Title: Into My Arms
Genre: ATF Romance/Angst Songfic
Pairing: Ezra/Inez
Title taken from the song Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
Notes: Do forgive the lack of team action, but I wanted to write a fic that centered on Ezra and Inez. There's some action, some plot- Nothing too naughty, I'm afraid. Thanks to Gwyneth Hunter for getting me in the mood to write what's been stomping around in my head for a bit now.
PART ONE
Ezra sat heavily at the Seven's usual table, tucked away at the back of the 'Saloon' with full view of the room and exits.
Funny thing about law enforcement agents; you just couldn't sit with your back to the entrance. For Ezra, it was an unconscious decision he was almost physically incapable of changing. To do so meant relaxing, letting your guard down. Blind spots are unacceptable in a profession where your life depends on seeing what's coming.
He snorted into his beer. The only thing he needed to watch out for right now was Nathan. Send him thugs, drug dealers, and the mafia, and he wouldn't blink. Send Nathan in mother-hen mode with Buck and Josiah right behind him, and watch Ezra run like hell.
*Damn stitches burn like hell.* Shifting slightly to ease his growing discomfort, Ezra took another sip of beer. The wound in his abdomen caused him to hunch slightly in his seat, unwilling to pull on tender skin. It was a flesh wound really. Nothing dire. He'd gotten worse on the Rocci case, yet you'd think he was dying, the way the rest of them were carrying on.
No doubt the hounds would be after him soon enough, what with his ditching them back at the ER. He snuck out while they were momentarily distracted by Josiah's slight concussion. Yet another wound you'd think was mortal the way they fawned and smothered. He couldn't take much more, so he effected his early release.
After all this time, he expected them to have picked up on at least that much. Ezra P. Standish does not 'do' coddling. The more they fuss, the farther he runs. Not that *he* would call it running. More like, partaking in solitude.
Frowning, he traced patterns in the condensation of the brown bottle.
Solitude was an old friend. Solitude he knew in and out, like a well worn book he read a thousand times. All of solitude's quirks and habits, actions and reactions, Ezra could predict, use, and revel in. No fear of betrayal, no messy emotional attachments, no deep delving psychological probes.
Solitude let him exist in peace, as himself with no other expectations. Solitude did not hold him up to higher standards than he could ever attain. It did not want him to be trustworthy and noble and cunning and successful. Solitude did not make him wish for acceptance; to join in and feel like he belonged somewhere finally.
Solitude allowed him to exist, numb and jaded, behind walls of his own design. And he liked it there. He really did. At least, that's what he told himself.
His beer was finished. He looked longingly at the bar counter, where Inez was serving drinks. Five feet seemed so far away when you really did not wish to move. He resisted the urge to sigh. Perhaps it was for the best; he couldn't remember if the ER doctor had given him pain medication or not. Eight hours to get a teensy little cut stitched up and he was working damn hard to repress all of them.
*Hospitals.* He shuddered, idly rolling the now empty bottle back and forth on the table.
His cell phone vibrated in his jacket. Viciously jabbing the power button, he laid the electronic leash on the table, parallel to the beer bottle.
How many beers had he had? The blank he drew could not bode well. Maybe he shouldn't have taken those shots of yaegermeister back at the town home. At least he remembered to call a cab.
Maybe he shouldn't have turned off his phone. But no, he was enjoying his Solitude. Work was over for the day, and he'd be damned if he was going in tomorrow. The team could function without him for a bit. Although, they were probably attempting to track him down at that moment so that they could drag him to his house and hog tie him in preparation for more smothering.
Not that he wouldn't mind laying down. His nerves were still a bit frazzled from earlier- but he was busy repressing earlier. No, sleep would be a long time in coming. What was the Edward Young quote? "Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes."
Ezra was not sure where he might fall in that moral scale. Some days he believed himself among the wretched. Being an insomniac was a blessing and a curse. He could pull off late night busts and research cases til sunrise without a yawn, but come the time to lay down, he became restless. Often his initial attempts at slumber would be fraught with dreams and nightmares, and when he finally slipped into any sort of restful stage, his alarm would sound.
The team liked to joke about his punctuality problem, but what he wouldn't give to sleep at will, peacefully.
"Oh damn. I do believe I am inebriated. . ." The brown bottle merely kept up it's hypnotic path, not responding at all. "I s'pose the rather maudlin thoughts should have foreshadowed such an event. Quite out of character, I'm sure."
"Senor Standish?" Bleary eyes focused on Inez's concerned face.
"Yes, dear lady?"
She smiled gently. "We are closing soon. Perhaps I could call you a cab?"
"If you would be so kind, madame. I don't suppose another beer while I wait is out of the question?" The charm had little effect, as usual.
"You have had much to drink tonight, senor. I pity your head in the morning." Flicking her glossy hair over her shoulder casually, she set about wiping down a vacant table nearby. She stole glances at him, debating with herself and stalling on her way to the phone.
The bar had been busy this shift. Deftly serving each order shouted at her over the Wednesday night band, she hadn't noticed the solitary figure at the Seven's table until after the bar had mostly cleared for the evening. She could tell by the slumped, almost despondent set of the undercover agent's pose that he was troubled. She did notice how a few members from Team 3 had given him covert looks, but no one had dared to disrupt his quiet reverie.
Well, she was not a woman to tread lightly. Perhaps she would be doing more harm than good, but she truly cared for the agent. He was a gentleman and a supportive friend when she needed someone to vent to, so maybe she could return the favor.
"Ezra?" She questioned softly, sitting in the empty chair next to him. An eyebrow raised slightly as his head nodded in recognition. He had seen her internal struggle and had expected the inquiry. "Care to tell me about it?"
"I'd much rather forget today ever happened. Although I'm sure Mr. Jackson would say I'm still in some form of shock." His head lolled a little as he watched the last of the patrons kick back their chairs and leave in a rowdy crowd. The band had already started readying their gear for transporting and were carrying it out the back service doors with the help of the burly bartender. Rosa, the Saloon's most competent waitress, was clearing off tables and wiping down the sticky surfaces.
It all seemed so normal. It could have been any other night, with Buck waiting to escort Inez to her car and Nathan hauling a drunken Josiah out the door. JD would be bouncing off the walls and teasing Buck. Chris would just silently hand his truck keys over to Vin and they would disappear, too.
The feeling of unreality that hit him warned that he *had* drunk too much. His head was swimming on his shoulders.
Inez was waiting patiently for him to continue, knowing that, once he was engaged in conversation, if she just sat back he'd eventually get it off his chest without prompting. She toyed absently with the white rag in her hands.
". . .It'll probably be in the papers tomorrow anyway, you know." Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. "Another stunning Standish fuck up-" He broke off and glanced quickly at her, then away. After staring at the table top for a few seconds, he requested quietly, "I'd like that cab now, if you please."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. Going behind the bar, she retrieved her purse and jacket from the back office, then checked to make sure the kitchen was in order. She paused to speak to Rosa, then headed back to Ezra's table. The phone started ringing and she stopped to answer.
It was an irate Larabee who sounded like a bear with a sore paw.
"Yes, senor, he is right here. . . He's had a bit to drink. . ." A long pause. "No, he didn't tell me that!" She turned the Inez version of the Glare of Death on Ezra as he blinked innocently back. "I was just about to get him home anyway, senor. . . No, I don't think that will be necessary. . . I *have* driven him home before, along with the rest of you at some point or another. . . Yes, I will make sure he is. Alright, I-" She stopped and stared at the receiver irately. "Ooooh! That man never lets you get a word in, then he just hangs up without so much as a goodbye!" Mumbling harshly in Spanish, she continued on to the table.
"And you! Why did you not tell me you were hurt!?" She scolded him as she lifted him by the elbow- being surprisingly gentle for her mood- and steered him to the door. "Foolish man! Going drinking right after getting out of the doctor's! I am amazed you've lived as long as you have!"
"I assure you, I am fine, dear lady." He deliberately drawled as she hooked his arm around her shoulders when he stumbled. For some reason, the ground was coming up at him in waves, making it dreadfully annoying to keep a straight step.
"Oh, of *course* you are! It was only forty-eight stitches this time! Silly me, what am I thinking, being concerned? I'm sure you could jog home if you wanted to!" Her dramatic eye-roll would have made JD proud.
"Sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind, you know."
"Is *that* why you always use it? I had wondered."
Before he could reply, he tripped again. With muscles developed from carrying heavy trays of drinks everyday, Inez managed to keep them standing but barely. Ezra tried to curl in around his wounded stomach, but only succeeded in staggering both of them towards the wall.
"Perhaps you should wait here by the door and I will pull the car around. If anything, it will be safer for me. I think your guardian angel has taken the night off, senor. No doubt you have worn her out." Inez propped him against the brick building and dug into her purse for her keyring.
"No doubt I have caused her to resign her wings out of pure frustration. If I even have one at all." He leaned his head back against the cool bricks, closing his eyes then immediately opening them to stave off the tumbling feeling in his skull.
"Of course you do. That's why there was *only* forty-eight stitches and not something worse."
She disappeared for the moment, keys jangling as she unlocked her car doors and slipped in. Pausing for a second, she contemplated the sorry figure out the windshield.
What had he been thinking, getting drunk? Had he no common sense at all? No wonder Larabee always glowered; Ezra alone was enough to give a person ulcers, let alone the rest of them.
With a sigh, she pulled the beat up Sedan around. Even sick as a dog and piss drunk, he was too gorgeous for his own good. And he knew it- Not in a Buck "I am God's gift to women" way, but more of a natural acceptance and understanding. Another tool for him to use to keep people away.
Inez put the car in park and helped Ezra stagger past the headlights. Getting him buckled in with only a slight bump on his noggin, she shut the passenger door firmly behind him.
The drive to his townhouse was silent. She refused to pry into his troubles without him making the first move, and he was feeling too ill to speak. The darkened porch appeared shortly and she helped him out of the car.
"Thank you, Inez. I'll let you get on home." His southern murmur made her stomach clench.
Her body was being a traitorous friend at the moment. Always before, she could suppress her attraction to him and let sleeping dogs lie. There was no way she could act on her emotions; she was a lady who needed no less than love and commitment in a relationship. He probably wouldn't object to taking her out, but, knowing him as she did, any hint of higher expectations would send him into a long winded excuse about having to wash his dog's hair every night for the rest of his life, nevermind the fact he had no dog.
Tonight he had an air of vulnerability she had never seen before, stirring all those forbidden hopes. It was enough to make her want to chance everything just to be close to him. But right now, he needed a friend, not a flirty barmaid, and she wouldn't just abandon him.
"Don't be silly, senor. I will see you inside first." With that, she plucked the keyring from his loose fingers and opened the front door. Ushering him inside, she ignored his protests.
"Really, Inez, I don't want to intrude upon your night," he suddenly sounded more slurred than before. She felt his forehead worriedly, finding it too hot for her comfort.
"Come on, Ezra. To bed."
"Unfortunately, I am not feeling well enough to take full advantage of that remark."
She looked at him sideways, judging his mood. He seemed to be half joking, half serious, but she couldn't really tell. Did anyone really know what went on in that head?
Getting him up the stairs had her breathless and practically carrying him. It looked like he was asleep on his feet, except for the occasional groan. She didn't want to inadvertently jostle his stitches more, but she was losing her grip on him and had to pull him closer.
Opening the bedroom door, she guided him to the king size bed. He was too out of it to make it to the bathroom, or to even remove his own jacket. She pulled his expensive leather shoes off, then used one hand to keep him sitting up as she worked his jacket carefully from his shoulders. Debating on whether or not to help him out of his clothes any further, she decided on having a look at his stomach when he doubled over with a low moan. Ezra would usually swallow his own tongue before showing any pain.
"Ezra, I need your help here." She spoke softly, gently pulling him up from his hunched position. "Let me get your buttons, alright? I just want to check your bandages."
He nodded absently, probably responding more to her voice and not her question. Forcing herself to be as clinical as possible, she made her way down his shirt front. She was probably over reacting, not that she would ever let any of the guys know she worried about them. It would ruin her tough bitch image.
Ezra slowly sank backwards as she unbuttoned his designer shirt, so weary and tired he wanted nothing more than to pass out right there. He couldn't decide if the pain was from his wound or his stomach, but either way he felt queasy. But Inez was here and he wouldn't shame himself in front of her.
Thinking about her on the ride home had kept his mind away from the day's events. Her hair, her smile, her attitude. He loved that fiery light in her eyes and the way she reveled in out witting everyone. She was a woman he could admire. His mind shied away from the thought that he might feel anything more.
Inez gently peeled back the hospital gauze and tape, wincing at the angry red slash across a washboard stomach. The skin around it was puffy and irritated, but thankfully it looked as well as could be expected. She was tempted to change the bandage, seeing as how it was a few hours old, but didn't want to put Ezra though anything more that night.
"Well, you'll live to be stabbed at another day, senor." Her quip was delivered in a dulcet voice as she recognized his fatigue. She pulled his legs onto the bed, thankfully having thought to turn down the comforter first, and brought the blanket up to cover him. It was as she leaned over him in her task that his eyes caught hers.
Reaching up, he gently cupped his hand behind her head and pulled her lips closer for a chaste kiss. His lips were softer than she had fantasized. Her startled gaze slowly relaxed and her eyes drifted shut. She kept them closed after he broke away.
"Thank you," he whispered seductively against her cheek, breath stirring the fine wisps of hair falling in her face. She felt and heard him lay back on his pillow. When her eyes opened, he was already asleep.
Straightening up, she retreated downstairs quietly. She used his keys to lock the door, then slipped them back in through the mail slot. Their harsh jangle did little to dispell the feeling of unreality she had.
With a deep breath, she got in her car and waited until she was on the road before turning on the radio. The latin music of her favorite station poured out her windows as she drove home.
He had *kissed* her. And she liked it.
Genre: ATF Romance/Angst Songfic
Pairing: Ezra/Inez
Title taken from the song Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
Notes: Do forgive the lack of team action, but I wanted to write a fic that centered on Ezra and Inez. There's some action, some plot- Nothing too naughty, I'm afraid. Thanks to Gwyneth Hunter for getting me in the mood to write what's been stomping around in my head for a bit now.
PART ONE
Ezra sat heavily at the Seven's usual table, tucked away at the back of the 'Saloon' with full view of the room and exits.
Funny thing about law enforcement agents; you just couldn't sit with your back to the entrance. For Ezra, it was an unconscious decision he was almost physically incapable of changing. To do so meant relaxing, letting your guard down. Blind spots are unacceptable in a profession where your life depends on seeing what's coming.
He snorted into his beer. The only thing he needed to watch out for right now was Nathan. Send him thugs, drug dealers, and the mafia, and he wouldn't blink. Send Nathan in mother-hen mode with Buck and Josiah right behind him, and watch Ezra run like hell.
*Damn stitches burn like hell.* Shifting slightly to ease his growing discomfort, Ezra took another sip of beer. The wound in his abdomen caused him to hunch slightly in his seat, unwilling to pull on tender skin. It was a flesh wound really. Nothing dire. He'd gotten worse on the Rocci case, yet you'd think he was dying, the way the rest of them were carrying on.
No doubt the hounds would be after him soon enough, what with his ditching them back at the ER. He snuck out while they were momentarily distracted by Josiah's slight concussion. Yet another wound you'd think was mortal the way they fawned and smothered. He couldn't take much more, so he effected his early release.
After all this time, he expected them to have picked up on at least that much. Ezra P. Standish does not 'do' coddling. The more they fuss, the farther he runs. Not that *he* would call it running. More like, partaking in solitude.
Frowning, he traced patterns in the condensation of the brown bottle.
Solitude was an old friend. Solitude he knew in and out, like a well worn book he read a thousand times. All of solitude's quirks and habits, actions and reactions, Ezra could predict, use, and revel in. No fear of betrayal, no messy emotional attachments, no deep delving psychological probes.
Solitude let him exist in peace, as himself with no other expectations. Solitude did not hold him up to higher standards than he could ever attain. It did not want him to be trustworthy and noble and cunning and successful. Solitude did not make him wish for acceptance; to join in and feel like he belonged somewhere finally.
Solitude allowed him to exist, numb and jaded, behind walls of his own design. And he liked it there. He really did. At least, that's what he told himself.
His beer was finished. He looked longingly at the bar counter, where Inez was serving drinks. Five feet seemed so far away when you really did not wish to move. He resisted the urge to sigh. Perhaps it was for the best; he couldn't remember if the ER doctor had given him pain medication or not. Eight hours to get a teensy little cut stitched up and he was working damn hard to repress all of them.
*Hospitals.* He shuddered, idly rolling the now empty bottle back and forth on the table.
His cell phone vibrated in his jacket. Viciously jabbing the power button, he laid the electronic leash on the table, parallel to the beer bottle.
How many beers had he had? The blank he drew could not bode well. Maybe he shouldn't have taken those shots of yaegermeister back at the town home. At least he remembered to call a cab.
Maybe he shouldn't have turned off his phone. But no, he was enjoying his Solitude. Work was over for the day, and he'd be damned if he was going in tomorrow. The team could function without him for a bit. Although, they were probably attempting to track him down at that moment so that they could drag him to his house and hog tie him in preparation for more smothering.
Not that he wouldn't mind laying down. His nerves were still a bit frazzled from earlier- but he was busy repressing earlier. No, sleep would be a long time in coming. What was the Edward Young quote? "Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes."
Ezra was not sure where he might fall in that moral scale. Some days he believed himself among the wretched. Being an insomniac was a blessing and a curse. He could pull off late night busts and research cases til sunrise without a yawn, but come the time to lay down, he became restless. Often his initial attempts at slumber would be fraught with dreams and nightmares, and when he finally slipped into any sort of restful stage, his alarm would sound.
The team liked to joke about his punctuality problem, but what he wouldn't give to sleep at will, peacefully.
"Oh damn. I do believe I am inebriated. . ." The brown bottle merely kept up it's hypnotic path, not responding at all. "I s'pose the rather maudlin thoughts should have foreshadowed such an event. Quite out of character, I'm sure."
"Senor Standish?" Bleary eyes focused on Inez's concerned face.
"Yes, dear lady?"
She smiled gently. "We are closing soon. Perhaps I could call you a cab?"
"If you would be so kind, madame. I don't suppose another beer while I wait is out of the question?" The charm had little effect, as usual.
"You have had much to drink tonight, senor. I pity your head in the morning." Flicking her glossy hair over her shoulder casually, she set about wiping down a vacant table nearby. She stole glances at him, debating with herself and stalling on her way to the phone.
The bar had been busy this shift. Deftly serving each order shouted at her over the Wednesday night band, she hadn't noticed the solitary figure at the Seven's table until after the bar had mostly cleared for the evening. She could tell by the slumped, almost despondent set of the undercover agent's pose that he was troubled. She did notice how a few members from Team 3 had given him covert looks, but no one had dared to disrupt his quiet reverie.
Well, she was not a woman to tread lightly. Perhaps she would be doing more harm than good, but she truly cared for the agent. He was a gentleman and a supportive friend when she needed someone to vent to, so maybe she could return the favor.
"Ezra?" She questioned softly, sitting in the empty chair next to him. An eyebrow raised slightly as his head nodded in recognition. He had seen her internal struggle and had expected the inquiry. "Care to tell me about it?"
"I'd much rather forget today ever happened. Although I'm sure Mr. Jackson would say I'm still in some form of shock." His head lolled a little as he watched the last of the patrons kick back their chairs and leave in a rowdy crowd. The band had already started readying their gear for transporting and were carrying it out the back service doors with the help of the burly bartender. Rosa, the Saloon's most competent waitress, was clearing off tables and wiping down the sticky surfaces.
It all seemed so normal. It could have been any other night, with Buck waiting to escort Inez to her car and Nathan hauling a drunken Josiah out the door. JD would be bouncing off the walls and teasing Buck. Chris would just silently hand his truck keys over to Vin and they would disappear, too.
The feeling of unreality that hit him warned that he *had* drunk too much. His head was swimming on his shoulders.
Inez was waiting patiently for him to continue, knowing that, once he was engaged in conversation, if she just sat back he'd eventually get it off his chest without prompting. She toyed absently with the white rag in her hands.
". . .It'll probably be in the papers tomorrow anyway, you know." Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. "Another stunning Standish fuck up-" He broke off and glanced quickly at her, then away. After staring at the table top for a few seconds, he requested quietly, "I'd like that cab now, if you please."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. Going behind the bar, she retrieved her purse and jacket from the back office, then checked to make sure the kitchen was in order. She paused to speak to Rosa, then headed back to Ezra's table. The phone started ringing and she stopped to answer.
It was an irate Larabee who sounded like a bear with a sore paw.
"Yes, senor, he is right here. . . He's had a bit to drink. . ." A long pause. "No, he didn't tell me that!" She turned the Inez version of the Glare of Death on Ezra as he blinked innocently back. "I was just about to get him home anyway, senor. . . No, I don't think that will be necessary. . . I *have* driven him home before, along with the rest of you at some point or another. . . Yes, I will make sure he is. Alright, I-" She stopped and stared at the receiver irately. "Ooooh! That man never lets you get a word in, then he just hangs up without so much as a goodbye!" Mumbling harshly in Spanish, she continued on to the table.
"And you! Why did you not tell me you were hurt!?" She scolded him as she lifted him by the elbow- being surprisingly gentle for her mood- and steered him to the door. "Foolish man! Going drinking right after getting out of the doctor's! I am amazed you've lived as long as you have!"
"I assure you, I am fine, dear lady." He deliberately drawled as she hooked his arm around her shoulders when he stumbled. For some reason, the ground was coming up at him in waves, making it dreadfully annoying to keep a straight step.
"Oh, of *course* you are! It was only forty-eight stitches this time! Silly me, what am I thinking, being concerned? I'm sure you could jog home if you wanted to!" Her dramatic eye-roll would have made JD proud.
"Sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind, you know."
"Is *that* why you always use it? I had wondered."
Before he could reply, he tripped again. With muscles developed from carrying heavy trays of drinks everyday, Inez managed to keep them standing but barely. Ezra tried to curl in around his wounded stomach, but only succeeded in staggering both of them towards the wall.
"Perhaps you should wait here by the door and I will pull the car around. If anything, it will be safer for me. I think your guardian angel has taken the night off, senor. No doubt you have worn her out." Inez propped him against the brick building and dug into her purse for her keyring.
"No doubt I have caused her to resign her wings out of pure frustration. If I even have one at all." He leaned his head back against the cool bricks, closing his eyes then immediately opening them to stave off the tumbling feeling in his skull.
"Of course you do. That's why there was *only* forty-eight stitches and not something worse."
She disappeared for the moment, keys jangling as she unlocked her car doors and slipped in. Pausing for a second, she contemplated the sorry figure out the windshield.
What had he been thinking, getting drunk? Had he no common sense at all? No wonder Larabee always glowered; Ezra alone was enough to give a person ulcers, let alone the rest of them.
With a sigh, she pulled the beat up Sedan around. Even sick as a dog and piss drunk, he was too gorgeous for his own good. And he knew it- Not in a Buck "I am God's gift to women" way, but more of a natural acceptance and understanding. Another tool for him to use to keep people away.
Inez put the car in park and helped Ezra stagger past the headlights. Getting him buckled in with only a slight bump on his noggin, she shut the passenger door firmly behind him.
The drive to his townhouse was silent. She refused to pry into his troubles without him making the first move, and he was feeling too ill to speak. The darkened porch appeared shortly and she helped him out of the car.
"Thank you, Inez. I'll let you get on home." His southern murmur made her stomach clench.
Her body was being a traitorous friend at the moment. Always before, she could suppress her attraction to him and let sleeping dogs lie. There was no way she could act on her emotions; she was a lady who needed no less than love and commitment in a relationship. He probably wouldn't object to taking her out, but, knowing him as she did, any hint of higher expectations would send him into a long winded excuse about having to wash his dog's hair every night for the rest of his life, nevermind the fact he had no dog.
Tonight he had an air of vulnerability she had never seen before, stirring all those forbidden hopes. It was enough to make her want to chance everything just to be close to him. But right now, he needed a friend, not a flirty barmaid, and she wouldn't just abandon him.
"Don't be silly, senor. I will see you inside first." With that, she plucked the keyring from his loose fingers and opened the front door. Ushering him inside, she ignored his protests.
"Really, Inez, I don't want to intrude upon your night," he suddenly sounded more slurred than before. She felt his forehead worriedly, finding it too hot for her comfort.
"Come on, Ezra. To bed."
"Unfortunately, I am not feeling well enough to take full advantage of that remark."
She looked at him sideways, judging his mood. He seemed to be half joking, half serious, but she couldn't really tell. Did anyone really know what went on in that head?
Getting him up the stairs had her breathless and practically carrying him. It looked like he was asleep on his feet, except for the occasional groan. She didn't want to inadvertently jostle his stitches more, but she was losing her grip on him and had to pull him closer.
Opening the bedroom door, she guided him to the king size bed. He was too out of it to make it to the bathroom, or to even remove his own jacket. She pulled his expensive leather shoes off, then used one hand to keep him sitting up as she worked his jacket carefully from his shoulders. Debating on whether or not to help him out of his clothes any further, she decided on having a look at his stomach when he doubled over with a low moan. Ezra would usually swallow his own tongue before showing any pain.
"Ezra, I need your help here." She spoke softly, gently pulling him up from his hunched position. "Let me get your buttons, alright? I just want to check your bandages."
He nodded absently, probably responding more to her voice and not her question. Forcing herself to be as clinical as possible, she made her way down his shirt front. She was probably over reacting, not that she would ever let any of the guys know she worried about them. It would ruin her tough bitch image.
Ezra slowly sank backwards as she unbuttoned his designer shirt, so weary and tired he wanted nothing more than to pass out right there. He couldn't decide if the pain was from his wound or his stomach, but either way he felt queasy. But Inez was here and he wouldn't shame himself in front of her.
Thinking about her on the ride home had kept his mind away from the day's events. Her hair, her smile, her attitude. He loved that fiery light in her eyes and the way she reveled in out witting everyone. She was a woman he could admire. His mind shied away from the thought that he might feel anything more.
Inez gently peeled back the hospital gauze and tape, wincing at the angry red slash across a washboard stomach. The skin around it was puffy and irritated, but thankfully it looked as well as could be expected. She was tempted to change the bandage, seeing as how it was a few hours old, but didn't want to put Ezra though anything more that night.
"Well, you'll live to be stabbed at another day, senor." Her quip was delivered in a dulcet voice as she recognized his fatigue. She pulled his legs onto the bed, thankfully having thought to turn down the comforter first, and brought the blanket up to cover him. It was as she leaned over him in her task that his eyes caught hers.
Reaching up, he gently cupped his hand behind her head and pulled her lips closer for a chaste kiss. His lips were softer than she had fantasized. Her startled gaze slowly relaxed and her eyes drifted shut. She kept them closed after he broke away.
"Thank you," he whispered seductively against her cheek, breath stirring the fine wisps of hair falling in her face. She felt and heard him lay back on his pillow. When her eyes opened, he was already asleep.
Straightening up, she retreated downstairs quietly. She used his keys to lock the door, then slipped them back in through the mail slot. Their harsh jangle did little to dispell the feeling of unreality she had.
With a deep breath, she got in her car and waited until she was on the road before turning on the radio. The latin music of her favorite station poured out her windows as she drove home.
He had *kissed* her. And she liked it.