Consequences Pt. 01

She blinked. "That means it's..." she finally spoke after a minute of silence, but she trailed off.

"November 30th," he said, confirming her suspicions. It felt like a punch to the stomach.

Her winter clothes were bulky, taking up most of the space in her suitcase. So she filled an over-the-shoulder bag with some books, and her favorite lemon soap. Then she put on fresh socks and her favorite brown loafers, and said goodbye to her home.

Will had her leave everything except the shoes in the car. Even his coat and sweater. So, she was shivering like a wet, fussy cat as he walked her up to the door of his apartment. His hand pressed against her lower back, guiding her forward. She knew how it looked, the way it was supposed to look, and she felt sick envisioning herself in the third person and all the things that might happen as soon as they were behind that door.

It was dark green, with tarnished brass handle that opened with a stiff creak.

The inside was plain, all hardwood, no carpets. There was no art on the off-white walls, no nicknacks. Most of the space was taken up with bookshelves, and more books, old ones. Stacks on the coffee table alongside old newspapers. And a small leather couch, untarnished. It was the home of someone who rarely went home.

But it was warm. Delilah felt her stiff, aching muscles finally beginning to soften as he shut the door behind her. She heard the click of several heavy locks, and turned around to see the complex mechanism which was set to the inside of the door. A combination lock, of course, so she couldn't very well steal the key from him when he slept.

"Nice place," she said uncertainly.

His dark eyebrows furrowed slightly, as he slipped off his coat and hung it on the rack beside the door. His deep brown hair was damp, a bit frazzled, and he looked tired. For just a moment she saw something in him, standing there in his shirtsleeves, a humanity. Without her he was this--a lonely young man coming back to an empty apartment.

"I take it from your tone you don't think it's very nice?" He asked.

"It's not very homey," she said honestly. "Sort of feels like another archive." Her eyes flicked to the stack of books on his coffee table as he brushed past her and dropped a ring of keys on the tile counter.

Will shrugged. "I'm not great at that sort of thing," he said with a resigned sigh. Then his lips pulled back into a tepid grin. "I do try not to take my work home with me."

"Yet here I stand," she said dryly.

"Oh you don't count," he said, waving his hand. "You're easily my favorite captive." His expression became slightly quizzical as he added, "Of course I don't usually have enough time to get attached."

"Is that meant to be comforting?"

He stepped into the kitchen and rested against the counter near the stove. Delilah stayed with her feet planted firmly near the door, trying to figure out what his plan for the evening was. Certainly he had one.

"I suppose so. It has been nearly a month since you found out about the archive and you're still alive. Most people don't make it three days."

It didn't feel like much of an accomplishment. Her life still felt like it was over. In the pursuit of knowledge, she'd lost everything, and at the end of the day it didn't even matter. She knew, but she couldn't tell anyone, couldn't do anything.

She softened slightly. "Do you think--do you, think there's any chance that my life will ever go back to normal?" She asked.

He chuckled. "If you can make it out of my clutches you won't fare any better. Unless you can get out of the country which I might be able to help with."

"What if I agreed to go to London with you?"

"I'd say you're lying through your teeth so you can ditch me in a train station, and my odds of escape are about as grim as yours anyway."

She sighed, crossed her arms. "I'm serious though. I want my life back."

"You've been reported missing," he said.

"I am missing," she pointed out.

"Technically yes, but I mean that they--that he thinks I did my job and dealt with you, and if you show up again someone much scarier than I is going to make sure you're never heard from again." Will's voice was level, but it conveyed a certain amount of severity which made her heart sink.

Delilah looked down at her feet, and blinked a few times. "But I won't be heard from again," she said quietly, before she followed him into the kitchen. She hunched over the counter across from him, trying to steady herself.

"You're alive," he said simply. There was a faint hoarseness to his voice. "I could've done worse." That was her biggest fear confirmed, that it was either to be stuck with him or be dead. She wasn't entirely sure which was worse, but she knew she was too much of a coward to pick death.

Then she whipped around. "Why didn't you?" she asked, sounding breathy and strange.

"Because," he began, looking almost confused, "I didn't want to do that to you. I'm pretty fond of you in case you hadn't noticed."

An exasperated laugh escaped her. "You've got a very interesting way of showing it."

"Not letting you die seems fairly straight forward."

"You let me live for this? Your own selfish reasons? So you can have me like some storybook villain with his kidnapped princess."

Will cocked his head to the side. "Am I a villain?" He asked, as though he were really contemplating it.

"Everything you've done--lying, betraying, kidnapping--those all seem like villain things to me," she said.

"How would you have done it?" A genuine question.

"I wouldn't have lied," she said, anger creeping into her voice, causing her to bristle. "I wouldn't have strung me along for weeks or played with my heart."

"I wasn't playing," he said, and she hated that she wanted to believe him. This time he didn't bother to soften himself though, as he held her gaze. "I meant everything I said to you."

She scoffed. But something about the way the warm kitchen light hit him made him particularly handsome, in a way she'd never seen him before. His nose was long and narrow like the rest of him, almost imperceptibly crooked. His muddy green eyes held something, a depth of intelligence she'd seen in so few people, and his little smile was perfectly uneven.

"How would you have done it?" He repeated, more firmly, leaning forward just a smidge, his burgundy tie hanging away from his body.

"I wouldn't have."

"Not an option," he said. "I think you would've done the same as me." He paused, cleared his throat. "First day you walked into the archive, my decision was made for me. I had to do my job and figure out if and what you knew. To do that I had to get close to you, closer than I intended, but that's only because I took a liking to you. Put me in a difficult position, I couldn't very well tell you the truth, and once you found out on your own I had to try and keep you quiet."

Delilah shook her head. "You could have told me. You could've helped me, been a hero instead of a villain."

"There was nothing to be helped," Will said, "real life isn't a children's book. It was never about saving the world, it was about whether you lived or die for your ridiculous curiosity." Then he laughed, a humorless laugh. "I think I made the right call, but please enlighten me as to what you would've done differently."

"You hurt me!" she practically shrieked. "You don't hurt people you care about."

"Calm down, love," he said, raising his hands slightly. "What I did may not have been kind, but I put myself on the line for our little arrangement. I gave you a chance to keep things normal, and you blew it, nearly got us both killed."

"I think I would've preferred being dead," she said bitterly, "over this. Over your sick little fantasy where you get to pretend you're in the right. Where you get to feel me up and dress me, toy with me like some woman you'd pay for a night--this isn't love."

"Maybe not," he said. His expression darkened as he walked towards her, long legs crossing the kitchen in a few short steps. "I'm not a hero," he admitted, tone dropping half an octave. He bent down, and his hands sought hers, holding them tight, swallowing them up. "But if what I did to keep you alive and out of trouble is what makes me a villain, then perhaps I should embrace my new identity."

"I'm not telling you to be worse."

"But when I try to be better you get upset."

"Because I know you're lying. Because you lied to me like that for months, pretending to be gentle and sweet when you're an awful person."

"Have you ever considered that some people are just a bit more nuanced than others?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Two-faced."

"Three headed, snake-haired--either way I know you don't trust me. You're not going to love me. Why not enjoy your company in other ways?"

"Should I be expected to love you, just because you think you saved me?" Delilah asked, marveling at his audacity.

"I guess not. But I get to be bitter if I'm going to be the villain," he said as he leaned down a little closer, pressing her hands into the counter with his own, twining their fingers together. His face was inches from hers now. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed out of something akin to frustration. "I think this should be the part of the story where I get to have my way with you."

She swallowed, her heart starting to pound. "That doesn't happen in storybooks," she said shakily.

"It does in mine," he said, almost as casually as if he were a child talking about his imaginary world. Only this was real, painfully real, and she was here, wilting under his touch. "If you won't give me your heart I suppose I'll just have to take everything else instead."

"Please, don't." Her voice was just above a whisper, the pitch high as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. As much as she hated him, she had to think there was a way out of this, to reason with him, do whatever he wanted just so that he wouldn't hurt her. "If you want me to believe anything you've said you won't do this."

He pulled back just an inch. "Oh, but you don't believe me dear, that's the problem," he said pitifully. "And you won't, but you'll do anything to save your own skin." Of course, he knew what she was doing, but he seemed pleased suddenly, as if he was enjoying this little game and the idea of her trying to work him.

"Can you blame me, for not trusting a man who would force himself on me just because I don't reciprocate his feelings?" She said, more normal but still with a jittery edge of fear.

"Hm, I think there is some reciprocity. You're fighting it for your pride, but I sincerely doubt you'd put up too much of a fuss if I did what I wanted," he said.

Her stomach turned at the thought, but there was a voice, like a small squeaking mouse beneath the elephant's foot of her fear. It was something innate, painfully human and purely chemical. That voice that said maybe, maybe if he was gentle it wouldn't be so bad, or it would even feel...good.

Will continued. "You know, you're right though," he said, a slow smile spreading over his face as he let go of her hands finally. "It'd be a bit crude, to try and win you over like that."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Delilah said hesitantly, pulling her hands in towards her chest. She needed to placate him. Should she thank him? It seemed absurd to thank him for not doing something he had no business doing.

"You could reward my self control," he suggested, as though he'd read her mind.

"In what way?"

"With a kiss?" It'd been a month since she kissed him last.

She cleared her throat, briefly glanced away. "That seems counterproductive."

When she looked back his eyes were half-lidded and darkened by desire. "It's harmless."

It wasn't, but without much choice, she got up on her toes to close the short distance between them. Her hands were trembling, as she put them on his shoulders to stabilize herself. She kissed him softly and briefly, and then pulled away and dropped back down to her heels.

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, like you mean it," he coaxed. He leaned further over her, practically bending her backwards over the counter and placing a hand on her waist, wrinkling her silk nightgown. "Unless you'd rather I do it?"

"No," she said. Her breath felt stuck in her throat as her eyes flicked between his and his lips. She remembered that last kiss, at the masquerade, how passionate it had been and the way she'd clung to him. This could be the same, if she didn't think about it.

So she grabbed his face, and her eyes fell closed as she all but smashed herself against him. This time he kissed back. His hand gripped her tighter as he stooped lower, allowing her to drop back down onto flat feet. And it wasn't the same as before, but he was the same, the same body, hands, mouth, hair.

Delilah felt confused, her mind bringing her back to that night repeatedly as he deepened the kiss, convincing her to open her mouth. He'd kissed her first, and she'd kissed back. It had been his hands on her face, holding her jaw as she clung to the front of his jacket. But in both scenarios her heart was racing, her nerves singing.

Will's other hand made its way to her waist, and then he was lifting her up and onto the counter. As soon as her thighs touched the tile she let go of him and withdrew. Her breathing was heavy, and her face was slightly flushed as she stared at him in utter shock and mild horror.

"C-consider yourself rewarded," she said. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

He smirked. "Certainly never been kissed like that by someone who finds me repulsive."

"I don't find you repulsive-"

"That's sort of my point."

She frowned. "I meant I never said that." His hands were still on her, and she wanted to swat them away, but she needed to be nice, do what he wanted even if it was all a terrible lie--a mockery of romance. Perhaps that would be good enough for someone like him. Or he just liked to watch her struggle.

"You implied it."

"Well I'm sorry then," she replied simply. Her fingers sought his tie, straightening it as she spoke in a positively sugar coated voice. "You're very handsome, and an excellent kisser."

"Why thank you," he said in a similar fashion before he finally stepped away from her and busied himself opening one of the cupboards and shoving things aside. "I know it's a bit past dinner, but how does dessert sound?"

Delilah remained on the counter, crossed her arms and legs. "You have dessert?" She asked skeptically. Canned soup and a bit of bread hadn't been the most filling dinner, but she doubted Will would have much in the way of food.

"I have an old tin of biscuits," he said, handing her the little metal container. It had flowers painted on it.

"You mean like, cookies?"

"I wouldn't call them that."

"Thank you," she said as she took it and set about prying it open. She removed one. It was a small, tan, rectangular thing. When she took a bite it was hard and dry and tasted more like butter than sugar, but it wasn't terrible. "Certainly wouldn't call that a cookie," she mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand.

She offered the tin back to him and to her surprise he actually took one and ate it. It was strange, to see him eat, oddly intimate. Almost as if he were ashamed of it. She watched him rest the cookie on his tongue just before he bit it with his slightly crooked teeth, and tried not to think about how it was the same tongue that had been in her mouth.

"Is this what you are?" She asked, not venomous just curious, "A grown man who only eats sweets?"

"Possibly," he said, his words muffled by a mouthful of the dry, sandy little treat as he mimicked her and raised his hand in front of his face. He looked so painfully human and innocent. Then he swallowed and lowered his hand. "At least it hasn't caught up with me yet."

She took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Maybe you should let it."

"Maybe," he laughed.