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The House of the Dead: Quite Engaging

Chapter 3: Warm

Night was cold.

That was given. But if one accepted the current climate as the average for this miserable part of the world, then nights were still cold by that average. And even lying in bed did nothing to alleviate that. Not the covers, not the tea, not even reading a piece from National Geographic about how the world would be getting much warmer over the next few decades. Even if the next century (and next millennium for that matter) was indeed going to feature a warming Earth with nine billion humans on it by 2050, Sophie didn't doubt that there'd still be cold places in the world.

"Sophie? You awake?"

Whether Rogan would be there was another matter.

The scientist put down the article just before Rogan entered, apparently having decided to come in regardless of what her response was. He'd also apparently decided to ditch his tendency to wear his trench coat and tie 24/7, wearing nothing but a formal shirt with a gun and holster slung around it. Apparently AMS's dressing standards didn't apply to agents that were off duty.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, refusing to meet her gaze.

"No...no, you didn't," Sophie murmured, wondering what her fiancé would have said if he had woken her, and why he was bothering asking such a question at all when he hadn't waited for a response in the first place.

"Good...good..."

And the wonder began to go where the sun had gone to set this cold December night. Sophie hadn't seen much of Rogan over the past week, but still knew him well enough to tell that something was bothering him. His refusal to meet her gaze, his awkward movements, as if he wanted to pace but couldn't do so in the space available to him...

"So..." Sophie began, managing to sit up straight in the bed despite the pain shooting through her side. "How did it go?"

"Hmm?"

"Manegold. The mansion. Debriefing. You know, AMS work."

"Oh fine...fine...I'm basically off the hook. Case closed. Dead and buried."

"...is that a pun?"

"Hmm? Yeah...sure, why not?"

Rogan had stopped pacing now, and had instead sat down in a wooden chair that certainly wasn't meant for someone who looked as tired as he did. Though the table nearby did give him a place to rest his holstered pistol.

"Rogan, talk to me..." Sophie began. "What's bothering you? The mansion? The SIS?"

"Sophie-..."

"Is it me?" she asked, her pitch rising as well as her frustration. "You've been avoiding me for a week Rogan."

"Avoiding you?" the agent snapped back. "What, you think I like cleaning up Curien's mess? A mess that you helped with? Yes Sophie, I like risking my life to clean up your little clusterfuck."

Sophie stared at him, his words more painful and sharp than the wound in her side...and much closer to her heart as well.

But was it unwarranted? How far did personal responsibility extend, even when one's intentions were perverted by someone like Doctor Curien?

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," Rogan sighed. "I've got a new assignment. It'll start early next year...or sooner. I need to converse with AMS first."

"How nice for you," Sophie murmured.

"Goldman's the target of our investigation," Rogan continued. "Which means heading to Italy. Which means that...it may be harder to see each other."

"And that's what you wanted to tell me?" Sophie asked, the emotional pain mutating into the kind that stemmed from sorrow rather than rage, or at least some strange emotion that existed between the two. "Just say it Rogan, it's finished. It's over."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is!" she snapped. "It was over the minute you showed up at the Curien Mansion! Gun in hand, popping off rounds...was I ever in your sights, Thomas? Or-..."

Rogan reached for the gun. At first, Sophie's imagination entertained him using it. Instead, he simply emptied the magazine and tossed the pistol over to the bed.

"Look at it," he grunted. "No iron sights."

Sophie glanced at it, not sure what his point was, nor what iron sights were. Still, at his prompting, she nonetheless fingered the pistol.

It was cold. Just like everything else.

"Are we through, Sophie?" Rogan asked softly, resting his eyes in a hand and rubbing them. "Tell me if we are."

"You tell me," she shot back.

"I can't," the agent said. "I'd like to think that the answer is no. I'd like to think that despite everything that's happened, and everything that's going to happen, we can still make this work. I'd like to think that what we have is just as real before the Curien Mansion incident."

"And I'd like to think that as well," Sophie murmured, lying back down in bed. "But thinking about something doesn't make it so."

Rogan remained silent. Maybe everything had been said. Maybe there was nothing left to say. Maybe he had come to the same conclusion that she had, that what they had, if it ever existed, was something that couldn't be any longer. Rogan had his job to do. And she had to find a new job herself. And whatever that job was, it certainly wouldn't be with DBR.

"You alright?" Rogan asked suddenly.

"Just cold..." she murmured. "That's all."

It seemed like the end of the conversation. Certainly she heard the sound of Rogan's footsteps. Yet that didn't explain why those footsteps were coming closer to the bed. Or why the blankets were raised slightly. Or why Rogan was the one holding them.

"Rogan?" Sophie asked. "What are you doing?"

"Making you warm..." he said softly.

If it was anyone else, Sophie might have done anything from getting out of the bed to resorting to screams. And part of her mind told her that she should do just that, considering that Rogan had fallen back into the realm of "anyone else," or at best, the "friend zone." Yet too little of her mind was functioning for that. And even as she found herself short of room, even as Rogan brought down the blankets on both of them...she wasn't sure what to feel. But at least it was warmer.

And there was something else to consider, in this...engaging, moment. Something that Sophie had forgotten all about in the last week. A certain diamond ring on her left ring finger...a sign of engagement.

It was still on it by the morning's end.


A/N

So, that's that. A short story done.

I can't say I'm completely sattisfied with this, especially this chapter. I will admit, I did plan for there to be a sex scene here, and I did start writing it. However, I just couldn't pull it off, even after trawling through the Internet to get writing tips. In the end, I did my usual technique of simply leaving the implication. I admit it's a cop-out, but in this case, I'd rather cut it out rather than give such a scene of dubious quality.

At this point in time, I don't have any other House of the Dead stories on my 'to write' list. By way of shameless plugging, my current writing focus is on a Star Wars story titled Whispers of Infinitude. At least in that, I don't have to worry about sex scenes. ;)