Darcy and the Secret Security

Chapter 6

The host led us to the round table by the window. The sun glowed and reflected light off the glasses. Stevie and Matthew sat across Constance and Ambrose. I took the seat between Stevie and my brother. The latter couple seemed fond of Ambrose, like the parents he’d have if our past wouldn’t taken so many turns. Introductions were made, small talk endured, and then conversation drifted in.

“So, Darcy, you’re a musician,” Matthew said.

“Er, was.”

“And still is.” Ambrose ruffled my hair.

I budged a smile. “I have background in composing and playing the piano, but... I’m on a break.” I cleared my throat. “You?”

“Oh, I read English in university, but my minor was in oboe studies. My grandfather came from a line of successful oboists who played in all the big symphony orchestras.”

“And you decided not to follow?”

“My grandfather used to say, ‘the life of a serious musician requires a fire and a stomach for the field.’ You see, you spend your life to make it, and even then there are those who don’t respect or recognise the work. Music as a livelihood is a journey. Thus my drive and stomach was suited for something else, but I still love music.”

“Very true. As I understand you work with Ambrose.”

“Worked. I retired a few years go. Now I’m a librarian who writes from time to time.”

“Why a librarian?”

“Why not? It is a cozy and luxurious sanctuary where I get to peruse books and assist people in finding the one to change their life.”

“Books are a fond escape.”

“And a brilliant teacher. The best writers provoke action, mh?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Incidentally, Stevie’s retiring herself.”

“You’re retiring?”

“In a year.” Stevie nodded. “It’s been a long ride. Sometimes you need to know when to step off the train and catch the next one.”

“Sounds like everyone’s catching a new train these days,” I mumbled without thinking.

Ambrose glanced at me.

I cleared my throat. “Even you’re retiring, if I’m not mistaken.” I shifted my eyes towards Constance.

“Oh, yes. But it’s not unusual for ballerinas to retire in their 30s. After all these years I feel 90.”

“Damn, I can imagine.”

“It’s my passion but it takes a toll, and after a brilliant career, I wanted to explore something else.”

“Anything decided?”

“Well, I’ve got a job lined up at a botanical cosmetic company. They’re looking for a research botanist.”

“A botanist?”

“Meet Dr. Zephyr, botanist and doctor in plant medicine.” Ambrose gestured.

I clicked my tongue. “Well, well, you’re athlete and a fellow intellectual.”

“Impressed?” Constance grinned.

“Yes, indeed. Ambrose, I like her.”

He chuckled. “The second he hears botany he’s intrigued.”

“Fascinating people have fascinating interests.”

Constance chuckled.

“He’s got your charm, hasn’t he?” Matthew quipped.

“Ohh, I think we both get it from Father.” Ambrose smiled.

I bit my cheek. “How long have you know Ambrose?”

“Almost since he graduated Oxford. Stevie and I were there when he started his government career and mentored him throughout the beginnings of it. We could see he had potential from the start, and he did surpass expectations. When he transferred departments, we kept in touch.”

“After everything, Ambrose is family,” Stevie added.

“Ah, well... likewise.” Ambrose glanced at me gaugingly. He might’ve felt guilty in some way. He’d had more support than I did in those years. He’d made a good life while I’d been living with Maurice, and I couldn’t resent him for that. I was glad he’d met these people and founded a small family of his own, like I’d found Luke and Lucy.

“I’m glad.”

He blinked.

“I know it couldn’t have been easy on his own all those years, and it turns out he wasn’t. You’ve become his family. For that I am very grateful.”

Ambrose turned up the corner of his lip.

“And how did you two meet?” I looked between him and Constance.

“Oh, it’s a funny story, Darcy, as you’re about to see for yourself.” Stevie chuckled.

“Ambrose.” Constance beamed at Ambrose.

He tittered.

“You have so much fun telling it.”

“All right, erm... It was seven years ago while I was in the diplomatic department of the Home Office.”

“Where there be dragons.”

“Oh, yes. One night in particular, I pulled an all-nighter working on a special project. But instead of sleeping in, I went home and got up at six to go to work. I needed five shots of espresso to conquer the day.”

“Five shots?” I widened my eyes. “Don’t tell Lanyard.”

“He eats fried chicken once in a while. I’m sure he sees large amounts coffee the same way.”

“Wow.”

”While I was waiting for my coffee, I headed to the loos.”

Constance bit her lip. “Then at the sink, I stood right by him, and he said—”

“Apologies but I think you’re in the wrong place at the right time.”

“And I said, ‘To the contrary, I think you’re in the wrong place.’”

“ ‘What makes you say that?’”

“ ‘The distinct lack of urinals.’ ”

“Oh, my God. I knew it.” I snapped my fingers.

“You should seen the horror on his face. He looked mortified.” Constance giggled.

Ambrose shook his head in amusement. “After we laughed about it, we chatted over coffee.”

“Then?”

“I asked him out, and he politely declined.”

“Wait, what? Ambrose Milton-Devereux, charmer of the century, what do you have to say for yourself? Denying this delicate creature that could kick all our butts with an arabesque.”

Constance laughed.

“In my defence, I barely knew her and I wasn’t looking for romance or a relationship then.” Ambrose kissed her hand.

“Perfectly valid response, darling.”

“What brought you together, then?”

“Later that week,” Constance continued, “he came to my show, and we went for coffee as friends, no strings attached. Really he seemed so interesting, and he thought I was the same. We were close friends for a long while. He never flirted, never spent the night or suggested anything. He’d meant was he said. He wasn’t looking for anything. No games. He was a complete gentleman. I didn’t know he was interested until he asked me out in March last year.”

“I didn’t even know until then.”

She giggled. “Yes, and I remember how serious you got when we talked. I thought something had happened. I was so nervous.”

“If you remember so was I.”

“You wouldn’t stop adjusting your watch.”

“Oh, God.” I grinned. That was the Ambrose I knew.

Constance squeezed his hand affectionately. “A year later, there’ve been bumps and upsides like any other relationship, but we’ve grown together and laughed together.” She pecked his lips. “And I love him more than I could say. He’s my soulmate.” Her eyes gleamed warmly and Ambrose’s gaze gained a little more light, a look of pure affection and admiration. His eyes said “I love you” before his voice did. Ohh, yes, my brother was in love for the first time. “You’re my heart.”

I looked out the window, chuckling to myself. Oh, he was so in deep. I bet he hadn’t expected that a few years ago.

“What’s so funny?” Ambrose said.

“You. You’re funny.”

“Being a loving boyfriend?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Okay. You know what, you weren’t always Ambrose ‘the romantic’ interested in committed relationships. Forgive me for taking some amusement to the new facets of your character. ”

“Mh-hm.”

“Watch, Constance. Ahem. This is his tirade from when I was six.” I straightened and assumed my brother’s serious face.

“Tirade? There was no tirade.”

“‘Feelings, Fizzy. Oh, my God. It’s unbelievable. They’re such hormonal idiots. It’s like they’d throw themselves off a cliff for a kiss. It’s outrageous. And the crushes don’t even make sense! It’s idolization of people you barely know. Why would anyone ever fall love? It’s just... Such a waste of time. You could accomplish so much if you weren’t distracted by mooning after a pretty face. Why? They’re all morons. Chaps. Girls. Neither of them have two brain cells between them. In fact, I see why they need to share one. I’m in a school full of clotpoles with raging drama and desperate insecurity. It’s a whole con.’”

“Nooo.”

“Thank you.” I smirked. “I don’t blame him, though. High school is... Something. Everyone questions everything or not at all.”

Ambrose tittered. “I plead the fifth.”

“Judgement deferred.” She pecked his lips.

“I rest my case.”

“They’re in love, your honor,” I quipped and raised my hand.

“Oh, my God. Stop.” Ambrose chuckled.

Everyone cracked up.

“You do know I’m aware of your complicated feelings for Lucy?”

“Ugh. Revenge is best served cold, Ambrose. Didn’t you hear?”

“They skipped that at Oxford.” He sighed with fake regret.

“Oh, did they?”

He chuckled.

As lunch went by, Constance and I engaged in discussion about plant botany as I’d done studies in the school garden. It was vastly interesting, as was she. Ambrose had found an apt counterpart. We all exchanged stories. Matthew about his army days and his odd happenings in the library. And then as revenge, Ambrose brought up our childhood again. Oh, the stories seemed endless, and neither of us could stop laughing. It had seemed I’d had no reason to be concerned at all.

“Ooh, there was this one time when I was four.”

“The cherry blossoms were coming out, and I was playing in the meadow by the farm—”

“You were fighting with a fawn in the fields, and I had to save you from its mother. I had never run so fast, much less with you on my back.”

“In my defense, that daisy was mine.”

Constance broke into giggling alongside Matthew and Stevie. “Oh, God. You two sound like you were the mayhem of the town.”

“We lived on a farm, sometimes without constant supervision. What can you expect?” I waggled my eyebrows.

Ambrose continued saying something, and I listened absently-mindedly, once again looking out the window in pleasant contemplation as people walked to and fro outside. Yes, lunch wasn’t bad at all. Quite enjoyable in fact. I barely had to think of what to say. Why ever I’d stressed about being a third wheel or not fitting in was ridiculous—

I jumped in my seat. The table shook. Maurice had limped past the restaurant with a cane and sneered at me. My heart felt as if an iron hand had seized it for a moment.

“Fitz, what’s happened?” Ambrose looked at me warily.

People were looking my way.

It wasn’t real. He’s dead. I inhaled a shaky breath—“I thought I saw...” It. Wasn’t. Real. My chest heaved. Ha. Gullible though. I fisted my hands, but they shook nevertheless. No, no, no, lunch was going so well. Not now. Not now. So stupid. There were too many people. Too much noise. Too much attention. Too. Much.

“Fizzy—”

“I’m so sorry, please excuse me. I need a moment. Belleville.” The words were barely above a whisper. I rose, the chair scraping the floor. Coward.

I made a dizzy beeline for the loos. It was empty. My legs gave in as sank against wall in one of the stalls. My stomach churned at the images in my images in my mind of Maurice, those dark memories. Great. Not now. My lungs burned for air, but my mind didn’t care. Tears ran from my eyes. “Damn!” I slammed my palm on the floor. “Breathe, dammit!” Pathetic. I coughed. “Breathe.” Worthless git. “Shut up.” Weak. You’re a nothing. I held my breath to try to stop it. I wanted to pass out. But then I gasped for air. Why can’t you be normal? Why are you such a freak? They rushed in like train puffs every few seconds. There was no use. I pulled my hair. The pain was distracting enough. And then my esophagus lurched, and I grabbed the toilet bowl. My eyes watered as I vomited my lunch and possibly breakfast. Weak little brat. Stupid pack of bones. I clenched my hands. “Shut up!” You’re embarrassing. A disappointment. You can’t be here. I gasped and coughed. “Shut up.”

Ambrose slid by me as if out of nowhere and kneeled down. “Fizzy, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Air rushed in of my lungs faster than it came out. Every bit of me trembled. Great, now you had to pull him into this. Look at him. He’s worried. Because of you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault. Can I hug you?”

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just leave. Please. I’m a freak,” I whispered.

“Fizzy—”

“Just go—”

“Fitzwilliam, look at me.”

I met his eyes, gentle, unwavering, calm whilst my breaths came in trembling gasps.

“You’re not a freak. You’re my brother and an extraordinary young man. I am not going anywhere. I love you, and I’m staying.”

I sniffled and fisted my hair. “Make it stop.”

“Listen to me. Focus on me. I need you to count down from five, what you see, hear, touch, smell, and taste.” What was this science class? “For me.”

“Toilet... Leaf on your shoe...”

“Good. Keep going.”

“Light bulb out... Crack in the tile... Brown tie.”

“That’s it. What can you hear?”

I shut my eyes. “I hear the AC. Breathing. Heartbeat. Your voice.” My lungs relaxed a little.

“Yes. Three more, love. I’m really proud of you.”

Touch. “Air... Heat... Cotton.” Smell. “Cedarwood. Soap.” The tension in my chest melted. Taste. “Fish.” I sniffled. I took in a longer breath and hugged him tight.

“It’s all right, Fizzy. I’ve got you.” He held me close. I could hear everything become dim. His chest rose and fell. It was like hearing the crash and fall of waves drowning out the thumping of my erratic pulse. The waves rolled and tumbled, then floated back. I made me think of the summer sun from a few months ago warm on my face. The hot coarse sand. The sussuration. Ambrose murmured fond words in a soft constant stream, words muffled with a buzz. I didn’t understand them, but they were there in the background. I saw myself shake and gasp, and breathe even, while I forgot I was panicking. The voice in my head had silenced, though. Ages went by until I noticed what he was saying. My breathing had synced to his.

I felt better. And yet I was more drained than ever, ready to sleep. All the thoughts rushed back in. Two panic attacks in one day. Not ideal really. My eyes pricked, and I released a careful breath. I blinked tears.

“Let it go, Fizzy. It’s all right to feel.”

I wept into his shoulder, sounds strangled and soft.

He caressed my back. “I’m here,” he whispered.

The tears stung my cheek, and the sobs scratched my throat. Sometimes I felt numb after these, other times overwhelmed... I felt everything at once. My head swum. I sniffled, the tears falling more quietly after I lost the energy. Such a sadness. Why was it so sad? It was like dying while being forced to live in every awareness of it. Dragged along needles and darkness. And then... Silence. More exhaustion. I was so sick of being miserable. But I couldn’t help it.

I jumped. “Wait, everybody’s still—”

“It’s okay.” Ambrose pulled me back down before I got a chance to stand. “I said you weren’t feeling well. The bill came, and they went back to work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I pressed my hands to my face. Had to ruin today. “I’m so sorry.” My voice was raw and soft, tired.

“Hey, no, don’t apologise. It was time anyway, and I will say it again, you did nothing wrong, Fitz. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Well, it feels like it.”

“Fizzy, trust me. I’m telling you it’s okay. They had a good time. They liked you. I know you’re frustrated with yourself, but... It ended well. You were great.”

“Except for the part where I ran away like I was insane and attracted attention.”

“No— Please. You are not insane. You are healing. It’s okay. No one will even remember.”

I sighed. “They really liked me?”

“Very much. You were yourself, and it was good.”

“Okay.” I rested my head against his shoulder with another exhausted breath.

Years of being alone had rid me of the expectations Ambrose would be there as he had been before, so now even though he was my brother, it surprised me every time that he was there when I needed him. I expected less of him than I would’ve liked to.

“May I ask what happened?”

I shrugged a shoulder. Don’t say it. Don’t.

“You can tell me.”

“It’s stupid. I was being stupid.” You’re overreacting.

“No, it’s not. Not to me. You are a rational human being.”

“How do you know if you don’t know what I saw?”

“Because fear is valid like any other emotion. Come on. Talk to me, please.”

“It’s... It’s not important. You’ve got enough on your mind—”

“No, don’t— don’t do that. Don’t trivialize yourself, especially not on my account. You are important to me, and my mind is perfectly fine. I have room for you. You are allowed to take up space.”

I looked at him.

“If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. But don’t shut up because you think I can’t hear you.”

I released a breath. “Okay...”

He kissed my hair.

“I— I saw—” I took another breath. “I saw—” I swallowed.

“I’m here. You’re safe.” He ran his hand through my hair.

“I saw Maurice,” I whispered, eyes shut.

“Oh.”

“I-I... I thought I saw him passing the window, and I couldn’t hold it together...” I took a deep breath. “It was a stupid hallucination. I freaked out over nothing.” My throat thickened.

“No, it wasn’t stupid. You panicked because you got frightened, because you saw someone who abused you; you saw danger and a horrifying past. It’s not illogical. I would’ve reacted the same way. There’s nothing stupid about it.”

I stuttered a breath. “I think it’s stupid of me.”

“But not of me?”

“No— I—”

“Allow yourself some compassion. You do not need to be stronger or better or smarter. You are enough. You’re not stupid for reacting like a human being.”

“Okay.”

“You said he’s alive.”

“But he can’t be, right?”

His hand stopped in my hair.

“Right?” My voice broke.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry I wish I had a more concrete answer.”

I hid my face in his shirt with a sigh. “No one knows,” I whispered. Though, I knew, dead or alive, Maurice would forever haunt me. And it’s what scared me the most.

“If it’ll help, we’ll get out of here, and I’ll request a copy of the footage. I know the proprietor. He owes me a favour. There’s no sense in leaving the question up in the air. I promise as long I’m here he can’t touch you, alive or not. You’re safe with me, all right?”

“Not from my mind.”

“I’m here, anyway. I’ll fight with you.”

“I’m so... tired. I’m... Embarrassed and...”

“You’re tired because your mind just fought a battle, and you don’t need to be embarrassed. You don’t need to be ashamed of feeling, being vulnerable.”

I huffed.

“I’ll take you home, all right? You need to replenish fluids and eat something you can keep down. Then you need to sleep.”Ambrose helped me up.

“You need to go back to work.”

“It can wait. Harrow will understand. I’ll stay later if need be. You’re my first priority. All right?”

I peered at him. It was typical of my brother, but not what I was used to as a norm in general. Maurice always had stayed later for work and abandoned me at school, ignored me if I’d gotten sick. Perhaps I was surprised at the difference itself more than the fact Ambrose cared. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I leaned on him walking out of the loos and settled on a chair at the bar nearby.

He bought two bottles of water. “Drink as much you need. I won’t be a minute.”

Plopping down on a chair, I downed a bottle and a half while he said a word to the proprietor. Despite what my brother had said, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about ruining lunch whether or not it was time for it to end. I wanted to be fine. To be okay. But it never lasted. Ambrose didn’t think like I did though, which confused me. He was surprisingly reasonable, and going out of his way to settle my uncertainty. He listened. He was Ambrose, and I often realized how much I’d missed him. That calm reliable warmth.

“All right. He’s going to send me the video right now, and I’ll ask a friend if I can see the footage from the street. He owes me a big one, so... I’ll take a look at work and let you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Now I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to be right or wrong.

“Whatever the truth is, we’ll deal with it together,” he said as if reading my mind. “Alive or not, nothing changes.” He hugged me again. “We’re in this together, and we’ll do what we need to to take them down. You never have to feel alone again.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll take you home. You’ve had a long day.”

Chapter 7

I did go back to sleep. Since my surgery, it seemed it was all I did, and even more after a particularly vicious panic attack or a string of them. I slept more calmly at first after the phone call, but later I was ripped away from rest again, but too tired to lay about I kept falling asleep. Somewhere along the middle, I heard Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade played at a murmur, and I stirred later around seven. Ambrose sat by me, eating a tuna melt.

“That smells unbelievably good,” I said, voice rough from sleep.

“I got you a plate as well if you’re hungry.”

“Ooh.”

Ambrose put a plate in my lap.

“Thanks muchly.”

“You’re very welcome. How long did you sleep?”

“Almost the entire time. Had a nightmare. Luke called before I went back to sleep. Then woke up again. I’m still tired.”

“Oh.”

I crunched a bite from the sandwich and moaned. “Best tuna melt I’ve ever had. What’s in here?”

“Tuna from Northern Spain mixed with olive oil, greek yogurt, dijon mustard, horseradish, black pepper, and a pinch of oregano.”

The bread crackled as I ripped another bite.

“Sourdough.”

“Of course.”

“Then I put avocado on the bottom with chives and red bell peppers. Sun-dried tomatoes. Caramelized sweet red onions. Gouda smoked in hickory. Manzanilla olives.”

“I’m mind-blown.”

He smiled.

I ate another tuna melt, and then Ambrose took the plates downstairs. On the laptop, Dr. Brody, Sallah, and Jones Sr. looked off the cliff. I shook my head and laughed as Indy crept behind and looked over as well. It was a classic. My favorite.

No later, Ambrose plopped back on the bed as we watched the film.

“Work went fine?”

“Yes. We got a lot done.”

I bit my cheek. “And the tape?”

“I had it analyzed.”

“And?”

He glanced at me. “The footage around that time is missing. The camera stopped recording for a few seconds. System malfunction.”

I furrowed my brow. “What about the street cameras?”

“Oddly enough those too. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make that footage disappear.”

“Suspicious.”

“Very.”

“Or maybe the camera went out.”

“Maybe. I’d trust your intuition though. Doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

“Not even a little, Ambrose?” I smirked with raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head in amusement. “In another regard, perhaps. In a good way.”

“Sei pazzo. That’s what Luke told me when we first met. Of course, I accused him of pickpocketing me.”

“Which he did.”

“Oh, definitely.”

My phone rang.

“Speaking of.”

Luke was video-calling again, which was odd because he should’ve been in class still. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

Ambrose furrowed his brow.

Sirens wailed loudly in the background. “Darce, I swear I am going to punch someone in the face. I just— I am so done.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he slumped against our old tree.

“What happened?”

“Mason, the stupid idiot, was smoking in the bathroom, and while we were taking midterms and—”

“Why are there sirens?”

He took a deep breath. “Mason set off the fire alarms in the bathroom, and now the fire department’s here.”

“The calculus midterms...” I palmed my forehead.

“Rescheduled. Darce, I was ready. I had it. I was almost done. Taking it again... I...” He sighed. “I’m exhausted. I had another seizure.”

I winced. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“I want to forget everything and stuff my face with olives.”

“I wish I were there.”

“I’d settle for hearing you play something or talking about anything but tests and exams and school...” He groaned and rubbed his face. “Oh. Hey, Ambrose.”

“Hello, Luke. Tough battle in war?”

He tittered. “The garrisons are rowdy, and the captain does not care. At all.”

“She’s having an affair still?”

“She’s on her third of the year, which is surprising.”

“Ghastly.”

“We think so.” He wrinkled his nose.

“They’re going back in now.” Lucy walked into view.

“Oh, right. Um, I called Darce. If you wanna... say hi.”

She crouched by Luke, beaming when she saw me. “Hello, Darcy.”

“Hey, Lucy.”

“It’s been a day.”

“It has.”

“Adjectives can’t describe.”

“So nouns must suffice.”

“London’s all right?”

“Mixed feelings, but I can’t complain. And you know, my brother’s just so annoying—”

Ambrose nudged me and tousled my hair. “Ahem!”

“Hey!” I laughed.

“I’m annoying? You’re the one always complaining, and you never stop talking.”

“See what I have to deal with?” I gave a deadpan expression.

“Ambrose, you have my sympathy.”

“Thank you.”

“Wow. I have no friends.” I tossed my hands.

“Hey!” Luke scowled.

“Friends ‘plural’. A friend is not friends.”

“Like the show,” Luke quipped.

“Yes, that thing you binged before exams last week instead of studying.”

“Ha, ha. Fight me.”

“No thanks, I’ll take Mason instead. What are they doing with him anyway?”

“Oh, yeah, get this. They’re giving him a lecture instead of kicking him out.”

“Ahhh, yes, his dad’s in the police force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

“Someone did, but it didn’t stick.” Luke raised an eyebrow at me.

“I guess not.”

Ambrose looked at me.

I smacked my fist against my palm.

“Ohhhh,” he mouthed. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, let me call Constance. She’s in intermission.” He slipped out of bed in a hurry.

“Yeah, you go do that, ‘bro’.”

Luke cracked up.

Lucy’s jaw dropped.

Ambrose sobered. “Never call me that.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, all right. Go call your girlfriend.”

He stuck his tongue out and strode off.

“Child!”

“Nerf herder!”

I pulled a faked pained expression. “That was uncalled for.”

“Very mature of you two.”

I shrugged.

Then all of a sudden Ambrose came out of nowhere and tackled me in a hug.

I laughed. “All right. Apology accepted.”

“Now I’m going.” He strode off.

Luke shook his head. “Anyways, I owe you ten bucks.”

“I don’t.” Lucy smirked. “Damn, I’m good. Oh, Nonno’s here to pick you up.”

“Okay.”

The bell rang. “Talk later?” She cocked her head.

“Bye.” I waved.

She rushed off as the bell rang on.

“You’re going home?”

Luke stood. “Yep. The principal gave me a pass because of my epilepsy.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

The drive for my friend wasn’t too long. Once he got home, he crashed in bed. George was out for a while at his billiards club, and Alice cozied in her bedroom. So it was once again merely Luke and me. I took the lift and sat at the piano.

The lights were dim downstairs. My fingers were stiff but flexible enough for chords.

There were some Scottish songs father used to sing to me for sleep when he wasn’t so consumed with work. Any other time I wouldn’t have thought of him so fondly, but... Well, yet here I was, head leaned on the music board, eyes shut. I let my hands fall on the notes, crooning with a lilting voice I recognized from my father when he sang. It sounded like an old home that I couldn’t go back to but would always remember.

After a while, Luke snored softly, and I ended the call for him and sent a recording of the past few minutes. Either of us would appreciate such a momento. He didn’t even have any recordings of my playing, so this would be his first. A keepsake of sorts. For all I knew he or Lucy might need it one day.

Dragging my feet to the lift, I found Ambrose sitting on the stairs lost in thought.

“You heard.”

“You remembered.”

“I suppose not everything can be forgotten.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to remember.”

“Me neither.”

We headed upstairs again to finish the movie. Ambrose fell asleep before the credits. But I put on my earplugs and watched it again until I conked out around one in the morning. I think I even managed at least a good hour or two before bloody nightmares sprang up again. They hadn’t bothered me much before, and I’d gotten used to them, but I suppose the intermittent peace had led me into making false predictions my sleep would get better.

I sprang forward with a loud gasp as if I’d been waterboarded, trembling with a leaf. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I gasped. I clutched the sheets. My stomach twisted and burned as my back stung. Maurice’s words in my head went on and on, filthy and familiar, the belt on my back echoing. I found myself hyperventilating. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Fizzy, I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe.” Ambrose sat up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I squeezed my eyes shut and rocked. My cheeks stung.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Fitz.”

“I broke the mug. I- I broke the mug, and it was a mess,” my voice cracked. I gripped my hair.

“Fizzy, it was an accident. Look at me.”

My gaze shifted to him. “He was so angry. He... He....” I drew in shorter breaths.

“Fitz, he’s not here right now. It’s over. He’s gone. It’s you and me. You’re here with me. You’re safe. I promise. He’ll never touch you again. I won’t let him.”

“I can’t breathe, Ambrose. I can’t—” I coughed. Every second was a fight. A war for air. My throat constricted. My vision blurred.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

My sight went black. Fainting during a panic attack... Hadn’t done that since high school. No one was ever there to see me lose consciousness either. When I’d woken up those times, I felt more lethargic than before, lightheaded, and despondent. Going to classes for the remainder of the day like that had been torture. But at least no one had known what had happened.

Now, Ambrose was there.

I came to breathing easily, head heavy. Ambrose held my legs up a bit and watched me carefully.

“Hey, this is fun,” I slurred.

He sighed in relief. “Sit up slowly.” He got me a cup of water.

“Thanks.”

“Is it okay if I hug you now?”

“Could you?” I curled up.

“Of course.” Ambrose wrapped himself around me and ducked his head on top of mine. He squeezed me very tight. While I’d been out he must’ve been frightened out of his wits. Not much scared him, to begin with, but I was one of the exceptions.

I buried my face into his shoulder, crying quietly at first and then sobbing. It had been a particularly bad night terror. Ambrose had held me through all of it and ran his fingers through my hair.

When I calmed, we lay there for a while.

Then he pulled back enough to wipe my tears with his thumbs while his eyes searched mine with concern, with a wish to soothe. “There we are.”

I looked away. If I had to count the amount of times I’d woken Ambrose up in the past few weeks, I’d need to borrow another hand.

“I woke you again.”

“It’s all right.” Ambrose kissed my forehead.

I sniffled and sighed.

“Tea?”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

While he went down to make tea, I showered, and we met back in bed with Frasier on his laptop. I fell into fresh sheets. A mug of chamomile tea waited next to two bowls of frozen yogurt. The warmth slid down my throat.

Ambrose took the red velvet b, and I the rocky road.

He chuckled as Niles spilled soup on the couch and the iron caught the trousers on fire. Everything else blended in the background. We put our pints away once they were empty, and I rested on Ambrose’s chest. He wrapped an arm around me.

“You know you don’t need to stay awake with me every time,” I mumbled.

“I know.”

“Then... why?”

“Sometimes I wake up from dreaming that you hate me in another city with Maurice tormenting you and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I stretched my neck to look up at him. “And then?”

“Then I see you, and I can breathe again.”

“Oh.”

“I lost the privilege of being there for you, and it was the worst feeling. Now that you’re here again, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, and that will never change. Ever.”

“Okay.” I shut my eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, Fizzy.” He rubbed my back. “When you get tired, don’t be afraid to fall asleep. I’ll be here if you wake up again. All right?”

“I’m not falling asleep,” I sniffled, stifling a yawn.

“That’s okay too.”

“Okay.”

The laptop crooned in the background. The rain continued to tap on the window sill. The wind whistled. Despite my fear of sleeping only to have another nightmare, I dozed off. The suggestion of a calm was so tempting.

I gasped awake after I’d half fallen asleep, jerked from another bad dream I hardly remembered. I sat up as my chest heaved for breath. The laptop still murmured on. Ambrose was out. Everything screamed for sleep, but my mind wasn’t having it. I crashed back and hid my face in Ambrose’s side under his arm.

“It’s okay. I’m still here, mon lapin. You’re safe.” His pulse beat in my ear.

I let my breathing peter to a soft puffs again. My muscles gave in one by one. Sleep called again.

And then I darted up as if I’d been falling. “Oh, my God.” I took a long breath and then sat on the side of the bed, ruffling my hair.

“Fitz—”

“I’m so tired.” I buried my head into my hands. “I want to sleep so bad, but I can’t.” A few tears left my eyes. “And you need sleep too.”

“Don’t worry about me sleeping. I’ll live.”

“I don’t think I’ll get any more rest.”

He sighed. “Well... It’s 3 o’clock. If you want you want to continue to try to sleep, you can. Or you can stay up and nap later.”

“Really?”

“You can’t sleep. No sense in forcing it.”

I nodded.

“More tea?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you don’t want to ask?”

I shrugged.

“Let me go some more tea. I won’t be long.”

Ambrose only took a minute, though it felt like longer, and after giving me another warm hug, he climbed in clumsily and curled up against me as I sipped my tea and watched Frazier on low volume. My brother had no trouble when he drifted off again, bless him. Around five, I rested my aching eyes for a bit, and then I forgot to stay awake.

Chapter 8

I did go back to sleep. Since my surgery, it seemed it was all I did, and even more after a particularly vicious panic attack or a string of them. I slept more calmly at first after the phone call, but later I was ripped away from rest again, but too tired to lay about I kept falling asleep. Somewhere along the middle, I heard Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade played at a murmur, and I stirred later around seven. Ambrose sat by me, eating a tuna melt.

“That smells unbelievably good,” I said, voice rough from sleep.

“I got you a plate as well if you’re hungry.”

“Ooh.”

Ambrose put a plate in my lap.

“Thanks muchly.”

“You’re very welcome. How long did you sleep?”

“Almost the entire time. Had a nightmare. Luke called before I went back to sleep. Then woke up again. I’m still tired.”

“Oh.”

I crunched a bite from the sandwich and moaned. “Best tuna melt I’ve ever had. What’s in here?”

“Tuna from Northern Spain mixed with olive oil, greek yogurt, dijon mustard, horseradish, black pepper, and a pinch of oregano.”

The bread crackled as I ripped another bite.

“Sourdough.”

“Of course.”

“Then I put avocado on the bottom with chives and red bell peppers. Sun-dried tomatoes. Caramelized sweet red onions. Gouda smoked in hickory. Manzanilla olives.”

“I’m mind-blown.”

He smiled.

I ate another tuna melt, and then Ambrose took the plates downstairs. On the laptop, Dr. Brody, Sallah, and Jones Sr. looked off the cliff. I shook my head and laughed as Indy crept behind and looked over as well. It was a classic. My favorite.

No later, Ambrose plopped back on the bed as we watched the film.

“Work went fine?”

“Yes. We got a lot done.”

I bit my cheek. “And the tape?”

“I had it analyzed.”

“And?”

He glanced at me. “The footage around that time is missing. The camera stopped recording for a few seconds. System malfunction.”

I furrowed my brow. “What about the street cameras?”

“Oddly enough those too. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make that footage disappear.”

“Suspicious.”

“Very.”

“Or maybe the camera went out.”

“Maybe. I’d trust your intuition though. Doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

“Not even a little, Ambrose?” I smirked with raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head in amusement. “In another regard, perhaps. In a good way.”

“Sei pazzo. That’s what Luke told me when we first met. Of course, I accused him of pickpocketing me.”

“Which he did.”

“Oh, definitely.”

My phone rang.

“Speaking of.”

Luke was video-calling again, which was odd because he should’ve been in class still. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

Ambrose furrowed his brow.

Sirens wailed loudly in the background. “Darce, I swear I am going to punch someone in the face. I just— I am so done.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he slumped against our old tree.

“What happened?”

“Mason, the stupid idiot, was smoking in the bathroom, and while we were taking midterms and—”

“Why are there sirens?”

He took a deep breath. “Mason set off the fire alarms in the bathroom, and now the fire department’s here.”

“The calculus midterms...” I palmed my forehead.

“Rescheduled. Darce, I was ready. I had it. I was almost done. Taking it again... I...” He sighed. “I’m exhausted. I had another seizure.”

I winced. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

“I want to forget everything and stuff my face with olives.”

“I wish I were there.”

“I’d settle for hearing you play something or talking about anything but tests and exams and school...” He groaned and rubbed his face. “Oh. Hey, Ambrose.”

“Hello, Luke. Tough battle in war?”

He tittered. “The garrisons are rowdy, and the captain does not care. At all.”

“She’s having an affair still?”

“She’s on her third of the year, which is surprising.”

“Ghastly.”

“We think so.” He wrinkled his nose.

“They’re going back in now.” Lucy walked into view.

“Oh, right. Um, I called Darce. If you wanna... say hi.”

She crouched by Luke, beaming when she saw me. “Hello, Darcy.”

“Hey, Lucy.”

“It’s been a day.”

“It has.”

“Adjectives can’t describe.”

“So nouns must suffice.”

“London’s all right?”

“Mixed feelings, but I can’t complain. And you know, my brother’s just so annoying—”

Ambrose nudged me and tousled my hair. “Ahem!”

“Hey!” I laughed.

“I’m annoying? You’re the one always complaining, and you never stop talking.”

“See what I have to deal with?” I gave a deadpan expression.

“Ambrose, you have my sympathy.”

“Thank you.”

“Wow. I have no friends.” I tossed my hands.

“Hey!” Luke scowled.

“Friends ‘plural’. A friend is not friends.”

“Like the show,” Luke quipped.

“Yes, that thing you binged before exams last week instead of studying.”

“Ha, ha. Fight me.”

“No thanks, I’ll take Mason instead. What are they doing with him anyway?”

“Oh, yeah, get this. They’re giving him a lecture instead of kicking him out.”

“Ahhh, yes, his dad’s in the police force.”

She rolled her eyes. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

“Someone did, but it didn’t stick.” Luke raised an eyebrow at me.

“I guess not.”

Ambrose looked at me.

I smacked my fist against my palm.

“Ohhhh,” he mouthed. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, let me call Constance. She’s in intermission.” He slipped out of bed in a hurry.

“Yeah, you go do that, ‘bro’.”

Luke cracked up.

Lucy’s jaw dropped.

Ambrose sobered. “Never call me that.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, all right. Go call your girlfriend.”

He stuck his tongue out and strode off.

“Child!”

“Nerf herder!”

I pulled a faked pained expression. “That was uncalled for.”

“Very mature of you two.”

I shrugged.

Then all of a sudden Ambrose came out of nowhere and tackled me in a hug.

I laughed. “All right. Apology accepted.”

“Now I’m going.” He strode off.

Luke shook his head. “Anyways, I owe you ten bucks.”

“I don’t.” Lucy smirked. “Damn, I’m good. Oh, Nonno’s here to pick you up.”

“Okay.”

The bell rang. “Talk later?” She cocked her head.

“Bye.” I waved.

She rushed off as the bell rang on.

“You’re going home?”

Luke stood. “Yep. The principal gave me a pass because of my epilepsy.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

The drive for my friend wasn’t too long. Once he got home, he crashed in bed. George was out for a while at his billiards club, and Alice cozied in her bedroom. So it was once again merely Luke and me. I took the lift and sat at the piano.

The lights were dim downstairs. My fingers were stiff but flexible enough for chords.

There were some Scottish songs father used to sing to me for sleep when he wasn’t so consumed with work. Any other time I wouldn’t have thought of him so fondly, but... Well, yet here I was, head leaned on the music board, eyes shut. I let my hands fall on the notes, crooning with a lilting voice I recognized from my father when he sang. It sounded like an old home that I couldn’t go back to but would always remember.

After a while, Luke snored softly, and I ended the call for him and sent a recording of the past few minutes. Either of us would appreciate such a momento. He didn’t even have any recordings of my playing, so this would be his first. A keepsake of sorts. For all I knew he or Lucy might need it one day.

Dragging my feet to the lift, I found Ambrose sitting on the stairs lost in thought.

“You heard.”

“You remembered.”

“I suppose not everything can be forgotten.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to remember.”

“Me neither.”

We headed upstairs again to finish the movie. Ambrose fell asleep before the credits. But I put on my earplugs and watched it again until I conked out around one in the morning. I think I even managed at least a good hour or two before bloody nightmares sprang up again. They hadn’t bothered me much before, and I’d gotten used to them, but I suppose the intermittent peace had led me into making false predictions my sleep would get better.

I sprang forward with a loud gasp as if I’d been waterboarded, trembling with a leaf. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I gasped. I clutched the sheets. My stomach twisted and burned as my back stung. Maurice’s words in my head went on and on, filthy and familiar, the belt on my back echoing. I found myself hyperventilating. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Fizzy, I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe.” Ambrose sat up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I squeezed my eyes shut and rocked. My cheeks stung.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Fitz.”

“I broke the mug. I- I broke the mug, and it was a mess,” my voice cracked. I gripped my hair.

“Fizzy, it was an accident. Look at me.”

My gaze shifted to him. “He was so angry. He... He....” I drew in shorter breaths.

“Fitz, he’s not here right now. It’s over. He’s gone. It’s you and me. You’re here with me. You’re safe. I promise. He’ll never touch you again. I won’t let him.”

“I can’t breathe, Ambrose. I can’t—” I coughed. Every second was a fight. A war for air. My throat constricted. My vision blurred.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

My sight went black. Fainting during a panic attack... Hadn’t done that since high school. No one was ever there to see me lose consciousness either. When I’d woken up those times, I felt more lethargic than before, lightheaded, and despondent. Going to classes for the remainder of the day like that had been torture. But at least no one had known what had happened.

Now, Ambrose was there.

I came to breathing easily, head heavy. Ambrose held my legs up a bit and watched me carefully.

“Hey, this is fun,” I slurred.

He sighed in relief. “Sit up slowly.” He got me a cup of water.

“Thanks.”

“Is it okay if I hug you now?”

“Could you?” I curled up.

“Of course.” Ambrose wrapped himself around me and ducked his head on top of mine. He squeezed me very tight. While I’d been out he must’ve been frightened out of his wits. Not much scared him, to begin with, but I was one of the exceptions.

I buried my face into his shoulder, crying quietly at first and then sobbing. It had been a particularly bad night terror. Ambrose had held me through all of it and ran his fingers through my hair.

When I calmed, we lay there for a while.

Then he pulled back enough to wipe my tears with his thumbs while his eyes searched mine with concern, with a wish to soothe. “There we are.”

I looked away. If I had to count the amount of times I’d woken Ambrose up in the past few weeks, I’d need to borrow another hand.

“I woke you again.”

“It’s all right.” Ambrose kissed my forehead.

I sniffled and sighed.

“Tea?”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

While he went down to make tea, I showered, and we met back in bed with Frasier on his laptop. I fell into fresh sheets. A mug of chamomile tea waited next to two bowls of frozen yogurt. The warmth slid down my throat.

Ambrose took the red velvet b, and I the rocky road.

He chuckled as Niles spilled soup on the couch and the iron caught the trousers on fire. Everything else blended in the background. We put our pints away once they were empty, and I rested on Ambrose’s chest. He wrapped an arm around me.

“You know you don’t need to stay awake with me every time,” I mumbled.

“I know.”

“Then... why?”

“Sometimes I wake up from dreaming that you hate me in another city with Maurice tormenting you and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I stretched my neck to look up at him. “And then?”

“Then I see you, and I can breathe again.”

“Oh.”

“I lost the privilege of being there for you, and it was the worst feeling. Now that you’re here again, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, and that will never change. Ever.”

“Okay.” I shut my eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, Fizzy.” He rubbed my back. “When you get tired, don’t be afraid to fall asleep. I’ll be here if you wake up again. All right?”

“I’m not falling asleep,” I sniffled, stifling a yawn.

“That’s okay too.”

“Okay.”

The laptop crooned in the background. The rain continued to tap on the window sill. The wind whistled. Despite my fear of sleeping only to have another nightmare, I dozed off. The suggestion of a calm was so tempting.

I gasped awake after I’d half fallen asleep, jerked from another bad dream I hardly remembered. I sat up as my chest heaved for breath. The laptop still murmured on. Ambrose was out. Everything screamed for sleep, but my mind wasn’t having it. I crashed back and hid my face in Ambrose’s side under his arm.

“It’s okay. I’m still here, mon lapin. You’re safe.” His pulse beat in my ear.

I let my breathing peter to a soft puffs again. My muscles gave in one by one. Sleep called again.

And then I darted up as if I’d been falling. “Oh, my God.” I took a long breath and then sat on the side of the bed, ruffling my hair.

“Fitz—”

“I’m so tired.” I buried my head into my hands. “I want to sleep so bad, but I can’t.” A few tears left my eyes. “And you need sleep too.”

“Don’t worry about me sleeping. I’ll live.”

“I don’t think I’ll get any more rest.”

He sighed. “Well... It’s 3 o’clock. If you want you want to continue to try to sleep, you can. Or you can stay up and nap later.”

“Really?”

“You can’t sleep. No sense in forcing it.”

I nodded.

“More tea?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you don’t want to ask?”

I shrugged.

“Let me go some more tea. I won’t be long.”

Ambrose only took a minute, though it felt like longer, and after giving me another warm hug, he climbed in clumsily and curled up against me as I sipped my tea and watched Frazier on low volume. My brother had no trouble when he drifted off again, bless him. Around five, I rested my aching eyes for a bit, and then I forgot to stay awake.

Chapter 9

When Fitz had fallen asleep for the last time, Ambrose stirred and put the laptop aside. That pale brow was finally clear of thoughts. He chuckled when Fitz inevitably shifted on his back and then on back Ambrose’s side. Fitz’s hand flapped on Ambrose’s face. He rolled his eyes and maneuvered out from under it. Well, he was asleep all right. His little brother muttered a bit nonsensically, and Ambrose sobered for a moment, hoping it wasn’t the start of another nightmare.

“No! No, it’s a lie, Ambrose. I promise...”

Ambrose tensed. “What’s a lie, Fizzy?”

“I-I didn’t fly to the moon.”

Ambrose suppressed a laugh. “Didn’t you?”

“It was the penwings. The penwings did it. Penwings...took me...Where are the penwings? They gave me potato shoes. I’ve never had...potato shoes.”

Ambrose snickered. “Don’t you mean penguins?”

“For God’s sake, Ambrose...such a bumbershoot mooncalf.”

Ambrose shook his head and smiled fondly. He’d forgotten Fitz spoke in his sleep. How long had it been since he’d had a ridiculous dream? Too long, perhaps.

He watched his chest rise and fall. After a lifetime of living with Maurice, his mind was like a ship wrecked on the shore recognizable from its glory years ago. He was still a child yet in many grown-up and lost in the consequences of life’s cruelty. He hadn’t deserved that. To have his childhood cut short. Fighting for one’s life at that age, even before, Ambrose couldn’t think. He saw it in his brother’s eyes every day, how it wore on him and clouded his mind. Every day he was still fighting, still in battle. Only now it was against himself.

Ambrose missed how carefree he’d been before, full of life, curious, and with smaller problems. He was... Happier. He took joy in the smaller things and found peace more easily. It was something Fitz seemed to experience less now. And his mind was consumed with fixing things in the world that weren’t even his fault.

At least, they were close again. It was almost like old times.

“Boatswain! Boatswain!” Ambrose shouted.

“Whooo!” Young Fitzwilliam ran out of the farm house in the raging storm. Thunder booming with a flash.“Here, master! What cheer?”

“Fizzy!” He darted after the lad. “You forgot your rain coat!”

“Ambrose! That’s not the line,” he whined.

“I know, love, but I don’t want you to get soaked.” Ambrose maneuvered Fitz into the rain coat and pecked his forehead. “All right, then. Go on!”

“Wahoo!” He climbed up the large oak and stood on a branch, holding on to the middle as if it were a ship’s mast. “Ho! What cheer, Ambrose? What cheer?”

“All’s well.” Ambrose stood on the branch below Fitz.“Speak to the mariners: fall to’t, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.”

Fitz puffed his chest out. “Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! Achoo!”

Ambrose grinned. “Bless you.”

“Thank you. Ahem. Yare, yare! Take in the top sail. Tend to the master whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! Come on, my boys!” Fitz waved his arm wildly.

Ambrose laughed.

The wind whistled, and the reeds swayed. The leaves swished and whispered.

“Boatswain, surely thou dost be a captain in the making.”

Fitz put a hand to his chest. “To be sure, twas to be. It hath, since my birth, been pl— Woah!” The lad slipped.

“Fitz!” Ambrose’s voice echoed in the fields. Lightning cracked like a whip in the sky. The thinner trees swayed in the wind. Ambrose had swiftly caught Fitz with an arm.

Fitzwilliam screwed his eyes shut.

“Come on.” Ambrose drew him up and against his chest. It had almost given him a heart attack. “Oh, my God. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The lad trembled. “Maybe you should be the captain.”

“Oh, Fizzy, even captains fall.”

“Not literally.”

“Ah, well, they stick to the cabin at any rate. They don’t hang from trees.”

The corner of his lip turned up. “You think I could be in the navy?”

“You are stout of heart and sharp in mind for rough and solitary life of a sailor. You’d make an intelligent captain.” Ambrose pecked his nose. “If you don’t mind being alone from time to time, that is.”

“Oh.” The boy looked out into the thick storm. Not a thing to be seen for a yard even. The wheat was strong while the leaves were blown about. “Well... suppose I could be all right, but... you could come with me.”

Ambrose cocked his head. “I would, but I don’t know if I could always.”

Fitz sighed.

“Being apart sometimes is a happening in life, Fizzy. We can’t help it all the time. But it doesn’t mean we’ll always be alone. Or that we have to be lonely when alone. We live as much apart as together in each other’s hearts and minds.”

“Mummy used to say that God’s follows you around all the time too.”

“In a way. It’s called omnipresence.”

“What does following someone around have to do with presents?”

“Onmi praesens, my dear Fizzy,”

“Latin for ‘always present.’” He grinned.

“Cheeky. Anyways, point is He’s just there. Always. Everywhere.”

“But you will come with us?”

“Where?”

“On the high seas.”

“I’d go with you to the ends of the earth if I could.”

“Well... we don’t need to go that far. Just the Indian Ocean.”

He laughed and squeezed him. “Fair enough. I will come.”

“And maybe we can find some treasure.”

“Oh, well, you know, Fizzy.” Ambrose kissed my hair. “I already have.”

Thunder rumbled outside, and Ambrose looked out the window. Another storm brewed.

Fitz was more guarded now, trying to heal. It would take a while to be able to talk about things. But Ambrose knew his little brother was doing his best. He was so tired too. The lad needed the rest so badly, even though rest was a battle in itself. Although, Ambrose didn’t mind. He would be there for his brother. He would help him fight to rest. He’d be there in any way he could.

Chapter 10

The sky glowed purple and orange. Rain pitter-pattered on the sill. I turned my head and stifled a laugh.

Ambrose was in an oddly contorted position, his hair mussed, and yes, gently snoring.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Britain’s finest.”

“You’re staring,” he slurred. “It’s rude.”

“You slept well.”

“I haven’t forgotten of your rambling nonsense in your sleep.”

“What— I don’t do that... anymore.”

“Oh, yes, you do. I have proof.”

“If you tell anyone—”

“What?”

I put my tongue against my cheek. “I will tickle you.”

He chuckled. “What time is it?”

I grabbed my watch. “5:54.”

“Six more minutes.”

“Wait, you wake up at 6 in the morning?”

“It’s a very precise routine. One hour for myself. One hour for a run. Another to shower, dress, shave, and leave for work.”

“Right.” I finagled my head under his arm and curled up.

He threaded his fingers in my curls.

“Going to work again today, mh?”

“Technically you are ‘work.’”

“Ooh, you have something for me then?”

“Perhaps.”

At least it was a quiet very early morning. No bombs. No crimes. No impending death threats. No urgent mission.

Then Ambrose’s alarm rang, and he shifted to turn it off. “I need to go.” He got out of bed.

I groaned and clasped his wrist, face slipping down muffled in the sheets.

He laughed. “Fitz.”

“Don’t leave me here.”

“Fitz, come on.” He tugged back with a chuckle.

“Sleep more.”

“I’ll sleep more later.”

“Hm. Stay.”

“I need to start the day.”

“Pfft. You’re boring.”

“Yes, I know. Hygiene, exercise, adult responsibilities. Utterly mind-numbingly banal.”

“Ugh.”

“You should sleep more if you can, though.” Ambrose pecked my cheek.

“That’s not the point, Ambrose,” I yawned and let him go. “And not a chance.” Like I would sleep much on my own. Even so, he’d be gone by the time I’d gotten up again.

“Well, I won’t force you.”

“Mh-hm.” I shuffled to the bathroom.

After a brush and a shave, I slogged through my physical therapy. Then I plodded downstairs to the kitchen. Swing music streamed from the living room.

“What’s cooking?”

“Poached eggs on rye with figs and honeycomb brûléed brie.” George brought out the eggs.

“Nice.”

Ambrose poured a cup of coffee. Then he swirled olive oil over a sliced sourdough and slipped it in the oven. “How did your exercises go?”

“Okay,” I mumbled.

“Not that good, then.”

“I still feel like a 90-year-old tortoise. You can’t even tell I used to do track.”

“You almost died multiple times, slept in a coma for two weeks straight, and then almost keeled from an overdose, yet you’re wondering why you’re not Hercules?”

“Er, ‘I almost died.’ Ergo, I have cause to complain.”

“You’re also alive, so you also have cause to be grateful. A little self-compassion and patience for yourself wouldn’t kill you either.”

“Ugh, self-compassion, Ambrose? Are you serious?” I slid down the chair as if I were melting.

“Yes.”

“Pfft.”

He shook his head. “You will get better. It merely takes time.”

I ruffled my hair with a flourish. “Time is immaterial, a societal construct and metaphysical illusion used by science to track the progression of events and physics. ‘It takes time’ is an idiomatic expression I don’t have a practical use for.”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Are you arguing semantics with me?”

I shrugged.

“Do you want to argue?”

“If it’s intellectual. I could stand to be entertained.”

“You’re losing at any rate.”

“Not really. I reiterate: ‘It takes time’ is an idiomatic expression I don’t have a practical use for.”

“Unless you use it idiomatically.”

“Which in Greek is ‘peculiar phraseology’.”

“Peculiar in the sense it is particular or personally related.”

“Not to me.”

“We’re talking about the English language.”

“And in the English language, the phrase isn’t one I have a practical use for.”

“Save to concern you with the action of being patient.”

“Patience,” I scoffed. “Patience’s boring. Passive.”

“No, it’s active waiting.”

“I’m tired of waiting.”

“Hence the self-compassion.”

“Pfft. Why are we doing this again?”

“You argued semantics. I obliged.”

I plopped my head onto the counter. “Three months before I can even jog.”

“Nevertheless, relatively you’re doing well, and I’m proud of you.”

I budged a smile.

“You’re improvements are bound to be small at first, compared to what you want to see. It’s okay to feel down about it, but don’t lose sight that you’ll be back one day.”

“Okay,” I sighed.

“In the meantime” – George replaced the top of the brie with bits of honeycomb to melt in the pan – “I think this brie will make you rethink life.”

“That’s all you’ve got for me, George? Cheese?”

George laughed sarcastically and then gave me a straight look. “Never underestimate the cheese.” Without looking away from me, he cracked eight eggs into a vortex of vinegar water.

“Ambrose?” I didn’t break the stare either.

“He has a French grandmother. Cheese is a sensitive topic.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now, for the best part.” Whoosh! A yellow-blue flame flowed from George’s blowtorch. He hovered it over the honeycomb brie, and it browned, oh, so beautifully. He clicked off the torch. “Gorgeous.” He layered the poached egg on the bread with spread slices of the melted honey-brûléed brie and fresh green figs.

Alice caught sight of the masterpiece while pouring her coffee. “George, did I tell you you’re my favorite uncle?”

“I’m your only uncle.”

“Still counts. Bloody hell, though, it’s like a work of art.”

“Are we going to stare at it or eat it?” I said.

“Eat it, surely,” George deadpanned.

“Preferably before it ends up in a museum,” Ambrose quipped.

When I took a bite, the yolk spilled out of the poached eggs and mixed with the melted cheese. The tang of the wild honey married the trio of flavors with the sweet fig. It was a perfect explosion of flavors. “Mmh. Damn good.”

“Coffee?” Ambrose sat by me.

“Yes, please. I never did finish that Italian roast back at the hotel. One should have a proper first cup of coffee.”

“You’ve never had coffee?” George raised his eyebrows.

“Not real coffee, no. Instant? Yes.”

“What, no Starbucks in Chicago?” Alice said.

“First of all, I’m not inclined to spend a few cups of coffee’s worth of money to get only one after waiting in ten minutes’ in a long line. I’ve got better things to do. Second, people always made it look like they’re either reciting a shopping list or conjuring a spell.” I wrinkled my nose.

Ambrose laughed. “Rule of thumb: black is basic and never simple. Everything else is preference. For instance, this is an Italian roast Ethiopian blend. Black, no sugar.”

George sipped his own. “I prefer the medium roast Guatemalan from Huehuetango with a dazzle of almond milk. A flavor profile of dark chocolate, almond, and cherries.”

“Pfft. It’s just coffee.” Alice rolled her eyes.

I raised my brow. “Did she just—”

“I believe so,” Ambrose said.

“We must forgive her. She’s drunken too much during exam days to care what it tastes like.” George sighed.

Alice snickered. “Yeah, too busy translating Latin manuscripts to study coffee flavor profiles.”

“Try a sip first.” Ambrose passed me his cup.

“Fine.” I took a swig. “Mmh, first of all, finally I know what coffee is supposed to taste like. And it’s not bad. Dark, intense, and flavourful. I could get used to this.”

“Now try this.” George passed me a cup of the Heuheutango.

“Ookay. Wow. Ambrose, have you tasted this?”

“Yes, and I prefer a smokier aftertaste.”

“Dark chocolate and cherries are hard to resist, though.”

After breakfast, Ambrose stretched, and we headed out to St. James Park. It was drizzling with light sun. An old couple on a bench fed the birds frozen peas. Children giggled as they jumped in the puddles and squealed. Ignorance was bliss. Rain was nature’s confetti, and mud was face paint. A celebration of freedom and obliviousness.

I smiled wistfully. Then Mystique passed a tree nearby, and I frowned. Who was she? What did she want?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ambrose cocked his head.

“Hm? Oh, I think we both know what’s on our minds.”

“I suppose.”

“Ambrose, I know you came out to run. You don’t need to stick by for my sake.”

“I was walking with you while I warmed up.”

I smiled and looked aside.

“Need some space to think?”

“I mean...”

“Merely asking.”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I shall allow you to ruminate, then.” He hugged me.

“Okay.”

“Be gentle with yourself. Please.”

“I’ll try.” Ambrose ruffled my hair, then strode away, working up into a jog.

I put my gloves on. The rain was comfortable under the umbrella. Ding! I checked my phone and smiled. It was Lucy.

Morning

Morning. Can’t sleep? I replied.

Yeah. What are you doing right now?

Walking in the rain.

Ooh, send pics!

I angled the phone around and took some photos. Done

Thank you :) Saving this as my wallpaper.

And then Ambrose was some distance off with this focused expression. I caught a funny pose. Also, try to spot the British government.

XD Omg, James Bond better watch out

Indeed.

Much wow. Such danger

Amazeballs.

She sent more laughing emojis.

I plopped myself onto a bench. Ambrose passed me with a look. I gave a thumbs up. He nodded and went on. My muscles buzzed, and my head felt fuzzier. Sweat made my clothes cling awkwardly to my skin, and my pulse was perhaps a tad fast. I lost half an hour texting Lucy until she fell asleep. We ranted about Pride and Prejudice. Her favorite literary subject.

Then I got bored and tried walking more, but then it bit me in the arse later.

Ambrose had finished his run later and no doubt came to find me when I was hunched by a tree. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I managed.

Ambrose shook his head. “No, you’re very pale. Too pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“Fine, you’re paler than usual.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” I rolled his eyes and collapsed at the first step I took.

“Woah!” Ambrose caught me. “All right, you’ve done enough walking today. You aggravated your PCS.”

“I’m fine.”

“Definitely a reasonable response after fainting.”

“Mmph.”

“What happened to being gentle?”

“I tried.”

He breathed a laugh. “You fainted.”

“I was a little impatient.” My back pinched.

“A little?”

I pouted.

“All right, climb onto me. I won’t have you fainting again.” He turned his back and crouched.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

I clung to him like a koala on a branch with my head dropped onto Ambrose’s shoulder. It was a short walk through the path and across the road. Unlocking the back door, he set me down. Swaying where I stood, I barely waited long enough for him to pull off my coat before I sank against the wall with a grimace. I groaned as my back ached.

“What hurts?” He crouched by me.

“Back. Head.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“All right. I’ll get you your medicine.” Ambrose ran a hand through my hair.

I leaned into the touch.

“I’ll be back.”

“Mmh.”

It barely seemed like a moment had passed when he returned with a shaken bottle of yogurt and aspirin. “Drink slowly.”

I did. Then I used the capsaicin for my migraine.

Ambrose felt my hands and rubbed them. I’d taken my gloves off to text Lucy and forgot them in my coat. He inhaled sharply. “Very cold.” His felt like a hot cup of tea in comparison to mine. “Let’s get you into a bath.” He pulled me up.

“M’ kay. Ah— !” My features contorted as pain stabbed my back.

“Ohh, I’m sorry.” Ambrose grimaced.

“’s fine.” I clung to him as he got me up.

We took the lift up, and I got into the tub in my boxers as the faucet ran.

“Hey.” Ambrose held my head. “Fitz. Fitzwilliam.”

I flinched. “Hmm, what?”

“Wash. Don’t fall asleep. I won’t be a minute.”

“I’ll be fine.” I sat up, rubbing my face. “Go, I’ll be all right.”

“Okay.”

Ambrose went off to shower and change for work. I soaped off perfunctorily and managed my hair as much as I could. Then he got back a moment later.

“Fitz, you finished?”

“Ow!” My back gave in as I stood, and I slipped.

“Woah.” Ambrose caught me “Okay. Please ask me for help. Death by bathtub isn’t very glamorous.” He threw a towel onto my shoulders.

I plopped onto the toilet as I dried off.

Ambrose furrowed his brow in concern again, arms crossed.

“I’m fine.”

“So you keep saying, but I’d be more inclined to believe you if you said it when you meant it.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry for pushing myself. I... It sounds stupid, but my fine is not others’ fine. I’m used to handling... Things. Even though I don’t need to anymore. What you think is ‘not fine’, I can’t tell the difference.”

“I know, but collapsing? Not very normal even for you, is it?” He quirked his lips.

“You’d be surprised.”

He sobered.

I bit my cheek and looked away.

“Listen, Fitz... I know it’s hard to go from perfectly athletic to barely being able to walk a mile, but... You don’t need to ‘tough it out’ right now. You have time. You’ve got me. Listen to your body when it tells you what you can handle. It’s the only way you’ll get better.”

“I kind of muted it, though, and threw away the remote.”

“I can see that.” Ambrose chuckled. “How about this? Baseline, you’re not fine if you feel the slightest in pain or tired. If something hurts, stop. If you get even a little tired, rest. Slow down and listen. It’s all I’m asking.”

“Fine.” I sighed. “Could you... put the cream on my back? It hurts to stretch right now,” I mumbled.

“Of course.”

“Just... Let me know when.” I rested my elbows on my knees, holding my head in my hands.

“All right.” He got the cream, and for a moment, he froze. Whenever he saw my scars, they seemed to touch upon something in him. I was used to seeing them, but Ambrose? It reminded him of everything he’d left me to, what Maurice had done while he was in London. Was he even breathing?

“Ambrose.”

He blinked and took a sharp breath. “Right now.”

I shifted, shaking a little.

He gently rubbed the cream on my back, and meanwhile, he hummed a low melody, something calm and warm that sounded like a slow Beethoven movement.

It distracted me long enough and drew my head to other thoughts.

After a while, Ambrose ran his hand through my hair. “All done.”

“Thank you.” My back felt better for the most part.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“All right.”

I dressed and headed down. The pain was tolerable for me. After all this time, I was used to a certain amount of agony, as if I’d lived in the fire for so long, it was normal. I couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing.

Ambrose put a plate in the oven.

“What’s that?”

“Paninis. You can warm it up when you’re hungry.”

“Thanks. You said there was work today?”

“Tomorrow.”

“No, come on, please. I can at least tell you what you want to know.”

“Nooo. No. You’re tired. You can barely move. Take a nap.”

“Frankly, I don’t want to take a nap. I want to work.”

“Fitz.” He gave me that Ambrose trademarked ‘look’: patronizing, eyebrows slightly raised, expression immovable. He’d given it to me whenever I was being petulant as a child.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m not five anymore. I don’t need babying. I need a distraction.”

Ambrose crossed his arms.

I set my teeth and my brow.

“No.”

“Ugh, I’m feeling better I promise. Just a question or two. Then I’ll rest.”

He snorted. “Firstly, only two? And secondly, define your idea of ‘rest’.”

“Relatively two, and I’ll close my eyes for a while.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.”

“Please, I want to— I need to do something. I’ve been useless for ages.”

“You haven’t been—”

“Ambrose, it’s been four weeks. An entire month of moving muscles, literally.”

He rubbed his face as if four weeks wasn’t anywhere near enough.

“Look. My current hobbies are unachievable, so I’m left with staring at the wall until I go mad. You said there’s work do to, and I would like to do it. Don’t- don’t punish me because I didn’t listen to you, and—”

“What, no, I’m not— I am not punishing you, Fizzy. You still have a ways to go in your recovery, and instead of staying another month in rehab, you’re continuing at home, which means continuing to take things slow. I don’t want to backslide because you don’t draw yourself boundaries.”

“So you’re drawing them instead?”

“We made a deal. You decide on whether to consult, except at the expense of your safety or your health. It’s non-negotiable.” One of his favorite phrases.

“Are you saying that as my handler or my guardian?”

“Both.”

“Ugh.”

“I know you’re under a lot of stress. Your mind’s a beehive, aching for a distraction even though you’re tired yourself out already, and you think working might help. I think it’ll make it worse. If you don’t choose something low energy, you will be left staring at the wall.”

“Pfft.”

“And as much as I’m enjoying this repartee, I need to work in a little.”

“Technically I am work.” I quipped with a smirk.

He breathed a laugh. “Not entirely.”

“You don’t understand. You’re leaving me alone here without a clue. I need something. I need to know what’s going on.”

“I know. But you need more time—”

“I’ve had enough of time! God.” I sunk my head into my hands. After all my discipline these past weeks I at least deserved recognition that I’d come along enough to be let back into the loop, and if I had a little more time with him, it might’ve been easier to bear.

“Five minutes, two-hour nap.”

I looked up.

“Well?”

“Ten minutes, half an hour.”

“Ha, ha, is that a joke?”

“Okay, fine, ten minutes, one hour.”

He nodded to the side. “On one condition.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes.

“Next time we disagree, arguing about work versus your health is no longer a subject of discussion until you understand the balance they require.”

“Might take a decade or two, but okay.”

He shook his head. “Come along, then.”

We ambled over to the library at a pace I could manage, which was annoyingly slow. Green banker’s lamps lit the desks around the place. Stacks of books in the amidst towered hundreds of oak bookcases about 16 feet tall complete with rolling ladders scattered about.

“Woahhh.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? I am... baffled. It’s impressive.”

I followed him through the maze of bookcases and to a corner of the library where a liquor cart was attached to the wall. He poured a half-shot of water each into two glasses which were on a stand. The stand sunk into the table an inch with a click and the bookcase beside me popped back a little.

“Balanced scale mechanism. Nice.”

Ambrose pulled the bookcase open.

I wandered in, and he locked the door behind us with a lever. Dim lights overhead flickered on. We navigated through twists and turns outlined by bricks and wood pillars. I’d never thought I’d describe a house as having good bones, but I felt like this one deserved it.

“Secret passageways. Who’d have thought?”

“Built during the late 1800s. Alice’s grandfather and three generations before him were professional art thieves.”

“Nooo. Really? This is his lair?”

“He modified it for his heists, and then I took it further in case of emergencies.”

“Luke would love this. It’s very James Bond, or maybe more Thomas Crown Affair.” I cocked my head.

He looked back at me.

“What? It is.”

“Maybe, but I’d ask you to keep this as classified as state secrets unless lives are at risk. Understood?”

“But why? Where’s the fun in that?”

He snorted. “None. This is partly MI6 property now, so it’s under surveillance, and if someone else found out about this place, it would be compromised. If I were involved in the comprising circumstances, I could be fired, suspended, or under review, and you might need to work with someone else.”

I sighed. “Understood.”

“Thank you.”

“Why are we here anyway?”

“For privacy. Also in case something happens, I wanted you to know this is here.” He plugged a code into a keypad, and the stone wall opened to some stairs.

“That the disclaimer lecture you gave me was for kicks, wasn’t it? Not all James Bond, my tuckus.”

“Are you coming?”

There was a garage full of gleaming tools and a sleek black Aston Martin, complete with a wall of obscure gadgets, an odd grey cast iron box, a safe, and a desk with a computer.

“Ambrose, you don’t have a license to kill, do you?”

“You don’t expect me to dignify that question with an answer, do you?"

“Well, you don’t, right?”

“If I said I didn’t, would you believe me?”

I narrowed my eyes and then huffed a laugh. “What do these do?” There were pens, ink bottles, umbrellas, lighters, rings, watches, along with a whole slew of other ordinary-seeming objects. I picked up a hat.

“That has razor blades in it.”

I dropped it. “Ah.”

“As for the rest, let’s hope you don’t reach a circumstance where you need to know, but in case you do, there’s like manual in the crevice.” He tugged it out before pushing it back.

“Woah.”

“You may peruse it later, but this gadget you need to know inside out.” He gestured to my watch.

“My birthday present?”

“While you were recovering, I gave it to an old friend in the R&D department. He added some bells and whistles. It has an emergency beacon as well as photo, video, and tracking capabilities. Hold the knob for three seconds to activate a beacon that sends a microwave signal over long distances. Works underground, whenever, wherever. Two clicks of the first knob to take a photograph. Turn 360 degrees, video on. Turn back, video off. Three clicks opens the channel for emergency radio communication to the control room. The watch face withstands falls, water, and high altitudes.”

“Wow.”

“Take care of it. It’s from a friend in research and development. Might save your life one day.”

“But— if all I’m only informing, why would I need this?”

“The multiple incidents in recent months have proved Orbis is unpredictable, and if you need to capture information undetected or call for help discretely, this will do that. Better to be prepared for anything that might happen, even though we don’t like to think about it.”

“Hmm.”

“The forged identities for under certain circumstances are in the glove compartment of the car, but I doubt they’ll be in use very soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Fitz.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, right. Glove compartment. Mustang.”

“Aston Martin.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“All right, so what one question can I answer?”

“This. Your job starts now.” He unlocked the computer and opened a file. “Peruse if you will.”

I sat at the desk and looked it over.

The Gensho smuggled guns under our noses in the British Isles. Pictures of blue, red, orange, and brown large shipping crates. Men at night talking with a ship captain who knew someone at customs. This may have been more of a job for Interpol, Scotland Yard at the very least. So why was British Intelligence looking into it? My eyes ran down the file. The nightly operations weren’t restricted to London. They also happened at Cardiff and Dover as well as links to Newcastle and Belfast. IRA. Terrorists. According to one of Ambrose’s agents, the leader's wife was pregnant and at her doctor’s appointment passed messages about incoming deliveries which the IRA transported through the main sewers that ran under the clinic and to the docks and a few warehouses.

“Very interesting. Very Maurice-eqsue.”

“Were his people here, though?”

“Oh, yes.” I pulled up one of the photos. “This man is a broker Maurice used in the black market Oscar Terrence.”

“Orbis?”

“He’s their top man.”

“We can use that.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” In the background, I zoomed in. “You’ll like this one more.”

“What?”

“Did you know Maurice had a right-hand man?”

“We assumed, but no one knew who.”

“Now you do. Kasim Marwood. English Professor at King’s College. Seemingly ordinary. He came by the house to meet with Maurice two or three times a little after he made you, er, cut contact with me.”

“I see...” He cleared his throat. “Did you ever know what for?”

“Trouble with some clients in London. A few jobs gone wrong. Rogue agents of Orbis.”

“Our ally at work.”

“You think they started that early?”

“I think they’ve been working behind the scenes until now. I’d better check him out. And Mr. Terrence.”

“Kasim might be underground after Maurice’s exit scheme in Chicago, but with the big man out of the picture he must be dying to cook up a few schemes of his own.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“These people also deal arms, but you’d want to look at these two specifically.” I grabbed three sheets of paper, scribbling down four names, an address, and two sketches. “Pytor Kuznetsov. Russian-Khazakstan border patrol spy. When Maurice was dealing with arms or antiques for clients, some would pass through there. He reports to one of Orbis’ superiors. Ivanov Smirnov. He should know some assassins and cleaners too. His wife works for a bakery. Here’s the address.”

“Why would I—”

“It’s a front for Orbis’ great money laundering scheme.”

“Ah.”

“Maurice was very resourceful with his people. He has a little chain of contacts from there to Dover. Do with that what you will.”

“And I can do a lot.” He raised his brow.

“Should get you started, though I have more for later.”

“Yes. This is more than enough to look at for the time being. Good work.”

“By the way, you went to King’s College.”

“Yes.”

“Ever bump into him?”

“Who?”

“Kasim, Ambrose. You know who.”

“Well, I took his classes, but I had no idea that was his cover.”

“Not exactly a cover. More of a side job.”

“Ah. My mistake. So many sociopaths to keep track of.” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Is he as ghastly a professor as he is a snide criminal?”

“Surprisingly, no. Charismatic, educated, good sense of humor. Dark at times. Overall, he seemed like a nice chap.You never know people, I suppose.”

Knowing his superiors would ask me more about Kasim, I gave Ambrose the abridged version of the events Kasim had his hand in, the conflicts with Maurice, and details about before he joined Orbis.

“And that’s all of it. The important stuff anyway.”

“Thank you. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extra data.”

“You need to go to the office now, don’t you?”

“Yes. And you need to take it slow.”

“Delightful.”

He shut off the lights, and we headed back up.

“Maybe embrace your inner couch potato.”

“I was thinking about audiobooks.”

“That too.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I should be back around six or earlier.” Ambrose took his coat off the rack.

I scratched my head. “Right.”

“In the meantime, get some more sleep.” He knelt to tie his shoes. “When I get back, we’re going out if you feel like it.”

“Of course. Where were you thinking?”

“An old hangout. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

“Old hangout of yours? Can’t miss that.”

He pecked my forehead and hugged me, ruffling my hair. “I love you. Call you for lunch.”

“Okay.”

He skipped down the steps.

“Love you,” I called back.

Ambrose glanced back with a smile.

Then I watched him drive out of view. I stared out into the street for a minute. How to pass the time now?