Author's Note: And here's your not-entirely-safe-for-work chapter, though it's by no means explicit. ;)

Leonard wasn't entirely sure what he'd been thinking when he made that offer. Most of it, at least, really had been an honest attempt to make sure Sara was comfortable…and safe. She was still a target for the cult, and he hadn't forgotten that, no matter how badass in a fight she was.

But she'd turned those bright blue eyes on him afterward, clearly wondering if it was an overture, and then she'd agreed—and suddenly Len couldn't stop wondering if it was an overture he'd made, and what sort of overture, and how she'd respond…

He's a grown man who's taken plenty of lovers in his day, he thought grumpily as they headed down the corridor toward the set of rooms that had become his when he'd taken the Guild. Far as he knew, he'd left none of them unhappy. Well, maybe, Alexa, but that nothing to do with…

He shook his head, trying to chase the tangled thoughts away, and opened the door.

The palace servants had definitely already been told he'd be staying, and the room had clearly been aired out, with a fire low in the fireplace—and a large bathing tub, already full of water, in front of it. Sara ducked from behind him with a hum of pleasure at the sight of it, a contented noise that made Len laugh.

"You can call a household mage when you want to bathe," he told her. "They'll heat the water to your specifications. Nice thing about staying in the palace."

"I could get used to that," Sara told him, laughter in her voice. "Can we, ah, send for some clothing in my size? I imagine they have stores here."

"Gideon said just to let the staff know." The seneschal, still a bit pink-cheeked from other activities that hadn't had to do with utterly destroying half a dozen cult members, had fallen right back into her usual businesslike manner when she realized what the lockdown meant. "Same with meals." He hesitated. "We never got our dinner."

Sara's smile was…interesting. "No, we didn't. Well, later."

"Later," Len agreed, a little uncertainly. "Ah. Well…" He waved a hand. "Sitting room here. Obviously. Latrine over there; the palace has the modern ones."

"Good. The one mildly decent thing Darhk did was upgrade the Guild hall to them."

"And bedchamber back there." Len cleared his throat, aware that he was sounding like the awkward stripling he hadn't been in decades. "I…wait."

Sara had turned, and as she'd done so, she'd favored her left leg a little. There'd been so much chaos before that while he'd seen the cult member's blade mark her, when she'd kept fighting, he'd turned his mind to other things, like keeping the other attackers away from her. But now he could see the slice that gashed her upper thigh, parting the gray leather and showing traces of dried blood.

"You're hurt."

"A slice. Nothing bad." Sara looked down at the wound, then gave him a small smile as she unbuckled her sword belt and hung it onto a chair. "Really."

"Still. It should be cared for." Len paused, then walked back to the door, opening it to cast about for a passing servant. It didn't take long for him to flag down a young woman who paused helpfully on her way back from delivering some linens. He made a few quiet requests, then motioned Sara over to pass on her own requests for clothing.

He moved aside before he could hear those requests, ducking into the bedchamber to be sure the four-poster there was indeed made up. They'd left the bed curtains off—he didn't like them, legacy of a childhood spent sleeping with one eye open—but the usual blue coverlet and sheets had been neatly tucked around the featherbed. A much bigger bed than the one he had back at the Guild hall, to be honest.

Convenient. Perhaps.

Well, even if it was just in the factor that they could share it without even touching if they really wanted to. Depending on…overtures.

Len was recalled to just hold long he'd stood there, contemplating that bed, when he heard a tap at the hallway door. He ducked back out to the sitting room, interrupting Sara studied some of the books on his desk, and answered the door.

The much smaller basin of water was steaming hot, just like he'd asked, and he had to juggle it carefully, draping the bandages over his arm and tucking the vial between his fingers. He moved back into the room and over to the room's couch, sitting the basin on a low table there, as Sara went to the doorway and took the armload of clothing from the young woman there with murmured thanks.

As the door clicked shut quietly, she turned to Leonard, lifting an inquiring eyebrow as he put the other items down, then rolling her eyes a little as she realized what they were.

"Len," she said with amusement, crossing to put her clothing down on the desk and turning to him, arms folded. "I told you…"

"Sara."

He was closer than she realized he was. In fact, he was standing right in front of her now, barely inches between them, looking down at her with those blue, blue eyes, darker than usual, the warmth from his body close enough to make the hairs rise on the backs of her arms in the utter opposite of a chill.

Sara took an almost involuntary deep breath, and the scent of leather, mint, and clean sweat that screamed "Leonard" didn't really help. She peered up at him, trying to hide her reaction under a smirk, but the expression on his face made something turn over in the vicinity of her stomach.

"Sara," he repeated, studying her closely, as if searching for something. "Let me help."

Hmm. She studied him from underneath her lashes. "Help?"

A slight smile tugged at his lips. "I'm not a bad medic."

In for a penny. "So, you're asking if you can help take my clothes off?"

That startled a low chuckle out of him. She really liked the sound.

Then, Len lifted his hands—slowly, giving her time to move away if she wanted-and placed them on her hips, right below the waistband of the leather pants she was wearing.

"Yes," he said, voice almost a purr now. "Yes…I guess I am."

Sara decided she definitely wasn't imagining how charged things were in this room. "OK," she whispered back, making a decision of her own and moving infinitesimally closer. "Go for it."

Len's lips twitched again, and he moved his hands a little, toward the front of her pants, where those long (and talented, she had to think they were talented, he was a thief, after all) fingers tangled in the laces there. Sara kept eye contact even as she felt those fingers moving, untying and loosening, then gently curling over the waistband to tug carefully downward.

So carefully, he moved-easing the gray leather over the curve of her ass, the brush of those fingers against the clout of red silk she'd whimsically decided to wear. Sara saw Len's eyes widen a tiny bit and she smirked but kept holding his gaze as his pupils dilated and she tried to control her own breathing.

Moving carefully, Len spun them both around and, slowly, one step at a time, walked Sara backward toward the couch against one wall. When they got there, he increased the pressure on her hips just a little, until she sat down, hissing involuntarily again as the cut pulled.

Len murmured an apology, but Sara barely noticed, as he also followed up that move by going to his knees in front of her.

Hells.

Once there, he reached up and continuing working her pants off, going very slowly and gently over the cut, then pulling the supple leather over knees and ankles and feet and then off, leaving her naked from the waist down except for her scarlet undergarment.

Sara utterly spoiled her unflustered façade then, dragging in a ragged breath and reaching for Len's shoulders, but he smoothly moved away, getting back a little of the upper hand as he reached for the tub of still-steaming water. He dipped a piece of fabric in it, then then carefully wiped away the dried blood along the edges of the slice, inspecting it carefully.

"You're right," he said quietly. "Very shallow. That's good."

Sara huffed, leaning her head back against the cushions and trying not to squirm at the feeling of warm breath against her inner thigh. "Then…"

But Len was having none of it. "You don't know what those cult members had on their blades," he told her, and he was right. "This will just be a few moments."

He cleaned the cut a little more, very gently, then reached for the tiny vial full of pale green liquid Sara had noticed before, breaking the wax seal.

"This is something the healers make," he told her, removing the top. "I can't say it won't sting a bit. But that fades fast, and then it will numb the wound a little."

"But nothing else?" There were definitely things Sara didn't want to be at all numb right now.

If Len knew what she was thinking, he gave no sigh. "But nothing else." He put a careful hand on her knee, holding her leg steady, then tipped the vial, spilling the liquid into the cut.

It did sting, and Sara closed her lips on another hiss of pain as the substance fizzed a little. But he'd been right about that too, and the sensation faded quickly, replaced with a sense of coolness along the small wound before even that faded. Sara sighed.

"Handy stuff," she said.

"Mmmhmmm." Len studied the cut another moment, then blotted a trace of remaining liquid on Sara's skin and reached out to pick up a length of snowy white bandage. He trailed his fingers under Sara's knee until she lifted it with another intake of breath, then fed the bandage underneath her thigh, wrapping the bandage around the wound several times before tying it off, snugly but not tightly.

Which left those talented fingertips lying there against her skin, just above the bandage, as their owner looked up through his lashes at her, eyes dark and intent.

Sara licked her lips, lifting her hands to rest them against his shoulders, and this time, he let her.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Always glad to be of service."

Oh, that drawl, and that wicked smirk. Sara smirked back, curling her fingers against the leather of his doublet and pulling him slowly toward her. Len moved forward slowly, still on his knees, until he was positioned neatly between her knees, shifting his hands to rest on her hips again, warm through the silk cloth there.

Desire curled within her even more at the touch, and Sara took in another deep breath, moving a little, feeling the rush of adrenaline…like the rush of battle…

And then she froze.

Leonard, to his credit, felt it immediately. "Hey," he said carefully. "You all right?" He started to pull back, but Sara tightened her fingers on his shoulders, and he stopped.

"Yes," she told him raggedly, trying to figure out her sudden fear herself. "I guess it's just…it's been a while. Something…something happened to me, a few years back, and I…I've been putting myself back together."

One hand left her hip, lifted to curve against her jaw. "We don't have to…"

"No!" Her fingers tightened again, so abruptly that he stopped mid-sentence, and she took a deep breath and continued. "I like you, Leonard. A lot. And I want you. But I'm scared."

A quiet breath. Then: "Of?" he asked.

"Of…" Of losing control. "Of losing more things that I care about. The Guild, which I didn't want at first but is starting to become important to me." She shook her head. "And…you. It's been a while since I've become…close…to anyone new, friendship or otherwise. I don't want to screw things up."

Leonard watched her carefully for a moment. "It doesn't have to be serious," he said quietly. But Sara thought she heard regret under the words, and she knew she felt its echo in her own heart.

"But what if I…we want it to be?" she asked him helplessly. "And if it becomes more and it doesn't…work out?"

To her surprise, Leonard chuckled a little. When Sara peered at him, he actually smirked at her, the jerk.

"Then we're those elderly Guild heads with a torrid past who scandalize our apprentices with stories about each other," he said gently, lifting her chin to bring her lips closer to his. "And we stay friends."

Sara smiled a little, her earlier desire, merely banked rather than truly chased away, stirring again. She shifted closer to him, smile growing as he groaned, and breathed, "And if it does?"

Len's chuckle this time was downright wicked. "Then we scandalize our apprentices all the more," he said, whispering the words against her parted lips. "Constantly. We're absolutely shameless, even as we grow old, and this particular alliance of thief and assassin goes down in hist…"

But Sara kissed him them, moving her hands to his head as her fingers scrubbed against his short hair, and Leonard kissed her back, holding her steady against him with one hand as the other continued to cradle her jaw.

They stayed like that a while, kissing, wrapped together, desire and heat building between them until he moved that hand back to her hips and finally stood, in one smooth motion, lifting Sara easily as she tucked her legs around him, and carried her toward the bedchamber.

They never did get dinner that night.

Leonard woke, later. He couldn't, frankly, say what time it was, just that he'd slept enough that the greatest fatigue from the day, the battle and the far more pleasurable activities afterward, had faded, leaving a certain pleasant lassitude in its wake.

Yawning, he put a hand out toward Sara…only to find warm sheets but no assassin on the other side of the bed. That woke him a little further—but then he heard the murmur of voices from the sitting room and sat bolt upright, the shock of adrenaline making him reach for the sheathed knife nearby.

It faded quickly, though, as he recognized Sara's low tones, and then even further as the door closed behind someone, and he heard the quiet slosh of water as Sara climbed into the bath.

Ah. Leonard leaned back, smiling, entertaining a very pleasant picture in his mind as he listened to the quiet sounds of bathing from the other room and faded back to drowsing. He was pretty sure it'd been a fine compliment indeed, that she'd preferred their earlier activities to a warm bath considering the way her eyes had lit up at the sight of it—but he couldn't blame her at all for choosing to partake now.

Still. That mental picture was very pleasant indeed. And a bit after the sounds of bathing had faded and the assassin had had some time to enjoy her soak, he got up—shaking his head with amusement as he realized the nightshirt that usually hung off a nearby chair was gone—and padded cautiously into the sitting room.

Sara was reclined in the bath, hair fully unbound for the first time since he'd met her, golden strands darkened by the water as they drifted around her. She smiled lazily at him, lifting a foot above the water to wave, then allowed her gaze to drift a bit lower as she took in his own unclothed state.

Len, who was usually quite self-conscious of his many scars, did his best not to react to that gaze—at least not in a negative way, which was definitely helped by the fact that Sara's expression had turned distinctly lascivious. He wandered over to his desk and picked up the nightshirt draped there, turned back to Sara with a lifted eyebrow.

"And they call me a thief."

Sara laughed, a low, amused sound that had notable effects on his anatomy. "Well, I wasn't sure I could get someone to heat the water if I walked out in the hallway naked," she told him, grinning. "Well...I probably could have, but I didn't want to scandalize them more than they already were."

"Since when?" Len moved toward the tub, noting that the water was still steaming a little. He dipped a hand into it, withdrawing it immediately and shaking off the water droplets with a wince. "And why are you trying to boil yourself alive?"

She smirked, waving her foot at him again. There was a sheen of bubbles over the surface of the water—she must have talked whichever servant she'd flagged down into bringing some soap for her as well. "It's not that hot."

"Is too." Len dipped his hand again, shaking his head.

"Very mature. Wait..." But Sara sat up, laughing again, as Len put a steadying hand on the rim of the tub and carefully stepped over it, muttering to himself as he levered himself into the water opposite Sara. The tub was a good-sized one and they fit, but it was a near thing, and they were well and truly in each other's space in a very cozy fashion.

Sara was still laughing, but Len was all mock-seriousness. "You need someone to wash your back," he told her innocently, learning over just a little and reaching for one of the soft cloths nearby, then trying to maneuver Sara so that she was positioned in front of him. (Meanwhile, more water sloshed out and onto the floor and she tried, badly, to control the giggles.)

"I already...ah." Sara leaned her head back against his shoulder as Len kissed her neck. "Ah, yes. OK, yes, I do. Please."

"Mmm. You're not going to be able to move much, or we're going to get even more water on the floor," he told her softly, moving the cloth along her shoulders—and then around and downward and not even remotely in the vicinity of her back. "The seneschal will be angry. We don't want that."

Her response was satisfyingly incoherent.

The seneschal eventually heard the complaint of a minor court functionary, a man incensed that he'd been given a room with leaky plumbing overhead while he was stuck at the palace during the lockdown.

Gideon, who knew full well that the plumbing was just fine—and who, after a moment's consideration, also remembered full well who actually had the rooms over that particular room-had rolled her eyes. With a thoroughly insincere apology, she had the servants shift the annoying little man to another location, then carried on with her work, smiling to herself.