"How about you come stay with me for a while?"
Rogers remembered asking Tilly that as an impromptu gut feeling he had, a desire to keep her safe since the Candy Killer was out on the loose and had more than certainly framed her for the murders. Despite not having any need to personally deliver her forgotten backpack from the police station to the abandoned green shipping container, her place of residence, Rogers had felt compelled to return her easily abandoned things, what she also considered precious belongings. Little did he know that the offering of a 'while' would turn into a moment that lasted.
At first, the usual friendly nature between them halted into awkwardness, both of them unsure how to react as if they were casual acquaintances. The gloomy and danger-filled day ended with trusting thankful smiles and hesitant behaviors. Rogers wanted Tilly to be comfortable while she didn't want to inconvenience him. Even with his promise of a spare room, Tilly requested to sleep on the couch rather than the spare bed.
"This is more than comfy," she replied while fluffing up a couch pillow, relieved to be off the hook for arrest and someplace warmer than the boxcar she lived in. As Tilly caught Rogers's hesitant gaze, she said with a lighthearted laugh, "I've made do with worse," almost matter of factly to reassure him.
He catches the look in her eyes, the kind that has seen time pass by without anyone noticing and continues gravitating towards something deeper, a longing for understanding and human connection. Rogers recognizes it as the same reflection he saw in the mirror most mornings until he met Tilly. Almost the same blue yet while he steeled himself, she could pass it off with a laugh.
"Look, that doesn't mean you have to settle for better than worse while you're here." His face softened at her unfazed comment to her unfortunate experiences. Rogers's mouth trembled with worry before he persisted, steeling his resolve to remain steadfast to his concerns. "You'll get a crick in the neck by morning like that."
Tilly pulled a faint smile, amused, her forehead wrinkled in confusion as if he had told a bad joke, "Must be your old bones then. Never had a sofa that betrayed me, Detective."
"Maybe when we're at Henry's, yes. However, I insist, rest in a proper bed if you're not napping."
"A stickler, I see."
Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed tight in disapproval. Tilly tossed her green jacket onto the couch's tawny back.
"What is a bed but a place to rest your head?" she remarked. Plopping her head onto the plump pillow and gazing in Rogers direction, she shifted until his head eclipsed the kitchen's main ceiling light. "But if you're insisting, I wouldn't mind a blanket to make this a 'proper' bed," she addressed while signing air quotes.
As late as it was, he was amazed she still had the energy to make a rebuttal. He could only assume that it was in part because Tilly felt safe enough to make jokes. Rogers dragged his hand across his face. "Right," he sighed, resigning, knowing full well that she was a stick in the mud when she made her mind up.
Tilly squinted as the light hit her eyes again as he headed towards the spare room to grab a blanket per her request. She yawned, shimmying closer with her back against the wall of the couch. Although she was used to falling asleep to the sounds of passing trains and the whistle of the wind drafting through the usually unlocked shipping container doors, Tilly felt the tension ease off her shoulders as she closed her eyes and found herself soothed by the clambering of Rogers's presence. It was nice to have someone who cared for once, enough to nag at her even, without an IOU or false pretense in order, she thought. For a moment, Tilly let the idea of a future lasting far past the night linger.
"Home," she murmured as she felt herself sinking into the cushions, catching herself remembering what Rogers previously called the apartment before escorting her out of her boxcar.
Although Rogers wasn't gone for long, having shuffled around the squeaky closet for a blanket, ill-prepared for guests, by the time he got back to the center of the apartment, Tilly was knocked out. Whether it was out of exhaustion or relaxation, he couldn't tell, but he hoped it was the latter.
"What am I to do with you?" he questioned, shaking his head with slight delight and disbelief.
With cautious movements as to not wake Tilly from her slumber, Rogers draped the cotton material over her. She shivered and rolled a bit as the cold air from the motion stirred her. He let out a held breath as Tilly's breathing stabilized back into a rhythm. Moving the edges with surprisingly practiced ease over her shoulders, he stilled as he took notice of her ripped tights peppered with holes and red plaid flannel that had seen better days. Mentally, Rogers made a note to make sure to take her out shopping so that she had some new clothes to wear. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her in any other outfit. Tucking in the loose ends, he felt a calm wash over him, almost as if Tilly was the missing puzzle piece to the deep aching in his soul. Shaking his head, Rogers turned away, hit the light switch, and headed to bed.
The days after went swimmingly. Luckily, Tilly settled into the spare room with fascination once she found some of his paints to brighten up the space and was able to move in a couple of her things. Rogers got into a routine of having breakfast with Tilly before work as she doodled and told him the snippets she could remember about her far off dreams, the ones that 'must have existed from before but kept jumbled out of order.' When was before? Neither of them were sure.
What Rogers did keep consistent was trying to prepare dinner with a different vegetable for a week since all he ever saw when he returned home was Tilly finishing some instant noodles or being out while his jars of quickly depleted jam sat on the counter. He felt relieved that he kept the apartment in order and it wasn't summer since ants would have gone ham on anything sweet while scavenging.
"Tilly, come on," Rogers urged as he held the bowl of boiled green beans closer to her for scooping. "You don't have to eat the whole dish. At least take a spoonful."
"Fine," she drawled out, whinging like a teen. Scraping some loose green beans onto her plate, she kept them far away and separated from her mashed potatoes and pan seared chicken.
Rogers let out a satisfied sigh. It was a small scoop but that was a win in his books.
"You might hate them but the veggies won't kill you."
"Bup bup bup. Potatoes and I are long term friends." Tilly corrected, waving at the mashed stuff. "It's not vegetables I despise, but rather the fact that you're too keen on cooking them," she retorted, wanting to wipe the content look of approval off his face.
Rogers faintly laughed but covered it up with more bites of food, taking in more green beans as if to spite her. Tilly grumbled as she rolled and poked at the cut up beans with her fork, eventually eating a bite. Her eyes widened. She hated to admit it, but they weren't bad for once, the whole not coming from a can aiding in the delivery. Tilly gently rocked side to side in tandem with her green light on the taste, overjoyed that Rogers undertook the effort to keep her flavor palette what he called 'well rounded' and was someone to eat meals with.
Come the weekend, Rogers was delighted to get a day off to head to the farmer's market. Tilly had gone through a lot of jam and bread, making him wonder if he took in a baby bear instead of a human for a roommate.
"Rogers!" a bright and familiar voice called out from a stall as he passed by a few booths selling toys, kitchen wares, and squashes.
"Sabine? I thought you were busy with the Rollin Bayou."
"I would be but Jacinda is manning it with Drew at the moment, teaching him the ropes of the operation while I'm gone. I volunteered to help a friend here on the weekend so they can get some rest. And in return, I get a discount on other goods and produce that I can use to prepare beignets, gumbo, and other creole food," she stated with a grin as if she won a golden ticket. "So," Sabine put her hands on her hips in satisfaction upon finishing the reorganization of a tray of lemons, "what brings you to the market on this fine early morning?"
"Well, I recently got a new roommate. Don't know if you know her but Tilly's been going through jam like she needs it to breathe. I never was the most fond of it and yet, I always had some on hand." Rogers nervously steadied his hand on his belt as he found himself rambling, explaining more than he intended. "Point is, I came to fetch some orange marmalade."
"Tilly?" Sabine questioned, tapping her finger against the fine wood grain of the fruit stall, her eyebrows dancing in a frown before she swayed softly into a chuckle, remembering why the name sounded familiar. "Ah, Jacinda mentioned the other day that Tilly was the mystery culprit for our missing beignets. Someone you were trying to right a wrong for, am I correct?"
"Something like that. I'm not going to make any excuses for her, but I hope you'll look past Tilly's thievery. She's as gentle as a lamb when given the chance," Rogers replied, feeling sheepishly unsure why Tilly got him running to her defense, but he was sure the phenomenal cook and saleswoman would give anyone a second chance.
"Sabine, if you don't mind, how much were the stolen bags of beignets?" he asked, pulling his wallet out from the inside of his jacket pocket.
"Nine dollars total," she replied slowly, her eyebrows creeping up with suspicion. "Why?"
He fished out a $10 bill and handed it to her. "Keep the change," he offered.
"My, my. Well, I'll trust your judgment," Sabine responded, her apprehension dying down considering how much effort he put into clearing the slate. "Be glad you're my favorite detective, Rogers, as I don't easily look past thieves." She smiled. "You're in luck too because I have plenty to choose from today." She passed her hand in a sweeping semi circle to bring his attention towards the fresh fruit, jam jars, canned gumbo, and potatoes.
He started by browsing the selection, finding interest in varieties he'd never even heard about before, eventually settling on picking out some Liberty and Honey Crisp apples. Going over the jam jars, Rogers wasn't sure how fig or boysenberry tasted but he trusted Sabine as she guided him to tangy and sweet ones as he suggested his wayward roommate's preference. Of course, he couldn't forget how much Tilly loved orange marmalade as he piled two jars of it onto the stuff resting on the crook of his elbow.
After tending to other customers, Sabine came round to Rogers. "Let me help you with that," she said, taking some stuff off of his arm to pre-bag.
He nodded in acknowledgement to her kindness. By the time the detective finished, he checked the plastic bag she handed him to make sure he had everything. A mental checklist of his inventory made him certain that he was willing to pay $42, but Sabine had only rung up $34. Rogers couldn't deny that eight dollars was a pretty penny to pay for organic and locally sourced marmalade but thought it was worth it as Tilly went through barrels of the stuff and having a healthier alternative than the cheap sugary stuff as her permanent staple would make the difference. Plus, he had enough saved for personal expenses.
"Excuse me," he piped up, "I think you forgot to add a jar to the order."
"Nope, it looks just right," Sabine added with a wink, handing him the receipt and extra bills.
"Thanks," Rogers replied, accepting the change. His ears turned bright red with embarrassment and appreciation.
"No problem. Just let me know if you ever need anything," she commented.
Continuing his venture to explore the other vendors' stalls, he thought about how ecstatic Tilly would be upon his return, goods in hand. While he had a sweet tooth himself and marmalade was sugary, the bitter tang of the orange peels deterred him from being compelled to Tilly's unique taste. Rogers couldn't help the confused grin that appeared on his face as he walked. She'd probably get straight to making a marmalade sandwich, beaming as she scarfed it down. On the other hand, maybe Tilly could be likened to a wet cat, bittersweetly torn over how much he cared to get her expensive ingredients to prepare her favorite meal, what he wished she considered a treat.
Carry on the train of thought, Rogers recalled Tilly glumly remarking a few days prior, butter knife haphazardly in her mouth, about having to find a different thing to request from Weaver as payment in return for her informational services, especially since she currently had access to supplies for making marmalade sandwiches. He couldn't tell if Tilly preferred food over money or if Weaver was just that much of a prick to straightforwardly deny paying her out of pocket. Rogers knew he'd be lying to himself if he didn't wish she had a different job, away from his somewhat shady bastard of a partner, but understood that Tilly did what she could to live on the streets. Informants didn't necessarily choose to be one without circumstances.
His eyebrows furrowed as he pondered what he could do to alleviate the symptoms and remedy the cause. Tilly loved sweets, needed a way to make a living, and didn't want to feel like a burden on others. Rogers's eyes widened as he felt the pieces click together, allowing him to stare at the bigger picture. The Rollin' Bayou coincidentally happened to be owned by Sabine, was the place that sold beignets, a powdered sugar and airy donut, and Tilly had swiped a few bags from. As if the stars had aligned, he had unintentionally seen Sabine earlier and she still owed him a favor. What more, she was in high demand of workers. Weaver may have given Tilly the marmalade sandwiches, but Rogers was determined to continue helping Tilly by supplying her with the tools to make them herself. With steadfast resolve, he bit his lip, knowing he'd be asking something big of Sabine, and turned around to set his idea in motion.
"Sabine?" Rogers, having returned back to the middle of the lot, asked sheepishly. "Actually, I was wondering if I could call in that favor."
"That's quite sudden, detective." She blinked quickly in shock, slowing in her note-taking. "Depends on the favor. What are you looking for?"
"Are you still hiring? I heard from Henry a while back that you were looking for help."
"Don't tell me you're looking for a part-time!" Sabine remarked, taken aback as she firmly placed down her pencil. "Then again…'' She quieted down, her shoulders slumping. "That's not too surprising with the prices rising to keep up with the gentrification of the Heights."
"No, luckily, I'm not." Rogers cleared his throat, flustered by the misunderstanding. "Would you be willing to hire Tilly?"
Sabine's eyebrows raised in disbelief, her head slightly turned away as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Look, I know what I'm asking can be a lot for anyone. Maybe even out of bounds for favors," Rogers added, appealing to her. Sabine nodded, willing to hear him out. "Tilly has a history of getting herself into predicaments. I can't speak on her behalf with her track record. Definitely has no significant qualifications that I know of, but trust me when I say she's adaptable, punctual, and hardworking when she puts her mind to something." He rubbed the back of his ear, noticing how passionate he got defending Tilly's name. "So, does she have a job or should I hold off on that favor?"
"Wow, I didn't know you were capable of such a stirring speech." Sabine smirked, slightly impressed before switching into interviewing mode, putting on a stern disposition. "Do you think she can man the fryers? As in, can she cook without causing a fire?"
Rogers racked his brain imagining Tilly cooking. Unless he considered microwaving things, making sandwiches, and boiling water for tea or instant noodles as cooking, he couldn't say. She had yet to start a fire or use a pan on the stove, but he knew she'd go head first into giving anything a chance.
He sharply inhaled. "To be honest, she hasn't burned anything yet, but I doubt she will with your training." Rogers nervously chuckled. "Plus, I think she loves your beignets as much, if not more, than I do."
"Well, I like the sound of that." Sabine dusted off her hands. "Okay! Consider that favor accepted. I'll give her a shot." She paused before firmly laying out the conditions. "However, it's up to Tilly whether she accepts or stays up to par. You don't mind if it's part time, right?"
"I think that's something we can work with," Rogers concurred, thankful that Sabine was generous in fairness as well as beignets.
"Can you bring her round Monday morning? I can be hands on and show her the ropes then."
Rogers clenched his teeth, unsure of the timing since he still had to get to work. It had been convenient to go with Tilly to the station when she wanted, but he hadn't accounted for the fact that food trucks usually switched locations frequently. Rogers thought the least he could do was drop Tilly off.
"What time does Tilly need to be there and where will the food truck be?"
"Does 8 am work?" Rogers nodded and she continued answering. "Depends on the day but the Rollin' Bayou will mainly be at Hyperion Plaza. You know the square area with the statue, between the river and where you can spot Belfrey Towers? Actually," Sabine had started drawing a simple map on her notepad when she remembered the street intersection and turned the paper around. "I think it's a few blocks away from the station, a nice ten minute walk. I recommend you take the stroll because parking near there can be a downright pain."
"I'll have to take your advice." Rogers was about to reply that he owed her one, but technically they were wiping the slate clean with Sabine repaying the favor. "Really appreciate it."
"Come back with Tilly and you won't regret it," she called out as he shimmied to the side and walked away to let other customers pay.
He grinned and raised the bag of groceries in response before heading down the market to do the rest of his shopping.
Having returned to his apartment and gone up the flight of stairs, making it to the carpeted landing, Rogers had barely shuffled around the bag of groceries to grab his keys out of his back pocket when the apartment door flung itself open.
"Rogers!" Tilly cheered, greeting him with a toothy grin. "I knew it was you."
"Who else could it be? Were you waiting for a package?" he asked with laced sarcasm, raising one eyebrow and wearing an upturned smile.
The neighbor to their right, Ms. Duncan, rarely left unless it was bingo night and, being hard of hearing, could be heard loudly when her grandkids came over to visit. Charlie and Kathleen to their left had a sweet retriever who barked when it was time to be taken out on a walk or the mailman came because of a big package that couldn't fit in the mail slot in the lobby. It was impossible for Tilly to have guessed anyone else, considering how observant she was and unlikely for her to open the door for strangers, much as she was friendly with them. Rogers also doubted Tilly's boxcar had a mailbox.
"You'll never know." Tilly chuckled. "Well, what are you standing there for?" Putting on a funny posh voice, her cockney accent sounding normal in comparison, and ushering him with little arm bows as if she was a doorman, Tilly beckoned, "Come on in. Mi casa es tu casa."
"Sounds like you've had a good day. I thought you wouldn't be back until later," Rogers replied, setting down the bag on the kitchen island as she closed and locked the door.
"Mm hm." She grabbed her sketchbook off the coffee table and hopped on over, exuberant to show him her sketches as he unpacked the fruits and sorted which vegetables to put into the fridge. "Only fitting after the dreary weather we've been having. Mr. Sunshine came out for once. Couldn't miss the opportunity to go to the park now, could I?"
"Guess not," he replied.
Tilly leafed through the pages until she stopped upon the recent charcoal sketches, holding it out for Rogers to see and pointing at the depicted seagull.
"Wish you could have seen it in person! Usually they're on the rocks or flying across the sky, but this fellow decided to perch right up on the lamppost. Definitely peculiar, isn't it?"
"No?" Rogers tilted his head to the side, puzzled. "Don't birds usually do that?"
"Yes, but gah!" Tilly tapped her foot as she drummed against the seagull's flippers with her finger. "Take a closer look, detective. Unlike other places, our lampposts bend. He barely managed to stand on the curved top. See how he's flapping about for balance? Nothing was stopping him from resting on the straight banner pole. Either he's silly or really stubborn." She looked back at Rogers, eager to have his take on the matter. "Which do you think it is?"
"I see." Rogers noted, trying to wrap his head around how fervent Tilly felt about the winged animal. The bird she drew had one wing partially drawn outwards but its feet were fully planted on the brim of the lamppost. "Gonna have to go with stubborn. Must be if he wants a spot of his own away from the flock and has the dedication to stay on that."
"Great observation." Tilly turned to the next page where she had doodled the tail end of a duck, flippers in the air and water rippling around it. She happily sighed. "I could watch them waddle forever."
Rogers continued what he was doing, putting fruit and vegetables inside the plastic sliding drawers in the fridge. As he slid the tub close and came back to get the jars out of the bag, Tilly had moved onto her final sketch, one of a squirrel with its head sticking out the side of a concrete sidewalk with acorns near its chest.
"Oooh, this last one was a doozy. On my way back from the lake, I got ambushed." She shuddered at the memory, grimacing. "So many squirrels."
"Ambushed?" Rogers asked quickly, stopping what he was doing. "Did you get hurt? What happened?"
"I'm okay." She softly exhaled, slightly amused at his concern. "At first, some of them came up to me expecting food. They were adorable but then I had to hightail it out of there. One of them got the bright idea to crack a pinecone from way up a tree." Tilly made a whistling and kerplunk sound, imitating the squirrel caused windfall. "Must have been lunch time because a few of them followed suit and I wasn't bout to stick around to get the lights knocked out of me."
"Glad you made it back with all your marbles then," Rogers commented, setting the jam jars out on the countertop.
"I'd like to think so," she said, pressing her hand to the top of her head.
Tilly's eyes lit up as she noticed the orange hue in the batch of jam jars. She gasped, her lips pursed together as she tried to contain her happiness.
"You didn't!" Tilly squealed with delight before she burbled with overwhelming appreciation, getting quiet. "You didn't have to. I could have done without it for a while."
"They were just convenient to grab while getting groceries," Rogers said with a small smile.
"Regardless, thank you." Tilly put the sketchbook down on the counter before going around him. "I'll put them somewhere safe," she affirmed, grabbing the jars and moving them into a cabinet underneath the tea and coffee shelf.
Rogers sighed, building up the courage to ask her about Sabine's job offer. He folded the bag and put it in the storage cabinet.
"Hey, Tilly. I have some good news to share and I need your opinion on it."
Tilly stilled in her steps, her smile vanishing. She felt her heartbeat racing and wondered if she needed to sit down to hear what he had to say next.
"This isn't about Eloise or the Candy Killer, is it?" she asked, hesitant and alert, trying to count through her breathing.
"No, no. Everything's fine. You're safe here," Rogers reassured her, realizing how his wording could have sounded. He got closer to Tilly, wanting to place a warm hand on her shoulder, but his explanation allowed her to ease up.
"Mm, good," Tilly mumbled, gaining some of her pep and side stepping. "So what's the news?"
"While I was at the Farmer's Market, I saw Sabine. You remember the Rollin' Bayou?"
"Yeah, big, yellow, on wheels. Can't miss it. Draws quite the crowd. Got some delicious beignets from there once," Tilly described, a soft smile forming as she got lost in her memory of the powdered sugar on the warm confection. "What does it have to do with this Sabine?"
"You might have not seen her when you went, but she owns the business and I cleared things up with her. I knew she was hiring and convinced her to let you have a role as a part time fryer come Monday." Rogers shrugged and took a deep breath, his chest rising as he exhaled. "Look, I know you and Weaver have a working relationship, but if you'd like to give it a shot, I'll notify both him and Sabine about your decision."
Tilly's eyes softened, welling up with tears, as she squeezed the inner plaid fabric of her jacket pockets.
She wasn't sure of herself. Although she'd kept her promise of staying on her pills to ensure that she wouldn't fall astray into harming anyone, everything felt too good lately. Tilly felt so grateful yet the guilt of being a burden on Rogers, potentially disappointing him again somehow, plagued her mind. Sure, they were hardly strangers anymore, but she felt like she didn't deserve him going out of his way to make sure she was doing okay and well. No one had ever done that for a long time, she thought. Tilly knew that Rogers hadn't chosen to be roped into her mess, from the casework to her mental struggles, but he still wanted her to be in his life. She never knew what each day held and thought, what if it all went upside down again?
"Are you sure about this, after everything that's happened?" She asked, choked up.
Despite the question, through blurry tears, Tilly caught his unwavering blue, the kind that stays constant as the tides, determined to drift in the same direction with her.
Rogers nodded. "No matter what," he vowed.
Emotionally, she felt reassured, the lump in her throat dissipating. However, as she thought about accepting the job offer, Tilly spiraled into a new wave of fear.
"But what if I mess up so badly that she absolutely never wants to work with me again? What happens then?"
"How about we take it one step at a time, like in chess? You never know how the game will end before it starts," Rogers suggested with a sympathetic smile, causing Tilly to reciprocate, hers small and still sniffling. "You'll still have a place with me, even if you succeed or things fall through. Until then, won't you give it a try?"
"Yeah. I don't know what to say." Tilly raised up her arms and moved closer, causing him to hug her and reciprocate her squeeze. "Thank you," she chirped as she broke away and laughed, wiping the tears from her face.
Rogers scratched the back of his ear. "Not a problem. I could walk you there and pick you up, introduce you to Sabine. She can be a bit tough on how she likes things in particular but she's really nice and enthusiastic."
"I'd like that." Tilly could just imagine it, talking to people regularly and giving them the joy of food. "Probably beats spying on people from the rooftops and alleyways anyways," she joked.
By the time they knew it, the new month was full of new beginnings. Rogers realized some were taking shape without him, but he was overjoyed that Tilly was making new friends.
"Aren't you fashionably late?"
It was past 10 pm on a Friday, but Tilly had called saying that she'd be back for dinner. The spaghetti had gone cold hours prior, but Rogers had kept himself company with the tv and busy doing small projects around the apartment that he hadn't gotten around to.
"Have you ever wanted to sleep for an eternity?" Tilly groaned, dragging her feet across the laminate flooring of the apartment.
"Wait, I thought you had a good time hanging out with Margot after work." Rogers peppered in, ducking his head out from the lazy susan where he'd been trying to screw a hinge back in place.
"Well, I did, but it's been a long day." She plopped down on the couch, cozying up with a throw blanket. "I might have been sitting and chatting with Margot the whole time, but she also wanted to get ahead on work while we were there. I don't think I'll ever want to dry a glass or stick a toothpick in an olive again." Tilly waved her hand in the air behind the sofa cushions. "You're on your own for dishes tonight."
"I'll put your meal in the fridge then, yeah?"
He heard a mumble in response, a probable confirmation as he saw no signs of her getting back up.
"You okay with doing the dishes tomorrow instead, Tils?"
Silence enveloped the space.
"Righty tighty, lefty loosey, targo bargo, and Bob's your uncle," Rogers teased as he tested out the corner cabinet door closing, pleased with his work.
Tilly let out a frustrated disgruntled noise as she pulled the pillow over her face, wishing she hadn't shared with him every silly detail about her crush. "Whatever pleases you."
A few days later, Rogers was in the office, listing down more locations and people that had received heart shaped chocolate boxes. While trying to figure out the connection between the gift recipients and the killer, Tilly came strolling in.
"Bit busy," he said, tapping the back of his pen on the pages.
"I'll be quick as a rabbit," Tilly replied before frowning. "Ugh, can you believe that Margot thinks checkers is better than chess? The two games are not the same." Tilly declared, arms crossed as she sat on the edge of his desk.
Rogers sighed, rubbing his face. "Let me guess. She beat you at checkers?"
It was the only game in the station besides cards and Tilly hadn't brought her backpack carrying the chess set around, having not expected Margot waiting at the station. Tilly pouted, swinging her legs.
"She wouldn't have if I'd remembered that double jumping existed." She grumbled. "Taking out two pieces at once. Chess wouldn't do that."
"Oh yeah? Well, maybe you should have brushed up on the rules first."
"Who's side are you on, Detective?" Tilly sharply asked, tilting her head.
Rogers laughed. "What I'm saying is it's good to step out of your comfort zone sometimes. How about challenging Margot to a rematch to level the playing field?"
"Hm. I do like a good challenge," she mused, hopping off the desk and taking a peek at his papers. "And I think it might be better if you," Tilly moved a piece of paper over to hide the scattered pages, causing him to move his arms in shock, "take a break from all this. Answers will come when you refocus elsewhere."
"One can only hope," Rogers halfheartedly replied, moving the paper back out of the way.
Margot caught her attention through the glass pane, the novice bartender looking around confused in the main lobby, holding two paper mugs of coffee.
"Whoops, I better get back before she gets bored and the coffee cools," Tilly said, heading out of the glass cubicle.
As Tilly left, Rogers got a knock on the glass. The desk sergeant came in.
"Eagle scout, you know that guy who came in with the missing car a long time back? Well, his same car showed up abandoned, flat tire, some time last night. Thought it might be up your alley."
Eventually, things got less logical and more unexplainable. From anomalies in suspects to finding Tilly pouring maple syrup on a honeydew and gummy bear concocted apology to present to Margot one evening, Rogers learned to go with the flow and tried to keep things manageable.
On a cloudy afternoon, he decided to leave a present on Tilly's bed. All that was left was for her to open it. He waited on the couch, doing a newspaper crossword as slowly as he could, pretending he was unfazed or indifferent as he peripherally watched Tilly put her keys in the starfish bowl and head to her room. Rogers kept seeing her wearing the same boots, well lived past their prime. With the spring, Tilly would complain about her socks being stiff and soggy, common occurrences as her shoes kept being waterlogged. Seattle was known for its rain showers; pruned feet and stiff socks were not about to be on Tilly's bingo list for the unforeseeable future if he had anything to do about it.
Tilly squealed in delight. She slammed open her bedroom door, gold ribbon hanging from her arm, card in hand, and a pair of brand new Doc Martens on her feet. The boots were white with traces of blue and silver running across them, almost like paint streaks but giving it a marble effect.
"Aaaaah, how'd you know?" she asked, excitement burbling from her. Then her eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "Moreover, what's the occasion?"
"I know it's not your birthday or Christmas, but I saw you looking at the pair when we were at the outlet a few weeks ago. You seemed like you needed new waterproof boots and well…" Rogers trailed off, playing with a pencil. "If you dislike them or they're the wrong size, I've still got the receipt to return or exchange them."
"No need. They fit just right," Tilly beamed, practically prancing as she twirled to show them off and expend the excess energy created from enthusiasm. "I love them already!"
She stopped on the kitchen stool and unlaced them, deciding to take them off, having gotten dizzy.
"Might need to break them out though," Tilly noted, rubbing her heels as her feet felt boxed in and rubbed in spots despite the short time in them.
She plopped next to him on the fabric couch. "I wish I had something to give you in return," Tilly said softly, resting a head on his shoulder to have a better look at his crossword. "It's gonna be hard when you give the best ones."
"I'm sure you'll find something."
"Ooooh, 4 down, Styx," she pointed out before she rested her head on her right arm, propped up by her knee.
Tilly thought of his love of cookies, coffee, canned sardines in tomato sauce, painting, and fixing things. Maybe she'd give him a mug, jar of paper stars, new brushes, or a drip coffee filter. She found her eyes drifting over to the small aquarium he had, the fishies playing with the sand under the fluorescent lights. Even an aquarium ornament could do.
"How was work?" she asked as he scribbled down her answer in wobbly cursive.
"Same as usual. Run of the mill drunk arrest, mountains of paper from writing up reports since the Candy Killer case is now solved."
Tilly grimaced as she nudged his arm with her elbow. "I don't envy you, mate."
Rogers wryly grinned, unintentionally getting invested in the word puzzle. "How about you?"
"Good actually. Sabine's been trying out new coffee roasts so we've been seeing what customers like. City and Columbian have been selling like hotcakes, but Cinnamon has been," she bore a lopsided grin, "trying."
"Too strong or spiced?" he questioned, halfway through the crossword.
Tilly laughed. "No, it's too light or watered down." She paused, looking off to the side in confusion. "At least, that's what people said. Not sure I could tell the difference."
He chuckled, knowing how much milk and sugar she added to hers. Tilly yawned and nuzzled against him. The sunlight cascaded across her, highlighting the honeyed warmth of her curls and making light of the small constellation of birthmarks on her cheek.
Rogers couldn't remember the last time his cheeks had hurt from laughter or he'd smiled so much prior to Tilly. Maybe waiting until the crossword is finished won't hurt, he thought as he dispelled the notion of waking to get her to bed. His heart swelled with the ease he felt seeing her chest rise and fall with her breathing. The month had been wild but Rogers found himself looking forward to the next day and taking in the time they spent together. Time was always ticking, but he was glad they were roommates.