Disclaimer: Degrassi is not mine for the taking.

Playing Hostess

He was only out for a few minutes, but Saraiah was fast-moving, and had enough time to transport him to the library, where she laid him out before the fire on the thick velvet curtains ripped down by Declan's thoughtlessness. Several thick slices of bread were toasting and a pot of water was boiling. His damp cloak was draped over the set of wrought-iron fireplace tools, glistening in the fire's orange glow.

"Wh-?" His eyes were hazy as he stirred, but gradually he came to and was able to prop himself up on his elbow, taking in the cozoy sight of the fire. He sighed with pleasure. "Now that's more like it." And he laid back on the curtains, hands behind his head.

He hadn't appeared to notice Saraiah, seated on the over-stuffed Duncan Phyfe sofa behind him, pretending to read. She cleared her throat. He didn't move, but spoke instead. "So how did you get me here?"

"I carried you, of course," she replied, setting down the book without marking the page and getting up to turn the toast. She looked down at him as she did so, and thought she noticed him swallow harder than he should have. He may have been speaking the truth earlier, but he was almost certainly hiding something from her.

"Well! I wouldn't have expected a lady to do such grunt work."

"I do all kinds of work," she responded evenly. And when she glanced back at him from the kettle, he was propped up again and grinning. She smiled, too.

"So maybe we could talk about that name of yours, now." She held out her hand. "I'm Saraiah."

He slid into a sitting position and took her hand in his, but did not shake it, or even kiss it. Instead he held it warmly, and for a long, thoughtful moment. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Saraiah," he said softly.

When he let go her hand, she was quick to find a cover for the flush she felt from his touch. She reached her hand immediately to the stoker she had left out from underneath his cloak and stuck it into the ashes to stir them.

"Uh...is that thing safe?" She heard the man gulp at the sight of iron, and she grinned.

"Usually nobody comes up here but me," she explained, not taking her eyes away from the fire she was poking with the iron stick. "And speaking of safe, that's the way I like to keep my library."

The man shook his head slowly, clearly distracted. "You said 'up,' " he said in wonder. "You mean to say you carried me up that flight of stairs?"

"Two flights," she corrected.

"Well, my lady, you do me an honour. You are too kind a host."

At that, Saraiah popped the toast off the fire and onto a silver plate, followed by the kettle which had just begun to whine. She offered him the toast and he tentatively took a piece. "Your name," she repeated. Why was he so damned hesitant to give her his name?

"I doubt you've heard of me," he stalled, nibbling at the toast as Saraiah poured the hot water over a concoction of loose leaf tea in a glass carafe. "And I'm sure your friend hasn't either."

"I don't expect I have heard of you." Saraiah bit her lip and gazed at the man. She almost felt bad, raking him over the coals this way. Part of her wanted so badly to trust him, to give him time. After all, he had just been through a traumatic experience – probably a series of traumatic experiences. But she also recognized her trust for a man as weak as her trust of Declan had been. She knew she was hurting for a companion, and she couldn't let herself fall into any traps just because she was lonely. Still, she couldn't help but tack on, "By the way, he's not my friend."

The half-eaten piece of toast having been set back on the plate, Saraiah passed him a warm mug of the tea. "Maybe this will clear your mind," she suggested. And she added in a bit of teasing: "That kick must have hit you pretty hard for you to forget even your name."

He nodded with a slight smile as he closed his hands around the mug and blew to cool it. "Okay, you got me, I haven't forgotten my name because of the kick. I've forgotten my name due to being in the presence of such a stunning young woman."

Their eyes were directly fixed on one another's. She swallowed. "I can leave if that would help." But instead, she settled herself on the floor beside him, looking away and transfixing her eyes on the fire.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him sip at the tea, and she felt her heart pounding. She heard him draw in a deep breath, and felt her mind pleading for him to tell her his name – now. It was now or never. She pressed her lips together hard, and felt her own lungs breathing quickly.

"It's Eli," he finally said. "Eli Crisanto..."

Seeing him sway, Saraiah quickly took the mug from his hands before he could drop it and badly burn himself. As Eli fell back to the floor in a deep sleep, she tossed the rest of the liquid into the fire, letting it fizzle as she stood.

This time she could be sure Eli Crisanto would be out for more than a few minutes. She silently and facetiously wished Declan luck figuring out this man's identity without his name. It was time for her to do a little research of her own.