Baker and Jones Ch. 17

The detective nods. "We think Benton & Hayle are involved, right? I'm still technically investigating Pemberly Exports for them."

"Do you think you could uncover anything else?"

Cordelia raises her shoulders and drops them. "We've got a day left. Allow me to do some digging. I can go bother Morrigan Blackwall, see if she's got any dirt on any of them we could use."

Annette timidly grabs one of Cordelia's hands, squeezing it and feeling a little childish at wishing she didn't need to go. "I... I don't like the idea of leaving your side."

"Nor do I," Cordelia affirms, taking Annette's hand fully into her own and pulling the girl into a warm embrace. "But it's what needs doing."

"Yeah," Annette puffs out.

Cordelia pulls back, raising a finger to lift up Annette's chin. "Chin up, dear fellow. Annette Baker and Cordelia Jones are on the case. Nothing gets by them."

For a moment, Annette worries about being spotted by someone out on the river, or strolling around the area, but she ignores it. She lifts herself up to kiss Cordelia, raising an arm to the back of her neck to pull her into her. It's so easy to melt into the feeling of being close to her, and for a long, wishful moment, Annette considers setting it all aside and begging her to take her home and spend the day in bed. It's so tempting to want to set it all aside, but she already knows what Cordelia would say, and Annette knows she could never step aside either.

"Be smart, be safe," she whispers into Cordelia's ear. "You better come back to me."

Cordelia smiles, a mildly cocky and endearing bravado entering her face. "You asked to see what Detective Jones is capable of. Now's my time to show off." She kisses Annette's forehead. "I'll be back sometime after midnight."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Cordelia rests a hand on her cheek for a comforting moment, then slips away into the cool afternoon, surely off to begin some plan of action she'd already thought out in great detail. Annette waits, watching her go for as long as she can stomach it, and decides on her own course of action. She makes her way to a low building a block away, descending through the heavy brick entrance and down a set of stairs that ends just below the surface level. She nods to the two Mallet's members who were on guard, and gently asks them to wait outside.

"Annette Baker," a weary voice calls up to her from its place in the back of the small room. "Lovely to see you retain your collar," it adds hoarsely.

"It's quite in fashion, so I'm told," she quips back. "Though, trends change so quickly these days."

Mister Wemberly lets out a low chuckle, the chains on his wrists jingling as he shuffles into a new comfortable position. He sits in the corner of the small, empty storeroom, looking tired but otherwise unharmed.

"Come to negotiate once more?"

"Not at all," Annette says, brandishing her confidence as best as she can muster and pacing slowly through the room. "I've come to see if I am moved by pity."

"And?"

"I find myself wondering if Elaine thinks of her love for you as appeasement," Annette muses, tucking her hands behind her back and refusing to meet his eyes. After a pause, she adds, "I don't imagine it will proceed well for you tomorrow."

"I imagine not," he sighs.

"Have you any reaction to this?"

He shuffles in place once more, resting his back against the wall and placing his hands into his lap. "History will look upon my death as a turning point for the world," he declares, voice filled with the confidence of a man society deemed as important. "The first martyr in its descent into madness."

Annette looks at him clearly for the first time, deciding to let him see her empathy poke through. "I would not have you killed."

"The others would," he dismisses, and Annette feels a similar sense of assuredness of that fact in herself. Wemberly watches her for a long moment as she paces, trying to devise her own strategy of how to proceed. Before she can think of her next question, he exhales and somberly asks, "Why are you here, Annette?" She stops her pacing, and he continues, "You are not consumed with the jealous bloodlust of denied wealth, like the others are. At the collarhouse, you were always so compliant and enthusiastic about service."

"Am I not allowed to change?"

Wemberly lets out an amused puff of air. "Collar service was a success for you. It removed you from the streets and placed you in a comfortable position, one which you seem to enjoy greatly. You have no legitimate gripe against it."

Annette doesn't answer, for a moment consumed by the question with the same amount of curiosity as he was. She returns to pacing, not exactly sure how to reply. Various Mallet's members had asked her the question as well, but there was an easy and expected answer - it was already assumed one might wish to leave service. Wemberly, however, pushed a different side of honesty. He wasn't wrong, service had worked out well for her, far better than even Wemberly knew.

"Don't deny me this answer," he pleads, a surprising sincerity in his eyes. "If I am to be condemned to death, I deserve at least this. Why must the entire system be discarded simply to appease a radical minority of collars? You were a success. Elaine is a success. There are so many whose lives were saved by it."

"The easiest rebuttal," Annette says half-heartedly, "is that there have been just as many who were ruined by it."

Wemberly shakes his head. "But that is not your reason."

Annette takes a moment to think, debating whether or not she wishes to provide him such a reason. "I... I am twice-born," she begins, not entirely sure where she was going but knowing it was the right way to start. "Did you know this?"

"I did."

She releases a low breath. "I am also a lesbian."

To his credit, Wemberly doesn't seem to have a reaction to this news beyond simple surprise. "I see."

"There... there is no freedom to be found in either of those things, not in the way the world is now," she continues, leaning back against the wall and staring down at the floor. "I was set up to be disobedient by nature, rebellious by simple matters of circumstance. I suppose I am simply ready for the nature of this world around me to be different than it is now, so that I am no longer disobedient by default."

She thinks for another moment, then adds, "I... I don't place much stock in God anymore, not like I used to, but in times such as these... people have always told me I am obedient to God's calling because I was reborn. That it shows a commitment to his stirrings within me. I suppose what I am doing now feels more of the same. Disobediently obedient."

Wemberly scoffs, a little respectful and a little dismissive. "When society caves in under the weight of your actions, I'm sure that will provide some comfort."

"It's not too late for you," Annette leans forward, trying to meet his eyes. "Disavow collar service. Forgive the debts of all the contracts, and I'm sure you'll be spared."

Wemberly shakes his head and smiles, a grotesque expression that seems to resent her idealism, or perhaps her optimism. "And in doing so, invoke the ire of all the owners in Bellchester. My head is lost either way."

This time, Annette smiles, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back against the wall. "Then you truly understand your position." She nods, an idea forming. "So, negotiate with me?"

Wemberly's brow furrows. "I thought you weren't here for negotiation..."

"I found my sense of pity."

He gazes at her, intrigued. "What are your terms?"

"Tell me everything you know about Darrius Winchester."

- - -

Annette braces herself for the cold and steps out into the night air, immediately resenting the stiff tremble that shivers down her spine. Her breath fogs out into the air before her, and she shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her heavy coat. It provides a little comfort that now that she was back with the Mallets, it no longer mattered whether or not she showed off her collar, and she's grateful for the wool scarf keeping her neck from freezing.

She finds Failinis sitting on the edge of the river, up on a stone wall overlooking the banks of the mighty Fennes. His feet dangle lazily over the edge, and for a moment, Annette considers the possibility of pushing him down into the icy water, wondering if she might regret the decision not to after everything occurs tomorrow. But the pragmatist inside her is quickly chided by the idealist, the part that truly wished to believe he was everything she hoped he was, and that she was missing some key detail that would explain away the mysteries around him.

He puffs out a comfortable blow of smoke from his pipe, and turns his head as he hears her approach. He smiles and waves for her to join him. "Calm before the storm, eh Red?" She nods and takes a spot next to him, letting her own feet dangle. "Smoke?"

She shakes her head, "No thanks."

He nods, returning to gazing out over the river, which looks dark and bottomless as it reflects the cloudy sky above. Failinis releases a long breath and says, "Everything changes tomorrow. I almost can't believe it."

Annette feels a pit of nerves in her chest, and thinks of the same weight upon her own shoulders. She'd felt it all day. "Can't sleep?"

Failinis snorts. "On a night like this? Never."

Annette settles into her spot beside him, carefully sneaking glances at him to study his face once more, summoning all of her memory to confirm she wasn't deluding herself for thinking he might be a Winchester. During one of her scans, she notices the faint bulge of a gun tucked into the pocket of his cloak.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" He asks

"I'm not sure anyone ever is."

"True enough," he exhales another puff of smoke. "I suppose that's why we have other people though, isn't it? Me? I'm not ready. But the Mallets? The Mallets are ready."

"You've built something incredible," Annette says, her voice a little hollow and restrained. She does her best to pass it off simply as nerves. "I could never have imagined any of this would have been possible."

"Another reason we need other people," he nods, "it wasn't just me who built it."

"I'm just honored to be a part of this," she says quietly.

If Failinis reads her timidness as anything other than nerves, he doesn't show it. He places one of his large hands on her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly, and affirms, "We need you there tomorrow, Red. Truly." He removes his hand and returns to his pipe. "If this is going to go our way, we need your level head to keep things peaceful."

He turns his pipe over in his hands, looking out once more across the dark water. "History is shaped by moments like this, and at the end of the day all it is is just people. Half the battle is just getting the right people in the room to make a decision."

"You have a lot of faith in me," she follows his eyes across the water, feeling a twinge of something at the base of her neck.

"I do, and it isn't misplaced," he puffs out more smoke, thinking to himself for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer, a little more weighed down. "If... if something happens to me, you're the face of it all. You're the only one I trust to do it right."

A tremble descends down her spine, and not from the cold. "Nothing will happen to you, I'm sure of it," she replies, her mouth dry.

"It's always a possibility for us, Red. For any of us."

Annette nods, disappearing back into her thoughts for a long few breaths, trying to sort out what to make of his words. They almost seem assured, resolved of the inevitability of something. She forces herself to remain as steady as she can, and asks, "I've always wondered... your red hair, are you Kerish, too?"

A little smile creeps across his lips, parting his heavy beard. "Born and bred in Dellham," he confirms. "You're an orphan, right? Raised in Bellchester?"

"Supposedly I was brought from Kereland when I was little," she replies, "but I don't really remember it. Most of my early memories are all at St. Bartholomew's." She looks out over the water, feeling another question pull forth. "I've always wondered - why the name 'Failinis?'"

"Had a dog I loved growing up. Beautiful hound," he shifts in his seat slightly, propping a foot up onto the ledge. "I named him that after the folks' stories, and when I started the Mallets I took it up as my own name to protect myself."

"It's a far more noble name than Red," she smiles, though it's weak and empty. "Red Riding Hood is a foolish girl who is devoured by a wolf in her grandmother's clothing."

Failinis releases a low chuckle, shaking out his pipe to ready it for fresh tobacco. "You are no foolish girl, Red."

"And so I'm not."

As he pulls out his next match, Annette carefully watches him, stealing a quick glance at the pistol at his hip. Only the handle sticks out, but emblazoned on the grip is the Winchester coat of arms. She stills her reaction, telling herself there could be a wide variety of explanations, but she knows it's unlikely. A man such as him could easily have come by another sort of pistol to disguise himself; but he was feeling sentimental, or the weight of the moment. This pistol was special to him. Set apart from others.

Annette rises slowly. "I should make my best effort to sleep."

Failinis nods gently. "You should."

She sighs as she stands, tucking her hands deep into her pockets once more. "It feels strange that I might risk death at your side tomorrow... knowing you only by a false name."

He pauses, debating for a moment if he might reveal anything. When he speaks, Annette notices a faint hesitation, just a hint of deceit. "Samuel," he answers.

Annette smiles and nods. "Goodnight, Samuel."

"Goodnight, Annette."

She strolls away, resolved in her discovery. It might be possible she was wrong, and that he wasn't who she believed him to be, but at this late in the game it would be unwise to assume anything else. She slowly works her way home, wondering how on earth she was going to put a stop to something tomorrow.

- - -

Cordelia returns a little later than she stated she would, and Annette's body releases more tension than she realized she was feeling when the detective enters their home. She finds Annette in the living room, depositing her coat onto a nearby couch.

"You waited up for me," Cordelia notices, a soft appreciation on her face.

"I could never sleep on a night such as this," she answers.

Cordelia removes her scarf. "I discovered more than I expected but less than I hoped."

Annette nods, but allows her weariness to show on her face. "Might we speak on it later?"

"We haven't much time before morning."

"We have a few hours," Annette counters gently.

The detective reads her face and smiles. "And so we do."

Cordelia lowers herself onto the couch next to Annette, leaning up against the back cushions and lifting a hand to run it through Annette's hair. Annette places her own hand against Cordelia's, comforted by the warmth and mild pressure.

"I... I have this frightening dread like a pit in my stomach," Annette whispers, closing her eyes. "I'm scared."

"You are wise to be scared," the detective replies, her voice low and soft. "But the Annette I know hardly ever shies away from fear."

"It could all go away tomorrow," she croaks. "I might lose you. Or you, me."

Cordelia grimaces weakly, placing her other hand on Annette's cheek and letting her thumb run along her cheekbone. "Might we not speak of such things?"

Annette's lips part in a sympathetic grin, and she asks, "Then what shall we speak about?"

"How beautiful you look in the moonlight," Cordelia exhales, wishful and sweet. "How desperately my heart aches for you. How each and every moment begs for me to reach out and hold you."

Annette blushes, a little bashful. "We've a few hours..."

Cordelia crawls forward, softly pushing Annette back into the couch and pressing her lips onto hers. Annette sighs as she accepts Cordelia's touch, settling into the warm and familiar feeling of her surprisingly gentle embrace.

Cordelia pulls back enough to whisper in her ear. "I've still not properly made amends for my behavior the other night..."

Annette lets out a low giggle. "Who am I to stand between you and your penitence?"

She places a kiss just below Annette's ear, and then a string of soft kisses along her neck. "If this is the last night I may boast of having you under my roof, then allow me my opportunity to savor these precious moments."

Annette lifts a hand to Cordelia's jaw, directing her to kiss her once more. "You will find me quite receptive to this request."

Cordelia smiles and stands, removing her boots and approaching the fireplace. She retrieves a few logs and tosses them in, lighting it a few moments later. She clears the space in front of it and unfurls a soft blanket, which she sets down in the center of the floor. As Annette watches, she slowly sits down in the center of the blanket, spreading her legs open and waving Annette closer.

Annette approaches, bringing her own body between Cordelia's arms and legs and pushing her to lay back onto the floor. She kisses Cordelia, comforted by the feeling of the detective's arms across her back, pulling her in deeper. It doesn't take long for Cordelia to skillfully slip out from Annette's grip and climb atop her. She lifts a hand to Annette's chin, tilting it up to kiss her once more, gentle enough that her touch remains sweet and forceful enough that it is inescapably captivating.

Cordelia's knee slips in between her inner thighs, adding a delightful pressure as she begins opening the buttons of Annette's shirt. Annette gently rocks her hips against her leg, enjoying the feeling of her clit rubbing against it, and the warmth of the fireplace greets her now exposed chest. She watches as the shadows flicker on Cordelia's face and admires the beauty of a woman who was somehow rugged and polished.

With her hands, Annette pulls down Cordelia's suspenders and loosens the top buttons of her collared shirt. Rather than waste her time unbuttoning the rest, she grasps the tails of the shirt and pulls it over her head. Cordelia smiles, running a toned hand through her hair to contain the mess removing the shirt caused it, and Annette gleefully enjoys the suave and boyish charm across her cheeks.

She pulls off Cordelia's undershirt a moment later. Cordelia was surprisingly insecure about being naked for a woman who was exceedingly beautiful, and as Annette pulls her own exposed chest to meet hers she whispers, "If this is the last I am to see of you, I wish to see all of you."

"But of course," Cordelia rumbles back. She sits back, providing a sensuous view for Annette as she slowly unbelts her trousers and slips them off. Annette follows her lead, shimmying her dress past her hips and only leaving her panties behind.

Cordelia's knee returns to its place between her thighs, and Annette delights in the feeling of the soft skin meeting the fabric of her undergarments and carefully rubbing her through them. She props herself up with one arm and pulls Cordelia into a sweet kiss, loving the warm feeling of the fire behind her and the cooler feeling of Cordelia's skin mixing with her own. Once Cordelia's hand wraps around her neck to lock her into the kiss, Annette's free hand slips between Cordelia's thighs and rests against her own undergarments.

"I can see you've been thinking of me," Annette teases, feeling her fingers glide across a wet spot on Cordelia's underwear.

"Constantly," the detective confirms, a low breath leaving her lips as she settles herself onto Annette's hand.

Annette kisses her neck, her own breaths quickening in her throat. "How torturous it must be to be parted with me," she says into her ear, loving the way Cordelia's fingers grip the back of her head slightly strong. "And how much more passionate our reunions must be..."