CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The night had turned out better than expected, Spencer had to admit. Despite Cody's unsolicited flattery, she had not, actually, been as uncomfortable as she thought she would. They had spent the majority of dinner discussing literature and the precarious industry of film adaptation, and she had thoroughly enjoyed every second of intelligent conversation. He had even politely offered to walk her home in the dark, so as to keep an eye on her safety.

She could not help but feel the slightest bit of triumph when she thought about Hanna's and Holmes's ridiculous accusations. She was in a better mood than she had been in days. It felt nice to get out of the apartment and forget about the entire mess with Toby. Had she listened to them, she would have only been trapped inside, feverishly doing more homework.

And Cody was nice enough – he was obviously attracted to her, sure…but he hadn't tried to make a move, and she appreciated that. The most he had done was none-too-subtly try to reach for her hand as they walked. She seemed to get away with using both hands to hold her coat shut in the frigid night air, however, and he seemed no less friendly for it. He respected her. And that was more than she could say for Toby and his dishonesty.

Soon enough, they had reached the threshold of her apartment door. Despite having had a good time, she was secretly grateful to be back home. Following their literary conversation, she now had a compelling urge to curl up with a good book and shut the world out for a few sweet hours.

"It was really nice of you to walk with me," she offered as she began fumbling in her purse for her keys. Her cell phone still lay dormant at the bottom. She had nearly forgotten that she had been forced to turn it off. She left it, knowing that upon powering it back up she would only have an asinine amount of texts and missed calls from Hanna.

And perhaps Toby.

"I told you already, it's no problem," Cody smiled. She returned the gesture.

"I had a good time," she stated. "Maybe we can eventually catch one of those poetry readings."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I'll need to make that up to you, I guess."

She laughed slightly as well. Both stood in silence for a beat. This was the particular moment that she was most concerned for – the obligatory good night kiss – and she had been trying to figure out how she would politely turn him down if the occasion arose.

"Well," she began, suppressing the awkward feeling that had caused her palms to begin perspiring. She turned quickly to begin unlocking the door. "Thank you again. I'll see you soon."

"Would you like to – " Cody began slowly, then seemed to think better of it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "Nah. Never mind."

"What is it?" she inquired. Her keys were hanging expectantly in the doorknob. She felt a sense of foreboding…she had hoped that she had gotten away with not ending the evening on the traditional "date night" note.

"I was hoping I could come in for some coffee," Cody stated. "You know, just for a little while…So that I don't have to face Cavanaugh yet."

That annoying pang of flattery had returned. Spencer fought to repress any daydream fantasies about Toby defending her honor. He had, after all, been careless. And he had handled the situation in an entirely barbaric, Neanderthal-like manner.

But some part of her still wanted those caveman arms to be the ones to protect her.

"I dunno," she began uncertainly. "Hanna is not exactly your biggest fan…"

"Oh. Right." He sighed in resignation. "That sucks. I'm so not ready to go back and face him…"

The guilt swelled. It plagued her as she re-examined the damage that Toby had inflicted upon Cody's face. It was her fault that they had gotten into the fight. What had been meant as a friendly poetry reading had turned into a melodramatic rendezvous in Toby's eyes. He had certainly made his warning clear to Cody…in a very painful, very physical manner. The least she could do was offer him sanctuary for a little while longer.

"Sure," she decided at last, against her better judgment. "Only for an hour or so, though. Hanna needs to get up early."

Of course Hanna had nothing to do the next morning. A little white lie never hurt anyone.

"Not a problem," Cody insisted. "You're the boss."

Spencer nodded uncertainly, feeling quite frustrated that the awkward sensation had not subsided. She did not enjoy feeling as though she had no control over her own social responses. She turned the knob and stepped aside for him to enter first.

"Can you see?" Hanna asked impatiently, holding her pea coat tightly around her body. The temperature was beginning to drop at night now, and the cold weather darkened her mood.

"I could see better if you stopped nagging me," Holmes quipped irritably from the high-set window on the dining patio. He had had to expertly forge a line of neatly-trimmed hedges and was now standing precariously on one of the chairs to see in.

"Because my nagging affects your vision," Hanna agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "I told you that if you let me up there, I could try to use my phone to – "

"And I told you," Holmes began, "that all that will accomplish is sending its own reflection back at you."

"I feel really bad for Toby," Hanna declared, ignoring him. "We should have let him come."

"No way," Holmes argued, cupping his hands above his eyes to narrow his vision into the window. All he seemed to be accomplishing was contracting frostbite on the tip of his nose. "You saw how crazy he got…we don't need to be bailing him out of jail again."

"But he wants to be the one to save her," Hanna continued. "You can't fault him for that."

"No," Holmes agreed, "but I have to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Is this how you guys have always been?" she asked quietly, rubbing both of her arms to generate the warmth of friction.

Holmes turned to look down at her over the hedges, seemingly deep in thought. "Yeah, kind of," he began. "I've sort of always had his back. That's how we became friends."

"Tell me about it," Hanna said seriously.

"Well," Holmes continued, beginning to fumble around the windowpane for weaknesses in the moulding. "There was this total jerk-off at basic…always ragging on Cavanaugh, ya know? I put an end to it."

Hanna stared at him incredulously. He could practically feel her eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

"Not like that," he quickly amended, rolling his eyes. "I didn't kill him."

She exhaled in relief. He chuckled in slight. "I just taught him a lesson, was all."

"That's kind of how Spencer and I have always been," Hanna started. "She always had my back when I was fat and everyone made fun of me."

"You? Fat?" Holmes demanded. "Somehow I can't picture that, Miss America."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Yes, well, I never would have pegged you for a military guy either."

He knew she was referencing his stature. It didn't bother him – he had been dealing with the very same stereotype for his entire life. All through high school basketball, especially.

"Yeah, well, books and their covers and all of that," he agreed. He was now attempting to get a leg up onto the window ledge above him.

"Can you pick locks?" Hanna asked, suddenly bored with the previous topic. She was fumbling with the front door once more, trying to peer in through the blinds that had been closed.

"Excuse me?" Holmes demanded. "Oh, right. I get it. The Black man should always know how to pick a lock, right?" Despite the comment's wealth of sarcasm, Hanna distinctly saw his amused smirk in the dark.

"No," Hanna argued, scrunching her face up distastefully. "But soldiers should."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Hanna insisted, as if arguing with a child, "it could come in handy for breaking into the enemy's headquarters, or whatever."

"Yeah…no, we have guns for that," Holmes declared with a laugh. "And I'll tell you what – if you're holding a gun at the front door, you don't usually need a lock smith."

"Fine, fine," Hanna muttered as she began sifting through the decorative doilies on the dining deck. "Maybe they have a spare key out here somewhere…"

Holmes scoffed, nearly losing his footing. "Don't be ridiculous, Hanna. I doubt that any respectable business with a cash register would really risk – "

"Found it!" Hanna cried as she turned over the grumpy-looking garden gnome near the hedges.

"I stand corrected," Holmes stated in shock, hopping down from the chair he had used for a boost. Between two perfectly manicured pink fingernails, Hanna held a small brass key.

"All right then," Holmes declared. "Let's break up the party."

"Damnit!" Lancaster shouted loudly as an opponent on Call of Duty killed him once more. "I'm going to kick your ass, Weezy562!"

His cell phone began to ring. Impatiently he thrust it between his head and shoulder so as to be sure to be on guard when his character respawned. "Yeah, what?"

"He's not here," Holmes said irritably on the other line. "It's shut down for the night."

"I dunno what to tell you, dude," Lancaster offered. "He's not here, that's for sure. I've been downstairs all night."

"Where's Cavanaugh?"

"In the shower," Lancaster responded. "Said he needed to get his mind off some stuff."

"Okay…" Holmes began slowly. "What happened when we left?"

"He took a shower."

There was a pause on the other line. "You mean to tell me he's been in there for two hours?"

Lancaster hesitated, glancing over his shoulder towards the back bathroom. The water was still running. "Yeah…I guess so."

"You idiot!" Holmes yelled in his ear. Lancaster dropped the controller, startled, and pulled the phone away from his head to preserve his eardrums.

"What the fuck, man? What do you mean?"

"He snuck out, right under your nose, dude."

"No way. He's in the shower. Hold on, I'll prove it." With that, Lancaster began making his way towards the bathroom. He knocked loudly on the door. "Cavanaugh?" No answer. He knocked louder. "Cavanaugh!"

"Open the door, dumbass," Holmes urged. Lancaster rolled his eyes and propped it open slightly.

"Dude, are you in here?" No answer, again. He quietly peeked through the opening.

The shower was running, but it was empty.

"Ah, shit," Lancaster muttered.

"What?"

"Sorry, man…I fucked up."