#caesaria400

He’d been assigned your bodyguard for a week now.

As the daughter of a wealthy politician, you never expected to find yourself in this position: caught in a dangerous web of lies and deceit amongst some rich elites. But, here you were anyways: trapped in a small saferoom away from the BOW-infected people who wanted to kill you.

Great.

Your gaze slid to Leon. There he stood: pure muscle, narrowed and serious eyes that were a bright crystal blue. His lips were pursed into a thin line, jaw clenched tight. Delicate lines of age crept into his skin, stubble lining his jaw; he looked tired, worn. He always did. Ever since you’d met him, he’d always held an air of professionalism, always lingering at your sides, gun strapped to his waist. But that wasn’t what bothered you – because what did was the way he made you feel.

Whenever you looked at him, your heart swelled like it might burst, spilling your silly emotions all over the floor. He stirred something awake inside of you, made heat pool in your core and your throat feel dry like you’d stuffed it full of cotton. He was older than you, but still, that didn’t stop the way you felt. Didn’t tamper down the strange feelings stirring within your stomach. Finally, you pulled your eyes away, curling your fingernails into your palm until they ached. It didn’t matter, anyways. It was highly inappropriate, and he looked far too focused on the mission to give you a passing glance.

Leon finally turned, looking away from the boarded up window, which had given him just enough of a gap to look out at the chaos outside. But as soon as his eyes found yours, your breath caught in your throat. He took a few tentative steps forward.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gruff with exhaustion.

You nodded, words dying on your tongue. Now that he’d turned towards you, acknowledging you, you only just now realized how small this saferoom was. There was hardly any room to maneuver without bumping your elbows against random yellow paint covered boxes. He was so close now that you could practically feel his body heat, the air around you suffocating, thick with tension and warmth.

He studied you carefully, his blue gaze slowly looking you over from head to toe. Your heart thundered in your chest, lips parting as words lodged in your throat.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. Almost against his own control, his hand snaked out – slowly, carefully. His fingers hovered just near your temple, so close but not quite touching. His chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath, arms tense, veins protruding from his muscles and twitching with restraint.

“Oh,” you said, not knowing what else to say. His fingertips were close, so fucking close – but then they dropped to his side instead. Disappointment settled like an ice cube in your belly, frozen solid and unbreakable.

Instead, you reached up and brushed your fingers along your temple. When you pulled them away, shiny blood coated your fingertips. You hadn’t even realized you’d gotten hurt in the scuffle while trying to get in here. Blood roared through your ears, shock trickling up the back of your spine. His own lips parted slightly, but there was something hidden behind his eyes, something dark and carnal and restrained.

It was you who pulled your eyes away first. Because looking any longer was too much.

You rose to your feet so quickly that the box you’d been sitting on scraped across the floor. Swallowing your nerves, you brushed past him – chest to chest, nearly touching, yet just enough to send an electric current of desire between you and him. You swore you heard his breath hitch in his throat, but you kept your gaze down, not looking his way. Making your way over to the boarded up window, you snuck a quick look outside, watching flames dance along the horizon in the distance.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s not safe.”

You glanced over your shoulder, smirking. “As long as I have you? I’ll always be safe, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly, but finally, the cracks in his armor seemed to show as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Believe me,” he chuckled lowly under his breath. “I think you and I are going to be far from safe from each other.”

You smiled. Because maybe, just maybe…

He felt the same way.

It started with a bouquet of flowers.

First, they were from Jervis. Red roses in a beautiful bloom. One of the most beautiful bouquets you’d ever seen in your life, unable to stop yourself from brushing your fingertips against the delicate petals. You’d taken the flowers inside and put them in water, then set them near the windowsill for some sunlight.

It was a simple gift. One that excited you.

Until another bouquet of flowers appeared on your doorstep a few hours later.

These ones were sunflowers, all bright yellow with extended petals and beautiful green stems. The card that came with told you they were from Jonathan. You’d known they both liked you – the way they spoke to you was clear – but you didn’t think much of it as you placed the flowers beside the roses.

What you didn’t know, at the time, was how much this would become a pattern. 

The amount of gifts only continued over the next few weeks.

If Jervis sent you a box of chocolates, Jonathan sent you one, too – only this time it was twice as large and more decorative with a red bow. When Jonathan sent you a gift card to your favorite store with five-hundred dollars on it, Jervis sent you an envelope with a thousand dollars cash and a little note that read “treat yourself, darling” scribbled on it. At first, you had to admit it was nice being doted on by both men. It made you feel…important, cared for, loved, in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

Until their antics only grew more over-the-top.

When Jonathan sent you a plush Scarecrow-like doll, Jervis responded in turn by shipping a giant, life-size bunny rabbit to your place. It was so big that you could hardly even get it through your door and find a place for it without cramping up the small space – not to mention you felt like its beady eyes were always watching you.

A few days later, another gift appeared: this time from Jonathan, with VIP tickets to your favorite show that was coming up in a few weeks. You should’ve been excited, elated, even – and any other time, you would be. But when Jervis’s response was to send you backstage passes to a concert you’d been dying to go to (complete with being able to meet the band and all), instead you felt…dread. Irritation. Because their gifts no longer felt like gifts, but like a competition for your affection.

So instead of accepting the gifts, you turned them away instead. Refused to tell either of them “thank you”, sent the delivery driver away, sent everything back.

If they wanted to play this game, then you could play, too.

So when you suddenly got a knock on the door a week later, you opened it just in time for Jervis to come barging in, his blue coat wrapped tight around him, top hat askew atop his head. His face was pale, eyes wide, frustration written across his skin.

As soon as he spotted you, the question slipped from his lips, “Dearest, why have you been sending back my gifts?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted your brows. “Because they’re getting out of control. Between you and Jonathan smothering me, I’m a bit sick of it, to be honest.” Maybe the words came out harsher than normal, but you couldn’t help it.

Jervis frowned for a moment, before his lips twisted into a sneer. “Right. The Scarecrow. Always trying to prove how much better he is,” he scoffed out with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You sighed; you were just about to ask him to leave when another knock sounded from your door. You hesitated, but opened it – only to find Jonathan standing there. In similar fashion, he barged his way into your place, a question stumbling from his lips.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You haven’t been accepting my—”

He shut his mouth as soon as he spotted Jervis.

The glare both men gave to each other was like a spark about to ignite, electricity crackling in the air between them, a current of destruction ready to implode. The hairs on your arms raised on end, tension creeping into your shoulders.

“You,” Jervis snarled. “Always in the way. Always trying to prove you’re better.”

“Me?” Jonathan asked, exasperated as an incredulous look passed along his face. “You’re one to talk. Every time I give a gift, you have to show off, thinking you’re so much better.”

Jervis scoffed. “Yes, of course. Because you weaponize your wealth and connections to get what you want. That makes you no better than I.”

Jonathan scowled. “It’s silly you think such extravagant gifts will win her over. Tell me, Tetch, are you overcompensating to satiate your fear of rejection?”

Your jaw fell open slightly in surprise. A deep sorrow bundled in your stomach, aching in your heart. Why is this what their affection had reduced them to? This wasn’t worth the fighting or the petty insults.

Jervis barked out a laugh. “Look in the mirror, Crane. You want to talk about fear? Well maybe—”

“Boys!”

Your sudden cry echoed across the walls, silencing them both. Their heads whipped your way, surprise flitting across their faces at your outburst – but you couldn’t help it.

“This has been going on for far too long,” you sighed, your voice radiating sorrow. “And look, I like you both, and I don’t want to hurt either of your feelings. But…”

You looked between them, into each of their eyes, so filled with a desperate hope for your love and affection. You didn’t want to hurt them, but you knew if you didn’t make a choice, they would only continue to fight – and perhaps this might escalate until something worse happened.

You had to choose, now or never.

So, you sucked in a breath and chose.

It wasn’t often when he made you angry.

But when he did, you were angry.

Jaw tight, teeth clenched, eyes scratchy from the tears you’d cried an hour ago – it felt like you were wasting so much time dwelling on what Jonathan had done, but it was useless to think about it anymore. He wasn’t the type of man to apologize, anyways.

You frowned, running a hand through your hair. The argument was stupid, anyways. All because you’d asked him to join you for dinner. You’d spent two hours prepping everything, slaving over a hot stove to cook the best roast you could (and it was magazine worthy, you might add). It’d been weeks since you’d had dinner with him, since he’d been holed up in his office every night for hours on end. Some nights you weren’t even sure he came to bed. So when you knocked on his office door and asked him to come to dinner – he’d snapped.

Not snapped in the traditional sense. Oh, no – Jonathan wasn’t loud when he snapped. He was quiet, icy, his tone carrying an undercurrent of terror deep within his every chosen word.

“Your constant interruption are becoming a nuisance.”

That’s what he’d said.

“A nuisance?” you’d asked, your heart sinking. “Well, maybe this nuisance won’t be here when you come out.”

He hadn’t even looked back at you when he said, “Good. Then I can finally focus.”

You’d slammed the door and stormed out after that. Arguments with Jonathan were never explosive, they were like hell frozen over, an ice age in your heart. There were no explosions, no fireworks. Just cold agony.

That was how you found yourself now, sitting at the table with the dinner you’d cooked having gone cold an hour ago. You wiped your eyes again and sucked in a shuddering sob, swallowing it down the best you could. You didn’t care if he heard you. Let him, for all you cared. Not like it’d mattered much anyways.

Your eyes fluttered closed – but the sound of a door creaking open made them snap open. You spun in your seat, surprised to see him walking through the door, draped in a brown coat, mask-like face concealed by shadows. His gaze found you, before sliding around to the rest of the table, with the dinner now long forgotten. You sniffed, looking away. Tension crept into your shoulders, creeping up your spine. You didn’t even want to look at him, didn’t want to know what he might be thinking right about now.

His footsteps echoed across the floor as he neared. “I’m sorry.”

His voice made you perk up, gaze finding his as surprise flitted across your face. You blinked a few times, as if unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What?” you asked.

He quietly slipped into the seat beside you, hands gripping the armrests of the chair so tight his knuckles blanched white. He didn’t look at you as he said, “It was not my intention to hurt you. I have been…frustrated, with progress on my work. I took it out on you. I apologize for that.”

You shifted a little; his words were like a bucket of ice being dumped on you. He never apologized. It simply wasn’t like him to do so. You studied him carefully, looking for any sign of a ruse, but you saw none. Manipulative as he was, he wasn’t like that with you.

You remained silent.

He cleared his throat. “I should not have taken my aggression out on you. I see you have prepared dinner.”

“Yeah, well it’s cold now,” you muttered.

“The microwave still works, yes?” he asked.

You shot him a look. “That’s not the point, Jonathan. It’s not the food that’s important. It’s how you ignored me and made me feel like I wasn’t worth a minute of your time.”

His chest rose and fell with a shuddering breath, tightness appearing around his eyes. He sighed, before holding out of his hand to you, long fingers outstretching. You hesitated, but took his hand in yours, and he tugged you closer. You slid from your seat and over to him, before settling into his lap as carefully as you could. He was hard, all muscle and scratchy clothing, and you nuzzled your head under his chin. He smelled of chemicals and something medicinal, your heart aching in your chest.

“You are always worth my time,” he whispered.

His words made you feel like you were going to explode. You know he’d shown you that was true time and time again, and that this was just a moment of weakness on his part. You just happened to be in the crossfire. You rubbed at your scratchy eyes and snuggled closer to him – just as your stomach growled, loud and desperate for food.

He chuckled lowly. “How about we get take out?” he asked.

You laughed and said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You’d been watching him for a while now.

Always off to the side, busy working for so long it was like the world ceased to exist around him. Sweat dripped into his brow, shimmering in his hairline against the harsh overhead lights. The workshop was busy with the roar of machinery and hum of electricity pulsing through the building, the metallic tang of equipment tickling your nose. Still, in nights like these when he was so busy, you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d taken this measly job offer of his anyways.

The ad in the paper failed to warn you of all the work hazards.

Frowning, you turned your attention back to the task at hand: the wires you were busy soldering together, tiny sparks flickering like flames about to ignite. The smell of oil and grease clung to your skin, pungent and eye-watering. But when you looked up again, finding Edward Nigma hunched over several blueprints and tiny machinery, your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t deny the feelings stirring in your heart, the heavy pounding of the muscle, torturing you every time he failed to acknowledge your presence. Sometimes, he didn’t even spare you a glance before mumbling orders under his breath and ignoring you for hours on end. As if you were a bug under his shoe—

Suddenly, your hand slipped. Gasping, one of the wires fell from your grasp and landed on the floor, right beside another exposed wire. As soon as their ends met contact, something within the workshop sparked – lights flickering for several seconds before bathing the room completely in darkness.

Edward immediately whipped around. “What did you do?” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips, rage burning behind his blue eyes.

“I don’t know!” you cried, holding up your hands in surrender. “The wrong wires got crossed and—”

“I think the wrong wires got crossed in your head, you idiot,” he hissed. “You must’ve accidentally tripped a breaker.” The last words came out in an annoyed grumble as he slid off the stool, heavy boots padding across the floor as he made his way across the workshop.

You followed, nerves pricking up your spine. The only source of light was now from the emergency green lightning system that now kicked on, enveloping the room in a soft emerald glow. Your heart hammered against your chest as tailed behind him into a small, off-shoot room where the breaker was kept. Oil stained marred his strong, pale arms, the green of his button down littered with black question marks. With a gloved hand, he opened the breaker and flipped a switch – but as soon as he did – the entire workshop began to roar with an electric hum.

His gaze snapped towards the source of the sound – before the security bars hanging over the offshoot room suddenly slammed closed.

Trapping you both in here.

In this tiny little room, with no way out, and nothing but equipment and boxes as your only company, because you knew he wouldn’t be any. Fuck.

Edward spun around to face you, lips peeled back in a sneer. “See what you’ve done, you pea-brained fool? Trapped us in here like mice in a cage!” The furrow in his brow, the tension in his shoulders, radiated off him in waves.

“Me?” you asked, incredulously. “You’re the one who flipped the switch! This is your workshop! Maybe you should know what all your switches do!”

“Quiet, you fool,” he sneered. “Let me think.”

You barked out a laugh, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the nearby wall. “Aw, what’s a matter, the great Riddler can’t think fast enough?” The words were angry, but you didn’t care – not after how he’d treated you.

He blinked, as if caught off guard by your mocking tone. The surprise across his face lasted only for a moment, before his lips peeled back in a snarl, baring teeth – and then he lunged at you.

You gasped, startled, as both his hands slammed down on either side of you, trapping you in between him and the wall. His face was just inches away, hovering so close, nose almost touching yours. The fury in his eyes burned with the heat of a thousand suns, making your throat constrict with nerves and rage. You scowled back at him; your own anger roared through your veins.

“You stupid little idiot,” he growled. “You have no right to talk to me, the Riddler, that way!”

You smirked, lifting your chin higher in defiance. “And you have no right to be such an asshole, either, so I guess that make’s us both in the wrong.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “I’m never in the wrong, my dear.”

The way my dear rolled off his tongue made a shiver trickle down your spine. “Then who’s fault is it that we’re stuck in here?”

He shook his head, laughing lightly under his breath – before one of the hands pinning you to the wall finally slid to your front, and his hand wrapped delicately around your throat. Not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath hitch and stutter. His brows furrowed as he studied you closely – before, suddenly, his mouth slammed into yours. You blinked, taken aback by his sudden outburst of romantic aggression – but you moaned into his mouth anyways. He tasted like stale coffee and chocolate you’d caught him snacking on earlier. Your mouth moved against his, wild with frenzy, tongue gliding against his own. It was hot and sloppy, like he didn’t quite know how to move his mouth, and heat pooled low in your core.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away, his eyes burning with a tricky gleam. A low, wicked smirk spread on his lips as he released his grip on your throat and stepped back.

“Computer,” he said, loudly. “Open the emergency doors in room 2B.”

“Yes, the Riddler,” the computer said.

The emergency doors sprang open as all the lights came on, momentary blinding you. But when your vision adjusted, just in time to see him walk out of the room and head back to his desk, that’s when it suddenly clicked.

He engineered this whole thing all along.

It’d been three months since you’d seen him.

When you’d packed your bags after hurling insults at each other and stormed out of the shared apartment you had with Jonathan and hadn’t looked back. You just hadn’t expected to suddenly find yourself working alongside him in Blackgate.

Your gaze strayed to him, sitting at his desk, head buried in notes and books like always. His brown hair was always neatly cropped, eyes stern and serious behind his glasses. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since you’d walked inside this morning. That was fine with you; you didn’t need him or his approval.

No matter how badly you wanted.

Loneliness crept into your bones, tension coiling in your belly. You glanced back down at your work, at the patient records in front of you, but you couldn’t focus. Not with him so close by. After giving five years of your life to such a difficult and complicated man, leaving him behind had been like a fist punching a gaping hole in your chest. You gritted your teeth, a cold ache creeping into your bones. You shouldn’t give him anymore attention, but his refusal to answer about all his late nights coming home had left you frustrated, and perhaps a little neglected.

He refused to tell you the real reason why he was staying late at work.

So you walked out the door without looking back.

But now you were forced to keep looking at him since he was only a few feet away and—

Fuck, you thought. This could not be happening. You should’ve made sure to request a different department, but you’d needed this job desperately. It was your own fault, of course. But still. It did little to help ease your nerves or make sense of the confused thoughts swirling around in your mind. Despite the bad memories, there were so many good ones, too: coffee in the wee hours of the morning, pumpkin pie, celebrating both of your favorites holidays, that being Halloween. Maybe the truth was that you were lonelier than you thought you were, considering how the last three months had gone, crying your eyes out into your pillow and your fingertips skimming across the cold side of the bed where he no longer was.

You lifted your gaze to him, finding him once more on the other side of the room, his pen furiously scratching notes into the writing pad before him. The furrow to his brow told you everything you needed to know: that he was frustrated, perhaps more than usual. Knots churned in your stomach as a question simmered beneath your skin: did he want you back, too? Did he lay in bed at night, thinking about you the same way you did him? He was stubborn. You were too.

What if your conjoined stubbornness was ruining the possibility of a second chance?

The question was asinine, absurd. But the only way you’d know for certain is if you asked. Jonathan would not be the type of man to spill his true feelings aloud. Not when it came to anything romantic, at least. The wasn’t the kind of man he was. Frowning, you watched him for a second longer as that desperate longer tightened harder and harder in your belly until it became unbearable.

With an angry huff, you scooted back in your seat and jumped to your feet. Across the room were several filing cabinets with patient information in them. Grabbing the files you’d already completed and tucking them under your arm, you walked over to one of the cabinets, which happened to be right beside his desk. Nerves wracked through your bloodstream as you fought the urge to even spare him a glance, but the hairs on the back of your neck rose on end, a chill creeping down your spine.

Is he watching me? you wondered. Good.

Quietly, you put the folders away in their rightful place and were just about to turn around before he whispered your name. It was light, soft, almost a strange taste on his tongue as if he was speaking it for the first time. But it was enough to make you turn back and face him, to finally look into his blue eyes that burned holes in your skin. Just his gaze made your breath hitch in your throat, your stomach tighten.

“Yes, Jonathan?” you asked, tight-lipped.

His eyes narrowed as he studied you closely, gaze slowly roving over you. “Why are you here?” His voice was icy as the question rolled off his lips.

“I’m working,” you answered. “Surprised you noticed.”

His brows lifted. “You’re the one who walked out on me, remember?”

Surprise flitted across your face as you scoffed out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, and why is that, Jonathan? Why do you think I walked out on you?”

He studied you carefully, but said nothing.

His silence only aggravated you further.

“God, Jon,” you said, nearly throwing your arms up in frustration. “Are you really that blind that you don’t know why I left you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. Silence stretched like eternity before you.

“I wish you hadn’t,” he finally whispered.

The words were a gut punch, as if he’d reached into your chest and squeezed your heart in his fist. You hadn’t expected him to say those words, to make his wants so clear…and somehow, it ached more than you realized it would.

Jonathan slowly rose from his spot at the desk and approached you with careful, tentative steps, until he was but a hairs breadth away. His hand lifted to you, long, dexterous fingers gently brushing against your cheek. You trembled at his touch, your eyes fluttering closed; the connection between you two was magnetic, electric, as if you’d never been apart at all.

“I was going to tell you what I was doing,” he said, making you open your eyes. “Once I’d perfected it.”

Your brows furrowed. “Perfected what?”

His lips curved upwards, soft lines of age creeping into his skin. His thumb brushed across your cheek, gentle and yet someone possessive, too. Reminding you of all the time you’d spent together, so many years you couldn’t forget.

“If I show you,” he said, as if choosing his words carefully. “Will you give me a second chance?”

His question was weighted. Heavy. Almost too heavy to manage. But you loved him far too much to care anymore. You’d spent enough distance apart, and realized just what a hole his absence left behind.

“Yes,” you answered, nodding. “Show me what you’re working on.”

He brushed a stray hair behind your ear before he stepped away, his hand finding yours to thread his fingers through your own. He shot you a look, before tugging you back towards his desk; he brushed aside several notes before revealing one to you.

And there, on the page, were two littles words:

Fear Toxin

You were supposed to be a hostage.

That was the entire point of kidnapping you.

What Jervis hadn’t expected was just how much he couldn’t stop looking at you. He should’ve been focused on the task at hand, but his gaze was glued to you: sitting in the corner, huddled close beside the other man he’d also taken as a hostage along side you. The terror in your eyes should’ve been a warning, but Jervis couldn’t stop the feelings burning deep within his soul.

Because you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Jervis had never believed in love at first sight – not until now. Not until he realized just what an ache in his heart you were creating deep inside of him. Around him, his goons were busy finalizing preparations for the next step in his plan, but he couldn’t focus.

Especially not when the man beside you wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you close to comfort you.

A sudden bolt of jealousy rippled through Jervis’s entire body. He scowled, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. He didn’t even know who this other man was, didn’t care who he was….all Jervis knew was that he didn’t want him to touch you.

And he would do anything to make sure it didn’t continue.

Jervis stalked across the room, pointing at you. “You,” he said. “Come with me.”

You glanced up at him, all wide-eyed with tears reflecting in the light. You hesitated, but after a minute, managed to peel yourself away from the man and stand on shaky legs. Jervis beckoned for you to follow him into one of the side rooms of the hideout. When you walked inside, he shut the door behind you; the room was tiny, with barely any room to maneuver around. His heart leapt into his throat as he spun on his heels to face you.

But being alone with you now only made his blood warm.

Jervis smiled, pulling off his top hat to tip it towards you. “May I have your name, my dear?” he asked, using his smoothest tone he could.

Your brows furrowed, a look of confusion crossing your face as you told him your name.

He repeated it, liking the way it tasted on his tongue. He smiled, but suddenly reached out and grabbed your hand in his own. You gasped as he stroked his thumb over the top of your hand, admiring the smooth skin, the way you felt. The breath stuttered in his chest as he felt desire pool deep in his belly, a desperate longing blossom from the very confines of his lonely soul.

Your shoulders went rigid, spine straightening as you trembled before him. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to run or scream, but it was no matter – not to him. His thumb continued to stroke circles into your skin, before he brought your hand to his lips, where he placed a soft, delicate kiss to the top of your hand.

You gasped at the contact, and the sound made him shudder. He raised his eyes to you, before dropping your hand and taking a closer step towards you. He raised his hand up to your cheek, brushing a stray tear away with his knuckle.

“W – why are you doing this?” you whispered, the terror and confusion in your eyes clear.

“Because, my dear,” he said, his voice taking on a possessive edge. “I’m in need of a partner. How would you like to be mine?”

You didn’t answer him – the fear in your eyes was silencing you. Jervis sighed, one of his fingers twirling a strand of hair around his finger.

“It’s no matter,” he sighed, before reaching for his pocket watch. “Love at first sight doesn’t have to affect only one of us. I’ll make sure you feel it, too.”

You gasped as he held up the watch.

“Now,” he said. “Look into my eyes…”

And fall in love with me.

He was soft.

He always was. Beside you, Jervis breathed softly, a slight snore filling the silence in between you two. He was warm, one of those people that described themselves as a furnace. Your hand splayed across his chest, the thunder of his heartbeat beating underneath your fingertips. The rhythm was calming, a reminder he was alive.

You’d been awake for a little while now, staring at him sleeping. One of the few times during the day that you were able to see him calm. Not driven by his Wonderland-filled delusions. Sleep brought something different, something that the day couldn’t. You sighed, snuggling closer to him, breathing in his scent. He smelled of clean powder and linens; he always did. Jervis took great care to make sure he was clean for you. It felt like it’d been a lifetime since you’d seen him. The breakout at Arkham a few days ago left you reeling, terrified, but when he sneaked back home in the dead of night, the relief flooding through your bones had made you burst into a puddle of tears as you threw your arms around him and sobbed.

But that was the thing: he was home now.

Maybe things could be different. Your eyes fluttered closed as you snuggled even closer, letting his body warmth warm your chilled skin. Soft, blonde strands of hair cascaded over his forehead, long dark lashes fanning his face. When he was like this, he looked so…gentle. So tender. He always was, of course. But when he slept, there was something about it that was different. He wasn’t burdened by tension or second-guesses when he was awake. Sleep showed you another side of him.

Perhaps that’s why you craved these quiet, intimate moments in the dawn, when glimmers of bright yellow light shone into the room through the slit in the blinds. His large hand rested gently on your hip, fingers tight as though he still wouldn’t let you go. Your heart swelled in your chest, beating so hard it might burst right out. These were the stolen moments you longed for every day of the week, every hour, every minute. How many nights had you laid awake watching him like this? You’d lost count a long time ago.

You sighed, pressing your lips against his chest – but the movement was enough to make him stir. His eyes peeled open, bright blue orbs shining down on you. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards as soon as he spotted you.

“Good morning, dear,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “Sleep well?”

You smiled back at him. “Yes. You?”

“Quite well.” His gaze slowly rove over you, taking you in in all your post-awakened glory. The hand on your hip tightened, his thumb rubbing patterns into your flesh.

You giggled at that, a soft sound escaping your lips. You sat up a little, just enough to rest your chin on his chest, angling yourself so you could look directly into his eyes. Quietly, you reached up, brushing some of the hair from his eyes. His hair was soft against your fingers, thick strands caressing your flesh. You sighed, a hopeful warmth filling your veins.

His brows creased ever so slightly. “Is something wrong, darling?”

“No,” you said. “I’m just…happy. To be here with you like this.”

His gaze strayed from your face to the window. Just through the blinds, there was a hint of the sunrise on the horizon, casting golden rays of light. When he glanced back at you, his smile widened. “Ah, yes, These quiet mornings that promise hope, even when you are at the end of your rope. Golden gleams of light, always makes the heart feel right.”

You felt like you might explode – happiness at his rhymes, which you always loved, only making you feel more and more connected to him with every word that passed his lips. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his, touching nose-to-touch with him. He sighed into your mouth as the kiss deepened, your tongue gliding against his own. He tasted like tea, even in the morning. Longing pooled deep in your belly, warmth blossoming in your core. He kissed you like a man starved, like he’d denied himself such passion for years.

When you pulled away, meeting his eyes once more, you rested your hand on his chest, slowly trailing down towards his thigh with a featherlight touch. “I suppose we can steal a few more moments, can’t we?”

Jervis grinned at that. “That we can, my dear. That we can.”

You were almost in tears by the time you returned home.

The entire way, you’d fought back against them, your grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Dangerous to be driving with such blurry, tear-filled vision, but you couldn’t help it – all you’d wanted was to get home after such a shitty day.

Customer service had never been kind. You were screamed at for two things you had absolutely no control over, got written up by a sorry excuse for a manager that didn’t have your back, and you’d been late to your shift anyways because of traffic. Damn, you really were having an awful day.

By the time you got home, you raced inside as fast as lightning, slamming the door behind you with a furious huff. The smell of sweets lingered in the air of your tiny apartment, but you quickly glanced around, searching for Jervis.

He emerged from the kitchen a moment later, teacup in hand. “Welcome home—” he paused as soon as he saw your expression. “Darling, are you all right?”

The moment you locked eyes with him, everything you’d been holding inside the entire drive crumbled. A desperate sob escaped your lips as you crossed the room and threw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck. Tears slipped from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks, shoulders shaking with each silent sob. You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t help how much you’d struggled to hold in all shift finally escaped you like a dam had burst open.

“Oh – darling, it’s all right,” Jervis whispered, his soft breath fanning against your cheek. With his free hand, he patted at your back, before rubbing his hand in soothing circles.

The motions were comforting, allowing you to relax just the slightest, even though the tears continued to fall. After several minutes, Jervis lifted his head, placing a soft kiss onto your forehead. His lips were gentle, and your eyes fluttered closed. He always had a way of calming the storm in your mind. You sighed, relaxing against him, the tension you’d been holding in finally melting away.

“Here,” he said. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll get you a cup of tea?”

You nodded, sniffling, but finally pulled away. As he swept back into the kitchen, you took a seat at the nearby couch. Settling into it, you listened to him bustle around for several moments. When he returned, cup of tea in hand, he handed it to you. As you cradled it between your stiff fingers, steam floated from the rim, warming your face. Jervis snatched up a blanket off the back of a chair and draped it over your shoulders; the fabric was heavy and soft, like you were wrapped in a weighted blanket.

“Thank you,” you whispered, gaze fixated on the liquid in the cup.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft.

You sighed, but told him about what happened at work. Just muttering the words were painful, a reminder of the shitstorm you’d have waiting you tomorrow. As he listened, his hand reached forward and glided over your own, threading his fingers through yours. His skin was calloused from all his work, but made your heart leap into your throat. But the more you spoke, the more you let it, the lighter you began to feel.

When you finished and finally looked at him, he sighed and said, “Rough days are never easy. But a good cup of tea will always cure the bad day blues.”

You smirked at that. “I just…feel so stuck at my job. I have no idea what to do.”

His brows raised as he leaned back and said, “‘If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there’, as the great Lewis Carrol once said.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps you didn’t need to know what to do just yet – because if you had no idea, you were bound to go wherever life led you. His words always had a way of comforting you, and some the clouds over your head began to dissipate. Glancing at him, you smiled and leaned over, brushing your nose against his. He sighed, inching closer until his lips met yours. He tasted of tea and sweets – but his kiss was enough to fill your veins with a gentle warmth. As you pulled away, he smiled at you, eyes glimmering with light.

You finally took a sip of your tea now that it had cooled down about.

Jervis was right.

A good cup of tea could make any bad day turn good.