Brendan noted that Lancaster had visited Cordelia’s door a few times, though she’d never invited him inside and had only spoken to him briefly. Still, she seemed familiar with Lancaster, relaxed with him in a way that she certainly wasn’t with Brendan. And Brendan tried not to let it eat at him, much like he tried not to watch for Cordelia through the window like a bloody stalker.
He was the living embodiment of that creepy Police song, which was the wrong damned Police song to emulate.
“Morning.” He heard a soft mumble from behind him as Cordelia let herself into the passenger side.
He took a deep breath. This did not bode well for their workday. He slid behind the wheel of the car, catching a whiff of her perfume as he did, all berries and biscuits. It made his still heart ache. “You want to drive?”
“I thought you’d want more practice, driving on the wrong side of the road,” she said, pulling a book out of her bag. The drive out to the site was silent and awkward, no matter how many conversations he tried to start. She didn’t seem to be angry anymore, just resigned and distant. The site trailer was just as they left it, with the canoe-sized lead shield propped up against the swamp-ward side.
The rift was still there, of course, vibrating in fractal colors over the water, though Brendan felt none of the famous pressure the local magique mentioned. It was more than a little unnerving, knowing that there was a sniper team watching them through scopes as they approached their workspace, but he was grateful for them. Bael, Zed, and Will had given him more than enough background about incidents at the site to make him worry for Cordelia’s safety out here.
“You’re sure about this?” Brendan asked as she pressed her thumb to the trailer’s biometric pad. “I don’t think I can watch you pass out again.”
She offered him that quick upward movement of her lips, barely qualifying as a smile. “I just need to stay grounded. Keep focus. I’ll be fine.”
“I would feel better if you looked like you believe that,” Brendan replied.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a more definite shape, this time reflecting a little bit more humor. The door buzzed and she pushed it open.
“Look, I don’t know where I went wrong, but I’m sorry, for what I did that hurt your feelings,” he said, following her into the trailer.
Again, everything was just as they’d left it, as if the space had been left untouched while they were out of commission. The casket rested in its clear box on the light table, emanating a raw power even Brendan could sense throbbing through its Plexiglas cage.
She met his glance for the first time in weeks and he could see the hurt in those deep blue depths. “You pushed me, when I made it clear I didn’t like being pushed.”
He blinked at her. He thought he’d managed not to push her beyond that rather lovely kiss, despite wanting to, very badly. But rather than justifying it even in his own head, all he felt was sadness, like he’d broken something fragile and precious…which he supposed he had. “I’m sorry. I was overeager. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with someone I liked so much. I won’t push again, I promise.”
The little line formed between her brows, the line he’d come to recognize as her “thinking line.” She nodded. “All right.”
“Can we please start fresh? It’s been awful, not being able to talk to you. Bael and Dr. Carmody and that enormous bear-mayor tried to fill the gap with American beer and camaraderie. But it’s just been…have I mentioned the word ‘awful?’”
She snorted. “Yes, I would like that. I didn’t like not talking to you, either. And I’m sorry you had friendship and domestic beer forced upon you.”
“Eh, the company wasn’t so bad,” he admitted. “The beer, however…” He gave an exaggerated shudder, making her laugh.
“I’ve missed your laugh,” he told her. “I missed you.”
She gave him an awkward little smile, her cheeks flushing a lovely pink. His hands itched to reach out and touch her, to curl his fingers through that thick dark hair. But he kept them in his pockets. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want him touching her, and he would respect that.
“We should get to work, yes?” she suggested. “We’ve let it go long enough, I think.”
“You needed the time to rest up,” he assured her. He pushed the big red “record” button on the wall as she shot him a confused, possibly even irritated look that she shook off quickly. The vitals monitor on the wall lit up with bright green numbers, which she took to be a good sign. She glanced up at the overhead cameras as a beeping noise sounded from the ceiling.
“Morning, everybody, it’s Jillian,” a cheerful voice said from the speaker. “I don’t want to make you feel weird by telling you I’m watching the camera feed, but I also didn’t want to be a creeper and watch you without letting you know. My desire not to be a creeper won out.”
“I’m here, too, by the way,” Sonja added. “In the interest of transparency. And so is Mr. Lancaster.”
“Just monitoring your progress,” Lancaster said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Cordelia’s shoulders went tense and Brendan shot a curious look up at the camera. Was there trouble between Cordelia and Mr. Spit-and-Polish? He wasn’t about to make things awkward for her by asking what was wrong, but he was small enough to take a tiny bit of enjoyment from the tension.
Cordelia tied her dark hair back with an elastic. “I think what would help this time would be for me to speak aloud what I see when I read the box, because, well, last time I went unconscious for several hours and details can be lost when you’re in a mini-coma.”
Brendan frowned at her.
“Too soon?” she asked, making him nod. “I thought it was funny.”
“It’s a little too soon,” Sonja agreed over the speaker.
“What’s she talking about?” Lancaster demanded.
“Read page twelve of the report,” Jillian told him, making a shushing noise. Brendan made a mental note to ask Bael her favorite pie flavor and buy his boss an entire pie of her very own.
“The running commentary is sort of distracting,” Cordelia noted lightly.
“Sorry,” came the chorused reply.
Brendan used his thumbprint to unlock the case and lifted the casket out, setting it on the light table. He didn’t like how eagerly she drifted toward the table, smiling dreamily at the casket. He had a bizarre urge to pull the casket away from her, lock it back in the storage box and fireman carry her out of the trailer. But he knew, without being psychic, that she would not appreciate that and would probably pepper spray him the moment her feet touched the earth.
Rightfully so. This was her job. It was important to her and frankly, she needed to do it, to maintain the life she wanted. He couldn’t just abduct her because that job made him uncomfortable. Also, he could only imagine Jillian provided her friends-slash-subordinates high quality pepper spray.
“Do you want us to open it?” Brendan asked.
“I did mention the whole ‘don’t summon Cthulhu’ thing, right?” Jillian replied.
“That’s fine. I don’t think I can lift the lid anyway,” he said.