11
Obi stares at the ceiling. At the carved flora weaving in and out of dark coffers, at the little piles of dust clinging precariously to the shadows of leaf and vine. Vine that seemed to writhe and slither the longer he looked at it.
How had he even managed to bungle things so quickly, so completely?
He hadn't done a thing to shield her. And all he did do? Made everything worse.
Slowly, he raises one arm, reaching again for that insufferable little itch creeping along back of his neck.
Damn that stupid collar...
"Don't – " says Miss, her tone piercing deep as the cry of a rusted gate in the night. "Don't wander off again. Don't keep anything else from me!"
And his mind instantly alights with practical considerations. Races through different scenarios, likelihoods, probabilities. Encounters a problem.
"What if I can't tell you?"
Judging from her sharp hiss of breath, it was the wrong thing to say.
Damn it all, Obi sighs, silent.
Really.
Really.
He thought he knew everything there was to know about exhaustion, but this?
This was new. This was different.
All they did was talk—fight—argue, and still it sapped his strength far faster than the most demanding of tasks he'd ever set his body to.
Ridiculous. Words alone shouldn't drain him so.
Abruptly noting the suspicious length of Miss's silence, he tips his chin down to quietly peer at her.
Her shoulders remain bunched and tense, trembling hands coiled into fists, fingers full of gown—but her green eyes dart this way and that. Glancing over their tea-soaked refreshments as she ponders...something.
Obi lifts his head to get a better look.
"You could cough—" she finally muses, hesitant. "If you noticed anything...strange. Then I'd at least know, and those nearby...wouldn't?"
Her voice steadies with each word and she looks up at him. "We can get somewhere safe and then you'd tell me."
He blinks, tapping his chin and humming low to himself. "Like a code."
"Yes! Exactly!" Miss's shoulders finally relax somewhat when she eases her hold on her skirts.
Obi furrows his brow, considering the idea as he hoists himself forward, nudges an empty saucer back toward the center of the table. "Yeah. I can do that."
Seriously. He should have thought of it much, much sooner. Codes were commonplace in his previous line of work, and they'd certainly do the job every bit as well in this one.
He meets her gaze. "What else?"
All they needed to do was work out the signals.
"What...else?" she echoes.
"If there's something you don't like, Miss."
"Oh. Like...pretending to stumble?"
"Something smaller," he starts, picking up a spoon. Then quickly adds – "But if you pretended to twist an ankle, that's an excuse to leave."
"Hm, I..." Miss pauses, releases her gown completely to press her fingers together.
"Maybe I'll just cough too..."
"That'll work." He twirls the utensil through his fingers. It'll work perfectly.
"Wait," she says.
The spoon freezes in his hand.
She peers up at him, over her fingertips. "What if you pretend to twist an ankle?"
"Ah." An odd question to be sure, but—it's good. "Then...someone might get careless, if they think the bodyguard is injured."
Miss hums, crinkling her brow.
"That or I pretend to be drunk," he offers.
Miss frowns. "No one familiar with your drinking habits will buy that," she deadpans.
Aha ha.
Obi swallows.
"Sorry. Bad joke."
Author Note:
All right! We made it to the end!
So I have been tweaking this story as I wrote it, and as soon as I've finished a final round of edits, I'll post the entire completed version as it's own chapter instead of updating each one individually like I did with Scars. :)