"Thank you very much for aiding me with this project," said Jenkins as he followed Stone along the edge of the table. The two men had just finished up the important work of typing up the loose ends of the Prospero mission after the team returned from England. They'd successfully returned Shakespeare to his own time, but at the steep cost of leaving Flynn or Eve stranded in the year 1611.
"It's important that we know if the Library has, indeed, fully returned," Jenkins finished, coming to stand next to the historian at the workroom table.
"Yeah, well, it's good if I stay busy. Keeps my mind off things," replied the Librarian, his rough voice tinged with sadness. Jenkins's body tensed at the mention their lost friends.
"Ah," he murmured. "The others?"
"The others?" Jake snorted softly. "Well, Jones is pretending he's fine. And Cassandra ain't pretending at all." He tried to change the subject to something far less painful.
"When the Library...when it rearranged itself, it really screwed itself up!" he began to complain. "There were rooms that were upside down. There were three rooms that changed color. One room was inside out...!" Jenkins's face took on a look of puzzlement.
"I..." he started, but Jake cut him off.
"Don't ask!" he warned. He turned around to face the Caretaker. "Do you have the, um, do you have the key to the locked room?" Frowning, Jenkins shook his head as he grunted in dissent.
"There is no key," he declared. "It's always been locked. Mr. Carsen and I have tried to gain entry many times..."
"But there's a sign on the door that says you have the key," Stone persisted. Jenkins stopped, his puzzled frown deepening as he looked directly at the Librarian.
"There's no sign on that door," he said warily. The Library was full of tricks, and the old immortal was beginning to think that this infernal door was one of them.
"Well, there's a sign there now, that's all I know!" shrugged the historian as the two men looked at each other. Jenkins drew in a deep slow breath and turned his head to look in the direction of the strange door.
"Mr. Stone, if you would, please, go and fetch Mr. Jones; I'll get Miss Cillian. We'll all meet at this mysterious door and see if we can't figure out once and for all what's going on."
Jenkins found Cassandra in the lab, tucked away in a far corner, huddled on a high stool. A scroll was spread out on the battered wooden table in front of her, along with a stoneware bowl and various measuring tools, spoons, herbs and spices, but she was ignoring all of it. Instead, she was bent over nearly double on her perch, crying. A well-soaked tissue was wadded between her fingers.
The immortal paused, unsure if he should disturb her. Cassandra had been very fond of Colonel Baird and Mr. Carsen, and he knew that she was taking their loss hard. Over the last few days, ever since their return from England, all she had done was cry. Many times, Jenkins thought to try and console her, but each time he found an excuse not to. He didn't know what to say to her then, and he didn't know what to say now; perhaps it would be best to simply leave her to her grief…
But this time, something inside scolded him for his cowardice. The truth was, he simply didn't want to deal with a weepy woman. He always felt so…helpless around them! Jenkins was a man of action by nature; if something was wrong or a problem arose, his instinct was to do whatever he could to correct it. Solve the problem, fix the broken, overcome the obstacle, slay the dragon. Situations that called for concrete, decisive action, he understood perfectly. Abstract, unsolvable problems based on ephemeral emotions—not so much.
There was no way to bring the lost Librarian and the Guardian back, therefore mourning was a waste of time and energy, to his way of thinking. He had learned that lesson the hard way early on; it cost far too much emotionally to become attached to anyone. He had seen many die over the centuries, beginning with Camelot. And it was a hard truth of Library life that Librarians and Guardians died or were lost in the course of their work at a shocking rate, and no amount of tears or gnashing of teeth was going to bring a single one of them back. Their loss could only be borne, preferably stoically, with jaw firmly set and tears manfully held at bay. Jenkins was expert at that by now, but Miss Cillian clearly was not.
He almost turned around and left the lab, but one final glance at the weeping woman held him in place. Miss Cillian looked absolutely miserable, and for some reason the sight of her tugged at his long-stilled heartstrings. A voice spoke up within: She is a maiden in distress; what kind of knight are you if you abandon her now, in her darkest hour?
With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and went to her.
"Cassandra?" he asked quietly, so as not to frighten her. She looked up, surprised to see him. What was left of her mascara was no more than a pair of smudgy rings around her eyes, red with crying for so long. She looked tired and worn, as though she hadn't slept well since their return to the Library. Jenkins quickly dug his handkerchief out of his trousers and handed it to her.
"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins," she whimpered sadly as she tossed the soggy tissue onto the table and took the fresh handkerchief. She began to dab her eyes. "I probably look awful, don't I?"
"You look fine," he lied gently. "Are you feeling any better today?" She shrugged her thin shoulders and began twisting the handkerchief in her hands anxiously.
"No, not really," she confessed raggedly, tears spilling from her eyes again almost immediately. "I just… I miss them so much!" Without warning, she jumped up from her seat and threw herself against his chest, her arms wrapping themselves around his body, holding tightly onto the startled Caretaker as she broke into a fresh crying jag.
A tiny gasp of surprise escaped Jenkins, and he worked to quell the panic that sprang up within him the moment she touched him. He slowly, awkwardly, placed his own long arms around the Librarian, allowing them rest only lightly against her slight body. Cassandra buried her face deeper into his chest in response and wept as though her heart was breaking.
"I miss them so much, Jenkins!" she managed to choke about between sobs. "I never had friends like them before! They accepted me, they accepted my gift, they didn't make fun of me or make me feel like a freak! They gave me a home, they gave me a purpose! They were like family! What am I going to do without them now?"
"I know, Cassandra. I know," he whispered, his heart unexpectedly aching for her. "I...I miss them, too." He told himself that was a lie, told only to make Cassandra feel better, but deep inside he knew it was the truth. He did miss them, especially Eve. It had been nice to have a fellow soldier to talk to for a change, someone who had actually seen combat and was a member of an organized military, not merely a mercenary or a spy or someone with a proficient set of fighting skills, as many Guardians had been.
Jenkins adjusted his arms around Cassandra, holding her a bit closer against him. One of his hands landed on her long red hair, and he marveled at how soft and fine it was against his skin. He raised his hand until it was resting against the back of her head. He pressed her head lightly to his chest; he feared using any more pressure, lest he hurt her. Cassandra had always appeared so delicate and frail to him, especially after witnessing the nosebleeds caused by her tumor. That impression was reinforced now as he actually held her, so small, so fine-boned in comparison to himself.
The chivalrous instinct to protect her rose up within him, and he unconsciously tightened his embrace slightly. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, his cheek brushing against the top of her head as his hand now gently stroking the back of it, her hair passing through his fingers like strands of fine silk. She smelled sweet, like a freshly-picked bouquet of wildflowers. Her body shook slightly as she cried, and he felt a surge of empathy envelope him. It cut into him deeply to see the normally cheerful and bubbly Librarian in so much pain, and even though he knew there was nothing he could do to bring back Eve or Flynn, he could do something to help Cassandra. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to him—to comfort Cassandra and try to ease her grief. As she wept, he began to murmur soothingly, his voice low and soft.
"I'm so sorry, Cassandra!" he whispered. "We may not be able to bring them back, but we can honor them. We can hold their memories in our hearts, tell the stories we have of them; we can honor their lives by making certain that their sacrifice was not in vain, as trite and as cliché as that may sound. It's the only thing we can do for them, at least for now. And if there's anything I can do for you, Cassandra, to help you through this-I am here for you, always."
Cassandra's tears began to subside, and as she adjusted her position against his body, Jenkins opened his eyes. He caught sight of their reflection in the glass doors of a nearby cabinet—the large Caretaker with the small Librarian held close in his arms, his hand stroking her hair, looking for all the world like a pair of lovers. Shocked by what he saw, Jenkins jerked upright and instantly released Cassandra, stepping back from her so quickly that she almost lost her balance and fell. Jenkins cleared his throat and nervously began straightening his clothes.
"My apologies, Miss Cillian!" he blurted, keeping his eyes downcast. "I didn't intend to... I shouldn't have... What I mean is... I didn't mean to take any...any liberties with you!" Cassandra looked at him, confused, as she sniffled.
"You weren't taking any liberties," she said faintly. "You were just trying to help me feel better." She tilted her head to one side as an idea came to her. "Weren't you?"
"Yes! Yes, of course!" Jenkins rushed to answer clumsily. "Merely comforting a...a...friend! Just a friend!" He clasped his hands in front of him. He looked down at her awkwardly and cleared his throat.
"Uh…yes...right; Mr. Stone tells me that there's been a new development with that mysterious, keyless door since our return," he hurriedly pressed on, before she could say anything else. "He and Mr. Jones are waiting for us there; if you're feeling up to it now, perhaps we should be on our way?"
Jenkins stepped aside and stiffly held his arm out, inviting her to go ahead of him, still refusing to look at her directly. Cassandra, her brow wrinkled, gave the immortal one last, questioning look, then she turned and went ahead of him out of the lab.
