Laila's phone ringing disturbed her from an otherwise peaceful rest. She had been surprised that she had slept as soundly as she had. Exhaustion had forced her into resting and in her sleep deprived state she had become so numb to everything that had happened over the past two weeks.
With the ringing of her phone, she cringed at the incessant sound that permeated her bedroom. Rubbing her eye with a free hand, she used her finger to swipe at the vibrant verdant circle.
"Hello?" Laila's voice was marred with sleep.
"Hey sweetheart, I'm just calling to check up on you."
Stifling a yawn, she closed her eyes, "I'm good, just sleeping."
"Still? It's nearly two in the afternoon."
"Oh." Laila stuttered.
"Go back to sleep if you're still tired. You've been so tired lately."
Laila groaned, "No, I have to get up. I have to do a few things today."
"If I see you at the bar, I'm knocking you on your toned ass."
Laughing at the absurdity she breathed, "Dallas, do we need to discuss your body confidence?"
"You're a literal ballerina. My confidence next to yours is particularly strong. How do you think I feel when you eat our bar food and stay the same dress size? Jealous…that's what I feel."
"I just have a fast metabolism. It'll slow down eventually." Laila smiled weakly, "besides I'm sure that you could still throttle me across the room if you wanted. I want your muscle tone. You could defeat anyone."
"We both want what we don't have, yet others want what we have. We can't ever be satisfied can we?"
"I guess not."
"What are your plans today?"
"Rehearsal."
There was an audible pause on the other line as Dallas sucked in a breath in disbelief.
"Production cannot be continuing…"
At Dallas' uncertainty Laila spoke fast, her voice coming out rushed, "I doubt it. I just want to maintain some semblance of normalcy. There's a studio across town. Not connected to either academy, I'm going to go there."
"Are they just going to let you in?"
"…I may know a dancer that gave me the access codes."
"You're the only woman I know that would trespass to dance."
"I like to think of it as renegade rehearsal…I'm going in and out…a few hours in and then pretending I've never been there. It'll be alright."
"Just be careful. I don't know what's going on with you and Gavin hasn't told me anything. I've tried to pry information out of both of them, but nothing. I'm jumping at the chance to ask you, but you probably don't want to talk about it."
"I really don't…but our Company has been targeted by some insane person. It feels unreal."
"Gavin did tell me that you refused a protective detail."
Wincing, Laila spoke fast, "Dallas…I've talked to you about this. I can't have that happening again-"
"Shh, I know. It's okay. Just please. Be safe. Call the police if you really need them, as much as they frighten you, they're here to help."
"I promise you I will call if anything happens. It won't. Things will be fine."
As much as Laila hoped they would be, things would not be fine.
….
The bag that Laila packed was chock full of supplies. Pointe shoes, bandages, adhesive, additional tights, bodysuits, and underwear, showering items, everything she could possibly need for a long rehearsal.
The bag weighed heavily on her shoulder as she stepped off the train leading across town. Managing to sidestep several people on the street, she smiled softly as she came upon the large studio that was privately run.
She knew she shouldn't be here, but Madame Aubert would have wanted her to continue dancing. She bit back tears at the thought of her instructor dying so brutally.
She had cried a lot during the day, nearly going through an entire box of Kleenex.
Now it was twilight, the sun had set when she departed for the studio.
She input the pin to the large glass building in the heart of downtown Detroit. She had been stunned at the beauty of the structure. The sleek design was inviting and sophisticated.
As a dancer it felt remarkable to even be able to step into the grand atrium. During the day, sunlight would have poured in illuminating the reception with a beautiful glow.
She would have to see if she could return during the day. The upkeep and maintenance that was necessary to ensure the building's beauty would have cost a fortune. She didn't know who had the money to invest in the arts like this, but with the name Amelia Young Arts Academy, she knew that it was the Young family who had contributed to its creation and upkeep.
She didn't know who the Youngs were, and she hardly kept up with Detroit's social scene, but she imagined that they were old money. They had to be considering the grand nature of the private studio.
There were several floors to the building, and she knew that she had to ask Katerina ahead of time where she had to go. Katerina had laughed loudly and had said that she had her choice of eight private rooms.
Several classes would run at the same time and each room would house a maximum of 30 students. The showers were beautiful according to Katerina and she couldn't wait to see after a grueling rehearsal.
After inputting a pin she ascended in the elevator, she pressed the button for the top floor. Katerina had stated that the top floor housed the largest room and Laila knew she wanted to see the skyline of downtown Detroit.
Feeling giddy in the sleek black interior, she smiled widely at the small ding that reverberated around the space as the elevator made its way to the top floor.
She stepped out into the well-lit room with hardwood flooring and was surprised that the elevator was in the same room as the studio. It was at that moment Laila realized that this was the ultimate room for rehearsal. It was spacious enough to span the entire wing of the building.
The floor to ceiling windows were entirely made of glass and showcased the beauty of downtown Detroit.
Stopping to admire the view, Laila looked downward to see how high she was from the ground. After feeling as though she were going to fall, she slinked back and scoffed at herself.
She still hated heights…but the view was worth the small scare.
After flitting about the room and fiddling with the sound system, she paused the instrumental music and ventured off into the back where there were a set of double doors.
Feeling curious, she opened the left door and walked through to see a row of beautiful marble showers with sliding glass doors.
Pausing in wonder, she wished that Madame Aubert had connections to this studio. The Company would have loved to rehearse here. It was beautiful and befitting a troupe of talented dancers.
Retreating back into the main room, she began warming up after resuming the music.
Stretching and lacing her pointe shoes she began in first position. She had determined that beginning with the simple steps would ease her into the rehearsal overall.
It was odd not to share the space with the Company, but it was better not to have to continuously answer questions related to Harper's death. She had thought it was over after Harper, she had no idea that it was going to become increasingly more difficult and unimaginable.
She tried to free her mind from thinking upon what was really happening in her life. She had fled Bahrain only to end up in a similar position where the police had begun targeting her a crime she had not committed.
She was increasingly grateful that the police in the United States could not resort to arbitrary detention like they had in Bahrain.
Nose flaring at the memories, she began increasing her pace and forgoing the strict rehearsal. Rather than properly follow a cohesive and choreographed routine, she began slicing together a routine of her own.
Breathing jaggedly at the rough and trying choreography, she continued etching forward on pointe. She had broken her shoes in, and she knew that she would need to replace another pair soon.
She had been wearing through several pairs in a mere week. It was common for dancers, but she was dancing more than the average member of her Company. Sometimes more than half of her day was spent in the studio.
Feeling a line of sweat bead on her brow, she exhaled harshly through her mouth, greedily sucking in air as she was becoming increasingly exhausted.
The burning at the back of her throat was difficult to manage as swallowing did nothing to ease the acid building in her trachea.
Closing her eyes, she began to spin on pointe, oblivious to her surroundings. After several excruciating moments, she slowed.
Wiping her brow with her wrist, she let out a cough from her dry mouth. She was shaking from exhaustion and she leaned against the wall as she trifled through her bag to find her water.
As she unscrewed the cap, she began downing the cool liquid, relishing the feeling it was bringing her warmed body. Swallowing the water, she let her head rest on the window. Not making the mistake of looking down, she closed her eyes and waited a moment to catch her breath.
After a brief moment to hydrate, Laila was back on her feet spinning smoothly despite her sliced choreography. Continuing her movements, she gracefully began practicing pirouettes. The act of dancing on one foot and turning consistently used to make her nauseous and dizzy, but with practice it had become second nature.
She desperately wished for a partner to practice with. She would have fed off of their energy and they would have been able to match one another perfectly.
Dancing alone was all well and good but being able to practice in a group or between two individuals was much preferred.
As much as she had despised Adrian and his arrogance, she had to admit that he was supremely talented and worthy of the role. He would have been phenomenal as Romeo and Harper would have been a sublime Juliet.
She found herself wishing that she could dance with Adrian again. He was rough with her, yelled at her, berated her, but he had been patient enough to stay behind and help her. After a gruelling practice he had not apologized for his remarks about her heritage and culture but had admitted she would be a suitable Juliet.
Although not a compliment, that was the kindest statement she would ever receive from someone like Adrian.
Closing her eyes and trying to picture Adrian as a dancer, as a beaming man engaging in a pas de deux with an equally stunning and beautiful Harper was an image she wanted in her mind…she didn't want to imagine them bloodied, bruised, battered and staring upwards with lifeless and glazed over eyes.
She wasn't sure how long she had been dancing, but she sighed as she looked at her watch. She had only been here for two and a half hours.
She was tired beyond belief and she was disappointed in herself.
She felt increasingly tired, too warm, and slow.
Giving herself a sigh, she travelled to the showers to wash herself off and cool down. She was grateful to find spare towels on a clean rack when she entered the space. The showers were divided by walls adorned with marble against a black accent. There were twelve glass stalls on each side, each individual shower had two steps leading up to the sliding glass doors.
It was a beautiful design and Laila promised herself that she would take up Katerina's offer to use this space on the down low. Ascending the two large steps, she entered the confined space with some toiletries in a shower caddy.
Stripping from her sweaty bodysuit and tights, she dropped them carelessly on the floor. She was too warm and uncomfortable. Her head ached and she felt drained. Rehearsal typically didn't tire her to this extent, and she briefly became concerned.
Chalking it up to emotional exhaustion and mental fatigue, she knew that the shower would help immensely. Darkening the glass with an electronic dial, she turned the opaque to as far as it could go.
Satisfied that she was hidden, she realized she could shower with no cover, but she blushed at the thought. Even if she couldn't be seen, she wasn't in the comfort of her own home and she didn't want to be exposed even if there were no one there.
Twisting the facet, the water poured down rapidly and at high pressure. Nearly moaning at the comfort of the shower she had to stop herself from becoming used to this. This was temporary. She couldn't become used to this space.
Her Dance Academy was her home. This was a shiny and beautiful location, but it had no character that she had seen thus far compared to the old decrepit building she had called a second home for years.
Adjusting the water so it was steaming, she was grateful that there was a bench she could sit as the water poured over her strained joints and tired muscles.
Letting the water cascade her form was a beautiful sensation. It was perfect and she felt content to stay there forever. Shaking herself of the thought, she began to wash her hair and rid it of the sweat and grime that had accumulated with her aggressive choreography. After a few moments of massaging her scalp, she plucked the conditioner from her caddy and lathered it into her hair, letting it soak for a few moments while she used her soap over her body.
Sighing deeply, she sat still under the showerhead but leaned her head forward, letting the harsh stream of sweltering water flow around her.
Brushing through her locks she washed the conditioner from her hair as she closed her eyes.
Feeling increasingly unwell, she turned the facet and began collecting her soap and shampoo in her caddy. After placing the conditioner into its rightful spot, she slowly ascended from the bench.
Using her hand to stabilize her form she winced at the sensation of wintery air hitting her form. She didn't remember it being this cold. Swallowing, she slowly turned the dial of the glass, illuminating the confined space once more.
Opening the door, she shivered as she left the warmed shower. Carefully stepping down from the stairs, she blinked at the floor. She had left her discarded clothes on the ground.
She was sure they had been there.
Feeling a chill prickle down her spine that was unrelated to the cold, she quickly whirled around to see if she could spot anyone or hear anything.
Refusing to speak out in fear, she quickly grabbed her backpack that she had placed on the side and internally sighed in relief at the clean clothes that were still in the bag.
She wondered if it were Katerina pulling another prank. She had liked these sorts of innocent jokes and she was the only one who knew she was there and the only other person with the pin to the studio after hours.
Deciding to call out she allowed her voice to echo around the bathroom, "Katerina…come on, this isn't funny."
Her voice was small and she hated that it was dripping with fear, but she couldn't help but feel absolutely terrified.
When there was no response, Laila raced to put her clothes on. As she wrapped her cardigan over her body, she let the towel drop from her form. Water droplets coated her sweater, but she didn't care.
She could change properly when she got home.
Pulling on her leggings, she tilted her head around to see if she could spot anyone. She heard nothing in the showers and wondered if she had placed her clothes somewhere else. Laila shook her head and bounded forward with her items, heading for the double doors.
As she was about to open the doors to leave the studio she collided with a firm and sturdy chest and she couldn't help the scream that emerged from her mouth as she nearly fell back. She would have fallen back if not for the strong hands holding her shoulders, long fingers curling around to her back.
Trying to shake the hold, she elbowed the man in the chest. He barely moved an inch, and she went to kick between his legs when she was twirled around and held against the chest she had knocked into.
"Miss Ayad, I assure you I do not intend to harm you. Please refrain from attacking an officer of the law."
At his stoic voice she paused and relaxed her stance. As she was let go, she turned around, her wet hair flying to the other side of her head.
"What are you doing here?" Laila demanded harshly feeling extremely flustered and still reeling from the shock of being scared out of her mind.
The tall detective gave her a questioning glance a flicker of humor in his sterling eyes, "I do have the same inquiry to pose to you."
Laila swallowed at the feeling of tightness in her throat, "Rehearsal."
At her terse reply the detective gave an almost bemused glance over her soaking wet form.
"You are trespassing. You do not have authorization to be here."
Laila shook her head tiredly, "Invitation by another fellow dancer."
Raising a brow his jaw tightened, "This invitation came from a fellow dancer not of your company…not an instructor nor a proprietor of the academy."
"It's a part of my routine…I can't just stop dancing. If I stop practicing, then I slowly lose my ability to continue properly. I would have gone to the studio near my apartment, but it's still cordoned off."
His stare was piercing and if she weren't so exhausted and angered, she would have looked away anxiously but she refused to back down. His narrowed eyes and sharp jawline that was locked tight made her pause for a brief moment. Realizing that she was not going to win against an officer she remembered her missing clothes and called him out angrily.
"You can arrest me again if you'd like, but I'd like my clothes back. As an officer of the law, I figured you would know that theft is a crime."
She gave a darkened expression and gestured to the empty steps leading up to the shower stall she had used.
The detective in front of her narrowed his eyes, "I did not seize any articles of clothing."
Laila paused but paled considerably, "my clothes that I rehearsed in are missing."
The detective carefully moved in front of the anxious dancer and began scanning the area. There were no signs that anyone was there, but he followed the emergency exit realizing that the stairwell was not locked. Taking a look at the pin pad, it was bereft of prints.
Analyzing the pad, he blinked carefully and attempted once more to find any existing prints. Turning on his heel he knew that the perpetrator was no longer on the premises, so he began asking questions of the dancer.
"How long were you in the shower?"
Laila wracked her brain, "fifteen-twenty minutes maybe. Was he here?"
She gave a terrified glance to the showers feeling shaken that she was in the same room as the man who murdered three people in her name.
"Yes. He is becoming bolder. He is sure to reach out to you soon. Miss Ayad, this type of perpetrator is a persistent stalker with sociopathic behaviours. He will attempt to observe you in an innocuous manner, but time only will tell when he will devolve and utilise angered retaliatory behaviour if you reject his advances. This type of man will not hesitate to harm you in an attempt to prove his love and devotion. This man has arranged crime scenes meant to assure you that he is eliminating threats to your person. You are in far more danger than you realize. You are fortunate that he has not acted on his delusions towards you. He has taken your clothing as a form of a souvenir. An essential part of your identity is in your dancing. What is more important than your pointe shoes and uniform?"
Laila nearly stumbled at the information she was being given. Rubbing her forehead, she felt a terrible headache grapple her skull. Sniffling, she gave an exhausted glance at the detective.
"I don't really have a choice anymore, do I?"
The Detective tilted his head waiting for her to elaborate. Patiently waiting she rubbed her inflamed brow once more.
She was finally willing to admit she needed the help.
Sighing she spoke quietly her voice coming out hushed, "What does a protective detail mean for me?"
"An officer shadowing you and remaining outside of your home."
Laila nodded feeling warm and worn out. Closing her eyes, she felt the need to sit down but couldn't. She needed to leave…to go home.
"Miss Ayad, are you alright?"
Laila who still had her eyes closed shook her head honestly, "My head hurts and I'm tired."
Before she could recoil, she felt a cool hand on her head and neck. The detective gave a thoughtful glance.
Despite her burning skin, the hands that grasped her brow and strained neck sent a glowing warmth through her. His fingers found the underside of her jaw and pressed gently as she remained stock-still.
"Your lymph nodes are swollen, you have a moderate fever, you are experiencing chills and you have congestion of your sinuses."
Laila's doe eyes met the detectives' steel irises, "I want to go home."
Retracting his hands, the detective nodded and gestured to the studio's doors, "I will drive you to your apartment and remain in the vicinity."
…
The ride back to her apartment was quiet, he had offered her the radio to listen to, but she had shaken her head at the thought of unnecessary noise. She hadn't noticed the brief glances he sent her way, too sick to notice and too sick to care.
It would have normally made her feel increasingly uncomfortable, but she hardly observed anything as she was paying attention to the flurries of snow hitting the windshield delicately.
If she hadn't been so unwell and the circumstances were much different, she would have thought that the ride to her apartment was beautiful. Despite going to a much seedier part of town, the snow falling onto the quiet streets was aesthetically pleasing.
She never saw snow in Bahrain. She had always wanted to, but the climate was far too humid and far too scorching for even the most minute possibility of snow. Cracking open her eyes once more, she stared out the window watching the collection of lights from different apartments.
Subconsciously rubbing her hands, she fought the shaking sensation that was coursing through her. The cold nipped at her heels and she felt as though she hadn't regained the feeling in her feet. Rubbing her legs, she was unaware that her actions were being carefully observed by the man driving the car.
Flicking the heater into a higher setting remained unnoticed by Laila who had since closed her eyes once more. Her jacket was completely to her chin and her head covered with a warm knit hat, but the chill was unrelenting. Pursing her lips, she held herself tightly, her form small in the front seat.
Hoping to distract his unwell passenger the detective spoke, his voice a soothing baritone, "Why reside in Detroit?"
Laila slowly turned to the stoic and reserved man, seemingly confused as to why he would want to partake in idle chit-chat. He didn't seem the type.
Swallowing the lump in her throat she answered vaguely, "it seemed like a fair option."
"Fair in light of what?"
Laila shuffled in the seat uncomfortably, "I don't know."
She frowned; she had asked that exact question to the man who had forced the American visa in her hands harshly all of those years ago. He had given her no other option than Detroit and a way to get there. After she was settled and safe all contact had been cut from her family. He had told her that it was a fair option. Michigan, he said, was a beautiful state. As long as she was safe, her family was happy.
She had been trying to find a way to send them money every so often, and he worked as a middleman to keep contact limited.
She didn't question it…but she missed her family.
Sensing that she was telling the truth, he was about to ask her another set of questions when she spoke softly, "do you think that he left because you arrived? I could hear the elevator anywhere in the studio and if he were in the showers, you could still hear it. Do you think he left because you were looking around?"
Nines tilted his head as he switched lanes, "it's a possibility. I had only been in the room for 36 seconds until I intercepted you."
"He would have had to have taken the stairs." Laila recognized sensing a disturbing pattern, "it doesn't make sense. Katerina told me that only the Company knows the codes and that they change weekly. This rotation only she and two others knew about the code switch. They've decided to take a week to mourn and honour Madame Aubert. No one should have been able to get up there."
Nines listened to this information carefully coming to a frightening realization, "the man stalking you, he may have experience in security. There were no prints on the pad leading to the showers from the stairwell. I have also sensed that the security footage has been tampered with; it has replayed the past 3 hours ago on a loop."
Laila coughed into the crook of her elbow as he was explaining his findings. The noise dry and harsh in the confined space.
Eyes watering and voice raspy she cleared her throat, "I didn't tell anyone where I was going. I mean…I told Dallas, but I don't think she told you."
Nines gave a hint of a smirk, "the studio that you intruded upon, it is under the management of a very benevolent woman. I was in her company when she was made aware of an unauthorized person entering the centre. I offered to inspect the property to ensure no damage occurred. I believed that it was a strong probability that it would be you that would enter the studio in odd hours of the night to rehearse. I have been proven correct."
Laila placed her frigid hands in front of the heater as she responded, "If I would have known that I would have been found out I would have just stayed in and rehearsed on the roof of my building."
Nines' brow furrowed, "It is a favourable outcome that it was I that intercepted you. I still don't believe you fully comprehend the danger you are in Miss Ayad."
Laila sighed as she sagged against the seat, "I don't even believe I'm in my real life anymore."
Nines gave her a concerned glance, his steel eyes scanning her analytically. She still had a relatively moderate fever, she was still experiencing chills, fatigue, and had begun to cough. He suspected a common cold and began to compile remedies that would be suited for her recovery.
The most important factor was rest, which she likely would not fight him on. She was barely holding on in the passenger seat-
"I wanted to look after babies."
"I beg your pardon?"
Blinking at the exhausted doe-eyed dancer in the mirror, he wondered if it were the fever causing delusions.
"Babies," Laila repeated tiredly, "In NICU, I wanted to look after babies. I still wanna. I have a degree in nursing. I wanted to start a masters in a nurse practitioner program. I plan to in the next academic semester. I wanted to dance first before starting. I took a few years after my degree to focus on saving…all for the babies."
"You want to care for babies in the neonatal unit." Nines stated as a confirmation of fact rather than of genuine interest.
Laila nodded sleepily, "Babies are the best. Tiring…but the best."
Nines scoffed gently but not unkindly at her assertion.
Laila misinterpreted the noise and crossed her arms, "I know that might seem mediocre to you…but I do want to become something more than 'just a dancer.'"
"Forgive me, I did not mean to cause offense. It is rather surprising, the field you wish to involve yourself. Nurses are prone to burnout and psychological stress. Caring for infants in an intensive care unit is an arduous and unforgiving task. To see someone so determined to partake because 'babies are the best' is rather unexpected. You are choosing to care for babies in a hospital setting rather than a daycare or domestic aid-"
"I want to help people, do better, I want to use my skill to save lives…I don't want to waste potential. Especially when I'm so close."
Nines nodded at her assertion. It was true that humans only had a limited time to participate in their lives meaningfully. Understanding that was the key to accepting one's reality. Laila had discovered that at a young age and was ready to begin her life with meaning.
Living life with meaning was something that he had discovered shortly after becoming deviant. It was something he strived for.
"I just want to make them proud."
Nines raised an eyebrow, "your family?"
Laila closed her eyes and held herself in a tight embrace but nodded.
"They deserve so much, and I haven't been able to help them. I don't know how."
Before he could respond to her statement he had pulled onto her street and had slide into a visitor's parking space. Weakly looking up and sensing her surroundings she laid her head back against the seat in anguish.
Giving her a perplexed expression, he raised his brows expectantly to receive an explanation.
As if sensing his confusion, she weakly muttered in her hands, "I have to get up and I don't want to go out in the cold."
Giving a small chuckle at what she had been reduced to, she lifted her heavy head and braced her hand on the car door. Finding a sliver of strength, she clenched the handle with her fingers and pushed the door open against the whipping wind. The door hit her knees and she sighed uncomfortably as she begun the process again.
Before she could begin pushing with both hands, a large hand clamped over the top of the door and pulled it open effortlessly. With his other free hand, he offered it to her cautiously.
She bit her lip in hesitation but grasped his hand with a weak hold. Instead of merely holding her hand, he adjusted his grip to curl around her forearm and lift as she propelled forward on her unsteady feet. It took an effort that winded her more than she cared to admit, but the detective did not utter a word but graciously let her use his arm to steady herself.
As she moved out of the way, he shut the car door and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She didn't protest to his hold so he began walking with her. Allowing her to set the pace, he followed her lead to the door of the lobby.
She shivered as another gust of wind whipped her hair that had escaped its hold from under her knit hat and she began internally lamenting that she had left the studio with wet hair.
Doing everything to keep her teeth from chattering she pulled her keys from her pocket and was about to insert them into the door when a gentle touch stopped her in her tracks. Softly pulling the keys from her fingers, he smoothly unlocked the door with a flourish of his fingers. Pushing the door, he let her walk first to the stairwell.
She stopped at the stairs and sighed but before she could place her foot down on the first step, she felt a strong arm hold her back.
"What's wrong?" Laila questioned, concern marring her features as she looked back at the silent man in behind her.
Dark purple circles were etched under her darkened eyes, her brow lined with a cold sweat, and her visage deathly pale. She tilted her head as he scanned her, and he gave a brief response that brokered no argument.
"Remain still."
Without being able to utter a word she felt strong hands wrap themselves around her waist as she was twisted to face the tall detective. Lifting her was no challenge, with her height and weight far lighter than what he could carry it was no difficulty walking up the stairs while holding her still. Hoisting her up higher so that her head was resting against his neck, he wasn't expecting her legs to delicately wrap around his hips. Furrowing his brow, he didn't comment when her head weighed heavily on his shoulder. He could feel her unsteady breathing as if it hurt to inhale and exhale, her forehead was far too warm, and she was still shivering.
His hand cradled her back as he ascended the wide staircase. He kept one hand free to ensure that he could insert the keys into the door of her apartment unit.
After slowly making his way up the stairs he reached her floor. Unlocking her door, he carefully analyzed the floor before stepping inside as he didn't want to unnecessarily trip over any lingering shoes or other articles of clothing.
After deeming it acceptable, he strode forth and closed the door behind him, ensuring that he locked the door securely.
She sighed against his neck and he could feel the flutter of her eyelashes against his synthetic skin as she struggled to keep her eyes open. He fought the urge to shake her awake, instead opting for carrying her to her bedroom.
She could sleep soundly in her bed and rest properly. Although it was dark and he hadn't turned on the lights, he was capable of seeing in her small apartment. Carrying her through the space he opened her bedroom door and walked to the middle of the room where her bed was neatly made and set with several pillows.
Pulling her cover from her bed, he reached to move some of the pillows from the top of the bed. Tossing the pillows to the left, he cleared the right of all of the pillows save for one fluffy pillow with drool stains.
She slept with this one the most based on the faded colour and the drool patterns scattered throughout. After flipping the pillow where there were no stains, he gently unhooked her arms from his back and began placing her down on the bed. She didn't stir but her head lolled back, exposing her neck. Noticing her swollen lymph nodes, he furrowed his brow, the tension she was likely feeling in her sinuses was a component of her virus and he began scanning more remedies.
As she relaxed against the pillow, he set her legs down carefully. She was still wearing her winter jacket and he frowned at the possibility of it becoming uncomfortable.
Making an executive decision, he unzipped her jacket carefully. She didn't stir but she shivered in her sleep. His jaw tightened as he realized she was wearing a thin shirt that was fairly sheer despite the weather. Pulling her jacket from her body was a difficult task as she was limp and unresponsive in her sleep.
He wiggled and wrestled her arms free and slid the material from underneath her body. Retracting her winter jacket, he found a hanger within her closet and made space to leave it beside her other jackets. Sensing she would be cold without additional blankets, he found another two in her closet and pulled them down.
Gently placing her comforter over her form, he wrapped the others around her and tucked them underneath her shoulders.
Holding her brow gently, he scanned her temperature, frowning when he realized that her fever hadn't broken. He would leave her to rest for a few hours and check back in on her later.
He left the room, his footfalls gentle on the carpeted floor.
Her window had been closed but the blinds had been left open. What he hadn't seen was the lingering presence only just hidden by the metal fire escape.
…
He had been so close to approaching her. He had watched her routine and her abandonment of her practice to engage in a flurry of different dances and positions. She had refused to still until she had.
She looked tired. Too pale and too sickly.
She needed someone to take care of her.
She had closed her eyes and had waited a moment before deciding to enter the showers. It was at that moment he wanted to see her. She had entered the double doors and had adjusted the opaque glass to shroud her form.
He could see her outline but couldn't see her.
The water sounded from inside and he heard her content sigh as the water cascaded down. He noticed her sitting inside, head bowed and poor posture. She was leaning against the glass, her hair framing her face like a halo.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and held it to his face. Security footage from the front of the building showcased the brute that had arrested her. He scowled angrily, recognizing that he couldn't afford to take the time to talk to her and take her away from the studio without being intercepted.
Deciding to take her uniform, he would wash it and ensure it was clean so she could have an outfit to dance in when he brought her back to the home he was hoping to share with her.
Plucking her clothes from the floor he resisted the urge to pull her along. She was too unwell to be able to keep up the pace he needed her to keep up so they would not be stopped by the disgustingly inept detective.
He fled on foot down the back stairwell as the detective with the soulless eyes began making his way towards the main elevator.
The detective may have been intelligent, but he was far faster and far more prepared than he would ever be.
He had fled back to his position that he had taken just outside of her apartment, edging close to her fire escape. He had rented an apartment one floor under hers to be closer to her.
She was intelligent to lock her doors and keep her windows shut. Her blinds often remained open, and he savoured those moments where he was able to see her at her most relaxed and calmed.
She was a storm when she was working. Distributing drinks across the bar, picking up food orders, cleaning up people's messes…all demeaning tasks. At home she was at ease and was able to clean, read, manage her space. She often only used her apartment to rest.
She loved travelling to the studio…to her favourite cafes…to back home. She was often at the bank and he later overheard her speaking to a teller about sending money to a foreign account.
He had later bypassed the bank's security and found that she was sending money to an account in Bahrain. Along with being a good girl, she was a good daughter.
She was working in a demeaning and immodest job, but it hadn't influenced her into becoming another whore in Detroit. He was grateful for her maturity.
She had revealed her dreams once of starting her own family after graduating. She had ambitions of helping patients. She wanted to put her skills to use and contribute to society in a meaningful way. Bartending was a job that peddled in vice.
She was not going to stay there forever.
He would ensure that.
As he watched her apartment from the fire escape, he noticed a police vehicle idle near the side of the building in the parking lot. Squinting, he noticed Laila in the passenger seat, pale and for the most part unresponsive.
He clenched his fists in anger. He should be the one helping her inside and taking care of her. Not this brute of a man.
Stewing in anger he watched as the detective opened her door after she was unable to push it against the sharp winds. He had outstretched his arm and she gently took his treacherous hand into hers. Nearly growling at the sight, he seethed as he watched her be guided to the door of the lobby. He had taken her hand and pulled her keys from her delicate fingers.
What was he doing? Unabashedly pulling her forth under his gaze, he began to follow her inside. Swallowing a bout of fiery rage, he felt his chest clench.
He needed to see that he would leave her in peace. That man did not deserve to be in the same room as her. Pulling himself upwards, he crouched at her fire escape and watched as her door slightly opened.
He fought a growl that threatened to emerge from his throat. That bastard was carrying her…her legs were wrapped around his…no, this wasn't her conscious reaction…she was sick.
She didn't know any better in that state. He was taking advantage of her weakened state to touch her more than what was appropriate and far more than what was necessary.
He held onto her steadily and her eyes were closed against his neck. Her face was increasingly pale, and he felt a sliver of anxiety wash over him. She was unwell. She needed someone to take care of her, but he couldn't. Not with that detective inside.
He moved quietly and quickly on the metal fire escape as the detective carried her to her bedroom. Swallowing the anger in his throat he watched as the tall man set her down on the bed after harshly moving her pillows to the side carelessly and without grace.
He disgustingly wretched her arms free of her jacket and he narrowed his eyes at the shirt she was wearing. He could see through her shirt and her narrowed his eyes sharply. He could see her chest through the thin shirt, and he clenched his fists uncomfortably tight.
The detective had the gall to raise his hand to her forehead and frown. She had an intense fever, that much was clear. She had fallen asleep and there was no chance of her waking up.
The bastard rifled through her closet and had taken out more blankets to cover her frail body. Begrudgingly looking away in a mix of anger and irritation he moved stealthily back down to his apartment and entered quietly through his balcony door.
This wasn't over.
The Detective was next.
…..
Laila had woken up a few times to a hand on her forehead and each time she mumbled out something indecipherable and incoherent. She wanted to talk. She wanted to ask who it was.
She could barely lift her head as her mind was afloat in watery haze. She felt disgustingly warm but shivered all the same at the cool sensation that wracked her body.
As she opened her eyes fully, they felt as though they were drenched in sand. Pulling herself up gently from the bed, she nearly doubled over at the ache in her body.
Moving to inhale she let out a harsh breath and began coughing uncomfortably, her throat tight and feeling scorched.
Before she could move her door opened and she recoiled until she noticed who was at the threshold. Steel analytical eyes met her terrified chestnut irises and they softened only fractionally before his baritone voice permeated her room.
"Be still." He commanded as he brought forth a wet dishcloth and glass of water.
Laila was exhausted so she barely paid attention to his commands.
She sat against her headboard and glanced up at the tall detective that was as imposing as the other officers she encountered.
"…what are you doing here?" Laila rasped uncomfortably.
Nines tilted his head, concern marring his visage as his eyes narrowed, "You agreed to a protective detail."
At his response she nodded and coughed harshly, it was a wet and disturbing noise that shook her frame. He stepped forward and gently placed the glass of water beside her bed on the oak nightstand. His large hand travelled from his side to gently grasp the back of her neck, his fingers gently holding her head up while his other hand set the cool cloth on her flaming brow.
Leaning into his touch, she let her head rest against his hand that was woven around her neck. Giving a contented sigh she spoke in a pained whisper, "I-I thought that meant you were outside."
"Would you like me to leave?" Nines' voice was analytical but not unkind and he began retracting the dish towel from his hand.
Before he could move his hand from her scorching skin, she shook her head vehemently.
"No. Stay. I don't want to be alone right now." Laila answered tiredly and honestly as she was trying to extricate herself from the blankets.
Nines tilted her head with the hand that was resting on her neck, effectively stopping her movements in her tracks.
His voice was deep but in a low tone that questioned her, "You need to rest."
Laila shook her head, "I want to wash my face. I feel terrible."
"You have a fever of 103 degrees. You are unwell and you will not be able to stand for prolonged periods of time. I have called Dallas and she is arriving to bring you some supplies to remedy your illness."
Laila nodded, "I don't want to be in my bed anymore, I want to read in the living room. I'll sit there. I'll sit still. I promise."
Nines closed his eyes but considered the compromise, "Drink the water and I'll bring your blankets there. Don't try to walk if you can't, you'll only hurt yourself."
Laila was too sick to fight him, so she nodded as he stalked off to the living room.
Weakly grasping the cup with two unsteady hands, she swallowed the cool water with some difficulty. Her head still ached, and she wanted nothing more than to lay back down, but she was too warm in her bed.
Carefully lowering her feet to the floor, she bowed over and held herself as her head rested against her knees. Breathing out of her mouth she sighed as she slackened.
"Miss Ayad, do you require assistance?"
Laila shook her head but remained still.
Nines fought an exasperated sigh from emerging from his mouth and instead walked over to her doubled over form and gently grasped her shoulder, crouching down to see her pale visage.
Unfocused eyes glanced over his form and she shook her head, "I wanna stay like this."
Blinking at her figure hunched over he frowned and spoke critically but gently, "You are going to harm yourself further. Your posture will suffer if you sleep in such a position. Come."
Nines pulled her arm gently up and she begrudgingly followed weakly standing unsteady on her socked feet. Noticing her slump and nearly fall, he pulled her forward and began holding her side as he strode to the living room.
Too tired and too sick to protest, she accepted her fate and felt nauseous at the footfalls that resounded on the carpet. She was unbalanced, uncoordinated, and feeling terrible.
She noticed that the sun was shining brightly, "What time is it?"
"It is ten in the morning; you have slept for eleven hours."
Laila gave him a look of utter disbelief, "Eleven hours?"
"Yes. You needed the rest. Dallas will be arriving shortly, she will keep you company while I will observe the apartment from the car."
Laila nodded weakly, "O-okay, thank you."
He gently led her to the weathered couch and she all but fell onto it gracelessly. Despite her loss of coordination, she let her head loll against the back of the couch and felt stabilized by the motion.
Laila didn't know how to express her gratitude. She had been so frustrated by the tall and imposing detective, but she was slowly realizing that he wasn't a bad man, on the contrary. He was dedicated to his job and he was right to have his suspicions. He had the chance to deny her the freedom she deserved, but he hadn't.
He had been convinced that she had become involved and as an outsider looking in, it seemed fairly appropriate for him to question her.
She kept this to herself but wanted to say thank you.
"I know that we haven't-" Laila paused to cough, "haven't gotten along and I've been angry with you a lot…it-"
Laila paused and took a moment to cough once more and winced as it burned her throat, "It hasn't been fair to you and I'm sorry. You're not a bad person and I've been acting as though you have been one of the worst people to be around."
Nines did not utter a word during her moment of apology, but his eyes lightened considerably yet he remained still and rather indecipherable. She wasn't looking at his eyes, she was looking down at the floor feeling like she was going to fall to the ground.
Before she had a moment to recover, she lost her balance and tipped to the side. Nines had been silently observing her frail form and acted before she could topple sideways onto the floor. Grasping her shoulders, he gently placed her body against the side of the couch, effectively allowing her to sink within the material.
She made a noise of protest when he went to stand in the corner of the room.
Lifting her head, she tilted her head to the side of the worn couch, "Sit over here, you don't have to stand. You're not a guard in Bahrain…don't-don't stand like that."
Exhaustion was creeping in her voice and she was at the point where she did not care about what she was saying. Nines gave her a calculated look but acquiesced when she pointed repeatedly at the spot.
She had curled her toned legs against her chest as she rested her head on the couch, her back to its corner. She was wrapped securely in a thick blanket and she closed her eyes but cracked an eye open and felt her face flush when she felt the couch dip as it sustained more weight.
Nines observed the ghost of a smile that had appeared on her face and felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the acceptance that she had granted him. It was true that his methods were fairly by the book. With Gavin by his side, he was becoming more easy-going each day but remained a rigid and serious detective compared to his hot-headed counterpart.
Where Gavin could loosen up and let things slide, Nines was continuously fighting against his impulses of maintaining pure law and order. His approach worked well with criminals, but it was less appealing to those who were victims of violent crime or innocent bystanders caught up in dangerous circumstances.
Laila's forgiveness meant a lot more to him than he cared to admit, and he was feeling fairly satisfied as she rested against the couch.
As her eyes closed once more and she became unresponsive, there was a light knock at the door before a key was inserted. He was at ease after scanning the footsteps of the individual coming to the door.
Dallas strode through with a large tote bag full to the brim.
Her blonde hair bounced with her movements and she quickly locked the door behind her. Not bothering to remove her shoes, she walked onto the living room carpet with the bag and stared at Laila's unresponsive form.
Concern was etched on her heart shaped face; her hazel eyes analyzed the pale visage of her younger friend and she frowned deeply.
Turning to Nines she spoke softly as to not wake her friend, "Is she okay, Nines? She looks terrible."
Nines answered soothingly, "I've been monitoring her fever, she is experiencing nausea, headaches, a sore throat, moderate cough, and fatigue. She will not admit to being in pain, but she has aches in her body. She needs rest. She hasn't completely fought the notion of rest. Perhaps because she is too ill to argue."
Dallas gave a quiet scoff, "Laila is normally too headstrong for her own good. Heart of gold, fiercely loyal, but way too goddamn stubborn for her own good."
"Perhaps this is why you are so acquainted?" Nines gave a ghost of a smirk while Dallas shook her head.
"I'm not as bad as I used to be, I've made some concessions here and there." Dallas confessed as she began pulling items from the reusable bag.
Stacking cans of chicken noodle soup, packages of crackers, and a few small bottles of ginger ale, Dallas hummed as she plucked more foods from the bag. Plastic cups of Jell-O, pudding, applesauce, and yogurt lined the table as Dallas continued organizing.
At the abundance of food on the table Nines spoke curiously, "You are aware that this is much more than any one individual needs, yes?"
Dallas chuckled, "Of course, but knowing Laila, she probably has nothing in her fridge. Kid barely eats a damn thing," pausing to look at her miniscule sleeping form, Dallas frowned, "I'm not stupid, I've seen her count calories and burn everything off…but she needs to eat more. She's not as bad as some of the other girls, but she's still remarkably underweight."
Nines appraised Laila out of the corner of his eye, she was smaller than others in her weight category, but she was not malnourished to a point of great concern.
"How long has she been sleeping?" Dallas questioned as she began toting things to the fridge.
"After driving her here, she slept for eleven hours and is likely going to sleep several more."
Dallas gave another humming noise as she readjusted the blanket over Laila's body. Crouching to her level she braced the back of her hand against Laila's brow. Frowning at the heat emanating from her forehead, Dallas brushed Laila's hair back.
Despite the chatter and noise from Dallas' footfalls, she didn't stir nor open her eyes. She was in a deep sleep and Dallas was grateful that she had a chance to rest.
"She's had a really few difficult days, especially with her instructor passing." Dallas sighed as she shook her head, "Lye loved that woman. God, she never stopped talking about her either. Anyone who would listen to her knew how much she cared for her like she was her own mother."
At Dallas' admission, Nines' brow furrowed in thought, "Was there any possibility that Laila spoke ill of Celine Aubert?"
Pausing and giving a thoughtful expression Dallas shook her head, "No…well…I mean, this week has been particularly hard on Lye. She mentioned that her instructor was really drilling into her and was unsure if she was ready to debut as Juliet."
"These concerns were audibly expressed to Laila directly?"
"Yeah, she came in really upset one night after her rehearsal and said that she felt like she wasn't being seen as capable." Dallas revealed as she began lining the table with several DVDs, hardcover books, hot chocolate mixes and vitamins.
As Dallas was organizing the contents of the bag, she turned to Laila's broom closet of a kitchen and began lining her fridge with the food that she brought.
Nines began to formulate possibilities of where the suspect may have found this information. The common denominator seemed to be the patrons of the bar where she and Dallas worked.
"Dallas, how many regular patrons do you have on average?"
Dallas scoffed loudly, "Jesus Nines, half of Detroit?"
Nines fought to keep himself from sighing.
"Has anyone expressed a particular interest in Laila?"
At this question Dallas met Nines eyes and gave him an incredulous look, "Nines look at her."
Nines closed his eyes and spoke irritation dripping from his voice, "I am aware that Laila is conventionally attractive."
"Then why ask Sweetheart?" Dallas smirked as she faced the fridge once more.
"There has to be a shortlist of men wanting to interact with her more."
Dallas sighed as she rose from the tiled floor and gave a focused glance at the android in the living room, "Nines, she's a young and beautiful woman. She's also hella ethnic and often reduced to looking 'exotic.' She's a challenge to some men because she's not American. It's worse considering her temperament. She doesn't swear, she doesn't drink, she doesn't get into trouble, and she doesn't raise her voice…usually. She's an anomaly among all of us: that would attract much more attention than you would think."
Nines' brow furrowed as he met Laila's unresponsive form and observed her smoothed brow free of tension and stress.
"Do you understand what I'm saying? Everyone tips her extremely well…she brings in a lot of customers who stay longer just to speak with her. She's well-spoken and polite among the rest of us degenerates."
Nines glanced at Dallas and nodded briefly, "I understand, Dallas."
Walking back to the living room, Dallas leaned against the small bookshelf and crossed her arms while looking at Laila carefully.
"Thank you for staying with her. Are you still on the clock?"
Nines shook his head, "I am not. She asked me to stay, however. I don't believe she would feel comfortable with anyone else here, despite her assertions that she would be fine."
Dallas gave a sad smile, "She's been through a lot, doesn't trust many: especially those in law enforcement. She seems comfortable around you."
Nines gave a quizzical glance, "She said something peculiar before you arrived. She said that I am not a guard in Bahrain and not to stand to the side watching."
Dallas' lips tightened and guarded her expression well, "She'll discuss it if she feels comfortable. Just don't push it, okay?"
Nines gave a solemn nod, "I am piecing things together slowly, but I will not pry."
Dallas closed her eyes and yawned tiredly as she collected her tote bag.
"I'm going to head out, unlike you I need sleep after pulling a double shift, can you let Lye know I was here?"
"Yes. Get some rest Dallas, I know you took Laila's shift. You are a worthy friend."
Dallas scoffed lightly, "Please, she would do this for me a thousand times over."
Picking up her things slowly she gave a focused stare at Nines, "Do I need to be concerned? Gavin is incessantly checking in on me and won't let me go an hour without texting him back."
Nines narrowed his eyes sharply, "Have you refused a protective detail as well?"
Dallas gave a sharp laugh, "Nines please…I am not a frail dancer nor a frail instructor. I'll be fine, but if it helps Gavin has been staying with me when he is not working, that and I've been staying with Skylar in her fortified fucking glass castle."
Nines gave a smirk, "Fortified indeed."
Dallas shook her head, "In the next life I want Skylar Young's money. Connor's a lucky man."
At this Nines smirked, "You do know that if you requested a million dollars she would cut you a check, right?"
Dallas laughed loudly, "Yeah, but I'm not going to do that. I'm just going to envy from afar. I'm just glad I don't live in this shoebox, I couldn't do it."
"Laila appears to manage in this space."
"Yeah, well she actually had to spend time in a confined-" Dallas stopped short and shook her head, "she's used to this. Besides she uses this apartment as a place to crash rather than to live. She's always rehearsing, working or studying."
Nines caught Dallas' slip but said nothing, choosing to inference rather than continue digging into possible responses to find answers.
Dallas zipped up her jacket and dropped her phone in her tote bag.
Reaching the front door, she gestured to her keys, "I'm going to lock up after myself…Nines can you check Lye's feet? If she practiced last night, she may not have had time to properly care for her toes. She wears these special socks with spacers between the toes, they look hilarious, but she keeps telling me they're important."
Nines nodded, "I will check and when she awakens, I will remind her to care for her feet."
Dallas gave a parting smile and glanced over Laila's still form once more, "don't let her boss you around Nines."
"I highly doubt she has the strength to order anyone around."
…..
Laila felt a numbing pressure on her feet as she laid flat on a lumpy surface. Cracking her eyes open carefully she had to blink several times to ensure what she was seeing was actually happening. The tall and imposing detective had both of her feet in his lap as she laid on the couch unresponsive and exhausted. Scrunching her toes out of reflex his hands ceased moving and his sharp eyes met her tired and confused visage.
Propping herself up in pain, she winced as she sat up. Leaving her feet on the lap of the stoic detective, she noticed his sleeves rolled up and his hands intently on her ankles.
His hands were cool on her inflamed skin and she had to organize her thoughts before speaking.
"…what's going on?" Laila questioned stupidly, still fatigued.
Nines gave her form a cursory glance before returning to work on her sore feet.
"Dallas informed me that you have specific aftercare for your feet after rehearsing for such a prolonged period. You were unable to perform your routine after leaving the studio. I was to inform you that you needed to do so, however you do not have the strength to do such activities yourself. Do you object to my current efforts?"
Laila blinked the sleep from her eyes but shook her head, "Mm…no."
At her admission the pressure on her feet increased substantially to a point of near pain. Wincing she scrunched her toes out of an automatic reflex and gave a questioning glance to the detective applying a forceful strain on her feet and ankles.
"You have previously strained your first metatarsophalangeal joint on both feet."
Laila grimaced as his fingers dexterously worked over her delicate feet and she uttered a response that was marred in discomfort, "dancers get turf toe too."
Nines eased the pressure applied to her toes and redirected his hands to her ankles causing her to wince once more in pain.
Not uttering a word, she tried to remain still as his hands encircled her ankles.
"You have extensive blisters on the sides of your feet and your tendons are strained. You should have taken time to rest considering the likelihood of obtaining a sprain."
Laila blinked at his assessment, "Nobody is going to stop dancing with just a sprained ankle…or metatar-sophalangical-"
Coughing through the difficult medical term, Laila gave up on trying to correct herself while Nines merely smirked at her efforts. Waving her hand in displeasure she spoke with a wince, "I'm trying to say that dancers are a stubborn breed. We don't accept mediocrity as an option, nor do we stop because we hurt ourselves. If we can breathe, we can dance."
Nines' hands ceased moving immediately after she was finished speaking. He gave her a sharp stare as she gave him a focused glance back.
His jaw tightened considerably, and he closed his eyes while speaking through a tightened mouth, "humans' illogical actions will never cease to confound me."
Laila couldn't help the smile that reached her ears, "I think a lot of actions based on pure emotion would confound you. You've never experienced a time where you knew your actions were illogical, but you did them anyway because you felt as though you had no other choice that would be acceptable in your mind?"
Nines took a minute to answer, "No Miss Ayad, I have not."
Laila gave an exaggerated sigh, "We'll make you a human yet, Detective."
Before Nines could come up with a suitable response, Laila had once again closed her eyes and curled against the back of the couch in an upright position.
Blinking at the raven-haired dancer he tilted his head in thought before resuming his ministrations on her calloused and reddened feet.