Eleanor pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose, sighing as she attempted to get more comfortable in the chair she'd deemed her work-from-home space. She was pouring through the files that had been sent from her office, signing off on some of the easier cases - shots, medicines, things of the like. She had secured a fill-in veterinary student - the very top of his class - to administer the injections while she healed.
Her fingers were tapping over the keys of the laptop, her eyes never leaving the screen. She was very aware of the presence on the sofa before her, cerulean eyes scanning over her as she worked. She glanced up over the top of her screen, meeting his eyes.
"You know you don't have to stare at me the whole time," Eleanor spoke, deciding the silence had gone on long enough. "I don't think I'm going to disappear if you find something else to do."
John shook his head, his hands clasped over his stomach as he sat. "Just doing my job, Miss."
Eleanor suppressed a shiver, distaste for the pleasantry. "Don't call me miss, it makes me feel old."
John cocked a brow at her. "You're not old."
"I know," she replied. "But the next thing I know you'll be trying to start with ma'am. Just call me Eleanor. Or Ellie."
"Okay," John relented easily. "Just doing my job, Ellie."
Eleanor smiled, happy with her win. "Thank you."
They sat in silence for most of the day, the distinct sound of keys being pressed filling the room. John had finally decided to turn something on the television, a more than welcome background noise for them both. He had turned on a soccer match, something that the veterinarian had no idea about, and was thoroughly absorbed.
A deep, irritated groan filled the room and Ellie's head shot up, not expecting the sound that barreled from him. He was sitting straight up, his eyes zeroed in on the screen. "Fuckin' muppet."
"What is it?" she asked, confused by the sudden change. She glanced over at the television, trying to figure out what had happened, but it was just a bunch of players crowded around, pushing and pulling at each other. "Did someone get hurt?"
John shook his head with a sigh. "No, just a stupid call."
"Wow, you're a dedicated fan, huh?" Ellie asks, her brow furrowed. "I didn't take you for a soccer guy."
"I'm not a fan of soccer," John almost glares at her, his eyes flashing. "It's football."
"Not in America," she bites back a laugh. "Maybe across the pond."
John sighs and mumbles. "Where everything makes a little more sense."
A little while later, after the game had finished, a loud grumble came from Eleanor's stomach. Her eyes widened and she looked up at John, placing her hand over the offending noise. Her cheeks burned at just how loud it had been - she hadn't realized that she'd gone all day without so much as a bite of food.
"Hungry?" John's lips curled beneath his mustache.
Eleanor nodded. "Let me just get a few more cases out of the way and then I'll eat."
"Not happening," John said, authority coloring his words. "I'm here to keep you safe, can't do that if you fall over from starvation."
Eleanor rolled her eyes. "I won't starve from not eating for a few hours. I've gone longer than that at work."
"Not with me," John informs her. "Your aunt is trusting me with your care. I don't take that lightly."
"Fine," she grumbled. She saved her work and closed the screen on her laptop, placing the device on the table beside her. She braced herself for the task of getting out of her seat, dread coursing through her veins as she realized it wasn't going to be easy. Her body was aching and, although not completely broken, one of her ribs had been fractured.
"Damn it," she hissed through her teeth as she raised to her full height. Tears flooded her eyes but she blinked them back, the pain slowly subsiding as she stood there. "I swear I'm not a wuss."
"Never said you were," he said, his lips pressed into a tight line. "You okay now?"
"Yeah," she told him. "It just... takes me a minute."
Slowly, she made her way into the kitchen of her apartment. She rifled through her freezer, trying to find the easiest meal she could, and grinned when she found a frozen pizza stashed in the back. She pulled it out, carefully, so as not to upset her rib more. She busied herself preheating the oven and finding her pizza pan, but the more she stood and moved the more the nagging pain in her side intensified. She was all but huffing when John came to check on her.
"Damn it, woman," he tutted behind her, a gentle hand on her lower back trying to guide her back to the living room. "Go sit down, I can make a blood pizza."
Eleanor turned her neck to glare at him. "I'm perfectly capable of making it."
"More than," he agreed, his gruff voice right in her ear. "But you need to sit down and rest. Get back to normal as quickly as possible, yeah?"
The woman frowned, knowing he was right, but not wanting to admit it. She felt a twinge of defiance toward him. "If I go sit am I still allowed to work?"
John's stare was blank and he was unamused. "No. You've done enough work today. Isn't your office closed by now, anyway?"
She glanced at the clock on the stove - it was five o'clock, and her office was indeed closed. She pursed her lips but said nothing.
"Go sit down," he all but commanded her. "I'll chuck the pizza in and bring you an icepack."
"Fine," she sighed, stopping by her medicine cabinet and grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen. "Just so you know, I don't like to lose an argument," she told him.
"Neither does Kate," he told her with a grin, "but she also knows when she's wrong. Now go sit."
If she was able she would've stomped her way back to the living room, but the pain prevented her from doing so. She decided to sit on the couch, which was better for watching TV than the chair, and grabbed a pillow, pressing it against her chest to help with the ache. It wasn't long before John came into the room, an icepack in hand. He held it out to her, almost as if it were a peace offering.
"Don't put it directly on your skin," he advised her softly. "Do you have something to take your meds with?"
She shook her head no, reaching out to take the icepack. "Thank you."
"Just-"
"doing your job," she finished for him, looking up at him from her seated spot on the sofa. "It's almost like I've heard that somewhere before..."
"Cheeky," John noted as he crossed his arms over his wide chest, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'll be back with the pizza."
A few minutes later he strolled into the room, two plates in hand. He had cut the pizza - for a military-trained man a little haphazardly - and threw two pieces on each of their plates. He sat hers onto her lap, making sure she had a hold on it before releasing his grip. "What would you like to drink?"
"A water is fine," she said quietly, a feeling of shame settled deep in her bones. She hated being coddled. John turned to retrieve their beverages when she spoke up. "Could you bring the ranch dressing, too?"
John stopped, his back stiff. He turned his neck to see her, a barely contained look of disgust on his face. "Ranch dressing?"
"You know what ranch is, I'm sure," she said, puzzled by his reaction to her request.
He nodded, turning to face her fully. "Of course I do," he said, "but eating it on pizza?"
Eleanor tapped her finger on the side of her plate. "Uh, yeah? What about it?"
"It's a crime," he told her seriously. "A crime against food."
A laugh bubbled from her lips, pain exploding through her torso. She gasped and pressed the pillow tighter against her, "Ow, ow..."
John watched her silently, his hands coming out to steady her. "You alright?"
She nodded. "I'm okay."
"All this over some dressing," he mumbled, his hands still on her upper arms.
Eleanor glanced up at him through her lashes, the pain slowly ebbing. "You have no idea what you're missing."
"Fuckin' Americans," he mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear, and then straightened his back and disappeared into the kitchen. They ate in silence, watching reruns on the television as they shared their first meal together. John grimaced a bit when she dipped her pizza in the white dressing and took a large bite of it. She chewed it with the beginning of a smile, noticing him watching her eat.
"Don't judge me," she said around her bite of food. "It's so good."
John shook his head. "I'll take your word for it."
"Try it," she encouraged him, holding her plate out to him to dip his slice. "It'll change your life."
He pulled his plate away from her, protecting his food from hers. "I'm good, thanks."
"C'mon," she pressured. "One bite and I'll shut up."
He shook his head. "I've gone my whole life without having it, I think I'll pass."
"A life without ranch," she mused. "What a sad existence."
He shook his head and went back to watching the television as she continued to happily eat her ranch-covered pizza. Once they had finished and John had taken the plates to the sink they simply sat and relaxed. Eleanor was curled against one side of the sofa while John sat on the opposite side, his legs spread wide. It was comfortable, Eleanor realized, having someone here with her. She didn't think she'd warm up to him this quickly, but she saw what her aunt liked about the Captain.
"So how long have you known Aunt Kate?" Eleanor asked suddenly, her curiosity taking over. "She's never really said a lot about you."
John looked over at her, studying her question. "A long time."
"Wow," she said sarcastically, "such an enlightening answer."
John sighed and looked to be thinking about whether he should tell her or not. "It's been over ten years, at least."
"Ten years," Eleanor repeated. She was quiet for a beat and then asked, "So how old are you?"
"Old enough," he answered simply. "Why does it make any difference?"
"Because I want to know," she said, tampering down the urge to throw something at him. "Do you ever give a straight answer?"
John smirked and shrugged. "When the situation calls for it."
"That's really annoying," Eleanor pointed out. "That's fine, I'll just guess, then. I like guessing games." She hummed as she thought, looking over him. He had flecks of gray at his temples, but his face gave nothing away. "I'm going to say that...you aren't forty yet?"
"That isn't a guess," he chuckled, "that's another question."
"Don't be like that," she groaned. "I'll tell you my age if you tell me yours."
"I already know your age," he told her simply. "Your aunt told me the basics before I came."
"Fine," she huffed, rolling her eyes at him. "Be boring."
John fought back a smile, but he softened under her agitated gaze. "I'm not yet forty."
Eleanor gave him a blinding grin, her eyes crinkling. "See, now that wasn't so hard was it?"
An amused hum left him, and he shook his head. "No, but it's so fun to watch you get angry."
She opened her mouth to retort, but a shrill ring from her cellphone cut her off. She dug it out of her pocket as gently as she could and looked at the screen. "It's Aunt Kate."
Before answering the video call she straightened her hair and wiped her mouth, making sure she'd gotten all remnants of pizza off her face.
"Hey Kate," she greeted, fighting the urge to flinch as she saw the bruising on her face.
"Ellie," Kate replied, seated in her office. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm feeling better," Eleanor smiled softly, touched by her aunt's concern. "I managed to squeeze in a little work today."
"Don't overdo it, you're supposed to be resting," Kate warned her seriously. "Is everything going okay with John?"
John eyed the phone at the mention of his name. "Everything's fine, Laswell."
"Good to hear," Kate replied. "I'm glad everything is going smoothly."
Eleanor took a deep breath, not wanting to ask but needing an answer at the same time. "Have you found out anything about the men who attacked me?"
"Not yet," Kate told her. "Just give me time, Ellie. I will find them."
Eleanor's heart beat rapidly, she felt it in every nerve in her body. She swallowed down her anxiety and gave her aunt a small, forced smile. "I know you will."
"I'll call you back when I get more news," Kate assured her. "Get some rest, okay?"
Eleanor promised and disconnected the call. She stared at her phone, her mind racing - she had made a conscious effort not to think about the violence that had been inflicted on her just a day prior, trying to push it from her mind completely. She didn't want to live in fear, and while it hadn't been easy she'd managed.
Work and the man beside her had kept her thoughts busy, but now...
"What's going on in that head of yours, eh?" John asked her, genuinely curious. "You haven't been this quiet all evening."
She sighed, picking at her cuticles. "Just thinking."
"Vague answer," he replied.
She looked at him through the corner of her eye. "Like you have any room to talk."
"Touche," John smiled at her. "Really, what are you thinking?"
"I just hope we get them," she admitted quietly. "I don't like feeling vulnerable. Scared in my own home, scared to go to work."
"That's why I'm here," John said, his eyes softening. "I won't let them hurt you, not again."