Jenkins marched back his lab and dropped into the hard wooden chair at his work table, a headache pounding the inside of his skull like a blacksmith's hammer. What just happened here? he wondered in dismay. How did things go so badly between him and Cassandra so quickly? He'd never before seen Cassandra so...enraged. It had frightened him a little to see her so infuriated. He rubbed his cheek where the fiery redhead had struck him; he would never forget that look of pure hatred in her eyes. He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, utterly miserable. Why had she become so angry?
Don't try to blame Cassandra for this mess, you ass, this is all YOUR fault! He hadn't meant to shout at her like that, he hadn't meant to give the impression that he was trying to control her or her life. All he'd said was that he had a right to some privacy. It was the WAY you said it. And he certainly hadn't meant to imply that he was just using her as his sexual plaything. Yet you chose THE worst possible words to express that. How could she even think such a vile thing of him? The portrait had taken him completely by surprise. That's no excuse! It had been years since he last saw it. He'd almost been able to forget that he even had it until today.
And why on earth did he still have it in the first place? Why hadn't he gotten rid of that damnable box and its contents years ago? Why did he keep holding onto it? To remind yourself of what you really are, he answered himself harshly. To remind you of how others are made to pay for your mistakes.
Did everything in his past have to be a secret? He had so many shameful things on his conscious—he'd forgotten more of them by now than Cassandra could ever commit in her entire lifetime. The sins that he remembered, though, were the worst ones. He feared sharing them with anyone, let alone Cassandra. Right now, he was her 'knight in shining armor', that he was brave and noble and that he could do no wrong. But he knew better. He had done plenty of wrong in his long life, and deep down inside he was terrified that if she learned what he was really was, she would be so disgusted that she would want nothing more to do with him.
Secrets like the story behind the daguerreotype.
That's where his anger had come from today, he realized. It came out of his fear of losing Cassandra, of driving her away. For the immortal, it was a nearly unbearable thought. He'd held himself aloof from human company for so long, had given up on the possibilities of love and companionship long ago. He'd grown used to loneliness, built up the necessary walls around himself, shut off those parts of his soul. He had resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his unnatural life.
And then the librarians had dropped into his life, almost literally; she had dropped into his life, like a stone dropped into a stagnant pond. He never had a chance. He'd fallen so fast and so hard for her, loved her so much now; Jenkins would rather be flayed alive than lose her.
But was it right to build a relationship with her under such false pretenses? Didn't she have the right to decide who she wanted to be with, to establish her own terms and conditions for what she would tolerate and what she wouldn't tolerate in a relationship? By keeping secrets like this from her, wasn't he simply deceiving her by omission? Wasn't he, at the heart of it all, just being a coward?
He closed his eyes and slumped back in the uncomfortable chair as twin waves of grief and remorse washed over him. Of course she deserved to know, and he was being a coward. If he truly loved her as much as he said he did, then he needed to be truthful with her. She had a right to the truth.
He had to make this right with Cassandra. He would wait another hour or so to let her anger die down, then he would go to her and apologize. Tell her the truth.
Eve Baird burst into the lab, a look of concern darkening her features. A cold lump instantly formed in the pit of the Caretaker's stomach as he sat upright.
"Jenkins! I just got a call from the hospital." The lump instantly turned into a boulder.
"Cassandra..." he whispered, his brown eyes widening in fear. The Guardian hurried over and put a reassuring hand on his arm. He immediately jumped up from his chair, completely alarmed now.
"Some guy tried to mug her in the park near here," Eve said quickly, carefully keeping her tone neutral so as not to distress Jenkins even more. "A jogger found her in the park not far from here and called 911. She's in the emergency room right now. Flynn's already got a door dialed up, he and the guys are already there by now. Let's go."
##########
The Guardian and the Caretaker emerged from a stairwell doorway a short distance away from the waiting area of Portland Mercy Hospital. Flynn, Jake and Ezekiel were already there, sitting together in the bustling waiting area in an unhappy huddle, faces lined with worry. Jenkins and Eve rushed to join them.
"How is she? What happened? Is she hurt badly? Have you seen a doctor yet? How soon can we see her?" The words practically tripped over each other as they spilled from Jenkins's lips.
Flynn stood up and put his hands on the shoulders of the older man, giving him a weak smile as the Librarian tried to allay his fears. "It's okay, Jenkins, she's okay. She was awake when they brought her in, she was able to give the staff Eve's number and have them call her, even talked to the police for a little bit. That says a lot right there!" Flynn's smile faded as he realized that Jenkins wasn't buying it. The younger man sighed and gave Jenkins a sympathetic look.
"Okay, look—Everything I just said is true, but we haven't actually seen Cassandra or anyone else yet, Jenkins. As soon as the doctor is finished they'll be out to give us an update. Until then, all we can do right now is wait."
The Caretaker ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Wait. All they can do is wait. Jenkins's memory flashed back to the last time they were in a hospital waiting for word on Cassandra. At least that time he'd had a chance to see her, speak a few heartfelt, gentle words to her, tell her he loved her, hold her hand for a few precious seconds.
But this time his last words to her were harsh and hurtful, his last sight of her had been of her face twisted with anger and contempt for him, their last physical contact had been violent and painful. Flynn said she was all right, but what if something unexpected happened while she was being examined? What if the doctor missed something? What if she had sustained an injury to her still-healing brain? Something that later proved to be fatal? He closed his eyes as one hand unconsciously covered his mouth, guilt, fear and dread churning sickeningly inside of him.
Jenkins walked out of the waiting area and slipped into a stairwell. He needed to be alone right now, and the stairwell was quiet. He dropped wearily onto a step. He wished he had a good, stiff cup of tea.
On top of everything else, now this! It was his fault that she had been out there in the park, all alone, when she was attacked. A time when she needed him the most, and he hadn't been there for her. If something happened to Cassandra before he could see her again, talk to her, tell her how sorry he was—he didn't know how he would ever be able to live with himself. Leaning forward, he let his still-throbbing head drop into his hands and closed his eyes, a loud, helpless sob slipping from him without permission.
He heard the stairwell door open behind him. Jenkins quickly pulled himself together before he turned to face the newcomer. He was surprised to see Eve Baird standing there, her face full of sympathy. She went to the unhappy man, sat down next to him and put her arm around him. She laid her head on his shoulder as she pulled from her jacket pocket the daguerreotype portrait that Cassandra had thrown and held it out to him. "I found this after you left the workroom. Thought you might want it back."
With a sigh Jenkins took it from her and opened it. Incredibly, the glass protecting the photograph was unbroken. Eve stroked his arm lightly as she looked down at the old picture.
"Looks like the past has come back to haunt you," she joked gently, hoping to tease a smile from him.
"Indeed," was all he said flatly, a slight quaver in his low voice.
"She's going to be all right, Jenkins, don't worry," she murmured, just loudly enough for him to hear her.
"And you and Cassandra will be okay, too. Just you wait—you'll be kissing and making up in no time."
Jenkins turned his head to look at the tall blonde. "I wish I was as certain of that as you are, Colonel Baird."
Eve took the portrait from his hand and studied the striking couple in it. Cassandra was right about one thing: The old Caretaker certainly had plenty of secrets. The woman in the picture was clearly an old love of his. Though the portrait was formally posed in the manner of the day, the younger Jenkins still radiated happiness, the same kind of happiness Eve saw now whenever he was around Cassandra.
"Jenkins, I don't know who this woman is or what she was to you or why you and Cassandra fought about her, but I do know this: You and Cassandra love each other too much not to make up. You love each other too much for this—" She held up the daguerreotype. "—to come between you."
The Guardian gave the anxious immortal a warm hug. "Besides, all couples have fights and spats from time to time—just look at me and Flynn, we fight like cats and dogs sometimes! It's just part of the process. This is just the first of hundreds, thousands, of fights and arguments and disagreements you and Cassandra will have throughout your lives together."
Jenkins sighed deeply as he took the portrait back from Baird and slipped it into his coat pocket. He turned his head to give her his best sour look, even as a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The older man then let his head rest lightly against the top of hers as he uncharacteristically placed his arm around Eve and returned her hug.
"Good pep talk, Colonel. Thank you."