#pero x reader

The sword slips from your grip, clattering on the ground, but you’re already racing towards him. He jumps out of the saddle just in time to catch you in a tight embrace. Big arms lock around you, squeezing you to his chest.  His heartbeat pounds so furiously you can practically feel it through his leather armor. His scent surrounds you and you breathe it in deeply. Beneath the smell of horse and sweat is a familiar musk that immediately makes you feel at home though you never left. It hasn’t been home without him. 

You pull back to look at him, your eyes brimming with joyful tears. He is unchanged— still rugged and beautiful, still scarred and square— and he looks at you with the same eager delight. His dark eyes flit between your own, a rough thumb brushing over your cheek. You stare at each other, as if making up for all of the hours you wished you could see one another during his absence. 

Finally, you can’t hold back any longer. You kiss him and kiss him, your lips eager to be reunited with his. He’s been gone such a long time, you’re afraid this might be a dream, but the bite of his stubble against your face and the grip of his fingers on your upper arms tells you that this is no phantom. 

His kiss is always commanding, insistent. He cradles your face in his hands, tongue pressing into your mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair and it grounds you. He’s here again. Finally. 

When you come up for air, your lips swollen from his mustache and the rake of his teeth, you’re staring at him again. You break away just far enough that you can admire him, his features nearly out of focus as you hold him close. 

“I didn’t know when you would return,” you say, breathless. 

His eyes don’t match his gruff exterior. They’re warm and twinkling like melting stars as he watches his thumb trace your bottom lip. He smiles lazily, enjoying the details of you. 

“It would’ve been sooner but I stopped at an inn last night to clean myself up. I wanted to be presentable to you,” he admits. 

“You know I wouldn’t care”, you say. 

“You would not have recognized me. I might’ve met the sharp side of that sword,” he chuckles. 

You playfully swat his chest and he’s kissing you again, the tremble of his laughter on his lips. He guides your hands up to his neck again. His mouth travels to your ear, tracing the shell and nipping at your lobe. Shivers of pleasure burn across your skin, a familiar throbbing between your legs doubling in his presence. 

You moan. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve ached for him, imagining his tongue stroking you instead of your fingers. Dreaming about those nights when you were both so young— sneaking away to meet him, your back pressed against a barn, skirts hoisted around your waist. 

He pulls your hips into him and desire overwhelms you. You feel his muscular thigh through the thin fabric of your night dress and a  whimper escapes you. 

“I missed that sound, querida,” he growls, his mouth on your neck. 

“Take me to bed and I’ll make it again,” you pant. 

He hums hungrily but says, “Soon, hermosa. You must wait.”

“I cannot. Wait. Even a second. Longer,” you say between kisses. 

He smiles against your lips. 

“I have a gift for you,” he says. 

“It can wait until morning,” you say but he’s already stepping away.

At least, he tries to. You refuse to let go of his hand as he retrieves something from behind his saddle. There’s nothing in the world you could want more than him right now. Especially not a cylinder made of paper, marked with symbols you don’t understand.

“Mi amor,” you complain. 

“Needy,” he teases with another kiss. “You missed me, eh?”

You huff. 

“Wait right here,” he says and he goes deep into the garden, taking your strange gift with him. 

Usually when he returns from his travels, Pero is the one tearing at your clothing. He’ll delay a meal to slake his lust. He’s been on the other side of the world and now just a few yards between you feels unbearable. 

He kneels in the field, setting the thing upright. 

“This is a gift from the Chinos,” he explains as he unspools a long string across the distance between you and the tube. “For our heroism. We saw some action.”

You gasp. 

“You worried about me, querida?” he asks. 

“Of course.”

The amusement playing on his features quickly melts into affection. All these years and he’s still touched when he’s reminded you love him. 

He quickly recovers himself. 

“Fetch me a candle,” he urges. 

“Pero,” you groan. 

“Rápida, hermosa.” He taps at your behind. 

You’ve missed your husband but not his stubborn nature. Once you’ve done as you’re told, cupping your hand around the flickering flame, Pero crouches down. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

Before you can answer, he’s touching the fire to the cord and it lights with a hiss. You yelp with delight as a small flame begins to travel down the length of the fuse. Pero laughs and pulls you into him, this time his big palms cover your ears. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Watch,” he says, his eyes glimmering with the reflection of fire. 

The noise it makes might be the loudest you’ve ever heard, a boom like the thunder of a hundred storm clouds. You scream and bury your face into Pero’s front, heart pounding like a frightened rabbit. 

“No. Look,” he urges, turning you back around. “You’ll miss it.” His voice is all exhilaration. 

You peek up to see something unlike anything before it. 

It’s dazzling, exploding in the sky above you like the sparks off a blacksmith’s anvil. They glow against the darkness and then shimmer towards the earth. Falling, almost floating like snowflakes made of fire. Each ember twinkles out somewhere over your head. 

Your breath catches. What you’re witnessing is nothing short of magic. It’s beautiful, like bottled stars raining above you. What other fantastical things Pero saw in that far away place, you can’t begin to imagine, but you doubt anything could be as astounding as this. 

You turn to Pero and find that he’s not looking at this miracle. His gaze is fixed on you, enjoying the wonder on your face. The warm glow illuminates his features, the strong line of his nose and the tanned cords of his neck. This handsome man, obstinate yet attentive, protective, all yours. 

You’re overcome with a sense of gratitude— thankful that he’s returned home time and again. There were so many nights when you had no idea whether he was alive or dead and how would you even hear if the worst had happened? How would you go on without him? But he’s here and he’s safe. 

And this time he’s brought you a true rarity, something, perhaps no one in the world you know has ever seen. He could have sold it to a king for a wagon full of gold but, instead, it’s just for you to share.  

You want to thank him but you can’t find the words to say it all. The warm look on his face tells you there's no need, that he’s just as grateful you waited. You’re both so lucky to be in this moment. Reunited. He slips his hands around your waist, drawing you close. 

“Now, hermosa, let me show you how I’ve missed you,” he purrs. 

--

“I think you should be Tovar’s date for the holidays.” Lin shrugged her shoulders, flipping through a rack of long sleeve, button down shirts. “He’s single and you’re single, you’ve said you think he’s hot, and you know what they do, so he wouldn’t have to lie about it.” 

You stared at her, dumbfounded, as Holly Jolly Christmas blared out through the store’s sound system. There’s more to it. “Tell me the truth.” You set the hanger back on the rack, stepping closer and crossing your arms. “Why does he need a date? Isn’t his work … private? Like, they’re not exactly supposed to be in the public eye, or -”

“That I can’t tell you. You’d have to talk to William about it.” She sighed, finally looking over at you. “But what I can tell you, is that I’ve been listening to my husband complain for a week that none of the women he’s reached out to will agree to do it because his best friend is kind of a grump.” 

“So why would I?” You scoffed. “Tovar is … I think we’ve spoken about twenty words to each other in the three years I’ve known you. He isn’t exactly friendly, Lin. Why would I want to spend the holiday season with someone that hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t really hate anyone, he just doesn’t trust people, and doesn’t know how to … be gentle about saying it.” She held up a dark blue shirt, arching a brow. “How’s this one for William?” 

“It’s a good color.” You sighed. “I think he’ll like it.” She beamed at you, draping the fabric over her arm. “Lin, this thing with Tovar, what is it? Really, I mean. Why are you suggesting this?” 

“Because you’re both my friends. And I think it would be good for you.” She moved closer, reaching over to take your arm. “And good for him, too. He’s like that movie, the one with the Grinch?” You laughed at that, and she joined you, her fingers curling against your sleeve. “He just needs to find a reason to soften up.” 

Two days later, you were sitting in Willam and Lin’s lavishly decorated living room, waiting for him to come downstairs and talk to you. It’s just curiosity. You looked around the room, eyes lingering on pictures of you with the two of them, reminders of memories you’d made together on vacations and at parties. I just want to know what this is about. 

And when you found one that included Tovar, too, you lingered there, frowning slightly as you chewed on the inside of your lower lip. “Nobody should look that upset sitting in front of a Christmas tree.” William stepped into the room, holding two mugs in his hands. “Lin said you’d drink this.” He set one down in front of you and then sat on the chair next to the couch you were on. “Thank you for coming over.” 

“No problem.” Sighing, you reached for the mug and lifted it to your lips. He did the same, and then for a few seconds, William just watched you, a thoughtful expression on his face. I don’t like that look. “What’s this about?”

“To make a long story short,” he started, one side of his mouth twisted upward into a smile. “Tovar and I have a client for almost the entire holiday season that needs … extra protection.” That wasn’t a shock; they were in private security, and commonly took on high profile clients. “She’s got her own team, but they want local backup. Tovar and I will provide that, but to do so, and to make it look less… well.” He rolled his eyes. “Less like she’s got a ton of people surrounding her at all times and more like he’s here celebrating the holiday, the plan is for us to attend the same events like we’re guests. That way we can be there if necessary.” 

“Is Lin going with you?” He nodded. “Won’t you be distracted by her?”

“Yes and no.” He leaned in, linking his fingers together. “We’re supposed to blend in, but we’ll be connected to the main team at all times with earpieces.” He wet his lips. “Unless we’re actually needed, we’ve just got to be on-site.” It didn’t sound terrible, and you assumed that if the client was famous, the events would be fun - and probably have good food. “You would be there to keep him occupied. You’d be there to make it look like he wasn’t just hanging around and waiting for something terrible to happen.”

“As his date.” William nodded twice, eyes locked with yours. “Does he know about this?”

“Yes.” William blinked. “Lin suggested you last weekend as a joke, and he didn’t … he didn’t react the way that he has to other people’s names.” What? That made no sense to you. We’ve barely spoken. He’s never gone out of his way to talk to me. “It’s a paying job, of course. And it pays well, since it requires an NDA and multiple nights. I’ve drawn up the contract for you to take a look at. It’s standard, and what we’ve offered to other people in your position, but you can tell me what you think.” 

He shuffled a few of the papers on the table in front of you and then pushed a small stack at you, gesturing with one hand. He had it waiting? 

William stood, letting you know that he’d give you a few minutes to read over it in case you had any questions, and then left you alone in the room. “What the fuck?” You stared at the tree for a few seconds, thinking… and then picked up the contract and began to read. 

When William came back into the room about fifteen minutes later, you’d pulled a pen from your bag and made notes on the papers, crossing things out and jotting down a few ideas. “I see you’re making changes.” He laughed, settling back into the chair. “Does that mean you’re interested?” 

“Only if they can be accommodated.” You handed over the contract and leaned back, taking a deep breath. “The timing of the events means I wouldn’t have to miss work to attend them, so there aren’t lost wages to make up for.” He nodded. “I’ll sign the NDA, but there’s no way I can accept the amount in there. That would make me feel like you were paying me to spend time with Tovar, and I don’t like the implication of that.” 

William raised his head to look at you and you were surprised to see an alarmed glint in his eyes. “That’s not what it is. You’d be paid for spending part of your day working, not just for -”

“I’ll accept payment in the amount of whatever costs I accrue for the job.” You held up a finger. “Clothes, shoes, transportation, if I needed to get my hair done or anything like that. If I had to make a donation to get into the party, I assume that it’d be a substantial amount that I’d rather not be out, but …” You swallowed, thinking of Tovar’s dark eyes. “Spending time with him isn’t something you need to pay me for, William. My pay can be TBD based on what I have to spend in order to meet the parameters of the job.” 

“Of course.” He kept looking through, and then laughed when he got to the end, where you’d scribbled a longer note. “Unfortunately I don’t think I can meet that request. You’d have to talk to Tovar about that.”

“I know. It’s just …” You looked down, picking at the cushion of the couch with one hand. “I just don’t know how we’re supposed to play it off like we’re dating if he won’t speak to me, William. I can only pretend so much when the other person acts like they’d rather be anywhere else.”  

“I’ve offered this job to two women already.” He set the papers down and reached up to rub at his jawline. “And they’ve both said no, because the amount I offered wasn’t worth it to have to deal with his moods.” He cocked his head to the side. “And you … are offering to do it for less, but only if I can promise he won’t scowl the entire time.”

“I am.” You gestured to the one of the pictures of the three of them. “There’s got to be more to him than that. I can see it in pictures and I’ve heard him laugh, William. I know it’s in there. Maybe it just needs an opportunity to come out.”

“It does.” He leaned forward, reaching out to set a hand on your knee. “He’s my best friend, and he’s been through a lot. I don’t blame him for a lot of his behavior, and I don’t think others would if he let them get to know him.” William sighed. “I’ll make the changes you’ve requested, and email you the new one to sign virtually. The NDAs will be signed as soon as the client gets here. But… how would you feel about meeting with us and Tovar for dinner?” 

“Why?” William raised both eyebrows, staring at you. “When?”

“Tomorrow? We’ve got plans already, and you’re more than welcome to come.” 

There was no reason for you to say no. You’d have to spend at least three nights with him throughout the course of the contract, and starting early - on a night with nothing to lose - would possibly help the two of you become more comfortable around each other. And I’d like that. “What time and where?” 

“I’ll have Lin text you.” He leaned back, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Excellent.” 

“Wait. William.” You released a slow breath, closing your eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell him that you’ve already asked me. You know I said yes. But I think … it might be better if it seems like it’s a spur of the moment thing. That way I can see if … how he reacts when I’m right there.” He watched you for a few seconds, and you saw him narrow his eyes, lips turned down into a slight frown. 

“That might be a good idea.” He cleared his throat. “Ok. That’s what we’ll do.” 

The restaurant that you met them at the following day was nothing special; just a local place that had - according to almost everyone that had eaten them - the best chicken wings in the city, and some of the coldest beer to go with them. 

But when you pulled the door open to step inside, you learned something else: they’d turned the interior into a winter wonderland for the holiday, complete with fake snow and hundreds of twinkling lights hanging from almost every available surface. Oh, he’s going to hate this. 

You found the table immediately, and were thankful to see that Lin and William were sitting across from each other, leaving the other two seats at the table open. She waved you over, and when you lowered yourself into the chair beside her, she reached over to squeeze your hand, giggling as she did. “I thought you weren’t going to come.” 

“I said I’d be here.” You said hello to William, too, and then gestured to the empty chair next to him. “Where’s -”

“He got a phone call.” William rolled his eyes. “He went to take it in his car.” It gave you a few minutes to prepare for Tovar’s entrance, and as you and the Garins looked over the menu and made small talk, you were thankful for it. 

The truth was that Tovar’s behavior toward you had always bothered you. 

Not because it made you angry, but because it was frustrating. You’d never given him any reason to avoid you, and had been nothing but nice to him since the first day you’d met. You understood that it wasn’t just you; he took a long time to warm up - even slightly - to anyone. While his personality was likely beneficial to the work he did, giving clients reassurance that he was focused on the job and didn’t allow distractions, it wasn’t as helpful in everyday life. And it can’t be good for his love life.

So when you knew that the two of you would be somewhere together, you needed time to prepare, because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that it bothered you that he didn’t ever give you a chance. You didn’t expect to become best friends, but it would have been nice to be able to hold an actual conversation with him that didn’t feel like pulling teeth to get responses. 

You felt him before you saw him, his presence almost imposing as he approached the table and walked next to you to reach his seat. Even though William was still talking, your attention shifted. 

He wasn’t scowling when he dropped into the chair, but his face was impassive, his dark eyes darting around the room before they landed on your face - and then kept moving. “Phone call go alright, Tovar?”

“Yes.” He nodded, shrugging a shoulder at William. “Just business. They wanted to talk about the new client.” 

William hummed but didn’t say anything else, instead reaching for the menu in front of him and opening it. To your surprise, Tovar pushed one of the two laminated pieces of paper toward you before picking his own up, though he didn’t make eye contact again. You felt Lin’s foot knock into yours and fought back the roll of your eyes - but the truth was that the single, simple gesture was enough to make you think back to what both she and William had said earlier. Maybe he doesn’t hate me. 

After the waitress took your order and brought out a round of drinks, conversation began again. At least for three of us. Tovar silently watched the rest of you talk to each other, two fingers tapping against the tabletop. There were a few moments where it seemed like he wanted to interject, but it wasn’t until Lin spoke to him directly that you heard his voice again. 

“Did you find anyone to come to the party with you, Tovar?” She rested her chin on her hand, her attention fully on him. “William said -”

“No.” He sipped his drink, brow furrowed. “I am going alone.” He spoke with an accent, each word punctuated with purpose. “Maybe I will be a third wheel for you two.” Did he make a joke? You couldn’t believe it, but when Pero continued speaking, you felt your eyes widen. He did. “I can spike the punch, or -”

“You know, there’s an obvious solution to you taking a date. We talked about it last weekend.” William turned slightly in his seat, gesturing at you with one hand. “I think all you’d have to do is ask.” The shift in conversation took you by surprise, but you figured there was no point in putting it off. Here goes nothing. 

“You do realize I’m right here, William?” He winked at you and then laughed, holding both hands out. “Is there a party I don’t know about, Tovar?” When you said his name, his gaze shifted to you, and instead of looking away immediately, he maintained eye contact. Oh. “Don’t let him put you on the spot.” Smiling at him, you reached for your cup again. “But -”

“For work.” He nodded once, and you caught the tightening in his jaw. “The client I mentioned earlier.” It was a start - full sentences were a change of pace, and you felt a shiver of excitement at the way he was looking at you; like he was actually seeing you for the first time. “William and Lin want me to take someone, but I have found no one to ask.” 

You focused on his lips as he spoke, the sound of his voice soothing. You liked hearing it - liked the cadence of it, and the sincerity in his tone. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s never talked to me before. “When is it?” 

“Christmas Eve.” Lin cut in, resting her hand on your arm. “And it’s really fancy. But there’s other stuff before then, too. The client they’re talking about, she -”

“She cannot know.” Tovar leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “The more details we give, the more dangerous it -”

“She’s not dangerous.”  Lin exhaled, waving one hand. “And if she goes with you, she’s going to need to know something.” 

“No one’s asked me to go anywhere.” You spoke quietly, looking between the two of them. “But I don’t have plans on Christmas Eve.” You cocked your head to the right, attention back on Tovar. “So maybe I could fourth wheel.” Lin laughed again, but neither Tovar or William spoke up. 

You’d done your part - admitting in a roundabout way that you were open to acting as his date… and it was up to him to decide whether or not he wanted to act on it.  If he didn’t, William would have to go over his head and force the situation, and that was the last thing you wanted. Giving him an option was one thing, but making a choice for Tovar? He’d never speak to me again after that. 

The thought made you uncomfortable, and you hoped that none of them could tell. 

Luckily for you, the food arrived then, giving all four of you a distraction - and William another opportunity to tease Tovar about the amount of wings in front of him. 

“What? I am hungry.” He huffed. “It is not my fault that you didn’t order as many.” That made you chuckle, and you caught the way he looked back at you briefly before you dropped your eyes to your own plate, lips pressed together. “And just so all of you know… I don’t share.” 

You laughed out loud then, looking up and meeting his eyes - and if you weren’t mistaken, you saw the most fleeting hint of a smile on his lips before he reached into the basket, picking up his first piece of chicken.

Maybe there’s hope for this yet. 

All of you walked out into the parking lot together, William and Lin holding hands and you and the other man on either side of them. They veered off to the left after saying goodbye, William catching your eye and mouthing good luck before he turned away… which left you and Tovar alone. 

“I’m parked over that way.” You pointed. “So it -”

“I am too.” He gestured with one hand. “We’ll walk together.” It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and even though neither of you said anything as you approached your car, you noticed that he stayed closer to you than he had been before. “This is your car?” He stopped and pointed. “I remember it from William’s.” 

It stunned you that he’d paid enough attention to what you drove to remember which one was yours in the full lot, but you murmured in agreement, turning so that you could lean against the back end of it. “It is, yeah.” You eyed him, watching as Tovar stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark gray coat, the ends of his hair blowing slightly in the breeze. “Have a good night, Tovar. Dri-” 

“Did you mean it?” He shifted from one foot to the other, eyes narrowing. “About going to the party?” 

“I did.” You nodded along with your words. “Lin mentioned it to me the other day while we were shopping, she seems excited.” 

“You would go with me?” He inhaled, holding his breath. “And stay with me at the party, like we were -”

“On a date?” You pressed your lips together, watching as he gave a single nod. This is hard for him. “I would. I know it wouldn’t be a real date, but… we could pull it off, Tovar. Especially if you had to do it for work.” 

“There…” He cleared his throat. “There are two other events that I need to be at, too. Would… could you …” He looked down and then away, turning his head to give you a clear view of his profile. You stared at it, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the line of his jaw, Tovar’s mouth set into a pensive pout. “Lin will be with William, and I am supposed to…” He looked back at you. “Having someone with me would be good.” 

“Yes. On one condition.” 

“Go on.” He inched closer, the surprise evident in his eyes. “Please.” 

“I know you don’t like me much, Tovar, but … if we’re going to multiple places together, and we’re supposed to be together, I’ll need you to pretend like you want to be around me.” You gestured between you with one gloved hand. “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, and we met three years ago. I need more of this, and less of your two word responses and you looking like you want to snap at me.” 

“You think I don’t…” He lowered his head and swore, pulling his hands free from his pockets. “Alright. I can do that.” He held out a hand, waiting for you to take it. His fingers closed around yours, Tovar sighing as you shook hands. “And you should call me Pero. Tovar is what William has always called me, but …” He squeezed your hand again and then released it. “That does not sound right for a date.” 

You agreed - and wondered if he could see the surprise in your expression. No one called him by his first name; even Lin referred to him as Tovar. So I wonder why he’s … hmm. “Ok, Pero.” You bit your lip, watching as his cheek twitched at the sound of your voice. “What’s the first thing we need to be at?” 

“There is a charity event next week.” He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then a concert the week after, and the party on Christmas Eve.” This is spread out, Jesus. “If you give me your phone number, I can send you more information.” 

You agreed and he pulled out his phone, waiting for you to recite the number for him. You felt your phone vibrate a few seconds later as he confirmed that he’d sent you a message, and then Pero sighed, closing his eyes. “Will this make your job easier?”

“Yes.” He pressed his lips together. “And it will get William off my back, too.” You laughed, covering your mouth with one hand as you stared at him. Another joke? “It’s getting late. I should go.” 

It really wasn’t, but you understood that he was trying to end the conversation gracefully, and so you let him, looking down at your bag and digging for your keys. “Goodnight, Pero.” Fingers wrapping around the metal, you raised your gaze again, meeting his eyes. “I’m looking forward to next week.” 

That got you another smile, and it lingered for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and stepped back turning on one heel and heading further down the line of parked cars. He stopped when he was about ten feet away, looking back over his shoulder at you. “You’re wrong, by the way.” About what? He closed his eyes and straightened his shoulders before continuing. “It isn’t that I don’t like you, it’s… more complicated than that.” 

It sucked the breath from you, and all you could do was stare at him. What? Luckily, Pero didn’t say anything else before he resumed the journey to his car, leaving you standing behind yours. What just happened? 

You hurried to the door and then sat down, putting both hands onto the wheel after you started your car, fingers gripping it tightly. You had plenty of questions, and wondered if he’d actually answer any of them. I think he will. I think he… I think he does want to talk. 

You hoped that you were right. Reaching for your phone, you typed out a quick text to William. 

 Send over the new contract. I’ll sign it. He asked me.  

Whatever happened with Pero would likely test not only your patience, but your self control… and you couldn’t wait. 

He texted you a few times throughout the following week, and while the messages weren’t quite friendly, they weren’t cold, either. 

He filled you in on the events, even though the information that William sent over with the contact did, too. 

The first one was casual, a charity fundraiser where the client would be in attendance and raising money for local organizations by hosting an auction and early dinner. 

The second event, the concert, would require you to go to a meet and greet with Pero, that one held in the club level of the venue, followed by attending the actual show as part of the crowd. 

The final event was a party on Christmas Eve, which was meant to welcome a mix of the people that the first two events set out to benefit, as well as higher-end donors and other people of the singer’s status. 

Each of the events was highly publicized, and people in your city had been looking forward to them for weeks, along with the boom in business that people coming in for the events would bring. You felt a surge of pride in the center of your chest that William and Pero had been chosen to act as local security. Even though you knew there wasn’t a high chance of anything happening where they were needed, you were certain that they could meet the challenge if necessary. 

But on the night before the fundraiser, you were anxious about the following day. 

It wasn’t the event, or that you’d be in the presence of a celebrity for a few hours. It was that during those few hours, you’d be one on one with Pero Tovar, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just started speaking actual words to each other. 

So before you could second guess yourself you picked up the phone and dialed his number, pressing the device against your ear as it rang. He answered almost immediately, tone clipped as he said your name. “You are calling to cancel.” 

“No. I… what?” Inhaling through your nose, you whipped your head back and forth, even though he couldn’t see you. “No, I was calling to see if … if you wanted to meet up tonight for an hour so we could talk.” 

“Talk? About what?” 

“About some of the basic things we’d know if we were actually on a date tomorrow.” You bit the inside of your lip. “Nevermind. We’ll just do a crash course before we go in to the fundraiser. Have a -”

“I’ll pick you up.” He coughed, and your mouth dropped open in surprise. “Send me your address.” 

You hung up moments later, typing out the information and pushing send. He replied that it would only take him about 20 minutes to get there, and you nearly dropped your phone. Oh, shit. 

There was no time to get ready - no time to do anything more than brush your teeth and check your clothes to make sure that you looked presentable, and pull on a pair of thick socks before you shoved your feet into boots. He’d taken you by surprise with his suggestion, but you were excited for the opportunity. And if he suggested it, then it means he wants to talk. 

Lights shining in your front window alerted you to Pero’s arrival, and after grabbing your wallet, keys, phone and a coat, you headed out to meet him, hurrying toward the passenger side of his car. 

Before you could touch the handle, the door popped open, and when you pulled it further, you peered in in time to see him sit back up, his right hand returning to the steering wheel. “Hi, Pero.” Climbing in next to him, you turned your head to look at him. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Sure.” He nodded, putting the car into reverse once you’d buckled in. “Where would you like to go?” You thought for a few seconds and then decided, hoping it was a good choice. 

“That 24 hour coffee shop would be good. There are tables and no one will bother us.” 

He agreed with a nod of his head, and for the few minutes it took to get there, you and Pero sat in silence. He paid attention to the road and you paid attention to him, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he drove. There was plenty that you wanted to say, but you didn’t want to distract him; it was likely a huge step for him to have invited you out, and you figured he was focused. We’ll talk over coffee. 

The parking lot was full, but he found a spot after only one circle through it. After crossing the parking lot to the entrance, you went to open the door. Pero inched forward and then reached past you, mumbling that he’d get it. Ok. That’s fine with me. You thanked him as you entered, going straight to the line to place your order. 

It didn’t surprise you when Pero ordered a large black coffee, but it did surprise you when he paid for both of your drinks, passing over a handful of cash to the barista and telling him to keep the change. 

And when you led him to a booth in the back, sinking down onto one of the plush cushions after taking your coat off, you waited until he was seated, too, to speak again. “Thank you. You didn’t have to -”

“We are supposed to be dating, right?” He blinked a few times, head shaking back and forth. “It’s just a coffee.” 

He was right - technically - but it was also something that he hadn’t needed to do because that night wasn’t a date. “I don’t want to keep you out late, I just …” 

“What do you want to know about me?” He wrapped both hands around his cup, and your eyes were drawn to them. Tiny scars criss-crossed his skin, the healed areas a slightly lighter shade than the rest of it. “Ask.” 

“When is your birthday?” You led with something simple, taking a sip of your own drink. “What’s your favorite food? Where are you from? Do you like movies or TV, and if you do, what do you watch?” He seemed stunned by your questions, and you wondered what he thought you’d lead with. “We obviously aren’t going to be one of those PDA couples, but is it alright if I touch your hand or your arm or -” 

“My birthday is in June. The 9th.” He narrowed his eyes. “I like all food, but if I had to choose a favorite, it would be sweet things.” 

“Then why did you order your coffee black?” Pointing with one finger, you cut in. “You could have added sugar or caramel or -”

“Because I always do.” He looked down and then back at you. “I was born in Spain, but moved to the United States when I was very young. I don’t watch many movies, but when I do watch TV, I like shows about history.” He paused. “And home improvement.” You smiled at that admission, thinking of Pero doing construction or household maintenance. “I live in a small house a few minutes from Lin and William.” 

“That’s good. It’s helpful.” You flattened one hand on the tabletop. “Would you like to know anything about me?”

“I already know some things.” His eyes flicked to the right and he lowered his shoulders, but when Pero looked back at you, you saw determination in them. “Would you like to know what I know?” Lips lifting into a smile, you gestured for him to continue - and he did. 

Pero knew your birthday and your parents names. He knew where you worked and where you’d gone to school. He knew what shows you watched, what you liked to eat, and who your celebrity crush was. How? How could he possibly know this? “Did you talk to Lin? Did she -”

“No. You put too much information online.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just typed your name and things came up.” The matter of fact way he spoke to you made you laugh, but as soon as the sound erupted from your lips, he flinched. Shit. “You laugh at me.” 

“No, I just…” Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Hearing it all laid out like that is … weird.” He spun the coffee cup between his hands, keeping his eyes on you. “It’s right, but it’s still…” You didn’t know how to explain it; the way he’d recited the facts to you, it just made you seem typical. 

“Why did you agree to do this?” He finally took a drink of his coffee, tipping his head back slightly and giving you a glimpse of this throat as he swallowed. “To let me pretend with you?” 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He agreed with a single yes, leaning back in his seat as he waited. Here goes nothing. “You’ve always been a mystery. We’ve been in the same place at the same time a lot since we first met, and I’ve always gotten the impression that you were just … uninterested in being friends.” He frowned, but didn’t interrupt. “I’ve tried. I don’t know if you realize it, but I’ve tried to talk to you. I’ve tried to get to know you, and you just…” Sliding your hand up and down your forearm, you finally looked away, staring at the table. “This seemed like an opportunity to make it happen. And that makes me sound like an asshole, but -”

“You are not an asshole. That would be me.” He cleared his throat and said your name, the frown gone from his face but replaced with concern. “Making friends is not easy for me, and so I made the choice to keep people away on purpose.” He gestured to his face, fingertips following the line of the scar that slashed across one side of it. “This makes it easier.” 

“Pero, it -” You felt your chest constrict at the thought that he viewed his appearance as a reason - and a way - to further isolate himself. “If I had my way, we would have had this conversation a long time ago.” 

“You did not ask.” He gestured to the scar again. “Everyone always asks. But even when we met for the first time, you didn’t mention it.” 

“Because that’s rude.” Tilting your head to the side, you chewed on your lower lip. “If you wanted to tell me or anyone what the cause of it was, you would.” That took him by surprise, and you could tell by the widening of his eyes that he hadn’t expected any combination of those words to come out of your mouth. But it’s the truth. “I’d love to get to know you. And if I can do that and help you with a job, that’s even better.” 

He stayed silent, turning his head toward the window. After a few seconds, you did the same. It was late but there were still people on the street, and since you’d gotten to the coffee shop, it started snowing. It wasn’t coming down hard; instead, the sky was spitting snow almost lazily, the flakes falling down to land on the existing piles from the previous snowfall. “Do you want to know why I said it was complicated the other night?” 

“Yes.” The answer was automatic, and through his reflection in the glass you watched as he straightened up, shifting until he was facing forward again. What is he going to say? You turned back, too, waiting. 

“It’s complicated because I want to know you. I have wanted to. But why would you want to know me?” He scoffed. “You know what I do for a living. What I have done, and how I have treated you. Every time you tried to talk to me, I had to force myself to remain quiet. If I answered you it would have encouraged you. If I encouraged you, it would be so much harder to -”

“Wait. Pero, wait.” Your heart racing, you leaned in. “Are you trying to tell me that this whole fucking time, you’ve been … you don’t hate me? You’re just … like this because you thought your interest had to stay one-sided?” It took a second but he nodded, the frown back. Oh, you silly man. You groaned and put both hands over your face before taking a deep breath. “Pero, I’m friends with William, too, and he does the same thing you do for work. Why would you think it’s any different?” 

“Because I’m dangerous. William does not like to get his hands dirty. I don’t mind.” You believed him - or at least believed that he believed what he was saying. “People look at me, and they see…” He gestured to himself. “It frightens some of them. Others just stare. But I use that to my advantage.” 

“Neither of those things apply to me.” It was your turn to frown. “Let me be very clear, Pero. I agreed to this, to help you, and expected nothing. I hoped, though, that at the very least, we’d come out of it friends.” His eyes were narrowed and he was scowling, but there was something new there, too, and it gave you courage to continue. “And I know that you do have to work while we’re at these events, but if … if you wanted to use them as actual dates? I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t say no.” 

 He blinked slowly, and the scowl morphed into a look of disbelief. “You wouldn’t?” Shaking your head, you waited, the moment stretching between you. If he denied you, you’d have to spend three nights with him knowing that you’d laid it out and he’d chosen to ignore your admission - and his own feelings. But if he agrees… “Give me your hand.” He flipped one of his over, holding it out to you, palm up.

It was the second time you’d touched him, but when you reached across the table and laid your fingers against his, you sucked in a breath. His hands were warm, and when Pero’s fingers curled around yours and pulled back toward himself, you looked up at his face. His lips were parted, and Pero was staring at your joined hands like he’d never seen anything like them before. “Pero?” 

“You can hold my hand.” He squeezed your hand, nodding. “Tomorrow? We will be walking around a lot, and it might look … strange if we didn’t at some point.” That made sense to you, and you told him as much. “I also…” He groaned, his thumb rubbing against the outside of your pinky. “Since I have to be alert, it might be easier if I put my arm around your shoulders, or -” 

You moved without letting him finish, pulling your hand free so that you could stand. He watched you intently, sitting up and leaning back against the booth. Is this a bad idea? Probably. Definitely. 

You’d made progress with Pero in the previous few minutes, and your action had the potential to derail all of it. But when you sat next to him and turned your head, arching a brow, you were confident. “You can try it out now.” Something flashed in his eyes then, and for a split second, you thought he was going to say no. 

Instead, Pero raised his arm and slipped it behind you and across the top of the booth. “You’re sure?” 

“Yeah, Pero.” You held your breath but didn’t look away, and then his arm went around you for the first time, the weight of it heavy across your back. You didn’t know if he did it on purpose, but when his hand settled against your  shoulder, fingers curling against it, he nudged you closer, your body pressed to his side. “See? That’s not so bad, is it?”

“Not at all.” It was the closest you’d ever been to him, and as you stared into Pero’s eyes, you realized that it would be easy to get used to being that close to him. “It has been a long time since…” He took a deep breath. “Since I have let myself touch someone like this.” 

It seemed unbelievable to you that someone who looked like Pero could be successful at keeping someone determined away from him. But look at how he’s been with me. And if what he said was true - that he worked hard to make sure no one got close - you had to assume that his behavior toward you had been less overt than with others. Because I’m friends with Lin and William. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get rid of me easily. 

“Can I ask you something?” It was voiced with reluctance, but the question was answered with a yes. Ok. Here goes nothing. Wetting your lips, you were emboldened by the way his eyes dropped to follow the movement of your tongue. “Why? Women like dangerous. They like dark, mysterious men. A lot of them like men they feel like they have to work on before they open up, and -”

“Is that what you are doing?” He leaned closer, searching your face and lowering his voice. “This because I am dark and mysterious? Because you want a challenge?” 

“Not entirely.” You drew in a shaky breath, knowing that he was aware of the effect he had on you in such close proximity. “I’m doing it because I think you’re worth it. Lin and William wouldn’t be friends with you if you weren’t, and -” 

“Liar.” He smiled then, the growl in his voice making you shiver. “You are one of those women that like to be challenged.” 

You groaned at his words, jabbing your elbow into his side and scooting away. Pero’s hold on you loosened as you stood, putting a hand on your hip. “Fine. I admit it. But, if you’d said no to this, or if you’d said yes but just wanted to keep things professional and focused on work, I wouldn’t have fought you.” You paused and then winked, relishing in the way he inhaled sharply. Gotcha. “I can take no for an answer, but I’m glad it doesn’t seem like I’m going to have to.” 

You sat again, reaching for your cup and taking a long sip. None of what had happened was expected - but things had gone much better than you’d anticipated. And that’s a good thing. Because now even if things are awkward, they’ll be awkward because we’re figuring it out, not because - “That is enough for tonight, I think.” He reached up, scratching the side of his head. “I have to meet the client tomorrow morning. Early. And then I have to come and pick you up, and -”

“Oh, you’re picking me up again?” He nodded, eyes locked with yours. “I thought I’d drive over myself, and -”

“No. We stay together.” His tone was firm. “The whole time.” Ok then. 

Raising your cup and tipping it in his direction, you gave him a wide smile. “Sounds perfect to me, Pero.” 

While you got ready the following day, you replayed the end of your coffee “date” with Pero over and over in your head. 

You hadn’t stayed out much longer, but the drive back to your house wasn’t quiet. Instead, you talked the entire way. It was mostly about Lin and William, but it was still progress. And when he’d parked in your driveway, he’d paused before saying goodnight, followed by the sound of your name in a voice so low you barely heard it. 

He’d reached for your hand, fingers curling around yours as he lifted it to press a kiss to your knuckles. That took you by surprise, but instead of voicing that surprise, you only bit down on your lip and squeezed his hand back before letting go and telling him to let you know when he was on the way the following day. 

Compared to other first dates you’d been on, Pero’s behavior was tame. 

He’d made no move to actually kiss you, hadn’t even suggested a physical attraction or a desire to stay close after you’d moved to sit next to him and essentially forced him to practice putting his arm around you. 

But you went to bed feeling hopeful about the three dates you’d go on with him. You were interested in seeing if you could get him to open up more. You wanted more nights like the time you’d spent in the coffee shop with him, but with less distance between you. 

You’d always been attracted to Pero, and his attitude hadn’t done what he’d likely hoped it would. Instead of scaring you off, it made you cautious about the way you approached him, but no less interested. You weren’t hung up on him, but there’d always been a part of you that wondered what would - or could - happen if he let you in even a little. 

You’d asked Lin once during a girl’s night, the two of you wrapped in cozy blankets on her couch with snacks in front of you and a rom com playing on the TV, why he was so distant. She hadn’t been able to  give you an answer, aside from “he does it to himself”, but you’d seen the way her lips twisted into a frown as she spoke, sadness flitting across her features. You were curious about Pero’s scar, as you imagined everyone was, simply because of its position on his face, and how deep it looked. 

It wasn’t a lie that his demeanor was attractive to a lot of women; what you had lied about was the way you felt about it. He would be a challenge, no matter how you looked at it, but with anyone else, the amount of time and effort he’d put into trying to push you away would have been a total turnoff. But not with him. 

After gathering your things, you headed into your living room, sitting on the couch and checking the time. You expected his text within the following few minutes, but since there was nothing else to do, you leaned back against the cushions and closed your eyes. 

The event that day was the fundraiser, and with the advertising you’d seen for it over the previous few weeks, you knew it was going to be a lot. Pero and William’s client was a celebrity that also dabbled in singing, and the fundraiser featured items from throughout her career up for sale, along with opportunities to do things like attend premieres, have VIP at one of her future shows, and to meet - and spend time with - her and her costars on a set in the new year. 

It would raise a lot of money, but it would also bring a lot of people into the area - and the need for updated security wasn’t a surprise to you. And they’re the best. They probably won’t be needed, but they’re the best. 

Your phone vibrating startled you out of your thoughts, and after replying to Pero’s text - and confirmation that he’d be to you in under fifteen minutes - you stood and stretched, taking a deep breath. I can do this. 

Putting your boots on, you moved toward the kitchen and pulled your coat from the hook by the door. “I want to do this.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to get out after he parked. By the time he was reaching for his seatbelt, you were outside and almost to the passenger door. 

“Why will you not let me meet you by the door?” You laughed at his scowl, and when you met his eyes, you saw that for the first time, there was no weight to it. This is good. “Is that not -”

“I’m not that old fashioned, Pero.” You buckled yourself in, adjusting the strap. “There’s no reason  for you to get out of the car just to get right back in.” 

“Women.” He grumbled out the word, shaking his head. “Maybe it’s better I do not try to date. You are confusing.” It made you giggle, something you rarely did, and the sound caught Pero’s attention, his dark head turning toward you before he could put the car in reverse. 

“What?” You pressed your lips together. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“No reason.” He smiled then, the look in his eyes softening. “No reason at all.” 

“Well that was a nightmare.” You and Pero were standing at one of the raised tables off to the side in the main exhibit room. “You have to do that every time you get a new client?” 

“Most of the time it happens before they get here.” He gestured to you. “But because you are a new piece of the puzzle, it couldn’t be done early.” Thank you, William. “They just needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous.” 

“Me?” You rolled your eyes and then let your gaze wander over the room as it filled. “I’m probably the least dangerous person in this room.”

“Not true.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer. “There is more than one way to be dangerous.” You didn’t have time to question him about that, because the emcee stepped onto the stage and tapped the microphone at the podium. 

“We’ll be starting the bidding in just a few minutes.” He pointed at the table set up along the far left wall. “For smaller items on that table, you can check in with one of my employees to place a bid.” He gestured to the empty space beside him, a pristine tablecloth draped over a second platform. “And for the more valuable things, those will be available here, one by one.” The crowd murmured in agreement, and you watched as Pero looked around the room, too. 

He was alert, but in a way that still looked relaxed, and it was impressive. “I’m going to go and get something to drink, do you want anything?”

“No alcohol.” He looked back at you, shaking his head. “Not until later. Not until she is safely out of the building.” Agreeing, you left him to join the short line waiting for drinks. You hadn’t seen Lin yet, and wondered where she and Willaim were. Maybe back in the dressing rooms. That would make sense.  

You waited in the line, listening to the way people around you were chattering. They seemed to be having a good time, and excited about the fact that they’d get to bid on the items - and be in the same room as a celebrity. You didn’t blame them, it was a neat opportunity, but truth be told, you were looking forward to the time with Pero more. Even if he’s working. 

Carrying the drinks back to your table, you paused long enough to watch your date for a few seconds, relying on the people passing between you to keep you hidden. But when, moments after you stopped, his attention shifted and his eyes landed on you, you realized that there was no being stealthy when it came to him. 

He raised a brow but didn’t look away. I should have known better. You smiled at him and then started moving again, weaving through the crowd until you were by his side. “Nonalcoholic beer.” You set the cup down, glancing over at him. “For both of us.” 

He grumbled when he raised it to take a sip, and you watched his lip curled at the first taste of it. “People pay for this?” 

“They do.” You swallowed your own drink, sighing. “So what do we do now? Do we have to bid? Should we walk around and look at the stuff for sale?”

“We do nothing.” He trailed a finger through some of the moisture on the table. “I stay alert. William and Lin are back with her right now, and when she comes out to talk to the crowd, then I move closer so that I can keep my eyes on her.” 

“You said we stay together the whole time.” You frowned, elbowing him. “So that means I’m going with you when you get closer.” He was quiet for a few seconds, but then Pero’s shoulders relaxed and he lowered his head. 

“I did say that.” 

The first portion of the auction went smoothly, and just after they closed the bidding to give everyone a chance to get settled for the main segment, you saw William and Lin step out from a set of doors on the right, his arm around her waist. 

“Look, there they -” You spoke up but were interrupted when Pero started talking, too, nodding his head. 

“Yes, I see you. We will move to the other side of the room now.” He’s had an earpiece in. I didn’t even notice it. 

That meant that William had been able to hear everything Pero had said to you - and likely most of what you’d said in return. You hadn’t had any deep conversations, but knowing that your privacy was limited changed things. So was he answering me with that in mind? Or was he … shit. 

To your surprise, Pero reached over and took your hand, hesitating only slightly before sliding his fingers between yours so that you could press your palms together. We’re holding hands. Actually holding… wow. “We will move to the chairs on the left. William and Lin are staying on the right.” He squeezed. “Are you ready?” 

You were, and as the two of you found a new place to sit, you paid close attention to the way he interacted with the people you passed. Pero didn’t speak to anyone but he looked at all of them, assessing the other attendees with practiced ease. You wondered what they were looking for - or if they expected there to be trouble. 

Pero waited until you were seated to take his place next to you at the end of the row, and you were disappointed when he let go of your hand to do it. While everyone was getting settled, you took a deep breath and leaned over, turning your head to speak into his ear. He sat with the earpiece on the other side. “Is this as awful as you thought it’d be?” He stiffened, but there was a minute shake of his head before he turned in your direction. 

“I never said it would be awful. Just … difficult.” He looked down, his eyes on your hands where  they rested on your thighs. “And it has been.” You frowned, thinking, and opened your mouth to ask him how. “It is starting.” He pointed. “I have to pay attention now.” Pero reached into his pocket and handed you a slip of paper with a number printed on it. “In case you want to bid.” 

“I’m not bidding on anything.” You took it, though, laughing quietly. “But -” But it will look less suspicious if we pretend. “Thank you.” 

For the next thirty minutes, you watched as item after item was brought out onstage to cheers and applause. There were three autographed scripts, a tour-used microphone, some wardrobe and prop pieces, and a handful of signed items both by their client and her costars and band. It was an impressive assortment of memorabilia, and when each winner’s name was called, you felt how excited they were. 

And when the auction shifted to the new items - the ones that would bring in the most money and had the most potential to cause trouble for Pero and William to step in and fix, you shifted slightly closer to him, your arm brushing against his. 

He didn’t say anything, but a few minutes in, Pero reached over and brushed his knuckles over the back of your hand briefly - the contact taking you by surprise. It was a good sign, you thought, as you glanced over and saw his lips twitch. And that’s almost a smile, which is even better. 

He stiffened slightly when the emcee announced a special guest to present the following few experiences, and even you felt your heart rate rise as the woman walked out onstage to a much louder chorus of cheers and applause. 

She introduced herself and said hello to a few people in the crowd, but then got right down to business, slipping into the persona that you were familiar with based on seeing her performances and interviews. 

You found yourself laughing along when she started the bidding on a visit to set, describing it as an opportunity to see her - and her castmates - make a mess out of their lines for the first dozen takes. And the laughter continued when she paused between items to tell a story about working on her first show, and how anxious she’d been, which turned out to be for nothing, because it had ended up being one of the smoothest filming experiences of her career. 

There were a few tense moments toward the end of the auction when someone stood up and shouted over the rest of the crowd that they loved her, and you felt Pero stiffen again, his body angled slightly toward the sound. But as soon as she responded, telling the man that she loved him, too, and thanked him for coming, he sat back down and Pero relaxed against his chair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. 

“We’re almost done, Pero. Couple more bids, and -”

“And then we can get out of here.” He sighed, nodding. “I know.” 

The night had passed much more quickly than you’d anticipated, and you were sad that it was coming to an end. As soon as the hammer fell on the last auction item - and the grand total of winning bids flashed on a screen behind the podiums, everyone started cheering again. You risked a look over at Pero - and then another at William and Lin - and noted that while both men were watching the stage, Lin was watching you, her eyebrows raised and a knowing smile on her lips. I’m never going to hear the end of this. 

The client was ushered offstage by a few men that you assumed were her personal security team, and once she was gone, Pero stood, reaching over to pull you to your feet. “Come on.” He tugged you toward the doors opposite the ones William and Lin had emerged from, and moments later, you were in the back hallways with the people behind the scenes. He kept holding your hand as you made your way back to the room you’d given the information for your background check in, fingers linked tightly together. 

The two of you joined a small group of others in the security room, and watched on monitors as the client’s team navigated her out the back entrance and into a waiting car. The moment it pulled away, another with her small entourage following close behind it, Pero breathed out deeply, his hold on you relaxing. “Night one, done.” 

It shocked you that they were getting paid to be bystanders, but part of you wondered if he and William preferred simple, safe jobs to the ones that required lengthy trips or the potential for danger. And so close to the holidays, he gets to stay home with Lin. “Do we need to meet with William before we leave, or -”

“No, I can take you home.” He flexed his fingers, his chin tilting downward as he realized you were still holding hands. Please don’t let go. Please don’t let go. He didn’t, pausing before he spoke again. “Thank you for -”

“Tovar.” William’s voice cut in, and you looked up in time to see him and Lin making their way through the room and toward you. “Good job tonight.” Pero nodded, immediately releasing your hand and crossing his arms, shoulders straight. “Lin and I are going to get something real to eat. Want to come?” 

You wondered if it was purposeful - if William was inviting Pero to see if he’d say yes for just himself, or if he’d invite you to go along. “We drove together, so I hav…” Your stomach dropped at his response, and you knew there was no hiding the disappointment on your face or the way you flinched at his sudden change in demeanor. “No. That is not …” Pero turned his body so that he was facing you and took a deep breath. “Do you want to go and get food with them?” 

“Yes. But only if -” His eyes widened and you watched his lips part, Pero clearly surprised by your reply. “Only if you want me to.” 

“I want you to.”

   He gives you the details for the hotel and the keys to a company car, and you’re given one hour to go home and pack for at least a two-day stay in the neighbouring town.    The factory where you work is relatively new, only about ten years old, but it’s been performing excellent from the start, which means a sister factory has been in construction for the past two years just a hundred-and-fifty miles to the east.    It was officially launched six months ago, and there have been very few hiccups since.

   But a couple of days ago, a complex overhead crane began to malfunction, and then completely broke down, and that’s the machine which you have quickly become a master at handling, despite only having been working here for a little over a year. And you’re happy to go and help the new factory back on its feet, that’s no problem at all, you’re only excited about the fact that the company is doing so well, since it means you’ll get to keep your job.    Your issue with all this is that the only person who really knows how to mechanically repair this particular machine, is Pero Tovar.

   He’s been working here since the mother factory was first built, and he was the one who hatched the idea to build the crane, and then both designed and built the damned thing, largely on his own.    He’s a genius, for lack of a better word, but he’s also the most unfriendly person you’ve ever met.    And now, you have to not only work with him on repairing the damaged one, but you also have to travel and live with him for as long as that takes.

   Gary told you that he’d made reservations for you at the nearest hotel to the sister factory, but that they only had one room available, since it’ll be over Valentine’s Day, so you’re quite certain that no matter what happens, this is gonna be a horrible week.

   It’s still only 7am when you arrive back at work with your small suitcase, locate the correct company car and throw your luggage in the trunk, but you don’t get in.    You have no intention of angering your travel mate, so you’re not gonna assume anything in terms of whether he wants to drive or not. You lean against the side of the car with your arms crossed and your cap pulled low over your eyebrows, trying not to think about just how much this is gonna suck.

   He arrives just a couple of minutes later, parking his own car and then walking over to you with brisk steps.    You’ve never seen him dawdle, but he never seems rushed either. More like he just has his own pace through life which he keeps to no matter how fast or slow the world around him is moving. Like he’s perpetually unaffected by absolutely everything, which he probably is.

   “You wanna drive, or should I?” you ask before he reaches the car, so you’ll have time to move out of his way if you need to.

   But he doesn’t answer. He just walks up to the boot and throws his bag into it, shuts it, then heads for the passenger side.    A bit surprised, you take the driver’s seat, but you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him why he doesn’t wanna drive. It just seems out of character, so far as you know him, because he’s always in control of everything around him.    He’s the one person in the entire factory who has every license required to operate every piece of machinery or vehicle available, and he never seems the least bit unsure of what to do or when.

   Still, he’s not a supervisor. He has the same rank as you, which seems ridiculous given the disparity of skills between you, but it does mean that technically he can’t order anyone to do anything. And you’ve never heard him try.    People very nervously come to him with their problems or questions and for the most part, he just sighs and takes care of it, usually without a word but with a fair bit of growling. And if it's something simple enough that the person asking should be able to do it themselves, he’ll begrudgingly instruct, or show them, no doubt hoping they’ll never bother him again.

   But for all his expertise, the only times he outright tells people what to do, is when they’re asking for help. Beyond that, even on the occasions when he overhears operators talking about a problem and he knows how to sort it out, he never says a word without being asked.    And you’ve never been able to work out if it’s out of a deep respect for rules and procedure, if he just doesn’t give a shit, or if he secretly enjoys hearing them struggle with stuff that’s simple to him.    He’s about as easy to read as a book with every page blacked out.

   Which is one of the many reasons why you’re glad it isn’t a longer drive, since you wouldn’t dream of trying to start up a conversation with him.    But even without asking, you know he doesn’t want to stop by the hotel and check in before going to the factory, so you head straight there.    They’re expecting you, evident in how the gates swing open before you’ve even come to a full stop in front of them, so you roll your window down and wave to the security camera as you drive through.

   Parking by the large Arrivals entry at the back, where all new materials are brought in, you step out and wait for someone to come and escort you inside. Since you’re not employed at this factory you can’t enter the factory floor without a yellow vest and a supervisor to take you to the area that you’ll be working in.    Safety procedures are so precise that not even Tovar, who’s done this several times before, is allowed to step foot inside without an escort.

   “Good morning,” a cheerful older woman greets you after just a minute. “I’m Hannah, supervisor of the assembly team.”

   You notice that she only introduces herself to you, so she’s clearly met Tovar before. She’s carrying two vests and hands them to each of you, waiting until you’ve put them on fully before she invites you inside.

   “How big of a failure are we talking about?” you ask as you follow her out of the morning sunlight and into the crisp white, fluorescent lighting, which seems so dark in comparison.

   “Complete. My estimate is that we’re looking at both mechanical and hydraulic malfunction, and there also seems to be a problem with the software.”

   “In that case we have to consider the possibility that the software is the root cause.”

   “I wasn’t aware the crane could sabotage itself,” she ponders, turning a corner around a plastic processing machine before you reach the assembly section, which sits two floors lower down to make room for the giant overhead crane in question.

   You still have to walk halfway through the rest of the factory to reach the control panel, but while you do, you get a good look at two sides of the machine. It has a scientific name, but all workers just call it MAP, short for the three processes it’s capable of performing simultaneously: moulding, assembling, and packaging.

   “If the software fails to accept new commands, especially if they’re related to the assembly arms rather than the material deposits and moulds, then it can end up over-reaching or colliding with itself, which isn’t necessarily visible on the outside, since the turning radius is shorter than it appears to be.” You rattle off the explanation without pause, and she turns her head to the side to look at you while you continue to walk.

   “You mean it can crash into itself without us noticing?”

   “Unfortunately, yes. And when it happens because of a software problem, there’s no guarantee the system will be able to identify the collision and inform you about it, so then the only option it has is to default to its primary security mode and completely shut itself down.    But we won’t know if that’s what’s happened until we’ve had a chance to look at the failure logs.”

   You’re highly aware that Tovar is walking right behind you, and it makes you feel self-conscious in terms of your knowledge about the potential problem.    He knows so much more than you, and yet here you are, talking about the machine that he developed as if you’re every bit as familiar with it as he is. You wouldn’t even blame him if he told you to shut up and leave it to him, because honestly, he’d be well within his rights to.    But he doesn’t say a word.

   Reaching the control panel, you find a whole group of operators waiting with tools of every kind, ready and possibly even eager to pitch in and start fixing stuff, but you merely nod at them and then the two of you set to work. They won’t be able to help with anything until you’ve identified what the actual problem is.    Still with his mouth firmly shut, Tovar begins to dismantle a cover which protects a kind of black box, designed to record and store all malfunction log entries of the operating system for the entire machine, while you start tapping keys to assess how big of a problem you might be dealing with.

   “Shit… The system’s completely crashed,” you relay your findings to your colleague. “We might be looking at a partial or even complete reconstruction.”

   As always, without being asked a direct question, the grumpy Spaniard doesn’t reply, but you’re expecting that. You’re just trying to keep him informed.    But when he manages to gain access to the box, what he finds is even worse than you’d imagined.    The box contains servers, about a hundred of them, and there’s a small screen on one end where he can access specific logs by searching for dates and times. But when he activates the screen, it’s already displaying thousands of entries, all flashing red to indicate problems.

   “We will need to look at the main servers,” he instructs, and the operators immediately spring into action to unscrew the access panel for the primary system.

   It only takes them seconds, and then the core of the computer is revealed.    There are about five hundred servers in there, each with its own little sequence of tiny lights on the front, to indicate where there might be problems. They can shine green, yellow, and red, but also flash in each colour and in a specific order to tell him what’s going on.    But more than half of them have gone dark. Not shining red or flashing, but completely dark. Dead. Which means those servers have suffered such a catastrophic failure that they’ve burned through their circuits.

   “That didn’t happen all at once, did it?” you guess, peering over Tovar’s shoulder after he kneels in front of the open panel to take a closer look.

   “No. This started months ago and slowly built into a cascade. The entire computer must be replaced and the operating system re-uploaded and installed.”

   You can’t quite hold back your heavy sigh of disapproval as you realize just how long this is gonna take.    It was bad enough to be stuck here and living with the unfriendliest person in the world when it was just gonna be for a couple of days, but now it’s looking more like it’s gonna be a couple of weeks.

   “Fuck…”

~~~    You don’t arrive at the hotel until almost 9.30 that evening, after trying to get as much of the dismantling as possible done, so you’ll be able to get started on the rebuild already tomorrow morning. And you’re so tired by the time you get to the room that you don’t even care about having to sleep in the same room as Tovar. All you want is just a shower and then as many hours of rest as you can possibly get.    However, when you walk into the room and see a large double bed, instead of two separate ones, sleep suddenly seems very far away indeed.

   “T-there were supposed to be two beds…” you nervously stutter, while racking your brain to try and remember exactly what Gary had said about the booking.

   Did he say that they only had one room available, with double beds, or with a double bed?    The more you think about it the more convinced you become that it was in fact the latter, and your pulse jumps to what seems like twice its normal pace.    But your colleague doesn’t respond, nor does he look the slightest bit concerned about it.

   “’I’m gonna go talk to the front desk clerk again,” you say while already heading for the door, grabbing a key card on your way out.

   Pero sighs deeply after hearing the door close behind you. Nobody likes him, for good reason, so he isn’t surprised that you don’t want to share a bed with him, but it also offends him somewhat.    It’s not like he’d ever do anything to you. He’s not a kind or sweet person, but he sure as shit isn’t an abuser either. He would never lay hands on a woman without permission, and he’d rather chew off his own arms than hit someone who couldn’t possibly defend themselves against him. There’s no victory to that kind of fight.

   But of course, you can’t know how he thinks since he never shares any of his thoughts with anyone.    Hence the sigh.    The likelihood of another room being available is very low, though. Gary wouldn’t have booked this if there was any better alternative available within the company’s budget, so while he waits for you to return, he takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth.

   You come back just as he leaves the bathroom, which is right next to the front door, so the two of you almost collide in the hallway. And if he isn’t mistaken, he catches a glimpse of you eyeing his naked upper body with what doesn’t appear to be disgust or disinterest. More like the opposite.    It’s only there for a millisecond before you’ve schooled your expression and turned your entire face away, but he could swear there was a sliver of desire within you just then, and he’s quite surprised at how much that pleases him.

   “Uh… wh-.. Hrm…” you try, but whatever you meant to say, it doesn’t seem to find its way out, so you simply pass him in the hall and head for your suitcase which is parked at the foot of the bed.

   Since he’s done with his evening toilet, Pero ends up following you there, rounding the bed behind you and pulling the covers back on the right-hand side of it.    He’s only wearing his boxer briefs and when he sits down, his back is to you, so he can’t see if you steal any more looks at him, but it does secretly bemuse him to imagine that you do.

   “There weren’t any other rooms available,” you finally manage, just after he lays down and pulls the covers over himself. “They apparently have a Valetine’s Day special here every year, offering all kinds of romantic couples spa treatments and even a speed-dating event, all of which seem to be very popular.”

   Your voice is small and nervous, as if you’re worried that he’ll scold you for speaking too loudly in his presence, which seems excessive. He’s never been cruel to you.    At least, not by any of his own definitions of cruelty.    He’s lying on his side with his back to you, so he can’t read your expression, but he wonders if you’re actually scared of him, because that’s what it sounds like.    It’s quiet for a minute then, and all he hears is the zipper on your suitcase being opened and you grabbing some things before heading for the bathroom, so he assumes everything’s okay, and with the day you’ve had, he falls asleep not long after.

   He wakes up to his alarm the following morning at 5:45am, and rolls out of bed on routine, heading for the bathroom. Rounding the foot of the bed, he notices that the covers on your side are already immaculately made up and when he looks up, he finds you sitting at the small table in the corner by the TV, dressed and ready, fiddling with your phone.    Momentarily confused, he glances at his wristwatch, wondering if he set the alarm the wrong time or something. Because why would you get up earlier than you need to when you got in so late last night?

   He would’ve slept another half-hour himself if not for the fact that you need to go to the hotel restaurant for breakfast since you didn’t have time yesterday to buy something you can eat in the room or on the way.    Your head is bowed as you’re looking at the screen, but he can still see how tired you are, so clearly, you didn’t sleep nearly as soundly as he did, which seems to match with your nervousness last night.

   And while he’s doing his morning toilet, he realizes that something about seeing you look so tortured really annoys him. Deep down, he knows why, but he doesn’t allow himself to go there.    Returning to his bag on his side of the bed, he steals glances at you, trying to quell the stronger feelings that your presence keeps stirring up, but he can’t seem to gain control of himself, which leaves him sour and cranky. So, when he finally has cause to speak to you, it comes out with much more of a sting than he’d intended.

   “Let’s get going.”

   It sounds harsh and almost accusatory, which comes as a surprise to Pero himself, because you’ve been ready to go since before he woke up, so he has no right to hurry you on.    Still, you don’t protest or challenge him, even though you absolutely should, and as he leads the way down the corridors to the elevator, he wonders if he truly has left such a horrid impression on you over this past year, that you genuinely do fear him.

   You’re a happy person. He’s not good at interacting with people, but he’s excellent at reading them, and he’s been working closely with you since you first started, so he’s had plenty of opportunities to study you. And what he’s seen is a lot of humour and a generally positive attitude, even when things are tough. You’re the one who keeps everyone’s spirits up in the breakroom, coming up with little games and puzzles to keep your coworkers entertained and let them forget about the problems out on the factory floor.

   But he hasn’t seen that side of you for even one minute since the two of you were sent on this repair mission, and the only reason he can see why that would be, is because you’re on your own with him.    It’s not like the two of you haven’t been on your own in your sector of the factory before, but it’s different when you’re in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by people you’ve never met, and can’t even go home to your own bed at the end of the day.

   Pero has never had more than temporary relationships with women, because he does know how unfriendly he is and why he behaves that way, which means that there’s a lot he doesn’t know or understand about the fairer sex. But what he does have extensive experience with, is seeing how the world treats you, and how powerless you often are to change your own circumstances or even keep yourselves safe.

   He’s lost count of how many brawls he’s gotten himself into, and walked away from largely unscathed, simply by intervening whenever he’s witnessed men behaving badly towards women. He doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, he’s not even sure his heart is good at all, but simply because it irks him. And he doesn’t expect or accept any thanks for it because he only does it to keep from losing his fucking mind with the urge to vomit all over those kinds of guys.

   But now that he watches you hurriedly fill a plate from the breakfast buffet, ignoring all the things he knows you normally love to indulge in when you get the chance, like the Nutella croissants and raspberry yoghurt with fresh berries, he realizes that he’s the only one who’s being disrespectful towards you right now.    He should apologize for barking at you, maybe compliment your cute red nail-polish with little white hearts, or perhaps express some concern over how tired and stressed you look.

   Instead, he finishes filling his own plate and takes his seat opposite you, without a word spilling over his lips.

   Work is slow and tedious, each new hard drive being installed takes about twenty minutes because each one has to be independently connected to the core system, in the correct sequence, before you can move on to the next. And on top of that, the hydraulics in all eight of the machine’s mechanical arms needs to be replaced, which is where most of your focus lies, while Tovar primarily works on the computer.

   He’s better at it than you or anyone of the other operators, so it’s only logical, and you’re somewhat relieved to not be around him much today.    You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to lay down next to him last night, so you’d spent the night on the floor instead, thankfully waking up early enough that you’d had time to make your side of the bed before he noticed.    Not that you’re sure why he’d be bothered by that. He doesn’t give a shit about your comfort, so why would he care where you sleep?

   Unfortunately, this means you haven’t gotten much sleep at all since the floor was hard and cold and you kept having to change positions to keep various body parts from going numb.    But working on the mechanical arms means working with the sister factory operators, and they’re proving to be just as good fun as your regular coworkers, so while the day might have started out crabby, by lunchtime you’re feeling pretty good.    Until you hear that Tovar has left the factory over lunch, taking the car into town to eat, without asking if you might wanna tag along.

   You wouldn’t really have expected him to ask, that’s not his style, but he could’ve let you know that he was leaving to give you a chance to go with him and maybe buy some breakfast for tomorrow or just a damned Valentine’s gift for yourself.    Today is the 14th after all, and since it was supposed to be a day off for you, you had a whole day planned back home.

   Nothing fancy, just a nice solo dinner and dessert, a spa bath and some skin pampering, and then just relaxing on the sofa with the book you’re currently reading and some of your favourite music.    It would’ve been a perfect day. But instead, you’re literally covered in engine grease, the kind used for airplanes, no less, and there’s no point in washing more than your hands before digging into your microwave meal which you bought from a vending machine outside the management offices.

   Your colleague returns within the allotted half-hour break, which seems odd considering the time it usually takes to order a meal, receive it, and then eat it, plus the drive back and forth into town. But you’re sure as hell not gonna ask him about it. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with you.    So, you get back to work, doing your best to ignore him for the rest of the day.

   However, it being a holiday, albeit a small one, the staff aren’t gonna stick around until 9pm like last night. They start packing it in before 6pm, and since you can’t be there without a chaperone, you’re both forced to leave early as well, which means you now have an entire evening to spend with the one person you’ve ever met who hates spending time with a single living thing.    On fucking Valentine’s Day.

   He drives this time, and you’re so tired and fed up with this whole situation that you never even ask if you can stop by a grocery store on the way. And once back in the hotel room, you’re all but ready to collapse and sleep for the rest of the evening, but then you remember that you’re not in any way interested in sleeping next to your travel companion, which just sours your mood even more.

   “Do you need the bathroom any time soon?” you ask after arriving back in the room, and he just shakes his head, so you grab your toiletry bag and some clean cozy clothes from your suitcase and then lock yourself in there for what’s gonna be a very long shower.

   For a long while, you just sit on the floor underneath the spray, and cry. Maybe because you feel particularly lonely today, or maybe just because you’re so tired, but whatever the reason might be, you don’t care enough to try and work it out.    But after what has to be an hour, possibly even more than that, you start to feel overheated, so you quickly clean your hair and scrub your skin before stepping out and getting started on some moisturization.

   You still don’t wanna go out into the other room, though, so you take your time blow-drying and styling your hair, even though you’re just going to bed. Then you clean and dry all your product bottles before putting them back into your toiletry bag.    And then you can’t find any more excuses to stay in there any longer, so with a deep sigh, you unlock the door and step out into the cool and dry air of the bedroom, heading straight for your suitcase without even looking to see where Tovar is.

   Until something catches your eye.    There’s a glimmer towards the head of your side of the bed, and when you look up, a little gift box is sitting on your pillow.    You turn around once, scanning the room, but he isn’t in there. What is in there, sitting on the small table in the corner, is a classic silver tray with a cover, and a single red rose resting in front of it.

   Confused, you look from the silvery little box with a perfect bow on top, to the silvery tray in the other end of the room, utterly unable to connect the dots and unsure of where to even start with this.    Finally, after at least a minute of perplexed deliberation, you decide to open the gift first.    It’s about the size of the palm of your hand, and it isn’t wrapped, so you can just lift the top half of it off, but once you do, you kinda forget how to be a human being for a split second.

   Because this must be from him. But how the fuck does he know? You’ve never had a genuine conversation with the man, and he’s never once expressed any interest in learning anything personal about you. So, how could he possibly know that you’ve wanted a d’amour gold diamond necklace from Cartier for years, and just never felt like it was an acceptable expense?    It’s not the priciest piece of jewellery, just shy of a thousand bucks, but that’s still way beyond what you feel is acceptable to spend on what’s essentially just an accessory.

   Yet, here it is. The exact piece you’ve been dreaming about one day feeling like you can gift yourself. It makes no sense.    Tearing your gaze off the sparkling jewellery to try and regain some clarity of thought, you then remember the tray, and slowly approach the little table, suddenly extremely curious but also kinda worried about what might be under that cover.

   The rose is also of the expensive type, as big as a coffee cup saucer and blood red, with a sweet and soft aroma. You know the kinds of florists who sell these and it’s about the last place you’d ever expect to see Pero Tovar. The mental image alone is enough to make you snort.    And then you lift the cover and once more lose your marbles, because the tray is absolutely filled with all your favourite treats.

   From strawberries to your favourite sour candies, to caramel brownies, peanut butter cookies, your favourite chocolate, grapes, and two bottles of the best sparkling water you know.    Even if your solo Valentine’s hadn’t been cancelled you never would’ve treated yourself to all this. And once again you’re left wondering how in the hell the unfriendliest man in the world has accomplished this.

   But he’s not here, and his phone is sitting on the bedside table on his side of the bed, so you can’t reach him. Which has to mean he did all this so that you’d have a night to yourself in the middle of all this work, and the thought damned near makes you cry again.    So instead, you take the necklace out of the box and put it on, then you grab the tray, move it onto the bed, turn on the tv and snuggle up while you search for something to watch.

   He comes back around midnight, to give you as much space as he can without making himself miserable with too little sleep before work tomorrow, and he tries to be quiet when he steps out of his shoes and sneaks into the bathroom.    Once he’s used the toilet and brushed his teeth, he stays in the bathroom while he undresses and then quietly makes his way to the bed. But once he sees you, he has to stop for a moment and just look at you.

   The bedside lamps illuminate you where you lay, curled up against the headboard with the covers bunched up as a third pillow for you to hug, still fully dressed and with the tray of sweets in the middle of the bed, most of it already eaten. You’re holding the rose so that the soft petals touch your cheek, and around your neck the thin chain and tiny diamond glimmers.    You’re far away, sleeping soundly with a slight smile in the corner of your mouth, and it makes him feel warm to see it.

   You always smile, even when you have no apparent reason to. It’s how he’s used to seeing you, and it’s an unexpected relief to have that smile back.    It takes him several minutes before he realizes that he’s been staring at you for far too long, and promptly reaches over to lift the tray out of the bed and take one of the spare blankets to cover you with, before he carefully crawls into bed beside you and falls asleep still watching you smile.

~~~    The alarm on his phone is automated, set to 6:15am for the entire week, and it goes off when it’s supposed to.    He turns around and reaches for his phone but then hits snooze instead of turning it off. He’s dead tired and not at all in the mood to get up, so he tries to go back to sleep, hoping the alarm will magically turn back time and give him another two hours.    But then that feeling hits him. That feeling which tells him something’s off and he needs to be alert, so he opens his eyes.

   He’s still lying on his left side, facing your direction, so when he looks up, he meets your eyes staring back at him.    You’ve sat up and you look tired and confused, but also… softer, maybe. Less tense than you have these past two days.

   “When did you get in? I didn’t hear you.” You seem truly surprised to not have noticed him coming back, but then, you have no idea how stealthy he’s had to be earlier in his life, and how those skills still serve him on occasion.

   “Midnight,” he sleepily slurs without lifting his head off the pillow.

   “Oh. I was trying to stay up… to thank you.”

   He doesn’t reply to that, because he really doesn’t know what to say, and he much prefers silence to outing himself as both stupid and incompetent where conversation is concerned.

   “I spent all night trying to figure out how you could possibly know how much I love all these things,” you quietly continue in your raspy morning voice, which he finds himself enjoying far too much, “but then I decided that it doesn’t really matter. Because I know you aren’t nearly interested enough in people to ever stalk anyone, so however you found these things out, I don’t think there’s anything bad about it.”

   You haven’t asked him anything, or indirectly posed an inquiry of any kind, so there’s nothing for him to answer, which is why he simply keeps looking at you. But in his mind, he recalls all the moments when he’s overheard you talking to your colleagues, freely sharing your interests, tastes, and dreams, as well as what things annoy, scare, or unsettle you. And he wonders if you’re even aware of how much you openly reveal about yourself without hesitation.

   He thinks you must fear a great many things to be so ready to be known. To have such a need to never be misunderstood or caught on a lie that you’ll tell complete strangers about your thoughts and feelings on almost any subject, just to ensure they’ll know in advance why you might react negatively to certain things. Because that way, no one can ever call you a liar or attack you for being dishonest or unapproachable.    He thinks you must be terribly scared of people in general, and that being completely open is your way of both protecting yourself and ensuring you won’t become closed off from the entire world.

   But for all your vigilance, like everyone else around him, you don’t seem to notice him when he works within earshot of you, or just passes by close enough to overhear a few words or sentences of whatever conversation you happen to be in.    He’s good at blending into the background when he chooses to, but he’s also aided by the fact that everyone overlooks him because they know he won’t interact with them even if they try, so it’s like their brains scrub him out of their senses to make sure they don’t waste any energy on him.

   “What I do need to know,” you continue, oblivious to his internal memory trip, “is why you would ever spend a thousand bucks on a gift for someone you don’t care the least bit about.”

   The alarm goes off again, and since he’s wide awake now, he sits up and switches it off, turning away from you as he throws his legs over the side of the bed.

   “We need to get going,” is all he replies, fully aware that he’s avoiding the issue and using the fact that you still haven’t asked him a direct question as an excuse not to answer.

   But he knows the answer. He knows it painfully well. And there’s a part of him who seriously hates that truth.    You’re always unsure around him, for good reason since he’s never made it possible for you to be comfortable and relaxed in his presence, but his dismissal this time is more than just rude. It’s cruel, because it leaves you completely unable to judge his behaviour.

   Did he do this for you because he’s trying to manipulate you? Or because he expects a favour in return? Is he trying to get into your pants?    He can tell even without looking at you that these questions now flood your mind, as the tension of fear makes the entire room electric from one moment to the next.

   Ordinarily, you don’t shy away from tough conversations. You hate it when things hang in the air like thunderclouds waiting to strike at you. But you’re also smart enough to pick your battles and you’ve understood from day one, that all discussions involving Pero are gonna be largely pointless, especially when he behaves this erratically.    But he wishes you would pick this fight.    He hates to see your fear. If only he had the guts to let you know that.

   The workday continues just like the previous ones, with the two of you on separate tasks, him working on the computer and you out on the main body of the machine, teaching the operators how to reset and mend the hydraulics.    You’re tremendously skilled at all functions of this complicated machine, especially considering how short a time you’ve spent learning it, so he’s never concerned about you working on it. The sister factory operators, on the other hand, he could outright strangle with their own incompetence.

   And it only gets worse today, after he overhears a conversation between a few of them while they’re making their way to the lunchroom.    As usual, they don’t notice him still working where they slowly pass while quietly speaking amongst themselves, and the first sentence he hears is enough to set his teeth on edge, so he abandons the work and sneaks after them.

   He’s in a seriously bad mood that evening, and you can’t help but think it has to do with you, for some reason. He doesn’t wanna look at you and every time he has to, his mood seems to sour even more, and since you have no idea what you could’ve done, it just scares you.    So, by the time you get back to the hotel, around 9pm, you’re not even thinking about laying down in the same bed as him.

   Using the same tactic as the first night, you offer him the bathroom first and then take your time in there once he’s done. Then you sneak out and quietly pull the covers and pillows down on the floor, where you make a bed for yourself.    You don’t hear anything from him, so you assume he’s already asleep, and after a little while, you manage to drift off as well. But the floor is hard, and you’re not used to that, so you wake up frequently as your body goes sore and occasionally numb from the pressure, forcing you to switch positions.

   All of which means you don’t really get a lot of sleep, and by the early hours of the morning you’re finally all but passed out from exhaustion. And of course, that’s when his alarm goes off.    You’re sleeping so heavily just then that you go back to sleep the moment the alarm is turned off, and it isn’t until you feel a hand on your shoulder that you finally wake up fully, with an instinctive, sharp jerk away from the unfamiliar touch.

   “What are you doing on the floor, Sonriente?” he asks, and he still sounds almost angry, which makes you shrink away from him.

   But you can’t find a single word to explain how he is the reason why you’ve put yourself in such an uncomfortable position, so you just turn away and start trying to wake your limbs up enough that you can stand and maybe begin to feel a little less vulnerable.    Surprisingly though, as soon as he sees what you’re doing, he immediately reaches out and helps you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. Which only further confuses you because why would he help you when he’s angry with you?

   You’re trembling slightly when he lets go of you, and you’re not sure if it’s because your limbs are still in the process of waking up or if it’s adrenaline, but either way, he notices, and it seems to connect the dots for him.

   “You sleep on the floor because of me?” he quietly asks, while slowly backing away from you, and he looks either shocked or hurt. You can’t tell which.

   “I don’t know why you’re so angry… but whatever I’ve done-…”

   “No,” he cuts you off sharply, shaking his head and closing his eyes as if it’ll somehow make all of this go away. “It is not you.”

   There’s something very raw and open about him in that moment. As though his innermost being is exposed and trying to crawl back into the shadows of his heart, but hindered by whatever this thing is that’s making him so angry.

   “It is never you…” he barely whispers, and now he is the one who’s trembling.

   “But then… why? Why could you barely even look at me yesterday, and why did it seem like you only got angrier every time you did?” you question, feeling slightly bolder now that you’re starting to see how vulnerable he is in this situation.

   A ripple seems to go through him, and suddenly all the hairs on his arms stand up, and the trembling in his hands intensifies.

   “I can’t say it.” He’s gritting his teeth as he speaks, so the words come out in a slight growl, but you can sense now that this isn’t directed at you at all. “But I would never hurt you.”

   He sinks to one knee on the floor in front of you, still with his eyes closed and his head bowed, and his fists closed tightly against his thighs, but somehow you’re not the least bit scared of him anymore.    You slip off the bed and drop to your knees before him, carefully reaching a hand up to his shoulder to see how he reacts, and the moment you make contact, another ripple goes through him.

   But in the aftermath, he softens. His shoulders drop and something seems to unlock within him, so you decide to take both his hands in yours, fully expecting him not to accept the small act of comfort. But he does.    Piece by piece, he surrenders, first by letting his hands be held, and then by holding yours in return.    He’s breathing hard, and you can see the pounding of his heart in his neck and on his temples, but the longer you hold onto him, the calmer he becomes.

   “I’m sorry… for ever letting you think you had to protect yourself from me,” he eventually whispers, and his voice trembles with the anger that still simmers within him. “I promise you will never have to.”

   You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again, or at least seeing sides of him you never would’ve thought even existed if this stupid trip had never happened. And it emboldens you in terms of how much you dare to stand up for yourself and demand a few explanations. Because you sure as shit have questions and it’s about time he answers them.

   “Why did you buy me the necklace, Pero?” You keep your tone soft, but you also let your voice remain strong to let him know you’re not gonna tolerate any excuses, and then you wait patiently while he gathers himself.

   “Because you were stuck here with me,” he eventually begins, and his voice is full of uncertainty now, which is something you never thought you’d hear from this man. “I know you had plans for Valentine’s and it all got ruined, but then you also had to put up with me and I just thought… maybe it would bring your smile back for a while.”

   “My smile?” Of all the reasons to give someone a gift, making them smile is certainly good enough. But this particular man wishing to make you smile is entirely unexpected.

   “You always do. Like there is a happy little film playing on the insides of your eyes all the time. Have you not noticed how everyone you meet smiles back at you?” he wonders, and you think back to all the people you’re regularly around, and then all the people you’ve met for the first time recently.

   And he’s right. Everyone always smiles at you, even the most sour office workers whenever they have to set foot in the factory where they’re no longer the experts on everything because their knowledge is all theoretical and they wouldn’t be able to operate much of anything out there on the floor.    Everyone smiles at you. Except Tovar.

   “You are sunshine,” he continues, “drawing people in with your light and warmth. It is impossible to resist.”

   “But you do. I’ve never seen you smile, not at me or anyone, for any reason, not even a smirk,” you counter, before you slip a hand out of his to reach up and gently lift his chin, because you need to see his eyes. “So, why are you suddenly acting like this matters to you?”

   It takes him a minute, in which he keeps trying not to look at you, but his eyes still return to meet yours every few seconds, as if he really can’t resist.

   “It always makes me happy to see you,” he finally admits, and he looks so small and unsure suddenly, which stuns you somewhat, because you would never even have imagined that Pero Tovar could look anything but tall, broad and competent. “I’m sorry that I am not better at showing you this.”

   It’s still so difficult to wrap your head around this, because in the entire year you’ve been around him, this man has never shown any level of care for another human being, whatsoever. As in, you’ve seen him sigh and continue working as if nothing happened, after a guy standing next to him accidentally crushed his own foot.

   “So… you’re saying you care about me?” you ask, needing the outright confirmation before you’ll even be able to begin accepting it.

   He pauses again. But this time, he meets your eyes the whole time.

   “Yes.”

   You’re a little late to work this morning, but he’s very relieved to have had the conversation you ended up having after waking up.    It had damned near broken his heart to find you on the floor, knowing it was all his fault for being such a fucked-up person that he can’t even tell you he wasn’t angry with you. And he’s absolutely certain that anyone else would’ve either gotten angry with him or just tried to avoid the conversation all together.

   But not you. You always take the hard road, because that’s how much honesty means to you, and you always manage to do it without losing your temper or getting rude about it. It’s one of a long line of things he admires about you.    And that’s precisely why he’s never dared to actually talk to you.    He doesn’t know how to do any of that. How to have honest and open conversations without losing his shit at some point. It’s destroyed every relationship he’s ever tried to have, and he’s been so scared of losing the calm and harmony you bring into his life by just existing in his presence, that he never would’ve attempted it.

   But this morning was different, because you didn’t get angry or defensive or even demanding. You just kept opening doors for him and for the first time in at least twenty years, he found the courage to step through them, one by one.    And now, when you park at the sister factory for your fourth day of working on MAP, he feels like maybe this won’t be as bad of a day as he had initially thought.

   As usual, Hannah comes out to escort you both, but there’s a grim look on her face today, and while Pero can guess the reason behind it, you still have no idea what happened here yesterday.

   “Good morning. I’m afraid we’re a bit short-staffed today so you’ll have to make due with just two extra pairs of hands on the hydraulics.”

   “Is there a flu going round, or something?” you ask, which is a valid question given that you worked closely with the three men who are out sick today and who could’ve infected you with a disease.

   “No, no. It seems there was an incident here yesterday, and a few of our workers were injured.”

   “Oh. Was it another malfunction?”

   “It appears to have been an altercation, actually,” Hannah explains, to which you raise a shocked brow. “None of the boys are talking about it, so we don’t know exactly what happened, but between them they have broken hands, arms, noses, ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a shattered knee. So, whatever went down, it was serious.”

   At this point, Pero notices a slight stutter in your steps, just before your head turns ever so slightly in his direction.    You know that he can fight, and you know he isn’t afraid to get in the middle of it when he wants to, so you’re probably guessing that he was involved in this altercation and that it explains his temper problem from yesterday. All of which is correct, and none of which he intends to confess to in front of the supervisor, which is why he’s relieved when you don’t say anything.

   Once by the control panel for MAP, however, where no other operators are working, since they’re already busy with the hydraulics, you only wait until Hannah’s moved out of earshot before you come at him.

   “What the hell, Tovar? Did you mess up those guys?” Your voice is low, but the tone is heavy with accusation and even a bit of disbelief, so you clearly never noticed the darker shades of these particular operators as they worked with you.

   “Yes,” he admits without shame or hesitation, to which your shock doubles.

   “Why would you do that?”

   He doesn’t want to answer this one, so he gets to work, hoping you’ll let it go as you usually do when he shuts you down. But of course, this is one of those times when you decide to take the fight, probably because of the progress with communication you had this morning.

   “None of them even worked with you, what reason could you possibly have to break their fucking bones?”

   Disgusting words spoken in entitled and arrogant voices suddenly flood his mind once more, and his anger re-emerges with full force. But he manages to stay in control of himself, so while he turns his head to meet your questioning gaze, none of that anger spills onto you, and it only takes you a second to realize why.    Your breath seems to die inside your lungs and for a moment he worries that you’re about to pass out. But then you suck in a shaky breath and tears form in your eyes as the understanding dawns on you.

   It’s a horrible thing to see, watching as you involuntarily envision what could’ve happened, the nausea and sudden weakness which seems to creep into your very bones even at the mere suggestion of the plans that Pero interrupted by taking them out.    If he’d needed any reassurance that his actions were just, your reaction is more than enough. But it only lasts for a few seconds, and then a different emotion begins to replace the fear and discomfort.    It takes him a minute to figure out what it is, and just as he does, you step towards him.

   The strength of your arms when they wrap around his waist is almost enough to bruise him, but he doesn’t mind.    He might not often feel deserving of someone’s gratitude, as the things he occasionally does to aid them are largely self-serving, but he does this time. Not because this threat was more real than any other, but simply because he knows and cares about you.    He’s tried not to. Tried every day not to let you creep further under his skin and infect him with your joy, but he never stood a chance.

   You don’t speak and you don’t need to. Your body tells him the truth of what you’re feeling in that moment, in the tiny shivers which keep making you tremble against him, and the strained breaths you struggle to take with your face buried against his chest. He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cry, how you bite it back with each inhale and then almost lose control of it every time your lungs empty.    But he also feels the relief within you when he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his cheek against the side of your head.

   In this moment, he has become your safety. The place where you choose to be because it makes you feel better. And for all his accomplishments, his inventions and ideas, technical skills and comprehensive knowledge, this is the only time he can recall ever feeling truly proud of himself.    Because you’re choosing him. You. The strongest and most impressive person he’s ever met.

~~~    That night, you fall asleep lying next to him, and although he’s tired after a long and emotional day, he stays awake for a little while just to look at you. Just to make sure you’re still smiling in your sleep.    And in the following five days, which it takes to finally fix the machine, this becomes your routine every night.    So, when the day eventually comes when it’s time to return home, you’re both mildly disappointed by the prospect of going back to your empty beds.

   Still, it’s nice to come home. You see your cars still parked where you left them when you drive past the employee lot on your way to the company car slots. It’s past office hours so once you’ve collected your things, you drop the keys in a kind of mailbox designed specifically for that purpose, and then begin making your way back to your own vehicles.    Neither of you are in a hurry, and he decides to walk you to your car before he heads to his own, just to help you feel safe. He’s noticed that you’re still rattled about the incident he prevented, in how you’ve been jumpier than usual.

   “I never thought I’d say this,” you quietly muse once you reach your car, “but I’m gonna miss your presence tonight.”

   You say it with a smile, but there’s insecurity within the expression, making him think that what you’re really going to miss is the feeling of safety which his closeness over the past week has given you.

   “But it will be nice to sleep in your own bed, yes?”

   “Definitely.”

   “And we will meet for the debrief first thing in the morning,” he concludes, hoping to leave you with a brighter perspective. And perhaps also hoping that you’ll reassure him of your desire to see him again.

   “The debrief?” Your question is genuine, reminding him that this is your first time working away and that you’ve probably never been told about the follow-up procedures.

   “Yes. We must meet Gary in the morning and explain everything that’s happened and what we have done.”

   “But won’t he have gotten continuous updates from the management team over there?”

   “Of course. The debrief is to ensure that our recollection and experience of what has happened concurs with theirs, to eliminate the risk of either side trying to hide any problems or complications.    So, we will need to tell Gary about the user errors which led to the breakdown.”

   “Okay. But we’re not telling him about…” you trail off, unable to finish the sentence because the thought alone still makes you curl in on yourself.

   “It would not do much good. Those men will be dealt with by the sister factory’s human resources unit.”

   “How so? We never told them what really happened, so why would their HR get involved at all?”

   “Because I hacked their phones and took a look at their search histories and saved videos, and even the small percentage of things I anonymously sent to their HR representative will be enough to get them arrested eventually,” he confesses, and it somehow still surprises him just how warm it makes him feel inside when he sees the relief in your frame.

   “Careful, Pero. I might start spreading a rumour that you’re secretly the sweetest guy in the world,” you joke, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind the teasing tone.

   “Go ahead, Sonriente. No one would believe you.”

   He says it with a soft note to his voice, just to make sure you know he wouldn’t mind if you did decide to spread rumours about him, regardless of what they might concern, if it would in any way help you feel good.

   “That’s definitely true,” you agree, mirroring his softness, and a slight spark lights up somewhere in your eyes then. “But you know, I kinda like that I’m the only who’s seen this other side of you.”

   “You may take all the credit for this yourself, because no one else has a hope of drawing it out of me. But it seems, against you, I have no defences anymore.”

   The smile you give him in response to that is enough to make him wish he could always sleep beside you. But this is where you finally part ways for the night.    He waits until you’re safely locked inside your car before he heads over to his own, already missing your closeness when he takes a seat and buckles up, and already accepting the fact that he won’t get much sleep tonight.

   It almost feels stupid how relieved you are to see him again the next morning. And the way his eyes light up when you walk into Gary’s office, just a few seconds past the dotted time, makes you wanna sit down on his lap rather than the chair beside him.    But you notice how discreet his reaction is now that there’s an audience, compared to how directly he’s been allowing you to see his emotions while you’ve been couped up together in that hotel room.    So, even though he might like you, he’s not prepared for the world to know about it, which is why you greet him with just a polite nod while you take your seat.

   “Good morning,” Gary grumbles in his characteristically sour morning mood. “So, this took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but I see you got the MAP working again, well done.”

   “Yeah. It was shot to shit when we got there,” you chip in, immediately back to expecting Tovar not to speak unless he’s asked a question, since that is still his normal state of being.

   “I saw the pictures of the hard drives. Someone sure did a real number on that thing.”

   “I’m guessing more than one someone. But we’ve shown them how to operate it correctly now, so hopefully it won’t happen again.”

   He asks you to go over the repair process day by day, and he has a lot of questions along the way, and true to form, your colleague remains silent unless Gary addresses him, so it ends up being a lot of talking for you.    But as it begins to wind down, you start to wonder if Pero is being deliberately silent specifically because he wants you to talk through it.

   He’s always quiet at work, that’s not unusual. But this was his repair job, not yours. You were just the extra hands, which means that this debrief should be primarily directed at him, yet by keeping his mouth shut, he’s forcing the supervisor to focus on you. And in doing so, you’re getting a chance to unpack everything that’s happened, at least in your own head, even though you’re editing stuff out before you speak.    Gary knows better than to push his top employee for a comment when the man is clearly not in a talkative mood, so it works perfectly, if indeed that is what the Spaniard’s doing.

   “Alright, I think I’ve got everything I need, so unless either of you have anything you wanna add, we can wrap it up here.”

   “Nope, all good,” you cheerfully declare, feeling lighter than you have in the past few days.

   “No critique you wanna hurl at me? About the hotel or the car? No jackass operator giving you a hard time over there, or anything?”

   From the corner of your eye, you see Tovar shift ever so slightly in his seat, and you wonder if he’s thinking about the men he hurt, or the one bed hotel room you initially hadn’t wanted to share with him.    But he says nothing, so you just shake your head at your supervisor and then the two of you leave his office and head onto the factory floor to get started on your regular workday.

   It’s nice to be back at your own station with your regular crew. It feels safe and familiar. But you find yourself thinking about Pero almost every second of the day. Wondering what he’s up to whenever you can’t see him at his station and wondering if he’s thinking about you at all whenever you do see him.    He never looks at you while he’s working, at least not that you can tell, so by lunchtime you’re pleased when he falls in beside you while you walk towards the breakroom, although it is a bit disappointing when he still takes his usual spot at the far end of the room rather than choosing to sit with you.

   But you do understand. It’s not like he’s gonna become a different person just because the two of you have begun to build a friendship, and you wouldn’t want him to.    So, you take your usual seat and play along with the customary banter, answering everyone's questions about the sister factory and what you got up to over there, and it all feels comfortably normal.

   Until someone makes a remark about Pero, the kind of thing you would’ve previously just ignored, but which now that you feel closer to your taciturn colleague, you suddenly find offensive.

   “Bet this one charmed everyone’s socks off,” the operator smirks, throwing a thumb in Tovar’s general direction after you’ve just finished describing the difficulty of coming in as the experts and trying to find a good working dynamic with a different crew.

   And in that moment, the fact that the Spaniard never defends himself, despite seriously fucking people up for just talking about hurting you, just makes you feel like it’s your turn to have his back and teach this crew not to talk about him like he isn’t even there.

   “No, he didn’t. But he did manage to charm my pants off.”

   You say it frankly, leaving no question that it’s the truth, even though you’re twisting the narrative a bit to make it sound like the two of you hooked up, when you’re actually just referring to him making you feel safe enough to sleep beside him in nothing but your panties and a top.    Still, the effect it has on the entire room is worth the fib.

   They all know you’re not easy. It takes a lot just for someone to get a date with you, courtesy of trust issues because of previous experiences. Nothing traumatic, thankfully, but enough that you always have your guard up and actively look for red flags in every guy you meet. Also, you’re very clear on what you want and what you tolerate, as well as what you don’t, which is enough to deter a great many men.    So, for you to let a mystery like Pero anywhere near you, he has to have insanely good game, and not one of the people in that breakroom with you can picture a reality where that’s even possible.

   Which results in a highly amusing blend of shocked and disbelieving faces, some frozen while they’re clearly trying to visualize this alternate universe, while others are just staring at Tovar, still sitting there perfectly calmly in his usual spot, reading something on his phone.    And the best part is, none of them have the guts to ask him about it, because they’re all just as scared of him as you still were two weeks ago. Which means that all they can do is live with this incredibly shocking revelation, presumably forever.

   You continue to chuckle about it for the rest of the day, and when the next shift arrives to relieve you, from a distance, you can see how they too are informed of this latest piece of gossip. So, odds are, this is now gonna be the talk of the factory for the foreseeable future.

   “You know you will be the topic of discussion for a long time now,” Pero cautions as if he’s just read your mind, while he comes to help you clean up before you leave your station.

   “It’s harmless, I don’t mind. Besides, it is true.”

   “Technically. But I do not like them thinking of you as a conquest. Mine or anyone else’s.”

   “Okay. Then shut them down,” you smile, and he can tell there’s a hidden meaning behind those words, but he can’t quite make it out, so you decide to spell it out for him. “Let’s go on a date.”

   Your confidence ebbs out about halfway through the sentence, resulting in a sudden fade of both volume and potency, so the word date comes out all strangled and barely even audible. But you’ve said it now, so you might as well soldier on.

   “What I mean is, I would like to go on a date with you. You’re free to decline, of course,” you elaborate, feeling more insecure by the second, even turning your head down to look at your shoes because you suddenly remember how much rejection stings, which you somehow hadn’t thought about until just now.

   “Do you like empanadas?” he asks then, and his voice is soft, just like it always was when the two of you were alone together in the hotel room this last week.

   “I’ve never tried them,” you confess, still unsure of what he means by that, but then he gives you a little smile.

   “Then I will make them for you. My mother’s recipe is a bit spicy, but I think you can handle it.”

   Relief and joy wash over you as you realize he’s agreeing, and your responding smile feels like it blossoms out of you. Like there’s no connection between your brain and your heart in that moment, it just happens because the feeling is too big to control.

   “Okay. So… your place?”

   “You choose. If you wish to have the option to leave if you feel uncomfortable: my place. If you wish to eat by a table and not sitting in the sofa: your place.”

   “For the record, I know I’d feel safe at your place. But yeah, a table might be nice,” you chuckle, and he nods in agreement, so you decide to be bold. “How about tonight, maybe 6pm?”

   “Sure,” he quietly agrees, but you can tell he’s pleased that you didn’t suggest waiting until the weekend.

   “Great. And if you’re gonna cook then I’ll get dessert.” You say it while starting to walk towards the assembled crews, ridiculously happy to see them still flabbergasted at the realization that their grumpiest colleague apparently has more game than all of them.  

But when you turn your back to him, you miss how his expression changes as he follows you, turning from a controlled interest and mild happiness, to almost tearful with gratitude that you’d still choose to spend time with him even when you no longer need to.    He might not be ready to show it in front of the others, but the brightness you pour into his soul with just your smile and your willingness to give him a chance, would make him glow in the dark if it was visible.    You might not have figured it out yet, but Pero Tovar already belongs to you, so all you need to do to have your forever Valentine, is simply to keep choosing him.

   I’m not gonna write THE END on this one, because I feel like I’m gonna be returning to these two at some point, so please let me know if that’s something you’d like to see.    All my love, always.    /Jay

You sit up slowly, teeth clenched, determined not to call his name.

The house is almost silent. A pot boils somewhere, wood crackles. Outside, birds chatter, unaware of kingdoms, betrayals, death sentences.

For a moment, you almost feel normal. Then a sharp pain flares through your lungs. You press a hand to your chest, breath catching unevenly.

“Princesa?”

He’s immediately beside you—too close, too quick, as if he’d been waiting for the smallest movement. His eyes scan your face the same way he used to check a battlefield before stepping onto it.

“You should have called me.”

“I don’t need to call you,” you mutter. “You hear everything.”

“I hear you breathing,” he corrects, “and that’s enough.”

Your lips part to reply, but then you notice something behind him.

Ĕlīsa.

Standing in the doorway. Watching. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching. And she doesn’t look away. Not this time.

Ĕlīsa doesn’t move.

She simply stands there, half–hidden by the wooden doorframe, like a shadow.

You lift your chin a little, “Is… something wrong?” you ask, more breathless than you intended.

Pero turns slightly, following your gaze, but Ĕlīsa lowers her eyes the instant his head moves—almost too fast, as if she hadn’t expected to be noticed.

“No,” she replies at once. Her voice is calm, but there’s a slight tremor—quick, almost imperceptible. “I heard you coughing. I came to see if you needed anything.”

Pero nods once, accepting her presence, but you can’t help noticing the way her gaze flickers past him, settling briefly on your hands, as if searching for something.

“I’m fine,” you say, even though your lungs protest the lie.

Ĕlīsa approaches slowly, placing a small clay cup on the wooden table. The liquid inside is dark, a strange reddish-brown that smells of herbs and smoke, “For the cough,” she murmurs. “It should ease the pain in your chest.”

Pero reaches for the cup, instinctively sniffing it first, and for a moment her expression changes—tiny, quick, like a mask sliding out of place. She wasn’t expecting him to check.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” she adds softly, almost whispering. “But it’ll help.”

You study her expression carefully. She’s not avoiding your eyes now. On the contrary—she holds your gaze as if waiting for a verdict.

You can’t decide if she’s asking for trust or silently daring you not to.

“I’ll drink it,” you say. “Thank you.”

Ĕlīsa bows her head, but the gesture lacks humility—it feels more like acknowledgment. Then she leaves without another word.

Pero watches the doorway even after she’s gone.

You watch him before to lift the cup slowly to your lips—the liquid is bitter, earthy, with a strange aftertaste that spreads down your throat like smoke.

Pero watches you drink, jaw tense.

When the cup leaves your lips, he takes it from your hands as if it might slip.

“Well?” he asks.

You swallow with effort. “It burns.”

“Good,” he mutters. “maybe it’s working.”

You’re not sure that’s how medicine works, but you’re too tired to argue. You sink against the pillows, trying to ignore the faint shiver crawling under your skin.

Pero sits back down, closer this time, elbows on his knees. His voice lowers, as if he were afraid the walls could hear him.

“You shouldn’t drink anything she gives you without asking me first.”

You frown. “Pero…”

“I’m serious.”

“She’s helping us.”

“She’s helping someone,” he corrects, eyes narrowing slightly. “We don’t know who.”

Your breath hitches—whether from fear or the infection, you can’t tell, “You think she’s dangerous?”

Pero doesn’t answer immediately. He rubs his thumb against his palm the way he always does when he’s trying not to say something he shouldn’t.

“I think she knows more than she says.”

Another cough tears through your chest, pulling you forward, and Pero immediately steadies you—one hand behind your shoulders, the other on your arm.

“Easy… slow… breathe.”

When the fit finally stops, you lean your head back, exhausted, eyelids fluttering.

“She hasn’t hurt me,” you say in a thin whisper.

“Not yet,” he replies without looking away from the door she disappeared behind.

Pero finally turns his gaze back to you, and the harsh line of his jaw softens—just a little.

“You don’t trust her,” you murmur, studying him.

“I trust what I see,” he answers. “And she looks at you like she’s measuring something. Waiting for something.”

You think back to how Ĕlīsa watched your hands. Your breath. Your movements. Not with kindness. Not with malice, either. It was something else.

“She might simply be cautious,” you offer. “We are strangers in her home.”

Pero tilts his head slightly, eyes sharpening—as if he were hearing the lie you told yourself before he even does.

“You felt it too,” he says.

You open your mouth to deny it—but the words don’t come. Because yes, you did.

A faint prickle under your skin, a quiet question lodged behind her eyes. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, unsure if it’s the cold or the uncertainty that makes your hands tremble.

“Pero… do you think she’s involved in something dangerous?”

He exhales slowly, a long, controlled breath that betrays more worry than he wants you to see, “I think she isn’t afraid of danger,” he says.

You look toward the doorway where she vanished, then back at him, “Do you think she’ll harm us?”

“No,” Pero replies immediately. Then, after a heartbeat, “But I don’t think she cares if we get hurt.”

A cold fissure of truth slides into your chest. You bite your lower lip, tasting fear and frustration.

“So I’m alone,” you whisper.

Pero’s eyes snap to yours—dark, steady, unyielding, “No,” he says firmly, leaning closer. “You’re not alone. You will never be alone as long as I breathe.”

Something inside you tightens at his words—soft, fierce, unguarded.

He must notice, because he clears his throat and straightens slightly, pretending his own confession didn’t just slip out.

You manage a faint smile, the first in days, “Then.. um, what do we do?” you ask.

“We wait,” he replies. “Watch. Listen. You recover, and I keep my eyes open.”

“And when I’m better?”

His jaw clenches again.

You know what he’s thinking before he speaks: we go back. We face your father. We expose the advisor. We risk everything.

But all he says is, “When you’re better, we move.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the future press against your chest—but for the first time, it doesn’t crush you. Not completely.

Because he’s there. Watching you as if losing you once almost broke him.

“Now, you should lie down,” Pero murmurs, voice low, almost stern.

It feels like a scolding, and your pride stings.

“I’m not a child,” you answer, forcing a slow breath through burning lungs.

“No,” he replies, eyes narrowing just slightly, “you’re a stubborn.”

You look at him, offended for a heartbeat—and something fragile flickers in his expression, enough to make you hesitate.

“You scared me,” he continues, softer this time, almost unwillingly. “More than anything ever has.”

Your heart skips.

Not because of the pain.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, gaze lowering for an instant. “That’s the problem.”

You try to smile, but you’re too tired for it. You lean against the pillow, breathing carefully, throat raw.

“You don’t have to stay,” you murmur.

He lifts his eyes to yours, “Yes, instead. I have to,” he says softly “As long as you’re breathing, I do.”

The words sink into you like heat and ice mixed together. It's almost a confession.

He turns away before you can answer him, and the space between you feels suddenly full—of everything neither of you can afford to say.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” you say, unsure if you’re trying to make a bitter joke about his renewed lack of interest in you.

Pero’s jaw flexes just slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours at first—then something in them flickers, almost like a wound being pressed.

“For a moment,” he says quietly, “I thought I’d lose you.”

He stops—almost as if he hears himself.

Then he rises abruptly and walks towards the window, turning his back on you and the confession he didn’t mean to let slip.

He can't confess to his princesa what he feels. The love, the devotion, the respect he has for you. It would be too much. He knows who he really is, and if you really knew him, you wouldn't want him this close.

A knock.

Soft at first, almost unsure if it should exist.

Pero straightens instantly. The tiredness, the tenderness, everything disappears behind that hardened expression you learned to read too well.

Ĕlīsa’s voice reaches you from the other side of the door, “May I come in?”

Pero doesn’t answer immediately. He stands, almost between you and the door—in that instinctive, protective stance that feels like a shield made of stubbornness and leather.

“Yes,” you manage before he does.

Ĕlīsa steps inside holding a clay cup and a folded cloth. But her eyes—her eyes flick only once toward Pero before settling on you.

“You should lie down again,” she says. “The air is changing.”

The sentence is odd. Too vague to be just medical advice. Pero seems to notice too. His shoulders tighten.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Ĕlīsa lowers her voice a little, as if walls could listen, “There were riders in the woods this morning.”

Your heart jumps painfully against your weakened lungs.

“Whose riders?” Pero presses.

“I don’t know,” she replies. But something in her eyes says otherwise—something she chooses not to say. “They didn’t come close, but… my father doesn’t want you going outside for now.”

Pero and you exchange a glance. A long one.

Everything freezes for a second, as if both of you understood the same silent warning: danger has already arrived.

Ĕlīsa sets the cup on the table with a slow, measured gesture. She doesn't seem scared, and this—strangely—disturbs you more than the news itself.

“Riders don’t just wander through these woods,” Pero says, voice low.

Ĕlīsa doesn't answer. Or rather: she chooses not to answer.

Her eyes flick to you, as if checking to see if you're alert enough to understand the implication or weak enough not to be a problem.

“Your fever might return,” she resumes with an almost innocent tone “Do not exhaust yourself.”

You don't know if it's an order, an advice or a warning.

“Did they come for us?” you ask with difficulty. The thought makes your arms heavier than they already are.

Ĕlīsa barely swallows, “I don’t know,” she replies. But it's a lie so subtle it leaves an imprint on your aching ribs.

Pero crosses his arms. “If you see anyone, call me. Even before your father.”

Ĕlīsa looks up at him, surprised by the reversal of roles: him giving orders in other people's homes.

Then she nods, “I will.”

When she leaves and closes the door, a silence hangs in the air that seems heavier than the room itself.

You breathe deeply, slowly. Today, every breath is a small victory.

“She’s hiding something,” you whisper.

Pero looks at you from the side, without turning his face completely toward you. “I know.”

You're scared, but now you know you can't stay still anymore.

You get up slowly, every muscle aching. The room barely spins, but you brace yourself against the wall and slowly search for the door.

“Princesa…” Pero warns you, just a whisper.

“We can't stay here,” you reply through gritted teeth. “Not if someone's looking for us.”

“If they see you out there like this—”

“They'll see me alive,” you reply. “And I think that's enough for them.”

Pero takes a deep breath, then reaches you, without stopping, without blocking you. A guard doesn't question a sovereign. But he... he suffers seeing you like this.

You slowly open the door. You've barely stepped outside when you hear voices coming from the back of the house. Male voices. Do you recognize them? No. But you know that tone: military, nervous, they're looking for something.

Or someone.

Pero immediately turns toward the sound, his hand on his sword, “Inside,” he whispers.

“No,” you reply, but it's more of a whisper than a word.

The voices are getting closer. Heavy footsteps on the gravel.

“—the King’s daughter is here. The advisor wants to see her alive.”

Your blood runs cold.

Pero pulls you in and pushes you against the wall. Not forcefully—protectively, not violently. He stands right in front of you, like a human shield.

“Malius!” a voice shouts outside. “We need to talk.”

They don't knock. They come in. Two guards. They're not the ones you know. They are not loyal to your father—you can tell by the changed crests, the poorly polished metal, the arrogant way they look around as if the house belongs to them.

Pero is about to draw his sword, but you grab his wrist. “No,” you whisper, trembling. “Not now.”

The guards see Malius approaching from the back. The taller one approaches him, invading his space.

His voice is venomous. “The counselor wants news of the princess. He says she might be in danger.”

Malius doesn't look in your direction or Pero's. He looks at Ĕlīsa.

She stiffens slightly, then lowers her eyes.

And only then do you begin to suspect something new and terrible: perhaps these guards haven't come to capture you. Perhaps they've come to make sure you're alive enough to be used.

The taller of the two wipes his hands on his cloak, as if touching the air would dirty his gloves, “The advisor believes that the princess has been… well, misled,” he announces “And that she could be in grave danger if someone is holding her against her will.”

Every syllable is a trap.

Malius replies with an eerie calm, “No one here has ever held anyone back.”

For a moment, the guards stare at the doctor as if trying to figure out how much he's lying. Then one of them pushes open a door without asking permission.

Then another.

And then another.

The room where you and Pero are hiding is next.

Your heart is pounding. You don't even have enough breath to cough.

Pero turns to you, eyes downcast, voice very low, “If they come in, I’ll take you out of this house. It doesn’t matter where.”

You don't have time to answer: the doorknob turns. A blade of light cuts across the entrance...

…but the one who stops them is Ĕlīsa, who suddenly appears on the threshold.

“She’s not here,” she states in a shockingly firm voice, “She left the house days ago.”

The guards stare at her. For long moments, no one breathes.

“Where did she go?”

Ĕlīsa simply says, “South. To an aunt. She's sick, but she's still breathing.”

For a moment, you think she's cheating on you. Then you realize she's protecting you. Or maybe she's just protecting herself.

You don't know what the difference is anymore.

The guards hesitate.

Then one of them spits on the ground, “If we find out you’re lying, the doctor will lose everything.”

“I know,” Ĕlīsa replies. Without hesitation.

Only when the guards leave and the door closes you hear Pero release the breath he'd been holding for an eternity.

You, on the other hand, feel short of breath.

What happens now? How can you stay here if they already know you're alive?

You're about to say it out loud when the window vibrates because of horses galloping past, right behind the house.

Who were they? Messengers? Spies?

Pero looks outside.

His face hardens as it did when he held his sword at the edge of the empire. “We can no longer stay,” he says.

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest. 

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse. 

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve. 

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since. 

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now. 

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did. 

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you. 

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one. 

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold. 

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world. 

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other. 

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that. 

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head. 

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town. 

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.” 

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously. 

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor. 

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village. 

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get. 

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger. 

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying. 

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance. 

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic. 

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking. 

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked. 

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace. 

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow. 

“I don’t trust you.”  

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you. 

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible. 

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely. 

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him. 

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard. 

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it. 

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face. 

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile. 

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him. 

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person. 

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself. 

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away. 

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- - 

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks. 

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor. 

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop. 

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well. 

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private. 

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family. 

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. 

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been. 

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?” 

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand. 

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

- 

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day. 

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue. 

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you. 

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you. 

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths. 

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her. 

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed. 

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank. 

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands. 

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done. 

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow. 

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn. 

“I see,” you said. 

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded. 

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- - 

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration. 

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work. 

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door. 

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage. 

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange,  your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors. 

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside. 

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window. 

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter. 

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself. 

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen. 

What you saw made you stop in your tracks. 

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest. 

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully. 

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you. 

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth. 

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought. 

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion. 

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him. 

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh. 

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips. 

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down. 

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought. 

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you. 

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you. 

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile. 

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.” 

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen. 

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare. 

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you. 

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out. 

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics. 

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look. 

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again. 

“So many questions,” he shook his head. 

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly. 

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you. 

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness. 

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other. 

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you. 

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything. 

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work. 

- - 

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire. 

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for. 

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road. 

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero. 

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder. 

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire. 

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that. 

“You are bothered too easily, friend.” 

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth. 

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers. 

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever. 

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window. 

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword. 

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family. 

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression. 

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry. 

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.” 

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you. 

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart. 

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William. 

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder. 

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace. 

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled. 

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero. 

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- - 

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs. 

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you. 

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist. 

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes. 

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did. 

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse  in his mother tongue. 

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked. 

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you. 

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly. 

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end. 

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all. 

- 

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all. 

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away. 

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there. 

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision. 

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child. 

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. 

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth. 

“The very same,” you groaned. 

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added. 

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking. 

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you. 

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.” 

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd. 

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion. 

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment. 

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance. 

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for. 

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm. 

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started. 

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined. 

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did. 

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you. 

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid. 

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink. 

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place. 

- - 

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside. 

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once. 

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.” 

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased. 

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?” 

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused. 

“Before what?” You asked. 

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet. 

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke. 

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest. 

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant. 

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her. 

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly. 

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes. 

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it. 

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her. 

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment. 

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later. 

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

 You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you. 

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her. 

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions. 

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said. 

“Let us,” she replied jovially. 

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials. 

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing. 

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home. 

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening. 

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother. 

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. 

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back. 

Many would say that Pero has little tact with women. He’s brutish in all ways a man can be, and that must extend to the people he lets into his bed. Anyone who’s seen him with his Guerrera would only think it proof of their opinions. The way they snarl and scratch at each other, their constant biting remarks, the sheer amount of eye-rolling as they listen, all point to Pero being impossible to deal with.

They’re only partly right.

Most days the barbs are playful, their conversation scalding because they can both handle the heat. Pero could not imagine a partner that’s soft and simpering to him. He loves her sharpness and how quickly she will join him in a debate. 

Sometimes, however, he does take it a step too far.

When he enters their bedroom tonight, he’s soft of foot and quiet. The door snicks shut behind him, his clothing removed and laid out of sight. You’re turned to the wall, coldly ignoring him preparing for bed. 

Get your hands off me.

Oh don’t be so dramatic, Pero. 

Then do not go about flailing your sword at every moment.

So five men against you is fair odds?

I am - just go and do…whatever it is you do.

What do you think I’d be doing if I wasn’t saving your skin?

Being a real woman somewhere far from here.

Pero knew he’d hit something far more painful than he intended when you were silent, the easy smile falling from your face. What he didn’t expect were the tears that bubbled to the surface, ones you hotly scrubbed from your face.

Of course, because a real woman will tend your home and have your babies.

Pero’s stomach drops at the memory, knowing how he pulled something so fresh and painful to the surface over a tavern brawl. How after his seed didn’t take one drunken night you told him it never would. That you could never be with child, and how you’d come to accept it. Pero had felt the twin pains of sadness and relief, knowing that this life was not for a child but still mourning the loss. He told you it did not change the color of his love one bit, but in his petulance he used it as a weapon against you.

The bed sinks under his weight as he sits on the edge, watching you curl into yourself. Pero sighs, words failing him as they always do.

“Mi vida,” he says, stroking his fingertips along the back of your shoulder. To his surprise you turn to your back, eyes puffy and tired, but the anger he expected drained from your bones. His hand slides to your hip, stroking his thumb into the flesh. His eyes meet yours, and a subtle nod urges him under the furs. Clamoring between your legs, he settles on his elbows over you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, searching your face for anything you’ll give. Another pause, this one aided by your hand on his cheek, before you give him another small nod. Pero leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“You are my life,” he murmurs, your legs wrapping around his hips as he presses you into the mattress. 

“I know,” you say, placing a kiss of your own on his plush lips.

Words dissolve on your tongues as Pero shows his remorse better than he can say. Between the long devotions of lips, he lifts your legs higher to press into you, sheathing his cock inside. The roll of his hips is slow and languid, sometimes forgotten altogether in favor of returning to kiss you more. He cups your head and nips along your jaw, lets his thumb trace your nipple to a gentle peak. When you start to pant with his motions he teases you with the tips of his fingers, finding the place that clenches you around him. He doesn’t care to cum, he just wants to be as close to you, as deep within you as you’ll take him.

Your first peak flutters his lashes, nails biting into his back as he grinds you through your high. He follows that with a second, quieter one that shakes you in his arms. Your final one comes when you nod at him to chase his release, the slap of skin on skin and hushed confessions drowned out by the roar of his spend painting your walls.

When he comes down enough to curl you into his body, he finally finds the words.

“You are every part the woman I want, and need,” he says, tangled up with limbs and feelings he’s trying out for the first time. “You are everything.”

“Thank you, Pero,” you say, pulling back to rest your head on the pillow beside him. “And if you ever say otherwise I’ll take the only part of you that can continue your lineage.”

“I would be so lucky to lose them to you,” he rasps, the tremble of your giggle easing his mind. He stays inside you until he softens enough to slip out, and even then he considers plugging you up with his fingers to keep his seed inside. It’s a dream he will never speak to you, not willing to hurt you so deeply again, but he’s willing to nurse it. He’s seen greater miracles, after all.

END

Gods, this wasn’t supposed to happen again. It was just a one time thing to relieve some pent up energy from the stress of battling the Tao Tai.

That’s what you both agreed to, right?

And yet here you are again at the mercy of this grumpy sellsword, with hands gripping your hips tight as he pounds into you from behind.

This man.

This sourly, hot headed, dirty, barely able to contain his disdain for you man has you practically screaming his name into the night as he brings you to new heights with his cock.

You moan and mewl and cry out his name like a fucking prayer as he grunts behind you. “Oh gods…oh fuck….Pero, yes….right there…oh gods don’t stop…”

“Mierda! Hermosa, you…you have to be quiet…fuck, so fucking wet…so tight….they’re going to hear you…hear how good I fuck you.” Oh fuck, the way he was he was talking - breathless and strained - had you on the verge of coming again for the third time.

This was a whole new experience for you. No man had ever given you pleasure like this. No man had ever cared. But Pero, oh Pero cared and the more you moaned, the more he thrust into you, encouraged by the noises escaping your mouth.

His hand caresses your skin as it slides over your plump ass and up your back, pushing on your shoulders until your face is buried into the bed.

“Te amo, mi hermosa flor. Si sobrevivimos a esto, te haré mi esposa.” I love you my beautiful flower. Someday, I’m going to make you my wife.

This angle. Fuck.

Gods you can feel him, so deep inside you, hitting that spot over and over that you cry out. “Pero.” You cry out so loudly that William has called through the door to ask if you're ok?

Pero’s thrusts halt abruptly and you turn your head in question. Your gaze lingering on his torso, taking in the toned muscles of his stomach and the sheen of sweat that now covers them, his hair a tousled mess.

“Pero? What are you…” He’s rummaging around for something - all the while still buried inside you - and when he finds what he’s looking for, he turns his gaze back to you with a growl. He grabs onto your hair and pulls until your back hits his chest.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” William calls from behind the heavy wooden door - one Pero made sure was locked before he devoured your mouth with his.

“She is more than alright, amigo.”

“Pero? What are you doing in Y/N’s room?”

“Vete a la mierda, amigo. Fuck off, my friend. Unless you wish to join?” You can hear William clearing his throat before muttering under his breath, the sound of his footsteps fading in the hallway. Pero’s hand cups your cheek as he plies open your mouth only to shove a rag into it. Making sure it’s good and deep.

“What are you..” you say, the sound completely muffled from the rag now gagged in your mouth. His chapped lips kiss the skin of your neck, his teeth nipping quickly before he whispers, “now you can scream as loud as you want, mi amor. No one will hear you.”

You're pushed into the bed again and he begins to move. His hips thrusting into you, ramming you into the bed. The sound of skin slapping and the wet squelch of your cunt fills the room and you moan loudly as your body shudders from another orgasm.

“Mierda! I’m…I am going to…fuck, where? Where do you want me, amor? Want me to fuck you until you are full of me? Fuck you until your round with me. Would you like me to put a baby in you?”

You nod your head, your cunt aching to be filled by him. To feel him drip out of you as you joined the other for super. Consequences be damned. He groans loudly, his hips faltering as he fills you up before pushing forward and slumping on top of you.

“That was amazing, hermosa. You take me so well. Fit like a glove.” He slips out of you, his softening cock glistening with your combined juices. His lips caress the skin of your back softly before he moves you, flipping you over so you’re facing him.

His hand comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb rubbing circles there and his eyes flicker between yours and your lips before he slowly leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

“So much for it being a one time thing. Guess we just couldn’t help ourselves.” His hand travels down your stomach, past your belly button to cup you there. Oh, you yelp. “It was never going to be a one time thing, hermosa. Not with this delectable cunt. Eso, y me estoy enamorando de ti.” That, and I’m falling in love with you.

“What? What did you say?” You say looking at him with admiration in your eyes. “I will tell you someday but not tonight. Now sleep, mi amor.”

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   “Pintora, what the fuck were you thinking!? He could’ve killed you!” he barked at you, but his voice was weak and fractured, overwhelmed by the fear of knowing just how easily he could’ve lost you right then.

   “He stopped, Pero,” you countered, with tears still streaming down your face and a terrible tremble bothering your empty hands. “He stopped.”

   “You got lucky…” he cautioned, because he was not at all ready to believe that William had deliberately backed off.

   But you soured then, as if his perspective was offensive for some reason, and stepped away from him to pick up the little piglet that you’d dropped on the floor when you’d caught him earlier.    Crossing your arms over your chest, you pinned the stuffed animal at the top of your belly, which already seemed to be your favourite spot for it, and glared at him.

   “I understand that you’re still frightened of him, but I’m telling you that he heard me. I got to him, I could see it in his eyes.”

   “Bee… if you ever step foot in that cell again-…”

   “You’ll what?” you cut him off, challenging him to reveal his fears in full and stop hiding behind the other man’s evil.

   Pero wasn’t strong enough to admit to himself that this was all the result of his own failure, but he also couldn’t conceal his weakness anymore.    He crumbled under your strength, unable to fathom how you simply weren’t afraid of the man right then, feeling so small compared to you and the massiveness of your confidence in that moment.

   “You can never trust him, mi amor…” he finally whispered, unable to bring any more strength to his voice. “He will kill you if you let him, you must believe that.”

   He felt so powerless standing there, all but begging you not to put yourself in danger, when he should’ve just made sure that you never could again. But somehow, he knew in his heart that you would not be stopped, no matter the risk.    You had walked into that cell with a conviction of some sort, a knowledge that Pero wasn’t privy to and probably couldn’t understand even if he had been.

   You had walked in there knowing… knowing that you would walk out alive. Not just believing it but knowing it so absolutely that even William had felt it in you.

   “What I believe, is that if we keep going like we have until now, we’re gonna end up destroying both ourselves and each other,” you calmly stated. “And I will not let that happen.    I will defend this family, Pero… even against you.”

   That brought his mind to an abrupt stop, because what the hell did that mean? He had never been the threat… had he?

   But the more he thought about it, the clearer the answer became.    He wasn’t a threat so much as the weak link in the chain. The one that put everyone at risk, because if he broke, the people around him would all suffer.    He’d been unable to kill Will, unable to break him, unable to stop this darkness from hurting you and your family, and now, his hope was faltering.

   Of course, you had to protect yourself from him. He wasn’t giving you any other option.

   “The killing has to stop,” you said softly, coming closer again and uncrossing one arm so that you could take his hand. “We can’t let ourselves become monsters.    William is innocent, so if we’re gonna kill him, we have to do it out of kindness, not hate or fear. Only as a last resort, after all other options are exhausted and he still hasn’t improved.    But we’re not there yet.    He heard me, honey. I know that he did, so we have to give him one more chance before we can say that ending his life would be an act of mercy.”

   Impossibly, hearing the strength in your voice and the quiet but absolute resolve to not let this situation bring you down, managed to give him back some of his hope.    Within your courage, he found a way to believe you, even though his own strength had long since left him. Somehow, you were powerful enough to carry the both of you forwards, refusing to let anything threaten your happily ever after, and he had never loved you more.

<><><><><><><> 

   It would take several weeks of carefully measured steps before William even interacted with you the first time.    You started with offering him fresh clothes and full meals every day, all of which he refused for almost a week, until the hunger finally got the better of him.    The food slowly restored his strength, and with that, his temper returned.

   It was clear that he was still very much suffering the effects of the conditioning and the compulsion to complete his mission of killing you, that much was visible in his eyes every time that he looked at you.    But there was doubt in there too. Something that you suspected came from the man underneath all the suffering and manipulation. The real William Garin.    The problem was getting that man to take back control of himself.

   One positive aspect, and the primary reason why you refused to give up, was that even when you repeatedly put yourself within his reach, he never tried to touch you. And you didn’t think that that was solely because of Pero’s presence in the cell every time that you tried it.    Obviously, your partner was much too worried to let you be in there with your would-be assassin alone, but even so, Will’s focus was only ever on you whenever he did react.

   You tried not to think to closely about what you knew that Pero had done to him, and what you guessed that he might’ve been unable to tell you.    It wasn’t really helpful anyway, and you’d always known him to be capable of terrible things, but the real reason why you stayed away from it, was simply that it scared you to linger on the realization that he could do these things to a man that he loved.

   But you also couldn’t judge him for it.    You couldn’t condemn his actions anymore than you could hold it against him that he’d sent you away, because you had no idea how dangerous his world really was.    That was what all this had finally taught you. That for all the crap that you’d seen and learned in the time that you’d known him, Pero’s world was still too dark for you to ever truly grasp.

   You saw it in Will’s eyes too. The knowledge that he possessed and the power that someone with their training and experience had at their disposal.    And it wasn’t until you recognized that look in his eyes as the same darkness that you’d always seen in your partner, that you began to understand that you’d only seen a fraction of the truth. That Pero had shielded you from his reality from the very beginning.

   Still, there was a silver lining to it all, because the fact that he’d done that meant that his love for you was more powerful than all that. It meant that the light which he’d found in his feelings for you, was strong enough to hold all that darkness at bay.    You chose to focus on that, and only that, since it was likely the only thing that would be strong enough to reach into Will’s heart too.

   And after nearly a month of seemingly fruitless efforts, it finally paid off.    Well… sort of.

   You were sitting in a chair which stood against the furthest wall from where he was chained, the one where the viewing glass was, and you were talking quietly to yourself.    Pero wasn’t there that day, he was taking care of the horses’ hooves, which had enabled you to sneak down there without him knowing.    Something that you did whenever you got the chance.

   Not because there was anything you felt like you needed to hide from him, but just because you suspected that your captive might sooner respond to you if his nemesis wasn’t in the room.    And since your partner refused to leave you alone with him for even a second, this was the only way to cultivate your own relationship with Will.

   “We’re having a girl,” you said quietly, looking down at the little piglet that you were resting on the top of your belly, just because it fit so perfectly there. “Can you imagine Pero with a baby? I kinda struggle to myself, but I know that he’s gonna be good at it. He’s incredibly loving and tender whenever he gets the chance.”

   You casually paused then, giving him the chance to respond if he wanted to.    You kept the topic mainly on Pero, since that was the common ground between you, hoping that he’d eventually feel compelled to either object to something that you said, or just respond out of annoyance.    But he remained silent, so you kept going after a few moments.

   “It’s a bit strange to know that the father of your child is perhaps the deadliest human being on the planet. Especially when I’ve never seen him be evil.    Because that’s the thing that most people assume, isn’t it? That you can’t be a killer and a good person, that they’re mutually exclusive. But even though I’ve seen him at his worst, I still don’t see evil in him, only fear and doubt.    The same things that I see in you.”

   He wasn’t showing any signs of listening to you, so you were about to call it a day before your partner would begin to wonder where you’d gone.

   “You’re a fool…” the man on the floor whispered barely audibly, making your ears prick with interest and surprise.

   “What?” you carefully prompted, hoping that he’d keep going.

   “He will kill you,” he continued after a brief pause. “That’s what we are…”

   “How do you mean?” you prodded, still trying to spur him into carrying on, because no matter what he said, just the fact that he was finally talking was a victory.

   “We are death. Especially to those who care for us.    Mark my words, there will come a moment when you’ll regret ever meeting him, and that will be the moment right before you and your family dies.”

   He said it with a thick layer of acid to his tone, a deep and dark contempt on full display in every syllable, but you saw through the overtly mean façade, straight to the self-hatred that was boiling right beneath the surface.

   “I don’t believe that that’s true, but I can understand why you feel that way,” you said earnestly, knowing that it would provoke him.

   “You understand nothing…” he growled, taking the bait. “You don’t know what he really is… the things that I had to stop him from doing every day while we were in training.    He’s an animal, and he always will be.”

   He was clearly trying to drive a wedge between you and Pero, and you weren’t sure if it was because of his conditioning, continually pushing him to finish his last mission and end your life, one way or another. Or, if it was merely the words of a broken man, trying to make the people around him hurt as much as he did.    But you were sure about the fact that he was dead wrong.

   “If you truly believed that then you never would’ve invited him to meet your family, but I know that you did,” you challenged, not letting him get the upper hand in the dialogue. “I know that you wished for him to come and visit, that you missed him every day and that your family never felt complete without him.”

   He looked at you as though you’d just stabbed him in the kneecap, but he seemed more confused and hurt than angry, and since he didn’t respond, you set about explaining how you knew that.

   “You and I have met before.    I know that you didn’t live here, but you must’ve worked quite close to my neighbourhood because I often saw you at the store on Hillstreet, the one I mostly use for my weekly groceries.    We even spoke a couple of times. You introduced me to Lin Mae and Daisy once, after accidentally bumping into me in the pasta section, and we chatted for a while,” you reminded him, and saw his mind work to try and locate the memory.

   Your few encounters had been brief and no more than what anyone would expect of temporary conversations between strangers, but you were good at reading what people left out of their tales, so you’d known from the start that this man had secrets and demons.    And while you might never have imagined that he’d been an assassin, you’d always been able to see his pain.

   “You never told me anything specific, but I could tell from your behaviour and the gaps in your stories, that something was missing. And when I met Pero and learned about your shared history, I knew right away that he was that missing piece.    I know that you loved him. Despite whatever horrors you went through as boys and young men, he was everything that you had for a long time, and you loved him every bit as much as you loved your wife.    And that’s not a guess, Will. I know that this is true, as surely as I know that I’m alive, so you can stop trying to scare me with your broken mind and conflicted thoughts.    I’m not stupid enough to not be afraid of you, but I’m also not stupid enough to believe the ramblings of someone that doesn’t even know who he is anymore.”

   That made the man before you shrink, even though that seemed to go against his still very weak physique.    He was little more than a shell now, and there was every reason to think that he would never recover, but you still hoped for a miracle.

   “He will always be your brother, William. Despite everything you’ve done to each other, he still loves you.    That’s the only reason why you’re still alive, and while I’m sure that you’d rather not be… I want you to know that there’s a family standing before you right now. Not a big one, but one that’s willing to take you in and care for you, all the same.    Don’t throw it away without giving it a chance.”

   He wouldn’t look at you, and you didn’t need him to. He had heard you, and that was as much as you could ask of him for now.    You got up and picked up the chair to take it with you as you left the room.

   “You’re a fool…” he repeated himself, still quietly but with much more force to the words this time.

   Stopping on the threshold of the cell, you turned back to look at him, and he was meeting your eyes now.

   “…if you think for one second that you will ever be safe around me,” he finished, and you could tell from his expression that he was expecting you to find those words at the very least uncomfortable.

   But you felt only sad.

   “If that’s true, then I pity you,” you replied softly, meeting his hateful glare with nothing but care, which only seemed to further vex him. “No one should go through life so alone.”

   He just kept staring at you, so you left the room and closed the door, feeling positive despite the gloomy atmosphere. Because as bad as the poor man still was, this was progress.    You locked the cell and then left the bunker, starting the slow walk back to the house in your slightly waddling fashion now that the little one was only about a month away.    But as you reached the outdoor fireplace, something made you turn your head to the left, and when you saw what it was, you stopped.

<><><><><><><> 

   Pero heard you long before you came into view among the shrubs, but he didn’t say anything. He knew that you’d notice him, one way or another, and he wasn’t sure of what he could say that wouldn’t sound accusatory or angry.    And sure enough, you looked to the side just as you were about to pass him, and the look in your eyes when you realized that it was him, was all the confirmation that he needed as to what you’d been doing.

   You stopped and turned to face him with slow, measured movements, taking your time to buy yourself a moment to think, which was fine with him, because he really did want to know what the hell you were thinking.

   “I’m sorry…” you started, sounding every bit as apologetic as the words suggested, but it did little to soothe him. “I thought that he might open up to me better if you weren’t there.”

   That did sound like the sort of reasoning that you would have, but even so, it was not good enough to justify putting yourself and your baby in that kind of danger.

   “I know that you don’t agree,” you tried to appease him, “but it worked. He talked to me, honey.”

   As surprising and positive as that was to hear, it still wasn’t a good enough reason. Nothing was.

   “Try this again, and I will change the locks so that you can never go down there again,” he warned, surprising himself with how hard he sounded.

   “Pero… I’m the only one that’s gotten through to him. If we’re gonna have any hope of saving his life then you have to let me build a relationship with him,” you reasoned, and while he knew that you were entirely correct, it made no difference at all.

   He stood up and stepped closer to you, reaching out to take your hand as soon as he was close enough, and then put his other hand on the side of your belly.    Then he looked into your eyes and tried to convey every thought and every feeling that he was having in that moment, but couldn’t articulate for the life of him.

   “I. Don’t. Care.”

   A shiver passed through you at that, as you felt everything that he was cramming into those three little words and realized what he was saying.

   Nothing matters more than you. More than her. More than us.

   Nothing.

   But you weren’t one to be controlled. If he knew one thing about you, it was that he would never be able to expect you to just do as he said, no matter how fervently he insisted. If you had been so inclined, he wouldn’t have had to send you off to a fucking island in the middle of the pacific with no means of getting yourself back.    He loved that side of you as much as he dreaded it, because it made you strong but also unpredictable.

   “He still loves you,” you countered, still unwilling to just leave things be and focus on taking care of yourself for now, and he sighed at your endless defiance.

   “I love you, pintora, and that is a fulltime job these days, so forgive me for not having the energy to care all that much about the man that still wants to kill you.”

   “But that’s my point, Pero,” you persisted, even as he began to drag you back towards the house. “You both still care about each other, and I’m the unifier between you. I’m the one that can reach you both and reunite you.”

   “And my point is that even if that’s true, this is not the time for any reunion. We have our own lives to tend to.”

   “So we just leave him down there by himself while we go off and build a family without him? No… I’m not gonna do that, honey.”

   “Are you not even a little bit worried about what he can do to you? To all of us?” he challenged, truly fearing that you weren’t seeing the reality of your circumstances right then.

   “Of course I am, I’m not stupid. But I’m also not cold or uncaring, and you can stop pretending that you are too, because I know you. Deep down, you miss him more than you’ve ever missed anything.”

   He didn’t have a response to that, because it was damned well true, but it was also not what he wanted to think or talk about for the foreseeable future.

   “Can we just pretend to be a normal couple for a minute and talk about nurseries and baby stuff, not killers and brainwashing?” he pleaded, to which you rolled your eyes but then conceded with a gentle nod.

-=¤=-

   Later that day, you went upstairs to take a bath while Pero helped Dean clear the table and clean dinner away. And much like every time that he and your father had been alone lately, the subject inevitably turned to the unfortunate captive out in the woods.

   “You do realize that you can’t keep him down there indefinitely, right? As safe as it might feel for now, sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with him,” Dean prompted, making Pero scoff.

   “Oh, your daughter is already on top of that.”

   “Meaning?”

   “Meaning that she spent the hour that I was in the stables with you today, alone down there with him. And if I know her, she was in the cell with him the whole time,” Pero explained, and just saying those words put a sour taste in the back of his throat.

   “Shit…” the older man breathed, obviously equally unhappy with this development. “That’s not good. If she feels like she’s making progress then neither of us are gonna be able to keep her out of there.”

   “I have already warned her that I will change the locks if I must.”

   “Yeah, like that’s gonna stop her…” your father sighed, shaking his head in what seemed like defeat, even though the battle for your safety had only just begun.

   “Dean…” Pero almost whispered now, as real fear constricted his chest. “I’m really scared that she’s gonna make a mistake. That he’s gonna delude her into trusting him and get her to lower her guard.    He was always the best of us at infiltration and manipulation and that’s not a skill that Lang would’ve stripped him of.”

   “No. But you’re not giving Bee enough credit here,” the older man reminded him with a sharp brow. “She’s smart, and tremendously good at reading people, especially when it comes to what they themselves don’t realize that they’re after.    She won’t be fooled, son. Even by someone like William.”

   “I hope you’re right. Because if he lays a finger on her… I will douse him in acid and leave him there to die slowly.”

   “If it comes to that, I’ll help you. But let’s not start digging graves just yet.    I still have the utmost faith in my daughter, and I truly do believe that if anyone can reach William, it’ll be her.    She managed to tame you, after all,” your dad finished with a wink, making the younger man smile despite his worries.

   Dean’s solidness and calm reasoning was soothing to Pero, particularly when it came to his fears and worries about you, so the conversation left him feeling better.    There was something about knowing that those same characteristics existed in you as well, that made him feel like everything would somehow be okay. And he needed that feeling more than usual on that day.

   He stepped up to the older man while opening his arms in a silent request for a hug, which was warmly received, and when Dean’s long, muscular arms wrapped around his back and held him close, Pero felt safer than he had in a very long time.

   “You are the best father anyone could ask for. Thank you,” he mumbled into the man’s shoulder.

   “And I couldn’t have hoped for a better partner for my treasured only daughter, so thank you right back, my beloved boy.”

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Link to Part 25

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