that but she wasn’t going to push it either, when he dismissed the idea. Then, when he’d mentioned the other patient again, her gaze lifted to search his own. A blend of surprise and gratitude surged through her at his words. Maybe they should have scared her or at least intimidated her, knowing who he was and what he was implying but oddly enough, they didn’t. If anything it felt good to know he had her back. Considering not even her family did, it meant a lot. “Careful now, you keep talking like that, I’ll start to feel special.” She grinned over at him but she wasn’t naive enough to actually believe it. They could say a lot about the Rileys but they always looked out for their own. Not that she considered herself one of them. But in a way they were the closest thing to family she got here.

And there it was. Something that looked almost like a smile. Brief but still there. Probably her greatest accomplishment of the day. “Don’t worry, wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your weak day.” Then she paused, lips slightly pressed together for a second. “Or maybe I should. Who knows if there will ever be another one again.” Her laugh filled the air, delightful and fleeting but unfeigned. “There’s a first for everything, Eoin. It’s about time I show you what you’ve been missing out on.“ It was more of a promise than it was a warning but there was still a slightly teasing undertone in her voice when she opened the locker and looked over her shoulder. “Either you won’t get enough of it or you’ll find it’s not for you but at least you can say you tried.”

This was probably the longest he’d ever looked at her before averting his gaze. It was unusual but not uncomfortable, as her eyes remained locked on his own, waiting for him to argue but he didn’t. I like this obedient streak of yours, she mused in her mind but didn’t say it. She got changed quickly, without double checking if he really wasn’t looking, just trusting he wouldn’t. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he didn’t disappoint. “A true gentleman. Otherwise I wouldn’t get undressed with you still in the room. But I figured it was saver this way than giving you the chance to run before I had my dinner.”

As soon as she was decent again, she slipped into her shoes, a pair of pumps. She adjusted her hair lazily but didn’t bother brushing it properly. “Almost.” The word barely left her lips, before she turned her back to him, revealing the open zipper of her dress. “It seems to be stuck. Mind giving me hand?”

“Letting me take the lead already? I don’t mind that.” She chuckled lightheartedly whilst stepping out of the consulting room. The strange looks of Eoin’s men didn’t go unnoticed and she could only imagine what they might have been thinking, but she couldn’t care less. Leyla gave them a faint, friendly smile, before she leaned towards Eoin, whispering in a low tone of voice. “They’re not tagging along, are they?” A relieved sigh escaped her at the sight of them disappearing. “The haunting of Eoin Riley. Sounds tempting! Don’t give me ideas.”

She plucked at a loose thread on the blanket, her smile lingering softer this time. “You’re right though… home’s what we make it. Doesn’t mean I don’t still get a little homesick now and then. But then there’s days like this. You, me, the ocean, and food that isn’t boiled to death the way some people make it. It makes it easier.” She tapped her finger lightly against Leyla’s knee. “You’re stuck with me now, sorry. No returns.”

The mention of a 'short list' made Zara laugh outright, sharp and delighted. “Two people? That’s practically saintly. I’ve got at least five, and that’s just from last week. You’re making me look bad.” She shifted up onto one elbow, eyes glittering with mischief. “Acting classes, huh? Please. We don’t need lessons—we’re naturals. If anyone can fake shock at bad men finally getting what they deserve, it’s us.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, letting out a theatrical gasp that dissolved into more laughter.

“A Zara special edition, though…” She pretended to mull it over, squinting at the horizon like she was calculating stock prices. “Yes. I like the sound of that. Exclusive, rare, impossible to afford.” Her eyes softened, teasing fading just enough to show something earnest. “And if pistachio shows up on my birthday, I’ll swear on my life to stay alive for at least another year. I promise.”

When Leyla dodged with that vague 'busy', Zara narrowed her eyes, mock suspicious, but let it slide with a shrug. “Mmhm. I’ll let you keep your little doctor secrets. But I’m watching you. If I catch you skipping dinners, I’ll come stand at your work and heckle you until you eat something. No one escapes me when it comes to food. Consider me your honorary Syrian Teta”

She leaned back again, arms behind her head. “As for me? The club’s the same circus as always. Boys trying to impress girls, girls pretending they’re impressed. Drunks thinking they’re philosophers after two martinis. I swear, I should start charging extra for listening to bad poetry slurred at me over the bar.” She tilted her head toward Leyla with a sly smile. “But between you and me… some nights, it’s the side conversations that are worth more than the tips. People talk too much when they think a waitress is just a pair of legs with a smile and a tray.”

While she poured some sun screen onto her hands and rubbed it into her skin, she listened to Zara's words about home and she felt the same way her friend did. "I think it's natural. It would be strange if we didn't get homesick now and then. But... we're here for a reason. Or do you ever think about going back?" She was genuinely curious about her answer though Leyla wouldn't trade her newfound life in LA if she had the chance to, that much she knew. Reaching out for her friend's hand, she squeezed it tight with a heartfelt "aweee now you're the one making my heart swell, canim." Once she handed Zara the sun screen, she shook her head quickly. "Please, I wouldn't return you for a million dollars."

Her eyes hovered over the view of the ocean before them as she thought about her short list. "Yeah but those two count for ten and the one on the verge of getting onto it, don't even get me started on that one." She mused lightheartedly. "I reserve the list for the worst of them. The rest, I just avoid, gotta give Karma a little break sometimes too." Zara was a gifted actress indeed but Leyla wasn't sure she could pull off a simple acting attempt herself. "I'd probably fail miserably. If my acting shocked is half as bad as my attempts to convince a man I'm taken, oh dear." This was what she loved most about Zara, her ability to make the most mundane moments special, and always with the most contagious laughter she'd ever seen.

"Yep only for the rich and beautiful. The must have in Hollywood." Her smile widened even further, while she made a mental note to remember the pistachios for her birthday. "I'll just have to make them every year then, until the end of time. To make sure you won't leave me stranded in this city all by myself." In all honesty, Leyla didn't even want to imagine a life without Zara in it anymore, who'd become another sister from a different mister to her.

Of course she noticed the change in Zara's expression. "Is that a promise? In that case I might have to intentionally skip dinner now and then. Just so you come visit me and whisk me away from work. But beware, some of my patients have no shame." As she listened to Zara talking about her job, she couldn't help but admire her even more. "Drunks are the worst to deal with. I don't know how you can do that every night. I'd lose it after the first shift for sure." Then again, the part about the stories people told when they had too much alcohol in their systems did sound interesting. "Sounds like you've been digging up some dirt." A mischievous grin spread across her lips whilst leaning a bit closer. "I honestly don't mind being underestimated. It can be useful."