#remelle

Gods damn the agent that shot her. Aelin would bet money that it was Remelle, the blonde bitch that had been pawing at Rowan for years. Before, when she was Lilian, she’d heard a wide array of stories about the woman and her unwanted advances. Ever since Aelin had been introduced to the FBI as a criminal informant, she had shot daggers at her in every meeting, likely angry Aelin was spending so much time with Rowan. Despite how much of that time was angry banter from Rowan, no matter if Aelin was trying to thaw out his icy inner and exterior.

None of that mattered now. She could have Rowan if she really wanted him. Maybe they were already together and--

Aelin stopped those thoughts in their tracks, eyes focusing on the task at hand. There were bigger things to worry about, like getting out of the city and, most importantly, the bleeding wound on her thigh. She chewed on her lip until the thread finally made it into the curved needle, and she held back a cheer as she sloshed some vodka over the wound on her thigh. Hissing through her teeth, she thanked the gods that it wasn’t any worse.

It wasn’t even that bad, considering everything else she’d experienced. There was the time Arobynn had stabbed a dagger through her palm, and she’d had to stitch up the injury herself. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d been sliced and jabbed in training. Her list of broken bones and scars was a long one. Once she got older and was better at her job than all of the men combined, training had become more of a game of survival. They had been out for blood, shedding hers in red tears on the floor until she managed to incapacitate them enough to claim the victory for herself.

This gunshot wound was minor. It hadn’t nicked anything major, and it had taken a while for Aelin to realize she’d even been shot. The adrenaline from running from the full force of the FBI had been enough to repel the pain until she was nearly to her safehouse. She was four blocks away when she realized her pace was slowing and that there was a sharp, hot pain throbbing in her left thigh. A glance down told her everything she needed to know. She had limped straight through the front door and to the first aid kit, where she now prepared to stitch her own leg up.

At one point, there had been a numbing agent in this bag, but she remembered using it on Sam after a nasty fight with Arobynn one night when she was twenty-one. Since then, she’d seldom been to this safehouse and had neglected to restock her kit. There was barely enough of the nylon thread left over, but she would manage. Aelin made a mental note to have someone, either Nox or herself, replenish the missing items.

With a deep breath and a final swig of vodka, she picked up the forceps and shimmied the tension from her shoulders while she hunched over her leg, ready to begin.

With the first stick and the drag of the thread through her skin, Aelin bit her lip so hard she drew blood. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling accompanied by a slight burning sensation. Several times she groaned while she sewed her skin back together. By the time she was finished, her mouth tasted metallic, and the trash bag beneath her was covered in droplets of blood. Her bare thigh looked grim and would leave behind a jagged, ugly scar, but she doused it once more in vodka before wiping away the blood with a damp piece of gauze. Her hands were mostly steady while she placed a bandage over the top and taped it down.

It was just another painful memory that would soon fade to silvery skin. How many more would it take until she was free?

Shaking her head to pull her from any thoughts too negative to deal with right now, Aelin smiled a bit. She was almost pleased with herself for handling the entire situation so well, but the reality of the situation was soon to crash down on her. It didn’t take long for her to get up, going about the tiny house and jerking all the curtains closed. Hardly any natural light was able to filter in through the gaps in the curtains for how tightly she’d twisted at the blinds until they were sealed completely shut. Thumbtacks were shoved into the walls to keep anyone curious from peering inside. She would move to another place in a day or two, she promised herself, after she had time to dye her hair and her wound wasn’t so fresh.

Every lock on every door was twisted into place-- seven locks on both the front and back doors. Only two of those locks could be opened with a key from the outside. The other five were inside only, a variation of deadbolts and chain locks that made her feel secure.

Only when she was satisfied that she was as safe for the time being did she go to the single bedroom and lock the door behind her. In a handful of heartbeats, she collapsed on the old quilt and drifted into a fitful sleep.

~*~

The news that it would take weeks, maybe months, of physical therapy to have his shoulder back to one-hundred percent was irritating to say the least. Rowan would be out of work for a while, but that wasn’t the most frustrating part of the situation. He would be wearing the restrictive sling for weeks, only to take it off when he changed clothes or showered. They didn’t even allow him to take it off to sleep, for gods’ sake. Rowan would be sleeping sitting up for the foreseeable future, and he was fucking annoyed about it.

The last few nights sleeping in the hospital had been anything but fruitful. Not only was he woken by the nurses coming in to check on him every few hours, every single time he tried to adjust to a more comfortable position, he was reminded of the sling. The pain was nearly suffocating. Rowan had heard from Fenrys about how bad shoulder injuries were, but this was on another level of anything he had ever experienced.

So why he was standing in the abandoned apartment of the woman who had shot the bullet through it in the first place was beyond him at the moment.

It wasn’t the apartment littered with cameras and paid for by the bureau. It was the one she’d lived in privately before her beating and arrest. It was the one decorated with opulence and taste. With artwork that wouldn’t surprise Rowan to find it had been stolen and was priceless. The one with books stacking shelves every which way, those novels bookmarked and annotated, as he had just learned. Like she loved them so much, she couldn’t help but document her favorite and least favorite parts.

The linens closet was filled with the softest blankets and nicest sheets Rowan had ever felt in his life. Silk sheets were currently stretched over the mattress in her bedroom, a thing that Rowan had thought she’d quipped as a joke once.

“Sorry, the sheets aren’t Egyptian cotton for whatever the hell you’re used to,” he’d said, a bite in his tone as he showed her the dump of an apartment the bureau had decided on for her.

“Silk,” she winked. “Feels good against my skin when I sleep naked.”

It hadn’t been a joke. He ran his fingers over the fabric and almost smiled at the memory but forced his lips into a frown instead. As he looked around the room, the nearly ostentatious yet somehow tasteful room, he missed her. He hated himself for it, but he missed her. The woman had shot him through the shoulder, but the pain in his heart was somehow worse. His first thought when he woke in the hospital from surgery had been about if they’d found her and she was safe, gods above. Everything about himself was secondary, and he didn’t really care.

But they hadn’t found her. There was no trace of her after her anklet was cut. Nobody had seen her; traffic cams had stopped picking her up like she had just… vanished. He hated that she was so good at her job, so good at being a criminal.

Deep down, Rowan knew that wasn’t what bothered him. It never really had. There wasn’t a part of her soul that he had seen and didn’t understand or want to love. Nothing she had ever done had pushed him away in the slightest. Her honesty about her life and the vulnerability she had shown him only made him respect and love her more.

He wasn’t mad that she shot him. Was he annoyed that he couldn’t use his arm? Of course. But he understood. Rowan understood that she felt backed into a corner and betrayed, and she went into fight or flight mode. In this case, it had been fight and flight. He had stepped too close and got shot in return. It was fair. She was used to fighting her way out of situations, so of course, it was the route she’d taken.

He just wanted her to slip up for once so he could just find her and talk to her. Figure out whatever the hell was going on when they’d argued before she shot him, then disappeared in the middle of the day in a bustling city. Rowan wasn’t even mad that she hadn’t been caught. In fact, he was glad they hadn’t caught her.

Rowan didn’t want her to be found. The full force of the FBI would rain down on her like a hurricane and she would be shown no mercy. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted her suffering in an interrogation room, throwing around the word allegedly like she used to throw daggers. For her to be thrown back in that dismal jail cell awaiting a death sentence that almost assuredly awaited her for what happened at the bureau.

But he was still frustrated as all hell that he couldn’t find her now, no matter how much he didn’t want her rotting in prison on the outskirts of the city.

It was while he stood with his fingers running over the silk of her sheets that he heard the jingling of keys at her front door. It was surprising, considering he’d had to pick several locks to get up here in the first place. Rowan flattened his body against the bedroom wall, listening to the front door open and close.

The footsteps that followed weren’t Aelin’s, though. They were a little louder, carrying a larger and heavier body. Rowan moved to stand in the doorway, startling the man in the center of the room. He dropped the bag he was carrying, swearing loudly as he bent to pick it back up.

“Gods above, Suit,” he murmured, dropping the bag on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing here? Getting something for Celaena?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Rowan inquired, noting that the bag he carried contained nothing of real importance. If anything, it looked like a combination of garden tools and art supplies.

“I think I stashed something here if we’re being candid and off the record, which I would very much appreciate if we were, by the way. I’ve come to collect.” Haversham -- Rowan still didn’t know the man’s real name -- began digging around Aelin’s bookshelves, looking behind and even inside some of her books that turned out not to be books at all. They looked like books, but when opened in the middle were hidden pockets. Some were empty; some weren’t. Rowan noticed a few that had different bits of identification tucked away. None of that seemed to be what Haversham looked for as he simply closed them and put them back on the shelves.

“Where is she?” Rowan finally asked, a little boldly.

“Can’t you check that fancy anklet you have her wearing and figure it out? I haven’t seen her in a week. She isn’t calling me back, either, so when you do see her, can you tell her that I…” The man trailed off after looking up from his search and seeing Rowan’s face. Rowan’s hard, unyielding face and the concern that was likely etched in his features. The wrinkle between his brow, the stiff way he held his lips. Haversham’s head tilted curiously.

“Holy gods, did she make a run for it?”

“Something happened at the bureau. I can’t find her. Neither can they. But I need to talk to her. I can’t help her otherwise.”

“Do you want to help her?” The sound that came from Rowan was nearly a growl, and Haversham retreated a step with his hands raised defensively. “Look, I’m just saying. She wouldn’t make a run for it unless it was something serious and you’re incapacitated at the moment. Which leads me to believe that she did it; otherwise, you wouldn’t be hurt at all. Celaena wouldn’t let somebody hurt you. So either you really fucked up--”

“I did, but only by not protecting her and defending her when it mattered.”

Haversham twisted his mouth to the side while he gave Rowan a hard once-over. It was like he was assessing everything he knew about his character while deciding if he would help him or not. There was a prolonged silence that made Rowan want to throw something at the man, but he waited it out.

“I’m only going to help you because you make her happy. And I don’t mean superficially. I mean that for the first time in the eight years I’ve known her, she’s been happier and more alive than I’ve ever seen her. I know she trusted you more than she’s ever trusted anyone else. More than me, which doesn’t say much considering I think she trusts me as far as she can throw me. But she trusts you more than Sam even.” Finally, he ripped a page from one of the books and began to scrawl across the page until it was nearly full. When he handed it to Rowan, he realized it was a collection of addresses. Some were in the city; some were in other countries. Some were a handful of hours of a drive into nowhere. One was practically around the corner from where they were now.

“What is this?”

“Safehouses. Those are the ones I know about. Celaena has… a lot of secrets. I don’t know even half of them. I have my suspicions about a lot of shit, but I’m letting her come to me with it when she’s ready. So I don’t know all of her safehouses, but I know those ones. Those are the ones she’s let me use in times of trouble. That’s the only help I can really offer you besides calling if I hear from her.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said softly, and he meant it. It was the biggest and only lead that he had on her whereabouts, and even if she wasn’t crashing on a bed in any of these places, it was a start. It was the only hope he had so far that maybe, just maybe… he might find her.

~*~

Rowan had decided to start on the outside and work his way in, and it was wasting a lot of time. Everyone he was friendly with at the bureau was constantly calling and texting to see how he was doing, asking what he was up to. Fenrys told him he’d stopped by his apartment a few times this week, and he hadn’t been home. Rowan replied, saying he was just taking some time to himself, which seemed to satisfy the man, and that had been that.

In reality, Rowan had been in Terrasen trying to find Aelin. She wasn’t in either of the two listed near the border of Adarlan, so now he was slowly working his way back toward Rifthold. It just didn’t seem likely for her to be hiding somewhere in the city, not when she would have to leave for food and other necessities at some point. So he’d gone as far out as he could before making his way back. So far, it had turned up nothing. Both of the cabins he’d visited in the woods had seen better days and likely hadn’t seen Aelin in years.

He was driving toward his fourth destination now, so deep in Oakwald, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t back in Terrasen at this point. The location pinged on the Adarlanian side of the border, but he had little hope of actually finding her. There were only two safehouses left on the list, and both of them were in the city itself. Would he still check them? Of course. But did he think that she was stupid enough to be there? Absolutely not.

The energy of the place was different as soon as he made it up the drive. Halfway up, a gate that covered the driveway, and Rowan had to abandon his car and hop the fence. It was a bit of a feat, as it was taller than him, and he only had one good arm to use, but he managed. Even if it had taken him three times as long as it usually would have. Feet pounding down against the dirt so hard it caused a small cloud, he proceeded up toward the small cottage with a little more confidence than he’d had the rest of the drive.

Smoke was wafting from the chimney, and a dim glow flickered in the window. The window that a lithe body stood in, peering through the curtains and backlit by the fire. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew it was Aelin, knew he’d been spotted, and knew she was watching. How she had known he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure. Being overcautious her entire life likely meant that there were tripwires that alerted her of his presence somewhere on the driveway.

As he got closer, she disappeared, and the curtains slipped back into place. When he got to the door, he reached out but hesitated for a moment. Aelin clearly didn’t want to be found and was clearly mad at him. What if she did worse than she had the last time they’d seen each other? Part of him thought she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t ever thought she would shoot him, either. Rowan wasn’t sure how many times she had told him she hated guns, but desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

It took more courage than he cared to admit to turn the knob. Much to his surprise, the door opened, and he slipped inside, shutting it behind him quietly. To be frank, Rowan couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to find her at all, much less on a list of places that Haversham managed to remember.

As his eyes adjusted to the room, he saw Aelin sitting across the room with a bottle of rum in one hand, balanced on her thigh. She was slumped down a bit in the chair; her hair dyed a muddy reddish-brown color. A dagger was in her other hand, being twisted in circles against her bare leg. Rowan wanted to tell her to stop, that she would hurt herself, but faster than he could register, she was moving. He was stunned further into silence by the whistling of the wind and the slight breeze by his ear. A loud thud had him whipping around to the door.

When Aelin walked into the gym and Whitethorn gave her a tight lipped smile she knew something was up. Usually he either calls her a brat or a princess, grunts her last name, or just nods by way of greeting. Nehemia and Lysandra were already waiting at the rack.

“What took you so long?” Lysandra demanded.

“You know Mr. Hamel. He demanded I stay late to finish all the work I’d already done.”

Her green eyes flashed. To change the subject she immediately asked, “What lifts were you thinking about doing?”

Nehemia took the reins and went through the areas that the group needed to work on that day. Leg day. Aelin grinned wickedly and scrolled through her notes until she found the work out she’d planned for them.

After she finished explaining the regimen Lysandra cursed. “I won’t be able to walk out of the gym,” her lips began to curl up. “You’re brutal. Brilliant. But brutal.”

“Pull out the bench,” Aelin simpered.

Grumbling, Nehemia did as she said and they began preparing their weight. First up: back lunges. Aelin stepped up and took on the bar, resting it against her collarbone. As she lunged back and tapped her knee to the ground she felt eyes on her. It wasn’t uncommon. Nehemia, Lysandra, and Aelin were some of the few women in the gym at the moment. But something about this gaze felt different. Intense.

She dismissed it and switched legs, lunging back and touching the opposite knee to the floor. Aelin finished and racked the weight, ducking to the side so Nehemia could do her set.

“Me and Aedion have been thinking about having a kickback at our place. Just squad. Do you think you could make it?”

Aelin shrugged. “Depends. I want to go but Mr. Hamel has me doing everything lately.”

To anyone else it would have been imperceptible but she saw Lysandra’s jaw tighten. In an instant a cool mask slid over her enraged expression. She flicked her long dark ponytail over her shoulder. “We haven’t figured anything out yet so let us know when you can.”

Without either of them realizing it Nehemia had finished. Lysandra stepped up after her and began her set. When Nehemia came to stand by Aelin she kept looking behind her.

After she had looked over Aelin’s shoulder for the third time she hissed, “What the hell, Nehemia?”

“Whitethorn keeps looking over here.” She replied simply.

It took all of Aelin’s will power to not look over her shoulder. “How is he doing it?”

Nehemia’s eyes returned to Aelin’s face with an incredulous look. “You mean… how is he… looking at you?”

Gaze trained dead ahead she replied, “That’s exactly what I mean. Is he casual? Does he look mad?”

She raised a brow but Nehemia looked back over Aelin’s shoulder. “It seems like he’s thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“Did I stutter?”

Aelin glowered at her.

Quiet as a leopard Lysandra had come up on them. “What are you guys talking about?”

Both women whipped their head towards their friend.

“How do you do that?” Nehemia bemoaned.

“Practice,” Lysandra said with a wink. “What’s next?”

Aelin grabbed the bar and moved it down to the built in spotter around her knees. While she added on weight as she told them, “RDL.”

Nehemia grinned. This one really worked your glutes and hamstrings and she was going for the booty. Aelin moved so that her back was facing the rack. She preferred to do this lift so she faced the rest of the gym otherwise she was bending over in front of everyone. While she wasn’t ashamed of her body (actually quite the opposite) she didn’t love guys sexualizing her in a non-sexual situation. If they had only just looked it would have been better but they never stayed quiet.

She took up the bar in a mixed grip and stepped forward. Pushing her hips back she leaned forward sliding the weight down her thighs past her knees. Then straightened. When she finished she stepped back and racked her weight.

Nehemia eagerly stepped up after her to start her set. Aelin stood next to Lysandra. A glance at her friend’s face had Aelin doing a double take. That shit-eating grin meant trouble.

“So,” Lysandra drawled slyly, “should I be inviting Whitethorn over to our little get together? Or is it Rowan now?”

Aelin’s brows rose to the sky. “What the hell are you talking about?”

That trouble maker grin faded. “You mean… oh, never mind.”

Before Aelin could reply Nehemia finished her set and Lysandra started hers as fast as she could. Nehemia strolled over to stand next to her.

“He’s still looking.” She informed her.

“And why, exactly, do I care?” Aelin grumbled.

Nehemia made a show of thinking it through. “Maybe because he’s been looking since you walked in.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Aelin scoffed, “he might have something to tell me.”

A slow reptilian smile crept across her friend’s face. Aelin pointedly ignored it. When Lysandra finished she changed out the weight and started on the next lift. That was how it was the rest of the workout. The girls kept “discreetly” and “subtly” mentioning Whitethorn and Aelin kept ignoring them. After the whole grocery store incident (which she told them about, obviously) they tolerated each other a lot better but Aelin didn’t classify him as a friend.

After they finished their grueling workout Whitethorn finally approached the rack. “Galathynius, can I talk to you,” a glance at her two companions, “alone?”

Aelin glared at her friends, who were smiling innocently, as she walked away. Whitethorn led her to the corner with the water fountain. They stood there in silence. He did not look happy. His arms were crossed and his face was set in a permanent scowl. To others it might have looked daunting but Aelin wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

“I’m calling in that favor you owe me,” he ground out after a solid minute of glaring.

At that Aelin mirrored his stance, crossing her arms and straightening her back. “What do you want, Whitethorn?”

His scowl, if possible, deepened. “There’s this… thing I have to go to for work. My ex, well she wasn’t a girlfriend. Whatever. My ex fling is going to be there and I’d like to avoid her.”

Is he… rambling? Aelin thought to herself in shock. But he persisted. “I’m not with anyone right now and you’re the only person I could think of on short notice. It’s next Saturday. Black tie.”

“And you can’t ask someone from work? I’m sure someone would be willing to go with you. Unless you’re this horrible all the time.”

Whitethorn shook his head in frustration. “They’d all be scared of her. She’s an executive so she outranks almost everyone I work with. Not to mention she’s a complete bitch.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t be scared?” Aelin asked. She knew she wouldn’t be; she just wanted to see how he would answer.

He snorted. “Please. You don’t let anyone intimidate you. In fact I’ve seen you intimidate others. Not saying you’ll get Remelle to roll over, but I’d say you’re pretty evenly matched.”

Aelin lifted an eyebrow. “So it’s a dominance battle now?”

“You know what I mean. Are you coming or not?”

“Yes. I’ll come.” She said it without hesitation. More like without thinking. Aelin had no idea what made her answer so fast. Maybe it was the prospect of seeing this Remelle bitch in action, or it could have been to settle her debt. Something more…? No. Aelin shut that thought down as soon as it came into her head.

Whitethorn looked surprised. “Oh. Okay. It’s at 7:00 next Saturday night at the Mistward Hotel. Should I pick you up or…?”

“I know where you live.” Aelin winked and walked away.

Nehemia and Lysandra were waiting not so patiently by the door. Lysandra was the first to crack. “So. What did Whitethorn want?”

Aelin shrugged. “He just needed someone to go with him to a work think. His ex is going to be there so he didn’t want to go alone.”

“And he asked you.” Nehemia stated with a grin.

“Yeah…” Aelin continued, “Apparently every other woman he works with is scared of her. Well I don’t work for her and I owe him so he thought of me.”

Both girls made noncommittal noises and walked out the door. Aelin rolled her eyes and followed them.

“Do you know what you’re going to wear?” Lysandra asked.

She should have known Lys would be all over her about the wardrobe. “I was asked two minutes ago,” she replied indignantly. But continued, “Of course I do.”

“Care to share with the class?” Nehemia asked.

“Come over to my place and I’ll show you.”

They all rushed over to Aelin’s car and piled in.