Author's Notes 1: This picks up right where the last chapter left off so you might want to go and refresh your memory by rereading the last scene from the last chapter.
"I believe I stated as much the night we met her," Goliath reminds Elisa.
"Guess you're glad to know you're not the only one whose spider sense is tingling," Elisa jokes and Goliath gives her a strange look. "Sorry, comic book reference. I guess you're glad to know that you're not the only one to have doubts about Gwen Knight."
"I know why I feel the way I do, but why do you feel this way?" he inquires.
"It's strange how she seems to know how to behave around gargoyles," she answers. "For instance, why would she tell Brooklyn what she's about to do to him instead of just doing it?"
"Why shouldn't she?" he asks, slightly affronted by the idea of someone just grabbing him or one of his clan mates.
"Because her normal patients don't talk and wouldn't understand if she did tell them what she's about to do to them," she points out. "You were right when you said that it seems like she grew up around gargoyles, she just seems to know what to say and do. It's very odd."
" Lexington and Brooklyn seem to have grown fond of her too," he muses, his voice a deep rumble. "I will tell them to avoid her from now on."
"No, don't do that," she instructs.
"Why not?" he demands. "If this woman is a threat to my clan…"
"That's just it, I don't think she's a threat to anyone," she explains. "I'll grant you that she's odd and there's something that she's not telling us, but I don't think she's dangerous. Besides, if you tell Lex and Brooklyn to not go near her, they're just going to do it behind your back. Let them continue their friendship with her and then just listen when they talk about her."
"You want me to use them to spy on her?" he questions as she picks up the TV remote from the end table.
"Not so much as spy on her, but just to keep tabs on things," she assures him as she moves closer to him on the couch. "I'm sure if there's something really going on that we need to worry about, it'll show up sooner or later."
"I do not like it, but I will follow your council for now," he replies with a sigh while welcoming her into his arms. "But if anything changes…"
"Then let me know and we'll look into it together," she says as she settles in beside him. "So, Leno or Letterman?"
"Excuse me?" he asks, completely befuddled by her question.
"O'Brian it is then," she chuckles as she pushes the power button, turning the TV on.
He just smiles and shakes his head as she changes the channel to watch some man talking to a woman who is probably beautiful by human standards, but can't compare to his mate. With a contented sigh, she relaxes against him, letting all of the worries and concerns of the day wash away as he gently strokes her hair and soon she can feel herself drifting away in the arms of the one she loves.
The throbbing in her foot is what finally wakes Gwen and it takes her a while to remember why that appendage is in pain. The memories flood her brain and she groans with a cringe as she vaguely recalls what nearly happened the night before. Did she really ask John if he was going to kiss her?
With a moan, she pulls down the covers enough to look over at her clock and nearly has a heart attack; she's way overslept. Figuring she simply forgot to set the alarm in her drug hazed state the night before, she starts to fight her way out of bed. Throwing back the covers, she carefully gets out of bed and then hobbles to the bathroom as fast as she can.
Just as she's about to close the bathroom door, she realizes she can smell fresh coffee. She knows she didn't set up the coffee maker the night before, so the delightful scent has her both confused and worried. She cautiously follows her nose towards the kitchen and stops dead in her tracks when she sees who's sitting at her little table.
"Good morning," John cheerfully greets.
"Hi," she hesitantly replies. "You haven't been here all night have you?"
"No," he answers as he holds up a large take out cup of coffee. "I brought coffee and donuts."
"How'd you get in?" she asks, taking a tiny step forward.
"Lars let me in," he tells her. "You didn't answer when I buzzed you so I buzzed his apartment. He wasn't too happy about being woken up, let me tell you. Did you know that you can bribe him with a large cup of Italian Roast and a jelly donut?"
"Jelly donut?" she questions wistfully, hobbling a little closer.
"And Italian Roast," he tells her as he gets up and brings her the cup.
"You're cheating," she whimpers as he holds the cup under her nose.
"All's fair…," he starts with a mischievous grin.
"This isn't war," she whispers.
"No, it's not," he confirms as he moves into her personal space.
"You're really complicating my life," she tells him in a hushed voice as she takes the cup.
"Good," he responds as he gently brushes some of her sleep mussed hair out of her face. "The simple life is overrated."
She wants to argue with him, she wants to point out how easy the simple life is, how uncomplicated it is, but she can't. He's standing so close she can feel the heat coming from his body and he smells better than the coffee. God help her, but she wants him to hold her and kiss her.
"Go get cleaned up and I'll save you a jelly donut," he tells her as he softly rubs the back of his finger across her cheek.
Before she can gather her wits to even acknowledge what he's just said, he turns and heads back to his seat. She stands there for several moments trying to gather together something that resembles composure before turning and slowly making her way into the bathroom. As soon as the door is shut, she leans against it and sighs. Why do men always have to make things so complicated?
A few hours later, the coffee and donuts are long gone, he's talked her into taking the day off and she's finally getting a chance to catch up on the paper work she's been neglecting. John is quietly reading a book that he brought with him, not complaining in the least about how numb his butt is by sitting on her lumpy stuffed chair. She tries to keep her eyes on the papers in front of her on the table, but she keeps finding herself staring at him.
He may not be as tall or even as handsome as Matt Bluestone, but that's fine with her. John is good looking in his own right and he has a very fit body if the well defined torso she saw the other night is anything to go by. And his lips, dear lord, it should be illegal for a man to have lips that sensual looking. She suddenly realizes that she's staring again and quickly turns back to her paperwork.
He barely manages to keep a smile off of his lips when he hears her furiously writing once more, knowing that she was watching him again. She has no idea how good it makes him feel to have her finally notice him as something more than a friend or a coworker. For nearly two years he's been trying to get her to go out with him without any luck. Who knew that it would take a wounded gargoyle and a complete stranger to break her out of her routine?
The sound of her chair scraping across the floor pulls him away from his musing and he looks over to her. He watches as she carefully gets to her feet and then slowly starts to hop away, completely ignoring her crutches again.
"Need help?" he asks.
"No, I'm good," she answers while she slowly hobbles away.
"If you change your mind, just let me know," he tells her.
"Sure thing," she replies in a falsely cheerful voice.
"You ok?" he questions in concern, noting the pain in her voice that she's trying to hide.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she responds, trying not to whimper when she accidentally bumps her foot.
"When did you last take your pain meds?" he inquires as he gets up and easily catches up to her with only a few steps.
"Umm…," she hedges.
"They won't do you any good if you don't take them," he points out while he wraps her arm around his good arm.
"The codeine makes me sleepy," she counters as she holds onto him.
"Then take something else," he suggests while they slowly and awkwardly move down the hallway.
"I used up the last of my aspirin the other day," she tells him.
"Ok, then after your potty break, we'll go find lunch and then we'll get you something that won't make you sleepy," he says just as they reach the bathroom door.
"But I can't…," she starts only to stop when a finger lands on her lips.
"I checked your fridge," he states. "You've got nothing in there that resembles food, though you've got a lovely mold culture growing in there. When was the last time you went grocery shopping?"
"I was going to do it yesterday but I ended up sleeping most of the day away," she admits after he moves his finger.
"Then we'll do the grocery shopping after lunch," he tells her.
"But…," she tries to argue again.
"No more 'buts'," he firmly replies. "Now go take care of business and then we'll get going."
"I'm not going to get any say in this, am I?" she asks and he smiles at her.
"Once you're feeling better you can tell me to get lost," he answers. "But until then, I'm going to take care of you."
"Why?" she inquires.
"Because you need someone to take care of you every once and a while, we all do, and I want to be that someone," he quietly admits, gently caressing her face with his finger tips.
"John…," she starts only to find that intrusive digit back on her lips again.
"Let me have this for now," he softly begs, resting his forehead against hers. "When you're back on your feet, then you can tell me to get lost."
She can only sigh as her shoulders sag in defeat and she leans her head against his good shoulder. His good arm slips around her waist and his spirits soar when he feels her arms circle his middle. He barely dares to breathe as they stand there and when she finally moves out of his embrace, it feels like she's taken a part of his soul with her.
She quietly and a bit clumsily makes her way into the small washroom feeling like she's changed the course of her life and she's not sure if it's a good thing or not, but at the moment she doesn't care. She takes her time, delaying for as long as possible, not sure she can face him and is a bit surprised when he doesn't knock on the door after a few minutes. She stares at herself in the mirror for some time trying to steel her nerves and quell the butterflies in her stomach before facing him again.
When she finally does emerge, she finds him leaning against the opposite wall and patiently waiting for her. He extends his good arm towards her and she carefully takes the offered appendage. They slowly make their way back towards the living area where she finds her shoes already waiting for her and her crutches by the door. She draws a breath to speak and she finds his finger on her lips again making her scowl.
"I'm going to help you," he tells her gently but firmly and she pulls his hand away from her face.
"Fine, please get my shopping bags out from the bottom drawer on the right in the kitchen," she instructs in an annoyed voice.
"Certainly," he replies sheepishly as he leaves her at her seat to retrieve the bags.
Knowing that putting a shoe on her injured foot will only cause her vast amounts of pain, she puts only one shoe on while he gets the bags out. He brings her her jacket and slides his own coat on as best he can while she puts hers on. He helps her get to her crutches and then after a lot of fumbling around and at least one near fall, they finally make their way out of the building and head off to lunch and grocery shopping.
"I've never seen someone with such willpower going through the grocery store before," he admits as he helps her back up to her apartment a couple of hours later with her groceries.
"Willpower has nothing to do with it," she tells him as she unlocks her apartment door, a shopping bag hanging from each shoulder. "I can't afford to buy junk food or things that have been processed to death. I buy what I need and then get out. It's not that hard when you have a system."
"I guess it doesn't help when you bring a tourist along," he chuckles while she opens the door and hobbles in.
"Is it really that hard to just push a cart?" she growls, but he knows she doesn't really mean it.
"But they had a sale on my favorite beer," he reminds her and she rolls her eyes.
"Now there's a necessity of life," she replies sarcastically as he shuts the door behind him with his foot.
"It will be when I'm done with it," he snickers while she puts her crutches off to the side and then places her shopping bags on the counter.
"What have you got up your sleeve, John Richards?" she asks over her shoulder, eyes narrowed, but a smile tugging at her lips.
"Thirty-two stitches," he answers as he steps up behind her and she grimaces.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, hanging her head, unable to look at him. "It's my fault you got hurt."
"Yeah, it is," he smugly replies next to her ear and she can feel the goose bumps returning with him standing as close as he is. "And since you owe me, you have to let me take care of you and that means I'm making you dinner."
"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" she asks, looking over her shoulder again at him. "Shouldn't I be doing nice things for you?"
"You are," he answers with a hint of laughter in his voice. "You're letting me complicate your life."
She lets out a groan and starts to bang her head against the upper cabinets until his arm wraps itself around her waist and she finds herself picked up and spun away from the counter. She lets out a startled squeak and she can hear and feel him chuckling low in his throat right next to her ear which causes shivers to run down her spine. She clings to his arm as she's fairly sure even her good leg won't be able to hold her weight if he lets go and she can feel his hot breath on her ear as he rubs his nose against the outer shell of it. She bites her bottom lip, desperately trying not to moan as his arm tightens around her and the fingers of his injured arm spanning themselves across her ribs.
BZZZZZZZZZTTT!!!!
She lets out a small shriek and jumps at the sound of the door buzzer going off and she barely notices him go completely still as her heart feels like it's going to burst from her chest. After getting over the shock, she starts to wonder who it could be at the front door and before she can protest, she feels her foot leave the ground as he carries her to the intercom. He releases her and steps back as she hesitantly pushes the 'talk' button.
"Yes?" she calls through the machine and then pushes the 'listen' button.
"Hey, beautiful, it's me," Matt's voice crackles through the device.
She lets go of the button as if she's been bit and all of the color drains from her face while she's certain that at any minute she's going to go into cardiac arrest. She looks at John with horror clearly written across her face as he buzzes Matt into the building.
"Guess it's time to meet the competition," John states with a smile that turns into a grin when he hears her audibly gulp.
Author's Notes 2: A bit shorter than normal and not as much gargoyle goodness, but it seemed like a good place to end it and let's face it, sleeping gargoyles don't exactly make for a riveting chapter.