"Kiera! Kiera!" Looking up, Carlos paused his reading in the book he'd decided he needed to tackle a month ago, War and Peace. He listened, waiting for her reply; none came. "Hey! Are you all right in there?"
Water kept splashing, no answer from the one benefitting from its clean, refreshing outpour. What was she doing in there all this time, besides washing the dust and dirt of the day off?
Carlos' forehead wrinkled.
The shower had been running for a half hour, at least. He wasn't holding a stopwatch, and he knew that she was big on taking showers, loved them. But, come on; enough was enough.
How did he know she loved showers? She had told him, of course, a whole two days after she'd moved in. Even so, though showers were her thing, she had never taken one this long. Concerned, Carlos stuck his bookmark in place, laid aside the book and rose from the couch. Standing at the bathroom door, he then pressed his ear to it. Continuing to hear the steady stream of flowing water, he lightly rapped on the door. "Kiera…"
He was sure that she heard him. Again, he called her name and kept knocking.
"Quit playing games." Still thinking she got the best of me a while ago, regurgitating Garza, he evaluated, his knuckles beating a more riveting tattoo on the framed wood. Eventually, the feeling took hold, as the sound of the water kept on, that something was wrong. He tried the doorknob, apprehension fraying his composure, sending his self-possession in a tailspin. "Answer me—Kiera!"
Girding himself, he leaned in, bearing his full weight against the door. The doorknob gave under his hand's brutal assault as Carlos rammed his shoulder into the barrier. When it gave, he tumbled inside the bathroom.
He would apologize for this, later, if she expected he make one. His worried eyes darted to the glass wall-style opaque door of the shower stall.
No sounds of surprise, nor alarm greeted him. Just the maddening, steady stream of water relentlessly running…raining down upon her crumpled body. She was in a heap, out cold, in the far corner of the sandal ceramic-tiled stall.
"Kiera!" Carlos shouted, beside himself. A quick thinker, he shut the water off and quickly grasped one of the thick and downy, big, beige towels hanging on the nearby rack. Noble Rover Scout mentality, he'd been one of the very best pathfinders in his troop, took over. Respectfully, he draped a naked as a jaybird Kiera in the towel. He tucked the fragrant, absorbent bolt around her. Gently, pulling her up into his arms, she unconscious still, he softly told her, "It's going to be all right."
He whispered that again against the backdrop of his bathroom's hazy cosmetic lights, clouded by the air's pervasive humidity. He weaved his sturdy fingers through her dripping wet hair as he rested her head against his shoulder. He touched her cheek, noting the clammy feel of her skin. Her breathing was extremely shallow, he also noticed, while lying her down.
Immediately, he rushed away to get smelling salts he kept in his medicine cabinet. Holding the bottle beneath her nose did the trick. After a spate of coughing and wheezing, shaking her head from side-to-side, Kiera regained consciousness. Realizing she was only wearing a towel didn't faze her. Glad to be wearing something, Kiera acknowledged Carlos' rapt concern.
"How long was I out?" Not looking away from him, she reached over for the robe sitting on the edge of the wide platform bed.
"I'd have to say a while." His eyes never left hers.
Kiera slipped on the robe, tied it around herself, looking shaky to a degree and began towel drying her hair. She wasn't exactly dizzy, but she wasn't all that steady either.
"Has this ever happened before?" Carlos demanded.
Kiera shrank at his tone, as though his gruffness was deflating. Seeing the effect it had on her, he softened.
"What I mean is. Recently?"
She shook her head. "No. Not even in the future. I'm not one to faint." Yet, she had. Why?
"Could it have something to do with…" He came to sit beside her on the bed, unease mixed with preoccupation about her welfare leaping from his hard-set face. "Alec's experiment? Trying to activate you-know-who's C-M-R." He wished she could get it through her head that she was a woman, first. A science project—never, if he had any say in the matter. Which, of course, he did not.
It was plausible, she had to concede, but Kiera couldn't answer with any finality. So, with a shrug, she replied, "Don't know."
Crossing his eyes, Carlos pressed, "Okay. Then, when was the last time you ate anything? I mean really had a decent meal?"
Like she remembered. Had she even had breakfast, yesterday? Again, with a shrug, she danced around his question, forcing him to realize that she couldn't give him a true answer.
She had strung together scanty snacks over the past few days. An energy bar here, a salted pretzel there, a handful of red globe grapes someone had brought into headquarters, nothing that truly qualified as a square meal.
Her unmitigated silence riled him. "You're probably suffering from hypoglycemia."
"Am not," Kiera protested, waving such foolishness off.
"Like hell." He stood, glaring down at her. "Know what you need?"
She looked him up and down, then, sounding risqué, said, "Mouth-to-mouth resuscita—"
"Maybe later..."
Smirking he rolled his eyes fiercely. "If you're good. Yeah. Maybe." He ordered her to get under the covers. Under no circumstances was she to move from where she was. "You need food, woman. I'm going to make you some." Before leaving her alone, he groused, "Who told you, you could take on all the bad guys on an empty stomach? That just doesn't fly."
"But, I'm not hung—"
"Yes you are. You just think you're not."
Resistance was futile, and plainly seen in those inflexible, hard-boiled eyes of his.
"I'm not!" She sounded like a spoiled little girl, refusing to give an inch, all sound and fury...signifying nothing.
"What's so great about being stubborn?"
Kiera batted challenging eyes at him. "Really. Me?"
"If you're determined to chase down these villainous losers, by and large alone, at least do it with solid nourishment under your belt."
Kiera was tempted to toss back, 'Yes, Mommy.' Instead, she gave him her best impression of a hostage, bewitched by her alluring captor. Docility gilded the lilt in her voice.
"What are you fixing me?"
Seeing the side of her, which underscored just how majestic she could be when she wanted to, he ran it down for her. "A nice juicy steak—" He put up his hands. "I know, I know. You're not a big fan of meat."
"When did I ever say that?"
"In so many words. What? You think I'm slow taking a hint?"
Kiera stared him down. "You're just full of accusations right now."
Grinning, Carlos essayed, "Nevertheless. You're getting a steak, medium well."
"Thanks," she offered with a playful smile that brought out the warmth in her eyes. "And?"
Nodding, Carlos added, "Fries to go along with it. Uh…what vegetables. Let me preface that. What green vegetables would you like?"
"I never knew you were running a restaurant on the side here," Kiera jibed.
"Cut the comedy." He raised his eyebrows. "I'll fix peas."
"Snow peas?" Kiera asked sweetly, looking mawkish.
"You want those?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Coming right up. My veggie crispers are stocked. Now, rest. Here." He went back to the bed, holding the remote. "Find a late, late movie to keep you up. Can't have you falling asleep before you've got some nutrition in your bloodstream."
A moment before he left her/his room, Kiera said, "Thank you, Carlos. Why are you so nice to me? I put you through the worst hell. Still not giving you the honesty you deserve. And I've kicked you out of your own room."
"I'll make sure…" He came back to the bed, again. Smiling down on her, he bent from the waist and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You'll get my bill."
She took his hand, brought it to her lips, kissing the back's smooth surface. Sounding grateful, and braiding her fingers with his, she praised, "You're the best."
Clutching her hand, he nimbly replied, "Just remember that the next time Garza brings up that subject."
Holding their breaths, they locked eyes, holding the gaze as he pranced off to make her that late dinner, or early breakfast, depending on how one looked at it.
She raved about the steak; filet mignon was her favorite cut. It sliced like butter, was succulent and she practically wolfed it down along with the fries and the snow peas he had sautéed in herb butter. He was an incredible cook.
So much for her not being hungry, Carlos couldn't help deadpanning, careful not to rub it in too much. She thanked him again for feeding her so well, and expressed her profound gratitude for the classy way he had handled her nudity.
"I'm not the type to have a lady at a disadvantage." He managed to casually slip in, "I'll check back with you about checking you out when you're in the position of saying you're okay with it."
That roundabout invitation had rendered her speechless, and wondering how much longer she'd be able to keep up the pretense. Prompted by her feelings complicating things, she had begun thinking of him as something more than just her friendly 'port in a storm.' Unquestionably, he was becoming much more.
And she no longer felt feeling that way was inappropriate.
Kiera slept like a baby once she ate every bite of his mouth-watering repast. There was little of anything left over. Carlos slept soundly too, resting assured that she wasn't solitarily somewhere in the wilds of greater Vancouver, suffering from low blood sugar…out cold in a godforsaken trash-lined alley, getting rolled by vagrants or snatched by the body snatchers.
Yeah, he cared.
Carlos rolled over onto his other side on the army surplus folding cot and closed his eyes. Always would.