The state of the Post Office response in the face of Samar's escape wasn't quite as intense as when Liz had first gone on the run, but Ressler's wrath nearly was. As far as he was concerned, Samar was a criminal nearly as bad as Reddington, who was doing everything she could to flout the law, and now... She had taken that one step even further by escaping from right under his nose. By the time he reluctantly succumbed to the tiredness of having chased her for hours, and told everyone to go home for the night, the clock was heading rapidly towards midnight. Aram stifled a yawn as he ambled miserably down the building hallway towards his apartment; not that he hadn't half expected it, but he had found next to no trace of Samar on surveillance feeds at all once she had left the hospital. The wondering where she had gone, if she had managed to hide herself or if her bullet wound had provided such an obstacle that she was stuck in another building, laying on the ground in agony, had Aram so anxious that he felt like he was about to throw up.
Out of sheer habit, Aram pulled his keys from his trouser pocket and reached straight for the door handle as if on autopilot. His fingers moved as if to push the key into the lock... But the handle wasn't there.
Aram froze, jolted from his absent minded autopilot, and glanced down. The door handle was there, but it was pushed an inch or back from where it normally should have sat, and from where his hand had expected to find it.
Not only was the door unlocked, but it was sitting open by the tiniest of cracks.
Aram's heart pounded in his chest as he warily pushed the door just that tiny bit further open enough that he could slip inside his apartment. His eyes scanned the hallway, the living room, and the kitchen, all the while his hands shook. Someone had been inside; a used glass, still half full of water, sat on the bench where Aram knew for a fact he hadn't left it that morning. One dining chair seemed to be turned out of place at the table, as if someone had stopped and leaned on the back of it to hold themselves up. Aram furrowed his brow in confusion as he glanced around the space; his first thought was that someone had broken in to rob the place, but nothing seemed to be missing. He dropped his backpack by the side of the couch and step by step, cautiously continued onwards through the apartment. Room by room, he peered anxiously around doors, looking for intruders or missing items, and internally bracing himself for the former to jump out at him, knocking him over the head with a baseball bat or some other movie cliché. The bedroom was last, and having not found anyone yet had his heart thumping with such intensity that it felt just about ready to pound right out of his chest. Aram took a breath, steadying himself, before warily cracking that door open. He peered inside, not entirely sure that he wanted to, and his eyes went wide. He let out a gasp, pushing the door wide open.
There was Samar, either asleep or passed out, crumpled on the bed, having not even managed to crawl under the covers. Her bag sat sideways on the floor beside the edge, seemingly dropped there on the way down.
The wave of conflicted feelings washed over Aram in a flash; all at once, he was frustrated that she had strained her injury to leave the hospital and that she had given him such a scare, but he was also overwhelmingly relieved to see her there relatively safe and sound. He wanted to scream or yell or something, to let it all out, but he also didn't want to wake her. He knew she'd had next to no sleep in the last few days, and it would be no surprise to him if the combination of exhaustion and searing pain from trying to reach his apartment from the hospital had been so much that she was crumpled there more from passing out upon arrival, rather than simply falling asleep.
He had so many questions... But he had to wait.
Aram squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He took another deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate back to normal and figure out what to do next to distract himself until Samar woke up. He worked his way back to the front door and finally closed it, finding the pile of mail on his doorstep that included all of Samar's documents, in the process. He picked up the still unfolded and unsorted laundry pile in the living room and put everything away –mostly at the sudden horror of Samar possibly having seen his underwear sitting on top of the pile in her exhausted ambling past it, even though the more logical voice in the back of his head told him that she would have had other priorities at the time and probably hadn't even noticed it- then hacked into his building's internal surveillance system and replaced all images of Samar's break-in with an earlier feed of an empty hallway and then finally, Aram busied himself in the kitchen. It was just as he began pouring freshly boiled water into mugs of tea for them both, that the sound of unimpressed grumbling from the bedroom prickled his ears.
The breath caught in Aram's throat as he scuttled back down the hall and knocked softly on the door.
'Hey,' he murmured, warily peeking his head around the door. He let out a soft smile as Samar glanced up, bleary eyed, from the pillow and stared blankly back at him for a moment.
'I picked your lock,' she mumbled sheepishly in place of greeting.
'I noticed that,' Aram tried not to laugh in response. The surprise of finding her there was gone now. 'What happened to the courtesy knock?' Samar glared up at him, still too fuzzy with sleep to really follow the conversation.
'You weren't home and I couldn't wait,' she grumbled. Aram's lip twitched with the affectionate smile he was so desperately holding back. He took a few steps further into the room –his room, technically- setting the fresh mug of steaming tea on the nightstand, before crouching by the bed beside her.
'You should be in the hospital,' he murmured softly. His gaze swept across her, resting for a moment on her right side where he knew her wound was. Samar blinked a few times before responding, finally taking in the concern in Aram's face as the smell of the tea helped her wake up properly.
'I couldn't stay there.' Samar pushed herself to sit up, but winced, clutching at her side, and gave up halfway. 'They took my cuffs off, I saw the chance... And I took it.' She paused, letting out a sigh of being caught somewhere between frustration and embarrassment. 'I didn't know where else to go.'
Slipping out of her room with her bag and all the medications that the doctors had left in her hospital room drawer, then managing to move all the way through the hospital and out onto the street before any alarms began to sound at all, had been further than Samar had expected to get. It was also fuelled by the adrenaline rush of trying to get away, and of fighting to stay on her feet while the pain shot through her side with every step. It wasn't until she had ducked a block around the corner from the hospital that the thought occurred to her; where was she supposed to go? Her aliases for airports were blown, and with both her injury and the law enforcement poised to surround the city looking for her, she had no chance to reach any alternative form of border, or even leave the District. She couldn't evade them by going past them –she would never be able to move as swiftly and discreetly as she normally did, until her side was healed. She was confined to the DC city limits, to hiding herself away somewhere close until she was healed, until the Metro PD gave up on the search for her and moved on to something more pressing, and until she could set up new aliases with all the matching documents. Not to mention, right then in that moment, even running just one block away from the hospital had been agony. Aram's apartment was the closest, safest and really, the only place she had been able to think of now that her warehouse hideout was burned as well. By the time she arrived there though, with the extra distance of trying taking alleyways to avoid surveillance cameras and all the police cars zooming through the main streets, the pain in her side was so intense that she was reduced to stumbling. She had navigated the obstacles of Aram's furniture with blurred vision and while fighting the urge to throw up, until she had finally collapsed on the bed. At no point, had she stopped to consider how Aram would feel. At the time, Samar had been operating with little more than the immediate instinct to fight for survival. Now, however, the dread of realisation, guilt, and finally being able to think straight again, rocked her gut. Their friendship was one thing... But asking her federal agent friend to help her fugitive, international criminal self hide, was a completely different level. She met Aram's gaze, biting her lip. 'Are you going to turn me in?'
There was a moment of hesitation, not because Aram doubted what he was about it say in the slightest, but because he didn't. Every part of his job description implied that he should turn her in, but every instinct he had told him he never would, and the sheer level of conviction with which he was determined to keep her safe, amazed him.
'No,' he said, quickly shaking his head. Samar's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the seriousness with which he said it, but Aram simply broke into a soft smile; 'I'm just glad you're safe.' Samar bowed her head as the silence fell between them. She shifted again where she was now half laying down, half sitting, trying to make herself comfortable but not quite able to. 'Here,' Aram spoke quietly again, 'let me help.' He gingerly reached out with both hands as he spoke, gesturing as if to ask whether it was ok to lift her just enough for Samar to move without having to rely solely on her own body weight. He waited for her to give a small nod, before leaning over and wrapping his arms around her waist, helping her sit up. As soon as she was comfortable, Aram sat back on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her once more with a hint of concern. 'Did you check to make sure you haven't torn your stitches?' He asked. A flash of exasperation crossed Samar's face.
'It's fine,' she said quickly.
'Samar.' Aram's voice was gently warning as he spoke. 'It's going to be hard enough to look after that injury here, without it accidentally getting infected because you move too much and tear the wound open again.' Technically, though it would hurt, she was supposed to keep moving rather than laying in bed for weeks on end, but it had to be gentle. Running, stretching, or straining that side by raising her right arm too high or lifting anything too heavy, ran the risk of tearing open her stitches... And if her wound ended up infected, that wasn't something they could treat from Aram's apartment. Either she would have to suffer the infection and any subsequent complications, or she would need medical attention –which would lead to the discovery of her staying there. In short, as frustrating as it was, with stitched up bullet holes both front and back from her through and through, she needed to be careful.
'I've looked after a bullet wound myself before,' Samar tried to protest, but it was clear that her heart wasn't in it. She was grumpy because she was tired and she was in pain, but they both knew Aram's insistence had nothing to do with her ability to look after the wound. Rather, it had everything to do with the fact that he simply wanted to help, and to make sure that she was getting better rather than worse. Samar let out an exasperated sigh, but a guilty smile eventually tugged at her lips. She pulled up the edge the edge of her shirt, revealing the clear dressing that covered her stitches. Aram furrowed his brow, looking closely at it; it looked a little inflamed from the strain of her running earlier but the stitches, at least, were all intact. 'Happy now?' Samar sighed. Aram glanced up, meeting her gaze again as she allowed the edge of her shirt to fall back in place. The look on her face was nowhere near as irritated as the question would have implied. She wasn't used to having someone who cared enough to make the fuss that Aram did, but despite the overtired crankiness, she was grateful nonetheless.
'I'll make up the couch and sleep there,' he murmured, letting out a reassuring smile as if to answer her question, 'I'll be up early in the morning to go back to work, but don't worry about that. Just rest as long as you need to.'
Aram couldn't help but reach forwards to gently push those loose strands of hair back out of tired eyes, then tuck them behind Samar's ears as he spoke. She stifled a yawn in favour of offering him a soft smile, then tried to reach over the edge of the bed for her bag. Aram paused long enough to help her pull it up –after all, she could only pull from that angle with one arm- so that she could go digging through its contents for more comfortable clothes to sleep in, before quietly leaving her to it.
Out in the rest of his apartment, Aram switched off the last few lights that remained on, before stretching out across the tiny amount of space he had left around him on the couch, tugging the blankets up to his chin, and staring up into the darkness, silently contemplating the developments of the day until his eyes couldn't hold themselves open any longer.
/*/*/*/*
A loud thump followed by an almost equally loud yelp of pain from the living room, woke Samar with a jump. Wincing, but otherwise ignoring the pain in her side, she pushed herself out of the bed and stumbled along the dark hallway towards the living room as fast as she could.
'Aram,' she gasped as she switched on the light and instantly realised what had happened. Another wince went hand in hand with lurching forwards towards Aram, where he was pushing himself up off the floor and back onto the couch after rolling off in his sleep, ultimately smacking his head on the floorboards.
'I'm ok,' he quickly tried to insist, before she strained herself any further by trying to help him up. Aram sank back into the couch with a soft groan, and rubbed the spot towards the side of his forehead that now made his whole head feel like it was pounding. Samar eyed him warily, then decided to ignore that particular assessment of the situation. She turned on the spot, being careful not to strain her side as she crossed the room to the kitchen, pulled a small bag of frozen peas from the freezer, wrapped it in a tea towel, and then hobbled back again. Slowly, she lowered herself to sitting on the couch beside him, holding the improvised cold pack up to his forehead.
'Hold this right here, and don't move it,' she ordered –albeit gently.
'Samar-' Aram tried to interject, but Samar cut him off.
'-Hold it,' she repeated, more firmly this time. With a small sigh, Aram bowed his head and did as he was told... And then his eyes went wide in awkward, embarrassed alarm.
'Um...' He began. He had no idea where to look, and instead squeezed his eyes shut. 'Samar, you're not wearing any pants.'
'Excuse me for coming running instead of stopping to find my pants, because I was more worried about you when I heard the crashing noise, than my modesty,' Samar replied drolly. Her usual outfit of choice for sleeping in was an oversized t-shirt and soft, cotton sleep shorts, but the latter had an elastic waistband that sat in the particularly uncomfortable spot right where her stitches were... And so she had opted to sleep solely in the shirt and her underwear. Samar rolled her eyes in mock exasperation at the way Aram seemed so concerned about potentially looking at her legs. Really, that was all he could see. Her shirt was long enough that it more than covered everything else, but of course Aram was going to feel guilty anyway. 'Aram,' Samar spoke again, trying not to laugh, 'relax. You'd see more if we were at the beach.'
One eye opened and glanced past the cold pack at her again, almost as if Aram was wary of being slapped in the face for doing so. The other eye opened a second later, to see Samar staring back at him, with one wry, expectant eyebrow raised. She shook her head in exasperated amusement at the sheepish grin on his face, then turned her attention back to his forehead. In his surprise at her apparent lack of pants, Aram had allowed the cold pack to slip slightly, revealing an impressive shade of purple right along part of his hairline. Samar shook her head again, running a gentle thumb across the purple patch to assess the swelling.
'I thought I was supposed to be looking after you,' Aram observed, craning his neck around her grasp in the attempt to shoot a suspicious look at the side where he knew that clear dressing sat under her shirt. 'Not the other way around.'
'Well,' Samar muttered, not even trying to hold back the smirk, 'I know it's been a few years for me, and maybe things have changed-' the smirk widened into a wry smile '-but last I checked, in a healthy friendship, this looking-after-one-other thing was supposed to be a two way street.'
Aram raised his eyes to the ceiling and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath that only made Samar smirk all the more so. She had him there, and Aram knew it. She had also caught up on a few more hours of sleep and was now much more awake than their earlier conversation, despite it being well into the middle of the night by now. The dry sense of humour he knew and loved was back, and Samar was on a roll.
Silence fell between them for a moment, as Aram found himself unable to counter her argument. His exasperation gave in, and he broke into a sheepish grin, holding up the cold pack for himself once more. Samar's wry smile slowly faded, finally replaced a more contemplative expression.
'You can't keep sleeping on the couch-' Samar finally spoke up, until Aram instantly interjected.
'-I'm not taking the bed, you need the bed-' he tried to protest, but Samar wasn't finished.
'-The couch isn't big enough, you'll just keep rolling off again-'
'-You need a mattress with proper support or you'll tear your stitches-'
'-You're lucky you bumped your head on the floor and not on the corner of the damn coffee table.' They finished speaking over each other at the same time, staring back at one another in a twisted mix of both concern and utter frustration. Once more, the air between them fell silent, and they continued the apparent staring competition, locked in a battle of wills. One of Samar's eyebrows slowly –and drolly- rose, causing a breath to catch in Aram's throat, wary of whatever was about to come next.
'Well...' Samar began, before teasingly trailing off. 'We could always share the bed,' she suggested. Aram instantly opened his mouth to protest about privacy or politeness, or wanting to be a gentleman or something, but Samar raised one hand in a quieting gesture, waggling her eyebrows and trying desperately to stifle a grin as she spoke again, cutting Aram off before he could even start; 'I'll even keep my hands to myself, I promise.'
It was almost impossible not to laugh at the look of utter exasperation that crossed Aram's face the second his mouth fell closed again.
He was simply wanting to make sure she was comfortable, rather than feeling forced to share a bed if she didn't want to.
Clearly though, Samar felt no such discomfort.
'You're not worried about my hands?' Aram asked warily. Inside, all he could do was thank the universe for the fact that his head had finally stopped pounding after its bump, because it appeared that Samar's amusement at the entire situation wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. Instead, she gave a nonchalant shrug, peeking over the improvised cold pack at the small, purple patch on his hairline once more.
'Your hands type things,' she mused, breaking into a particularly mischievous grin; ' my hands could kill you, and make it look like a complete accident.'
Aram gave a sigh, shaking his head in amused exasperation. He pushed himself up off the couch, then quickly helped Samar back to her feet as well before following her back through the apartment towards the bed in question, still shaking his head the entire way.
A/N: Shoutout to BJames for the correct guess in last chapter's round of 'Guess Whimsy's Nonsense'! I must admit, your whole review made me chuckle, so thank you! :D
Next up, 'My Roommate, The Fugitive'... And I can't think of anything super interesting story-wise to turn into a fun guessing game this time, so let's just go with this; who's going to make breakfast, and who's going to make dinner? I feel like that's a tricky one, so more bonus points if anyone guesses it correctly!
And sidenote -I have a very busy couple of weeks coming up, with the next two weekends in a row away in the middle of nowhere, so updates might be a little sporadic. I will get back to them ASAP though! :)
