11.

A few hours later, Bernard shrugged on his overcoat and gave an exhausted sigh, facing Winnie with flushed cheeks and a damp brow.

"I gave your friend a sedative, so he should wake up again in a few hours. Take these," he dropped a handful of white capsules into her palm, "and give him two pills every 4 hours to help with the pain. He won't be able to move very much for awhile, but he's going to be just fine."

Winnie looked at him gratefully. "I don't know how to thank you enough for this."

"Right, well…" Bernard cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "I suppose I should apologize for my behaviour earlier. It was quite unprofessional of me. I don't want you to think I'm someone who can just turn his back on his fellow man." His cheeks colored deeply. "I think… I think a part of me resents him for being the reason you left me tonight and… I didn't want to help him. Is that the most selfish thing you've ever heard?"

Winnie laid a gentle hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "You helped him, Bernard. That's all that matters. What you did here tonight is much bigger than what you didn't do right away."

There was a comfortable silence between them in which they shared a smile. For the last few hours she had watched him work on Constantine, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and lips turned down into a permanent, thoughtful frown of concentration. He worked in silence and rarely offered any sort of an update to Winnie and Lettie, who anxiously waited for one.

Now Lettie was sitting next to Constantine, whose naked torso was wrapped in white bandage that continued up over his arms where the deepest gashes were. Bernard had sewn him up with black thread that Winnie, when she had noticed this, realized would leave scarring behind once the stitches were taken out. Part of her worried how the scars would blemish his beautiful skin; part of her wondered if he would even care. Perhaps he would be grateful for the scar tissue that would appear in place of the tattoos.

"I'll settle payment with you when I've had a chance to speak with my father," she told Bernard quietly. "I'm sure he'll be more than happy to compensate you fairly."

Bernard, however, was shaking his head. "Never mind that. I expect nothing and want nothing."

"Bernard-"

"I'm serious, Winnie." He looked at her with a solemn expression, and in that moment, something compelled him to reach his hand out and gently cup her chin. She knew she should have stopped him, stepped away from his touch but she held firm in place and allowed him that brief contact.

"You're a wonderful girl," he murmured softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you need."

When he let go of her again, Winnie moved to fold herself against his body in a hug that made him stiffen briefly before relaxing into her. It wasn't a lover's embrace but one between two friends who finally understood each other. They had come a long way in just a matter of hours.

"I should go," Bernard said finally and pulled away from her gently. "Don't worry; I won't be telling my mother or yours where I was tonight."

"Thank you. For everything."

The sun was beginning to peak out from the horizon, allowing a warm glow of orange light inside the museum windows. Soon the performers would begin waking, if they hadn't already, and Winnie knew she would have to face them all, explain her being there and explain the horrible state they would find Constantine in.

She feared they would hate her, blame her, and rightfully so. She wished she could just disappear completely but also knew she had to stay. There was certainly no way she was going to leave Constantine now, not again.

Bernard turned on his heels and started for the door but was cut off when a small cluster of people stepped in front of him.

"Good Lord!" he startled and fell back a step.

The man standing closest to him, a dark-skinned gentleman dressed smartly in a white button-up and a blue crushed velvet vest, stepped forward in a move that felt distinctly defensive, like he was attempting to protect the troupe behind him against Bernard Harman, of all people.

"Who are you?" the man asked with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. Before Bernard had a chance to answer, his eyes swept the room and landed on Constantine, unconscious at Lettie's side.

In a matter of seconds he had two fistfuls of Bernard's lapels and was shoving him, poor Bernard stumbling backwards until he landed hard against the wall.

"What did you do to him?" The man demanded loudly.

Bernard, glasses askew and mouth helplessly floundering, couldn't find the words to answer. He looked petrified.

"Tell me!" the man gave him another hard shake, and now Bernard's glasses fell right off his face and onto the ground at his feet.

"W.D., leave him alone. He's done absolutely nothing wrong."

Lettie had left her perch at Constantine's bedside and rushed over to the two, giving the man a hard swat to the shoulder. His grip loosened, but only slightly as he waited for an explanation.

"Constantine was jumped last night," Lettie began and received a chorus of gasps from the troupe of people behind her. "They just left him there in that alley, broken and bleeding out, perhaps even dying, who knows for sure. Thankfully, Winnie was there to help him. She saved his life."

Every pair of eyes in the room suddenly landed squarely on Winnie, who had been standing rigid in place since they had all made their entrance. Now she blushed a hot crimson under their stares, aware that perhaps not everyone would think her the hero Lettie was attempting to make her out to be.

The man, W.D., dropped Bernard completely, who began fumbling blindly around on the ground in an attempt to find his glasses. A young woman wearing a brightly colored sequined bodysuit tentatively stepped away from the crowd of performers and dropped to one knee next to Bernard.

"Here," she said, picking up his glasses and holding them out for him. Her face was pale and smooth with delicate, doll-like features. Her hair, dark, was coiled into a tight bun atop her head with a headband that matched her outfit keeping the loose baby hairs away from her forehead.

Bernard hesitated, staring wide-eyed at this woman, before eventually taking his glasses from her fingers.

Meanwhile, W.D. had turned his body so he was facing Winnie. "You," he said, and pointed at her, "you're Winnie, the girl Constantine was supposed to meet last night?"

Winnie felt like a hot poker had pierced her heart. "Yes," she admitted quietly, regretfully. "I was. I got caught up at an affair and was late and if I hadn't been, perhaps I could have been of even more help." She felt tears brimming at her eyes and tried to blink them away, much too ashamed to cry in front of everyone. "I'm so sorry I couldn't have been there for him sooner."

W.D. approached her and gave her a wry smile. "You couldn't have known what was going to happen," he told her softly. "None of us did. I should have stayed out there with him myself but I didn't. We can't let our regrets consume us."

A murmur of agreement rippled from the lips of those who surrounded Winnie in that room, performers whose faces she didn't know personally but all reflected the same genuine comfort that she saw on W.D.'s now. The relief that consumed her felt like a warm bath; she revelled in it and felt the calmest she had in hours.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that."
Bernard was helped to his feet by the young woman who had come to his side, still having not uttered a word to her. She didn't seem fazed by this and merely smiled, as though stunned silence was something she simply had grown accustomed to.

"Thank you for fixing our friend," she said, her English uncertain and slowly spoken with a touch of an accent pulling down on each word. "I am Deng Yan."

Bernard finally found his voice. "P-pleasure to meet you, Miss Yan," he replied, hesitant at first and then surer of himself as he held out a hand to the pretty performer. "I'm Dr. Bernard Harman."


Constantine's mouth tasted tinny and his tongue felt heavier than it had ever felt in his entire life. If this was a hangover, it was certainly the worst he'd ever experienced before.

Every inch of him felt languid and far away. He wasn't sure he could lift his arms if he wanted to – they felt completely separate from the rest of his body, like he was lying in several different pieces, all mismatched and completely independent from each other.

He suddenly felt gentle fingers raking through the hair on his head and found himself lost in the sensation, so wonderful he damn near moaned. It was a reassuring touch, comforting, and he wished whoever it was would continue forever.

Somewhere far away, like an echo between mountain tops, he heard his name, spoken in the loveliest voice he could possibly imagine.

"Constantine…Constantine.."

It was so sweet, it sounded like a lullaby.

He drifted towards the voice, using it as something to grasp onto. He feared slipping away again and wished no longer to be in this strange in-between conscious realm he found himself stuck in. The voice was like a guiding light, or perhaps like a rope he felt tethered to – it helped him find his way out.

When his eyes opened, he found a pair of emeralds staring back at him.

"Winnie," he breathed and attempted to reach for her, but his arms wouldn't move. His forehead creased in frustration. "What…what's wrong with my arms?"

"Hi there," she stopped her caresses in his hair to stroke his face, her thumbs smoothing out the lines on his head. "You're on some pretty serious pain medication right now. I don't think you'll be moving much for a few hours at least."

He processed this slowly, the bits and pieces of last night coming back to him in blurry snapshots. Finally, he remembered it all – the men, their bottles, their hands, their fists. He remembered the satisfying crunching sound the leader's nose had made when Constantine punched him, but then that was his friends flocked him, pulled him to the ground, pinned him there and broke their bottles against the stones and –

Constantine flinched and squeezed his eyes shut instinctively. The memory played out like a terrible film behind his eyelids.

"I was a fool," he muttered. "I thought I could take them all."

Winnie's lips pressed gently against his temple, and his eyes fluttered open again, briefly distracted by her kiss. He longed to feel her body against his and to wrap his arms around her and shield her from everything, all the bad in the world. But he couldn't even move. The frustration combined with the ugly memories of the night before made his eyes water.

"You need to rest," Winnie whispered against his skin, her breath hot and dewy.

He suddenly felt panicked. "No, Winnie, please don't leave-"

She shushed him and his pleas fell silent on his lips as she rested her head on his right shoulder, nuzzling herself into the hard curve of his collarbone.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised him quietly. "I'm here to stay."

A/N: Oh hey, it's the queen of excuses back :) I know, I'm terrible: I haven't posted in FOREVER. Unfortunately July/August have been ridiculous for me - I finished my internship, moved apartments, got a new job, and now I have a 2 week vacation coming up. During those 2 weeks I would love to write as much as I can, so hopefully I can get some chapters out to you guys so you don't all hate me :/ Thanks for keeping up with the story! xo