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Still Waters

Follows the many ways you and Mordecai have taken care of each other over the years, and all the forms that can take.

Pairing: Mordecai Heller x Reader

Tags: Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Awkward Romance, Jealousy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort

A/N: I got into Lackadaisy very late but very quickly, and I'm still catching up, so if there are any inaccuracies or timeline issues, sorry, but do let me know! Also, if you're my gf, sorry honey

//

19th August, 1920

The kitchen door swung open with enough force to cause a ‘bang’ with the shifting gust of air.

Heart thudding, you looked up in time to see Mordecai slip inside.

You couldn’t get over how unnerving it was to see him like this. It took a lot to rattle Mordecai, but he’d been angry with you all night, seething under the surface like a pot on the stove. Now you were alone, and the adrenaline had worn off, it was harder for him to disguise his frustration.

Mordecai stopped so abruptly when he saw you that it was almost cartoonish. Standing halfway through the doorway, he stared at you, tail flicking irritably.

You wished you could read the expression on his face. His eyebrows were constantly pulled down into a tight frown, but now his bright olive eyes were restless and agitated, and he kept rolling and unclenching his long fingers.

After a moment’s tactical pause, Mordecai closed the door behind him with more force than necessary. He walked past you to the sink, pulling off his leather gloves with a few jerky, frustrated tugs.

“Mordecai-”

“Save it.”

He slipped off his coat, folded it over his arm, then carefully laid it down on the sideboard. Despite his obvious unease, he moved with his usual grace as he methodically rolled up his sleeves, then he turned on the faucet and began to wash his hands. His shoulders were high, his back taut.

You watched him, fascinated by the way he moved. Mordecai was always so precise and unfaltering. It was like he’d rehearsed every single facet of his facade, down to the length of his stride and the breadth of time between blinks.

You nervously curled and uncurled your fingers around the edge of the counter, pressing the tips of your claws into the wood to ease some of the tension in your shoulders.

“I know what happened tonight wasn’t ideal…”

That was putting it mildly.

Tonight was your first trip out with Viktor and Mordecai since the last time you’d worked together, your first night working for Lackadaisy. Unfortunately, your first job had been a messy one, a night none of you liked to dwell on, and it had taken several months for you to work up the courage to step up to the plate again.

All evening, your nerves had felt taut like the strings of a violin bow, twanging and scratching inside your chest. You were jumpy, and that was never a good thing for a sharpshooter. You fired too soon, giving away your position, and it had ended in a successful, if very messy, firefight.

Mordecai, usually so well put together, looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards when he finally sank into his seat in the car.

Viktor did his best to shrug it off. Nothing, not even a bullet whistling right between his ears, could unnerve him.

You’d come away with grazed palms from falling hard onto the gravel road and a bullet hole in your coat from a very lucky miss. Worse still, you had to sit in the backseat of the car behind a seething Mordecai, and it had been a very long drive back to the café.

Mordecai flicked water from his hands, then dried them on a towel. You wondered if he was planning to strangle you with it.

“You do realise it’s not just you that suffers if you get hurt, don’t you?”

Of all the things you thought he might say, that wasn’t even close to the top ten list. Dumbfounded, you tried to come up with something smart, or even better, an eloquent apology, anything to get you out from under Mordecai’s pin-sharp gaze, but all you managed was a stupid,

“What?”

“This business cannot thrive with careless workers. Trust and integrity are everything. Viktor needs to be able to rely on you, or he won’t be able to do his job. I need to be able to rely on you, so that I can do mine. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do. You can.” You kept your head bowed, eyes low. “You can rely on me. It was just first-day-back jitters. I’m sorry, Mordecai. It won’t happen again.”

The kitchen was silent for a moment, then finally, Mordecai sighed.

“If one of us falls, there will be another to take our place in a heartbeat,” he said, quiet yet firm. “But that stumble could cause irreparable damage. Cracks will form. Cracks lead to breaks. So if one of us falls, we all do.”

“I understand.”

You heard him begin to move through the cabinets, searching for something. The biggest knife he could find, probably. That’s what stupid mistakes got you, minced and cooked in a stew.

When he finally found what he was looking for, Mordecai brought it over to you. A first aid box. He laid it on the counter next to where you were sitting and rifled through it, looking for something in particular.

All the while, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. The cold, intimidating, no-nonsense killer, your colleague, Mordecai Heller. He was magnetic. Everyone stared at him wherever he went, which he hated beyond all reproach. And being this close to him felt like walking railroad tracks, thrilling but possibly lethal.

You didn’t often see him without his long black coat, his own kind of battle armour. You loved the way it pulled in his waist and how the upturned collar made him look almost regal. Seeing him in just a starched white shirt and dark waistcoat felt oddly intimate, like it was something you shouldn’t be seeing.

His clever hands worked quickly and efficiently, digging through the first aid box while his tail lashed behind him, low to the ground and agitated. Finally, Mordecai unearthed what he’d been searching for and moved in front of you.

“Hands,” he said, without looking at you.

“What?”

“Hold out your hands.”

He twisted the cap off a small bottle, then upturned it onto a cotton pad, letting it soak up whatever was held within.

“Mordecai, you really don’t need to do that. I’ve had much worse.”

“If these grazes are left untreated, they can become infected. Just how good of a sharpshooter do you think you’ll be without hands?”

His gaze flicked up to meet yours.

It made your breath catch in your throat. How could you argue?

Tongue-tied, you held out your hands, palms up, and let Mordecai press the cotton pad to your raw, grazed skin. You hissed at the sting but tried not to flinch.

It had been an odd night. But perhaps the strangest thing of all was how gentle Mordecai was. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He wasn’t the heavy-handed type.

He’d always had a thing about cleanliness and symmetry. He liked things a particular way. It irked the others, but it never bothered you. In fact, it was nice to be around a guy who wasn’t a complete pig. Mordecai was always impeccably dressed and smelled amazing, something you wished you could get out of your head now that he was standing so close to you.

When he had finished cleaning you up, he turned a roll of bandages between his fingers, unravelling it until he thought he had enough. His eyes still lowered, Mordecai seemed to hesitate for a moment before he placed his hands flat under yours and lifted them higher. Then he began to carefully wrap the bandage around one of your palms.

It was so quiet in the kitchen. You weren’t sure how late it was, but there was no one out on the street. Beneath your feet, a party was raging in the speakeasy, but you wouldn’t have guessed if you weren’t in the know. Somehow, though the cavern below you was teeming with life, it felt like you and Mordecai were the only two people in the whole world.

He was fastidious in his work, as he was with everything. Careful and precise, his movements flowed like a dancer’s.

There was something about watching him when his attention was diverted, a strange sort of intimacy that came from looking at Mordecai’s eyes when he was looking elsewhere. Looking at you, you reminded yourself, and felt your face heat up.

“How do you know how to do all this?”

You tried to keep your voice low, but it still seemed so abrupt in the stillness of the kitchen.

One of Mordecai’s ears flicked, and you wondered if he was annoyed with you for asking, but then he said,

“I was an older brother once.”

He finished with your left hand and moved onto the right, carefully wrapping the bandage around your palm, over and under, over and under, in neat rows.

You watched him, waiting to see if he’d offer up anything else. When he remained quiet, you pressed him for more.

“Once?”

“Hm. In another life.”

He’d never spoken about any family before. You’d assumed he was like the rest of Lackadaisy’s crew, a stray from the streets in need of shelter and a steady job.

You couldn’t picture Mordecai as a brother. Or maybe you could. A little shorter, a little less world-weary, flanked by younger siblings who hung on his every word. You knew better than to ask for any more details. Still, it was a nice thought. A reminder that he had a beating heart under that gun holster.

Before you could say anything more, he dropped your hands and stepped away. Mordecai struggled to hold your gaze, and you wondered if he’d given away more than he meant to.

“Check those tomorrow. Don’t pick. See a doctor if it gets worse. And don’t,” He narrowed his eyes at you. “Ever think about being reckless like that again. Or you won’t last long here, one way or another.”

Unsure how to respond, you watched Mordecai as he went to wash his hands again. He grabbed a nail brush from the draining board and scrubbed hard enough to make his skin raw. The stressful night had only made his impulses worse.

You thought about apologising again, but you didn’t think he would appreciate it. You thought about pressing him for more information about his family, anything to make this little moment of peacefulness together stretch further, but that seemed like an almost suicidal option.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Mordecai grabbed his coat and was gone almost as quickly as he appeared.

Alone in the kitchen, the silence felt heavy on your shoulders. Not for the first time in this line of work, you felt a pang of loneliness. Mordecai was intimidating to be around, but you wished he’d come back. You wished he’d touch you again. It had been so long.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned your weary body against the kitchen door and sloped towards the door. It had been a long, arduous day. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and try to forget about the world for a while.

“Hey, honey.”

So close.

You hadn’t seen Mitzi leaning against the wall beside the pantry door. Just a few steps away lay the stairs down to the speakeasy, where she’d been entertaining out-of-towners for the best part of the weekend.

“You comin’ down for a drink or two? You look like you could do with lettin’ loose.”

“Thanks.” Trying not to appear ungrateful, you forced a weak smile. “Not tonight, ma’am. I just wanna go home. We had a… An eventful pick-up.”

Mitzi shrugged, then adjusted her faux fur stole. You weren’t all that fun to play with, not like Mordecai. She usually let you escape without too much of a struggle.

“Well, come by soon, honey. You work hard, you need to learn to relax. Honestly, you’re as bad as- Well, maybe not. Did that sourpuss give you a stern talkin’ to?”

“A little.”

“He patch you up, too?”

You slipped your hands behind your back.

“Yeah, he did.”

Mitzi had always had this way of looking at you that made it feel like she could read whatever you were thinking. She stared at you, her sparkling eyes focused and clear, then she raised her sculpted brows.

“Mordecai must like you. He’s usually funny about that sort of thing.”

”Germs?”

”Talking.”

You didn’t think that was true at all. Mordecai could talk the hind legs off a donkey once you got him going. It was usually full of snark or disdain, but his low voice was nicer to listen to than any radio.

“I think it was just an excuse to lecture me, ma’am.”

Mitzi’s gaze dropped to where your hands were carefully folded behind your back.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you tried not to fidget too much.

At last, Mitzi hummed to herself, mind made up. She gave you a look that was half disapproving, half warning.

“Don’t even think about it, honey,” she said. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there.”

You flushed, annoyed with her for being able to read exactly what you were thinking, even if you’d never quite been able to admit it to yourself.

“I wasn’t. I wouldn’t,” you lied.

Mitzi smiled kindly, then headed down to join the party. Her silence spoke a thousand words.

Alone in the café, you scowled to yourself, then stared down at your hands.

There was no point arguing with Mitzi, she saw what she wanted to see, and there was no convincing her of anything else once she’d made up her mind. But you could and would deny it to yourself forever, if that’s what it took.

/

15th October, 1921

He didn’t flinch as you yanked open the motorcar door.

Viktor was always complaining about how you seemed to appear out of nowhere. Like a prízrak, he’d say. There were multiple occasions where you’d almost scared him half to death.

But Mordecai was always acutely aware of everything that moved around him. He was impossible to surprise. That, or he was just much better at hiding it, like he was everything.

He only gave you a cursory glance as you slumped into the seat beside him. The ledger in his lap commanded most of his attention.

It was a shame Mordecai was such a good shot. Sometimes, it seemed Atlas couldn’t decide where he was better suited, behind a desk or hanging out the window of a Studebaker, chasing rival opportunists down dirt track roads.

You knew where you preferred him, out of the line of fire. He was a crack shot but liable to let his idiosyncrasies get the better of him. It was usually better for everyone if he was allowed to get on with his actual job. He and Viktor only antagonised each other, and you usually had an easier time focusing when Mordecai wasn’t in your general vicinity.

You sighed and leaned your shoulder against the plush interior of the motorcar door.

“No one’s here yet,” you reported back. “No one round the back or in the building across the street. There’s a guy by the back door, but I think he’s waiting for the rest of his outfit. Haven’t seen his face before.”

“Hm,” Mordecai didn’t look pleased by the news. “New faces mean something’s changed. They’re not usually so careless with their workers, they must have run into some trouble.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. If they’re the reckless type, that’s bad for business.”

“It could mean they’re doing well? More money, more men?”

“Perhaps.”

Mordecai didn’t seem totally convinced, but it was reassurance enough to make his shoulders sink.

You sighed again and sank deeper into the car door.

You had a long night ahead of you. A boring one, too. Negotiations were always tough, just a lot of talking and numbers, none of which interested you at all.

If you’d known running with Lackadaisy would entail this much waiting around, and worse, maths, you might’ve reconsidered before choosing a life of crime. It certainly wasn’t always as fun as it had sounded all those years ago.

You let a few minutes tick by, the silence broken only by the scratch of Mordecai’s pen.

At last, you couldn’t take it anymore. You leaned between the two front seats and grabbed your satchel from the footwell, being careful not to touch Mordecai as you stretched.

Bag in hand, you slumped back into your seat. You dug around inside, then pulled out a sandwich, wrapped neatly in brown paper.

“Here.”

Mordecai barely spared you a glance, but when he noticed the sandwich being thrust in his direction, he straightened up, suddenly alert.

“What’s this?”

“What does it look like?” You waved the sandwich at him. “I thought you were meant to be Atlas’s genius golden boy. I’ve seen you count without your fingers and everything."

“What’s it for?”

“Mordecai, Jesus…”

“I mean,” He sighed, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Have you eaten today?”

Mordecai did something funny with his face. He displayed an emotion. In fact, you saw several different feelings flit across his face, confusion, surprise, annoyance, before he finally settled on looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

You smiled, triumphant.

“That’s why.”

He seemed to want to argue with you, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pushed the sandwich into his hands, then pulled another from your bag before he could give it back.

Turning to look back out of the rear window, you took a big bite out of your dinner.

You were never sure how long these sorts of things would go on for. Some nights, you could sit outside a restaurant or a bar for hours without seeing any action.

Tonight, you were supposed to be meeting up with a potential new supplier, always a nerve-wracking experience. Sometimes they had egos, and they liked to keep you waiting on purpose. It looked like it would be one of those nights, so you were glad you packed the sandwiches.

Mordecai carefully peeled back the brown paper and studied the contents as if they had fallen from outer space.

To be fair, it wasn’t much, just whatever you had in the cupboard. It had been a long, lean month. Still, it was the thought that counts. Usually, anyway. Probably not with Mordecai. But he was just so skinny, it was beginning to worry you.

“I don’t need looking after, you know. You’re not my mother,” he said, like he’d read your mind.

“You need to eat, Mordecai. And I seem to remember someone smart once telling me that if one of us falls, we all do.”

He was good at looking after himself. In fact, he was clean to a fault. You once caught him brushing down your unattended coat to get rid of the mud by the hem, and you’d been given several lectures on how best to get bloodstains out of your clothes. Once, he’d reorganised the cutlery sitting on either side of your plate before you could even start eating.

You thought he was being kind at first, but Mordecai just liked things a certain way. Turns out, his ability to take care of himself only stretched as far as keeping neat as a pin, and did not include regular meals and getting enough sleep.

Still, a good turn deserved another, so you’d sewn a few loose buttons on his favourite shirts, and when you knew his workload was becoming unmanageable, you made sure he always had something to eat, since he was always forgetting when he was stressed.

Mordecai turned the sandwich over in his hands and took a tentative sniff.

“Is it-”

“Yes.”

“And did you-”

“Yes, Mordecai. Just eat.”

He frowned at you, nose wrinkled, but then, to your surprise, he did bow his head and take a bite.

Seeing Mordecai do something as mundane as eating felt oddly personal. You tried not to stare, but it was like spotting a wild animal in your backyard. You couldn’t move for fear of scaring it off. You also couldn’t let it know you’d noticed it was there, but you didn’t want to blink and miss it either.

He took another bite, then another, till his tense shoulders sank.

You couldn’t resist, you smiled so wide it hurt.

“Good?”

Mordecai cleared his throat, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief.

“Tolerable,” he said, already taking another bite before he’d even finished forming the word.

He ate the whole sandwich. And half of yours.

A week later, he asked if you’d be able to make him another.

/

21st March, 1922

The Little Daisy Café was usually fairly busy on a weekday morning, so Mordecai was surprised to find the place empty when he pushed open the door.

The only sound came from the radio in the corner, and the underlying dull roar of the stove in the back. There was a coffee pot going cold on the counter, and the air was sweet with maple syrup.

It made Mordecai’s nose wrinkle, affronted by the saccharine assault on his senses.

He let the door close behind him, ears twitching at the faint ring from the bell above his head.

A shape he hadn’t noticed before shifted in the very back corner of the café.

Poised and ready, Mordecai strode deeper into the room without making a sound, his palm flat against his pocket where his pistol sat. He knew, realistically, that there wasn’t any danger, but you could never be too careful.

When he was within a few feet of the last booth, he realised it was only you. Mordecai blamed his terrible eyesight and the overcast morning.

Elbows on the table, you had your head resting in your hands, your breathing even and heavy.

By night, you were a crack shot with an unmatched eye. By day, you took over the running of The Little Daisy Café. It was a good deal on both sides; the café could keep up its pretence of a charming little business, and you, the charming little shop girl. That, and the extra cash was a godsend.

Mordecai didn’t think he’d ever heard you complain about your packed schedule, even though the hours must have been exhausting. He knew you were grateful for the work and proud to be a pillar of the Lackadaisy organisation, but even Mordecai could see the strain was beginning to show, like the splintering of tree bark before the pine is felled.

With a sigh, he let his body relax and knocked three times on the table.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t even jump. You simply raised your head from your hands and blinked blearily at him. Either you’d been aware he was there the whole time, or you were so exhausted that you didn’t care that someone had snuck up on you.

“Working,” you mumbled, already letting your head fall back into your hands. “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you were sleeping.”

You slapped your hand down on the table, patting around blindly for the cloth that sat just a few inches from you. When you finally found it, you held it high above your head, triumphant, while your face was still pressed into your hand.

“I’m wiping down the tables.”

Mordecai was glad you weren’t looking at him. You’d almost made him smile. That wasn’t something he liked to give away quite so easily, not even to you.

He put down his briefcase, then slipped into the booth across from you, trying not to think about how long it had been since it was properly wiped down. Beneath the table, his knees brushed dangerously close to yours.

Mordecai adjusted the collar of his coat, then his cuffs, aiming to get rid of his nervous energy and distract himself from how nicely you were lit in the sunlight streaming through the café windows.

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you? I could really do without that headache.”

“How long has it been since you got a proper night’s sleep?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You sat back in the booth, your eyes down as you fiddled with the cloth. “Does it matter?”

“It does, actually. Does Atlas know?”

“Jeeze, I hope not. I don’t think he’d be too happy if he knew I was up here window-rattling.”

“I meant, does he know how overworked you are?”

“I’m not over-” You looked horrified. “Who said I was overworked? It’s just been a busy couple of weeks. I’m handling it.”

Mordecai raised a placating hand. No one had said anything, but he was perfectly capable of drawing his own evidence-based conclusions.

It took a great deal to tarnish your shine. You were always bright and cheery, irritatingly so. Mordecai rarely felt like he had the energy to converse with you. You were always smiling at him. It was annoying. And confusing. And distracting.

After two years, you understood each other well. Mordecai knew when something was bothering you, mostly because you made it so blindingly obvious that even he could see it.

Work was a good distraction from a tumultuous private life. You probably wouldn’t like it if he dug around in your brain for the answer to your sour mood. But lethargy to the point of sleeping on the job, the dark rings under your eyes, the vacant look behind your usually bright eyes, this he could not leave unattended.

You were partners, of sorts. He needed to be able to trust that you were at your best. He couldn’t have you falling asleep behind the wheel or missing a vital shot. For his own sake, just as much as yours.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with Atlas, anyway.”

Mordecai took off his glasses and cleaned them on his handkerchief, an excuse to busy his fidgeting hands.

“We need more people. Our operation is growing. Mistakes will be made if we’re stretched too thin. I’ll let him know that your hours need to be reduced.”

“Please,” You reached across the table and almost put your hand over his, but caught yourself just in time. “Please don’t say anything. I’m fine, really.”

“You’re clearly not.”

“They’ll kill me if they find out I was sleeping on the job. Or worse, fire me. And I need the money. It’s just been a long week, Mort. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Mordecai flinched at the nickname. It had grown from an accidental stumble over his name when you first met. And, according to you, it suited him, considering its antiquated francophone roots. He’d given up trying to talk you out of it, it wasn’t worth the headache.

Though he had to admit, Mordecai did rather like having a built-in tone indicator, a way for you to let him know that you were being completely serious about something. And, secretly, it reminded him of the pet names that patterned his childhood. Sentiment wasn’t something he ever entertained. But it was… Nice… To have a name known only to one person, someone he trusted and respected. For some reason, it made his chest ache every time he heard it.

Mordecai opened up his coat and slipped his hand inside. The familiar weight of his pocket watch was a reassuring reminder that he was in the right place, at the right time.

He’d come to The Little Daisy Café to do some work. The tiny office he’d been given by the Mays was a sanctuary: four walls and a door that locked. It was all he’d wished for as a child. Mordecai could shut himself away for hours without fear of interruption or unnecessary stress. But, perhaps, with the café as quiet as it was, he could be convinced to relocate for the day.

“You should get some rest,” he said, putting away his watch. “You need to be in good shape for tonight. We have a cleanup job in Creve Coeur. You’re no use to anyone like this.”

You blinked at him, processing what he’d said at a grinding, grasping pace. When it finally sank in, you shook your head so quickly Mordecai was sure it must’ve made you dizzy.

“I can’t go home.”

“You don’t have to. You can sleep here.”

“The café-”

“Is empty.” Mordecai slipped out of the booth and picked up his briefcase. “I can work up here. I’ll wake you if anyone comes.”

You looked like you wanted to argue, but your head was already lowering to rest on your folded forearms.

Mordecai glanced down and saw your soft felt hat resting beside you. He hesitated, every muscle in his fingers tensed in anticipation, then finally picked it up and passed it to you.

One eye on him, the other scrunched closed against your sleeve, you gave him a soft smile that Mordecai wished he didn’t like seeing so much.

“Formidable hatchetman, Mordecai Heller. You’re nothing but an ol’ sweetie pie, aren’t you?”

You took the hat, your fingers brushing his.

He was so glad that he was wearing his leather gloves that Mordecai barely held back a relieved sigh. It had already been an unsettling morning, and now his routine was out of joint. Having to face the bizarre feeling that echoed through him whenever you touched would have sent him spiralling for the rest of the day.

“Hardly,” He rolled his eyes. “You’re simply of more use to me when you can keep your eyes open.”

You yawned, wide and long, and Mordecai wondered if you were even listening to him anymore.

You tucked your hat under your head and nuzzled your cheek into the soft felt, getting comfy as another yawn wracked your body.

“You don’t know how to work the machines.”

Mordecai wasn’t sure if you were joking or not. He looked across the counter at the stove. It didn’t look much different from the one in his own tiny apartment upstairs. He supposed if any customers did come, he could have a crack at it, or show them his gun, whatever seemed most appropriate when the time came.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he said, confident in his cooking skills, as well as his aim. “How hard can it be?”

You just laughed, the sound muffled by your forearm.

“Thank you, Mordecai.”

“No need to thank me. Just get some sleep.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. Within moments, you were completely unconscious.

Mordecai hung about by the table, ignoring the pang of awkwardness that wasn’t at all foreign to him.

He often felt like the odd one out, on the outside looking in. Most people didn’t understand him, and didn’t have the time to try. Which was fine by him. He didn’t need to be understood; he needed to be listened to.

You didn’t seem to have the same problem. Most people seemed to fall in love with you almost immediately. It was handy, as he was usually standing next to you, and was able to catch some of the shine coming off you.

Mordecai had been told by many, Atlas, Mitzi, even Ruby Pepper and the ever stoic Viktor, that you made a good pair. It was true. Though he always favoured working alone, Mordecai had to admit that you were an incredible asset. Sharp-eyed, quick on your feet, and not the type to go rushing in without thinking. Kind, too. And easy to talk to. Which was rare for him.

With a sigh, Mordecai shrugged off his coat. There was no point in you catching up on some sleep if you weren’t comfortable.

He moved closer, paused, considered what he was doing several times over, then finally laid his coat over your back.

You immediately stirred. His coat was made of a heavy, rich wool-blend, an expensive present from Atlas in his first few weeks with Lackadaisy.

Mordecai froze, his hands hovering over your back. He was just about to retrieve his coat and leave you in peace when you settled again, a tiny smile at the corner of your sunflower mouth.

He stared for longer than he should have.

Finally, he pulled himself away and took a seat at the counter. Mordecai pulled his books from his briefcase, laying them out flat and in the particular order he needed them, then got to work.

No one came to the café that day. The rain had driven away any potential customers.

Still, Mordecai sat there all afternoon, scribbling happily in his ledger, while he kept one eye on you in the reflection of the storefront.

/

11th July, 1923

“Okay,” You raised your blood-stained palms. “I think we’re done here. I certainly am. That was intense.”

Groaning as he stretched out his back, Viktor grumbled an agreement.

At least, you thought he was agreeing with you. You were still getting used to the little foreign phrases he let slip now and then, rumbling like thunder from his square jaws.

You looked across the hood of the car at Mordecai. His shoulders were almost as high as his ears, his face a picture of disgust.

“Oh, God…” He flicked both hands, once, twice, trying to get rid of the worst of the blood. “Oh, God, it’s…”

Mordecai dropped the knife with a clatter and grabbed for his handkerchief.

He was covered from head to toe in viscera, his perfect black suit now stained red. That’s what you got for swapping your gun out for a knife, handy in a pinch but messy, very messy. It was going to take more than a scrap of cloth to get rid of it all, but you didn’t suppose he was thinking straight right now.

While Viktor loaded your weapons and, more importantly, your stolen whisky, into the back of the car, you hurried round to help Mordecai.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t panic. Hey, you’re pretty handy with a knife, huh?” you said, trying to distract him. “You’ll have to show me some moves sometime. Seems like it could be useful in a bind.”

Mordecai was looking at you with glassy eyes. You knew it wasn’t the violence that bothered him, or the exertion of the firefight. He didn’t like the feeling of other people’s hands on him, or the cold, cloying tightness of blood congealing in his fur. He hated mess, and the lack of control that came with it.

“It’s…” His movements were sluggish as he dropped the handkerchief and reached for his pocket square instead. “It’s useful, yes… I can teach you, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, Mort,” You smiled and carefully took the pocket square from him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You hesitated, then finally decided it was worth the risk and dabbed at the front of his suit.

He was always so pristine, you’d never known anyone so well put-together. You knew it was something that Atlas had drilled into him when he’d first taken Mordecai under his wing. Presentation was everything, and a good suit was an armour of its own. The cleaning bill was going to be immense this time.

“It’s fine,” Mordecai said, cringing with every press of the pocket square against his chest. “There’s no point. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re feeling okay? I got a spare pair of pants in the trunk? I could probably find you a shirt, too?”

At last, Mordecai’s gaze seemed to clear, and he focused on you and only you. He wasn’t much taller than you, or even much broader, but somehow it made you feel small, and more seen than you’d felt in years.

“Thank you. I don’t suppose for a moment they’d suit me.”

“Ah, you don’t know that.” You grinned, pleased to have him back in the room. “You’ve got the figure for it.”

Something close to amusement flashed behind Mordecai’s eyes.

You’d always had a sneaking suspicion that this veneer of severity he kept up was just that, a mask Mordecai wore to protect the man beneath it. That wasn’t to say he was hiding a soft and gooey centre, nothing could be further from the truth. But you knew there was infinitely more depth to Mordecai than he let on.

You plucked his handkerchief from the floor and pocketed it, then made to do the same with his pocket square before you realised he might like it back.

Mordecai’s hands hovered over the soft material, now blotchy and stained with the blood of the bootlegger lying dead, just a few feet away.

Mr Maddox was supposed to pass on information about a possible new revenue stream, but what was sold as a meeting between allies had turned out to be an ambush. Not one you, Mordecai and Viktor had been particularly impressed by. The whole affair was more of a messy nuisance than anything.

You looked between the muscle twitching in Mordecai’s jaw and the blood-stained pocket square.

You could see him fighting every instinct telling him not to let it touch him, forcing his body to move despite the fog in his brain. You knew so little about his upbringing, but you knew Mordecai came from nothing. Sometimes, the ghosts of the past and the lessons they’d branded onto you, were impossible to ignore.

“Here,” you said, pocketing the swatch of silk. “Have mine.”

You drew your own fresh handkerchief from your pocket and folded it, over and under, until it was just the right size and shape.

Stepping forward, you carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of Mordecai’s suit, fiddling and pulling at the edges until it had formed a nice point, just the way he usually liked to wear it.

“There,” you patted his pocket, then stepped back to admire your handwork. “All symmetrical again.”

Mordecai was very still. You weren’t sure what had turned him catatonic, possibly the unexpected physical contact, or perhaps he was simply surprised by the gesture. Maybe it was a mix of the two, muddling into something he couldn’t name.

Finally, Mordecai looked down at his pocket, then back up at you.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ll return it soon.”

“Don't worry about it,” You waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s just get out of here.”

But Mordecai did worry about it. He worried about it a lot. Actually, he spent the rest of the day incredibly tense, your gift a permanent presence in the corner of his eye.

It wasn’t that the handkerchief you’d given him was so obviously a woman’s, it was just very obviously not his. Every time a colleague smirked at it, he felt like clawing their eyes out. But he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.

You returned his handkerchief and the ruined pocket square the next day, pressed and clean. They weren’t suitable for use anymore, but it was nice to have them back.

You never asked him about your handkerchief. Either you’d forgotten about it, or it really didn’t matter that much to you. But it mattered to Mordecai. So much so that he kept it by his bed, tucked away in a drawer where no one would ever find it, and he wouldn’t have to look at it. Just knowing it was there was enough.

/

24th September, 1924

The party was in full swing.

Every time a champagne bottle popped, the corks hit the chandeliers, but everyone was too merry to care.

The room shook from the incessant pounding of feet on the dance floor, and the music was so loud, it was a wonder the band couldn’t be heard on the other side of St. Louis.

Dressed up to the nines, you’d danced with a few guys who took a liking to you, but none interesting enough to spend the whole evening with. Diamonds and pearls dripped from your hair, your dress, your shoes, all fake but enough to glitter under the soft yellow and orange lights.

Leaning against the bar, you sipped your drink, catching your breath after the exuberant Charleston you’d just rattled through with one of Atlas’s richer friends. He’d stuck around afterwards, which wasn’t so bad. He was tall, handsome, even a little charming, but not enough to turn your head.

No one had really caught your eye over the last few years, even though Mitzi was keen to set you up with a nice, conveniently rich gentleman. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested, work just kept you busy enough as it was. The idea of having to look after someone on top of all that just didn’t seem appealing, or even possible.

As the banker - or perhaps steel merchant, something boring anyway - continued to drone in your ear about the price of workers these days, you let your gaze drift across the room.

You soon found Mordecai pressed up against the opposite wall, trying to keep as far out of the action as possible. Actually, now that you looked closer, he seemed to have his head in a ficus.

Frowning, you tilted your head, squinting across the busy room. No, that was definitely your Mordecai, pressed into the shrubbery like he was hoping to sink into it. He was flanked by two pretty girls. The sight made your heart sink.

The guy... Was it Frank? Or maybe Edward? Edward Charles Something? He was still chattering away beside you, not seeming to care that he didn’t quite have all your attention.

You watched Mitzi join the girls, shining so brightly in a pretty Morello cherry coloured dress. She appeared to tease Mordecai and all but forced him out onto the dance floor with one of the poor, unwitting girls.

Your grip was so tight on your drink that you almost broke the stem.

Mordecai looked completely appalled, like it was taking every last ounce of his decorum not to make a run for it. He couldn’t, not with the eyes of his boss’ wife on him, and a crowd of people blocking him in.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you turned and slapped your drink down on the bar top.

“Sorry, Frank, dear. Will you excuse me?”

“Uh,” The guy looked down at your discarded drink, bewildered. “It’s Eddie.”

“Right, right, Eddie. I’m sorry. Just give me a second, okay?”

You didn’t wait for an answer. Slipping between the bodies swarming the dance floor, you disappeared before Frank/Eddie/Whatever could say another word.

Ducking under raised arms and narrowly avoiding the heels of girls being flung over hips and shoulders, you waded through the dancers, making a beeline for Mordecai and the poor girl who probably didn’t know any better.

She was pretty, the girl, all glittery and pink and sweet, like you could pour her into a martini glass. She was dancing around Mordecai, who stood as still as a maypole, and twice as wooden.

When he was within arm’s reach, you stepped in between the pair and smiled at the girl.

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry. Can I borrow him for a second? It’s a work thing.”

“Oh. Well, sure. Go ahead.”

The girl’s disappointment was flashbulb quick. There were plenty of other, much more cooperative men to choose from. By the time you grabbed Mordecai’s hand and led him deeper into the mayhem, she’d already been swept up by another, more willing partner.

You had intended to pull Mordecai off the dance floor, then find a quiet corner where you could both catch your breath, but there were interested eyes all around the room. Your friend at the bar was watching you, as was Mitzi, and the other girl interested in dancing with Mordecai.

Trapped, you turned and took Mordecai’s other hand in yours and put it on your waist.

His eyes wide, Mordecai stared at you like you’d grown a second head, but you just pulled him closer, your free hand smoothing over his shoulder.

“We’re safe here,” you said, nodding over your shoulder where Mitzi and the other girl were watching you curiously. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

At last, Mordecai’s alarmed expression relaxed a little.

Quick as ever, he understood the motive, the means, and the execution. It’s what made him so good to work with. You understood each other instinctively. With just the slightest nod, you could convey an ocean of meaning to each other. It came from working so closely for so many years. A private language that just the two of you shared.

“My knight in chiffon,” Mordecai huffed and looked down at his feet. “I hate these things.”

“Your shoes?”

“Parties.”

You smiled.

“We don’t have to stay for long. I just thought they might chase after you if I let you go too soon. Those girls can’t get enough of you, huh?”

“They are persistent.”

Testing the waters, you took a step backwards and felt your chest squeeze when Mordecai followed you. He wasn’t exactly light on his feet or the most coordinated, but he tried his best for you.

Side to side you swayed, turning in an awkward but passable dance as the trumpets swooned.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it that I don’t wish to be involved.” Mordecai sighed. “Standing by the wall ought to be sufficient. I’m only here because Atlas has a meeting.”

In his irritation, his hand tightened on your waist. It sent a shiver up your spine, making all the fur on the back of your neck stand on end. You could only pray it didn’t show on your face just how much you loved the feeling of his hands on you.

“Well, you’re very handsome. Who can blame them?” You choked on the words, trying and failing to keep your voice steady. “How are they to know you’re not one for dancing?”

“It’s not the dancing so much as the prolonged eye contact. And the…” Mordecai looked embarrassed. “General physical contact.”

“You don’t seem to be doing so bad right now. Look at you, moving your arms and legs at the same time, and everything.”

“Yes, well, it’s different when it’s you.”

You offered him a wan smile, trying not to look too deflated.

“Pretty girls can be intimidating.”

“If that were the issue, I wouldn’t be able to dance with you either. No, it’s just… I do not find idle conversation easy. I never know what to say. And people look at me like I’m… But I find you very easy to talk to. And be with.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” you said, still reeling from the compliment.

Mordecai Heller thought you were pretty. Maybe it was the whisky in your blood, but your face suddenly felt hot enough to warm a percolator on.

“Hm. Some might say otherwise.”

“Well, why don’t you just focus on me, and not what everyone else thinks?”

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but for a moment, you thought you saw Mordecai smile.

“That I can do.”

It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Someone knocked into Mordecai’s back, forcing him closer to you. There was only an inch or two between you now.

His hand was still in yours, his grip tight, like he was frightened he’d get lost in the crowd if he let go. His hand on your waist felt hot even though your dress, and you wondered if it was from the self-conscious heat spreading through him, or if it was just your body reacting to him.

The persistent thought that this was the first time he’d ever touched you like this knocked on the inside of your head like a woodpecker working on commission. You’d touched before, yes, but it was never constant like this.

At first, it was only ever accidental, the brush of his tail against yours as you walked towards the café, or your hands butting as you reached in the same direction.

Now, after years working side by side, he’d relaxed that marble column of a spine a little. Mordecai swore around you. He talked about his family and the tenement housing he grew up in. He’d sweep an arm around your shoulders to push you out of the way of a stray punch, and let you adjust his clothing when he wasn’t quite as immaculate as you knew he liked to be.

You’d collapsed against each other in the back of the car more times than you could count, exhausted from the exertion of a firefight, but this was purposeful. It was prolonged, definite, and personal.

As much as he resisted physical contact, he never seemed to mind all those little touches. There was a trust there, you thought. It was probably the closest Mordecai had been to another person in years. The thought kept you up most nights.

You slipped your hand from his shoulder to press against his back, right between his shoulder blades. If it weren’t for the roaring music, you might’ve heard his breath hitch.

Over Mordecai’s shoulder, you could see Mitzi smiling at you. It was a smug, knowing sort of smile, the kind that said, ‘we’re going to talk about this later’.

Oh, great. Just great.

“What’s wrong?”

You looked back to find Mordecai frowning at you.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. “Nothing. They’re uh… They’re still looking at you. Those girls.”

Mordecai looked so dismayed, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was just so endearing. He switched between icy stoicism and these cartoonish expressions so quickly, just another reminder that this facade he liked to put on was just that, a disguise to protect the nerdy, waspish, tender heart beneath it.

He nodded over your shoulder, looking at something over the rim of his glasses.

“Your potential paramour is watching you too.”

As you turned, you caught a glimpse of Frank/Eddie/Whatever still sitting at the bar. He was waiting beside an unclaimed drink, another of whatever it was he’d bought for you earlier. Bless his heart.

It wouldn’t occur to you until much later, when you were halfway to dreaming, that Mordecai would have no way of knowing that Eddie was waiting for you, unless he’d been watching you all night, just as you’d been watching him.

“Ah, ignore him. He’ll get the message eventually.”

“What message is that?”

You shrugged.

“That I’m not interested.”

“None of these men take your fancy? They’re rich enough. Well-connected. Powerful, too.”

“Mm, and handsome to boot.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be dancing with them? Not this old stick-in-the-mud.”

He was being completely serious, that was the worst part of it all. This was not a self-effacing attempt to fish for compliments. Mordecai really couldn’t believe that out of everyone in the room, you would want to be with him tonight. Infuriating, ridiculous Mordecai. Smart as a whip, but he could never see past the end of his nose.

“Rich and well-connected isn’t really my type. Sullen stick-in-the-muds are more my thing.”

You shrugged again, then turned in just the right way so that Mordecai’s hand was forced to slip down from the safety of your waist to the unchartered land of your hip.

Surprisingly, he stayed there, his sharp olive-green eyes never leaving your face.

“Maybe we'd better stick together tonight,” you said, smiling. “Dance a few more dances until they all give in.”

Just as the words left your mouth, the band kicked the music up a gear. The even-paced serenade you’d been gently stepping in circles to was replaced by an uptempo squall that was in a completely different galaxy from what Mordecai would consider his comfort zone. But he stayed.

“You’ll…” Ears flat to his head, Mordecai had trouble meeting your gaze. “You’ll have to show me.”

Heart full, you slipped your hand from his back to rest on his upper arm. You could feel his muscles, tensed and coiled like a bear trap, beneath his suit.

“Don’t worry. Just follow my lead, Mort. I’ve gotcha.”

/

14th February, 1925

Rocky Rickaby was lanky and silly and talked enough for ten people. That was your first impression of him. Oh, he was polite enough, and he seemed good-intentioned, but there was a half-feral glaze over his eyes whenever he spoke, and his big, pointed smile was enough to unnerve even the toughest bootleggers. Still, he made you laugh.

Mordecai, however, wasn’t the least bit entertained.

He had been nursing the same drink for the best part of an hour, taking it slow so that it couldn’t get the better of him. Not with you sitting so close to him. Proximity to you was always dangerous, a liquor-loosened tongue, doubly so.

Tonight, you both had business across town. But before then, you’d wanted to stick around at Lackadaisy to watch the new band practice.

Rocky had introduced himself to you with a huge smile, shaking your hand so enthusiastically that he almost lifted you right off the barstool. Then he’d kissed the back of your hand and bowed dramatically before hurrying over to the stage.

When you caught Mordecai staring, you laughed and shook your head.

“I think he’s sweet.”

Scowling, Mordecai sipped his drink.

“He’s an imbecile.”

“He’s a kid, Mort. You were like that once.”

“I can assure you, I was not.”

“You’re just jealous of the new boy.”

“He’s Mitzi’s pet project, not Atlas’s. So long as he stays on stage and out of our way, it’ll be fine.”

Still smiling, you shook your head again.

“I think he’s cute. And he plays the violin like a dream. Did Mitzi tell you he writes poetry too?”

Mordecai couldn’t care less what Rocky Rockaby did in his spare time. He wouldn’t care if he walked into the Mississippi wearing concrete shoes. He would be bad for business, and good business was Mordecai’s world.

He felt unsettled for the rest of the day. When you asked him later what had put him in such a foul mood, he muttered something about that patchy-trousered vagrant with the poorly-tuned fiddle and the maniacal grin being a blemish on the face of Lackadaisy.

But that was only because he didn’t have the language to describe how his blood had boiled when Rocky kissed your hand. Mordecai was unable to explain, even to himself, why your immediate fondness for the boy irritated him so severely. And when you mentioned Rocky again later that evening, completely unprompted, Mordecai almost bit through his tongue.

He felt like he’d been drenched in ice-cold water whenever Rocky so much as smiled at you, but still he couldn’t articulate the feeling broiling in his stomach. It made no sense to him, and he hated anything that couldn’t be unwound and parsed with a fine-tooth comb.

The next time he saw Rocky, he was entertaining you with one of his poems, a lilting, ridiculous barrage of nothing, but it made you laugh. Mordecai couldn’t recall ever making you laugh like that.

He sulked for about a month after that, though he couldn’t quite understand why.

/

17th November, 1925

The Little Daisy Café was raided in the autumn. It was expected, an arrangement Atlas had made with his contacts in the police department. This way, the local force could save face, and Lackadaisy could continue its work, uninterrupted.

Unfortunately for Mordecai, his apartment was included in this. He’d lived above The Little Daisy Café ever since he started working for Atlas at the beginning of the decade, and was beyond irritated to be turfed out for the night.

When he explained the situation, he had initially booked into a hotel not too far from the café. But then Mordecai went rambling on and on about the potential for germs, and then he began to spiral, worrying about them not changing the sheets, and the threat of bedbugs, even though it was one of the nicest places in town.

Before he could get himself too worked up, you suggested he stay at yours.

He turned you down, obviously. But then, at around midnight, the telephone rang. It was Mordecai, his voice tight and his hands trembling, asking if perhaps your offer was still on the table.

That’s how you found yourself standing at opposite ends of your tiny living room, with only the sofa separating you.

Mordecai looked so uncomfortable, it was almost funny. Almost. His fur was still damp from the shower he’d insisted on as soon as he arrived. He hadn’t even laid down on the bed at the hotel. Just the thought of all those other bodies was enough to make his skin crawl. You were glad you’d thought to change your bedsheets.

“No, seriously,” you said, your words garbled by a wide yawn. “You take the bed, Mordecai. You’re the guest.”

“I couldn’t possibly. It’s your home. And you’re...”

“A lady?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m not fragile, you know.”

“I am well aware.” Mordecai rolled his shoulders back, his tension palpable. “It just wouldn’t be right.”

His gaze kept wandering around your apartment. Whether it was curiosity at his new surroundings, or an inability to meet your eyes, you weren’t sure.

It felt odd having him here. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, just in himself. It helped that he’d changed into Long Johns and thick socks after his shower. You never thought you’d see the day when you saw Mordecai Heller in his pyjamas, but here he was.

It shouldn’t have (because honestly, he looked ridiculous), but seeing him like this was starting to fluster you. Mordecai looked vulnerable and soft and quiet, and more tired than you’d ever seen him, tired right to his bones.

You wanted to make him dinner, tuck him into bed, keep him warm and safe, and it was possibly the most embarrassing urge you’d ever felt.

But something told you that the reason Mordecai looked so out of place was because he never quite felt at home anywhere. He’d been this for longer than he could remember, cold and calculating, stern and unfeeling.

He’d been entangled in organised crime since before he was out of short trousers. You found it difficult to believe he even relaxed when he was in his own home. For God’s sake, he lived above the damn café. He was as much a fixture of the company as the timbers and beams.

You’d like it if he felt at home here, with you.

“What about you? You can’t sleep on the couch with a broken arm, Mordecai.”

He looked down at the sling around his neck, supporting the arm he’d broken in a fight just a few weeks ago. He stared at it like he’d almost forgotten it was there.

When he looked up again, he tried to argue, but nothing came to him, so he spluttered and huffed like a backfiring motorcar.

Stalemate.

“Fine!” You threw your hands in the air in defeat. “It’s too late to argue with you. We’ll just have to share.”

Mordecai’s face was a picture as he came to bed. His bright eyes switched back and forth restlessly, analysing, processing, before finally accepting the situation.

He took off his glasses and laid them on the bedside table, his movements slow and measured, like he was moving through molasses.

You lay on your side with your back to him, giving Mordecai the privacy he needed to get comfortable.

When you finally felt the mattress dip, you had to sink your teeth into your lip as a reminder to keep your breathing even. Then he was under the covers, lying so still you were almost convinced he was already asleep.

Oh, God. His arm. You’d habitually taken the side of the bed you favoured. Was he comfortable? He couldn’t lie on his side. He’d have to stay on his back or turn in towards you. You weren’t sure what was worse, being a thoughtless host or having Mordecai staring at your back all night. But he didn’t say anything, and soon you heard his breathing begin to settle.

The bed wasn’t that wide, but there was enough space for the two of you to lie there without touching. Still, you could feel the warmth coming off him, the aching, delicious warmth of another body close to yours. There was an almost static charge between you. You were both so acutely aware of the other that you could practically hear every beat of his restless heart.

He’d used your soap in the shower. You could smell it now that he was so close. He’d used your soap and the coconut oil shampoo you loved. It was enough to drive you mad. Mordecai smelt of you, and of your home, and he was in your bed, under your covers, drawing warmth and comfort from your body, as you drew it from his, even though neither of you would ever admit to it.

You managed to cut off your frustrated sigh and wrangle it into a passable yawn.

“Goodnight, Mort.”

Slow, heavy seconds passed, then finally, you heard him murmur,

“Goodnight.”

Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady tick of the clock by your bedside.

You closed your eyes and tried to even out your breathing, but it was hours before you finally drifted off. Your brain buzzed, fixating on every little movement of your body. What if you turned in the night and accidentally kicked him? What if you snored? What if he snored? What if you forgot he was there and ended up draped across him by the morning?

In the end, your exhaustion caught up with you, and you sank into sleep.

To your surprise, Mordecai was still there in the morning. Even more surprising was that he’d scooted closer in his sleep, and Mordecai’s good arm was slung across your middle. His head was bowed in towards your shoulder, but mercifully had stayed on the pillow, though it was your pillow.

Trying to keep as still as possible, you turned your head and got a face full of dark fur. It was soft, far softer than you ever could have imagined, and still smelled like your shampoo.

His eyes were closed, his chest slowly rising and falling beneath his stupid pyjamas. Completely dead to the world, and so warm it made your heart feel like it could pound right out of your chest.

This was becoming a problem. He was becoming a problem. A problem you didn’t know how to solve.

In his sleep, he looked so much younger. All of Mordecai’s anxieties and neuroses had drained from his face, and he looked so peaceful that you couldn’t bring yourself to move. His arm was heavy across your middle.

You felt a brush at your side and realised he’d managed to tuck his fingers under you, and was tensing them in his sleep, kneading at you with every other inhalation.

You stayed there, frozen out of consideration as much as selfish need, until finally, Mordecai stirred.

You wasted no time. You slipped out from under his arm and grabbed your dressing gown from its hanger, pulling it around you and ducking into the kitchen before Mordecai could even fully open his eyes.

You wanted to save him the embarrassment. He was tense enough as it was, and it had taken years to knock down even a fragment of those walls of his. You didn’t want Mordecai to clam back up again, not when he was finally beginning to soften around the edges.

When he padded into your tiny kitchen, all the fur on one side of his face was ruffled and unkempt, and his whiskers were a little frazzled, like he’d been electrocuted. His tail was crooked, and before he could even say good morning, he yawned so wide and loud that it made you laugh.

He surprised you again by not getting dressed straight away. In fact, he immediately insisted on cooking breakfast, searching through your cupboards and raiding your fridge like it was his home too. The thought made you unsettlingly happy.

You sat at the kitchen table, watching Mordecai fry eggs and bacon with his one good hand, only half listening to him as he rambled on about how much better your apartment would look if you’d only move the furniture around. Something about Euclidean principles and the metrics of space. Who cares? He was so handsome when he was like this.

He set a plate down in front of you, scolded you for not having a better tea selection, and began to eat.

“Thanks, Mordecai,” you said.

‘I love you,’ you thought.

/

31st December, 1926

“There’s something wrong with your boyfriend.”

Viktor placed his glass down on the bar beside yours and crossed his tree trunk-sized arms over his barrel of a chest.

The world was already a little fuzzy at the edges, so it took a great effort to roll your head around on your shoulders to look up at Viktor.

His one eye was steady and stern, like it always was. Even the New Year's celebrations hadn’t loosened up his joints.

“Don’t let him catch you calling him that.” You dragged your fingertip around the rim of your glass. “He won’t ever speak to me again.”

Viktor grunted, which was about as close as he got to a laugh these days.

“Lucky you.”

The party was in full swing now. With just a few minutes left till the beginning of the new year, everyone was drunk and happy and dancing their feet raw.

You’d been happily watching the celebrations from the sidelines, chatting with a few of the guys in the band, dancing with Mitzi and Ivy, even losing a round of poker against one of the many gentlemen in top hats that dotted the room.

But something about the flipping of the calendar had always made you a little melancholy. Change, or lack thereof. Broken promises. The marking of another year gone, and not much to show for it.

You’d rather be home in bed, but a party was a great way to empty your head. You could forget about life for a while at Lackadaisy, even though it sometimes was your whole life.

“What do you mean, anyway?” you asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s not here. He always comes, even though he hates parties.”

“But why do you think something is wrong?”

Viktor took a huge swig of his drink. Obviously, it pained him to have to have this conversation.

“He didn’t say anything. All day.”

You frowned.

“What? Really? Not even to complain about-”

“Nothing.”

“God…”

That was a bad sign. Mordecai would find a way to have the last word if you dunked his head under water and taped his mouth shut. And that was when he was in a bad mood.

When he was relaxed, and as close to happy as Mordecai could get, he always found little things to talk about, the state of the roads or the pleasing symmetry of the flowers you passed. If he’d said nothing all day, there was a problem.

Viktor nudged your arm.

“He will talk to you.”

You scoffed so loud it could be heard over the music tearing through the building.

It was flattering that everyone seemed to think you had the operation manual to Lackadaisy’s infamous gunman, but you didn’t.

“No, Viktor, he won’t.”

“You have better chance than anyone.”

“Why the sudden altruism?”

“I don’t like tension at work. Is bad enough being in same car as you two.”

“What are you- What does that-”

“When Mordecai is upset, my day is worse.”

Viktor, seeing you still looked unconvinced, heaved another heavy sigh.

“You two are like… Two birds on a telephone wire.”

You let your head fall to one side, the liquor in your blood making the room spin.

“What could you possibly mean by that, Viktor?”

By way of a reply, Viktor wrapped his fingers around the edge of the barstool and spun it so that you were facing the dancefloor.

You didn’t even have time to yelp. He just put his hands under your arms and lifted you off the stool and placed you on the ground, pointed in the direction of the back office, where Mordecai had been holed up for the past few hours.

“Go,” Viktor said, with one giant hand on your back. “Fix him. But no arguing. This is party.”

Grumbling under your breath, you grabbed your half-finished drink and took an enormous swig for courage. Then you ordered two more and headed in the direction Viktor had ordered you.

It was no great surprise to find Mordecai sitting in the gloom, with only a desk lamp to see by. No wonder his eyesight was so terrible. He was scribbling in a book, his glasses perched on the end of his nose.

The several doors and corridors you'd passed through to get to his office deadened the music, so the only sound now was the muffled trumpet down in the speakeasy, and the scratching of Mordecai’s pen.

Walking into Mordecai’s office felt like stepping outside into the cool December air, your face shining with perspiration from the heat of all those bodies, and the frantic dance Ivy had led you in. The air was different in here, the world calm. But that’s how it always felt being with Mordecai. Your ears were still ringing, and your dress clung to you uncomfortably, but here it was safe.

Mordecai spared you the slightest glance when you came in. Just a moment, then his glasses flashed in the light as he bowed his head again and kept up his scribbling.

When he said nothing, you knew you had permission to stay.

You placed the cocktail down in front of Mordecai, avoiding all the pristine papers that littered his desk in case the condensation from the glass stained them.

“I brought you a drink.”

He didn’t even look up.

“I’m working.”

“I noticed.”

Mordecai’s pen moved quickly across the page, first a string of words you couldn’t read upside down, then a series of numbers. You had no idea of their meaning, but you could guess. With Atlas’ business growing, Mordecai was under more pressure than ever.

“You know,” you said, perching on the edge of the desk. “It’s not a party unless you’re there.”

The corner of Mordecai’s mouth curled, but with derision rather than amusement.

“Your attempts at sarcasm have been noted, but I’m afraid I’m too busy even to argue with you, since I know that’s what you want.”

“I don’t wanna argue with you. Well, I know I am now, but- I just wondered if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. New Year’s Eve makes me sad, too.”

Finally, Mordecai raised his head.

“Who said I was sad?”

He looked tired. His eyes had lost some of their light, and he seemed to be having difficulty focusing on you. Even his voice sounded different, softer than usual, a little raspy around the edges. And there, in the middle of it all, you could hear the quick, short vowels of his New York accent, unchecked in his exhaustion. You only really got to hear it when his defences were down, and he was too tired or distracted to hide it.

“Just give me five minutes,” You pressed your palms together, pairing it with your most winning smile. “Please.”

But Mordecai only sighed and went back to his work.

“The world doesn’t stop turning every time there’s a party.”

“Mort, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Someone has to keep things ticking over.”

“And it has to be you, does it?”

“Why deny everyone else a good time?”

“You’ve denied me your company.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of others who could keep you entertained tonight. I doubt anyone noticed my absence.”

“Viktor did. I did.”

“Yes, well, you’re…”

Mordecai gave a frustrated sigh and dropped his pen to push his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, and you knew they must’ve stung.

“I’m what?”

You waited, watching him expectantly, but nothing came.

Mordecai pushed his thumb and forefinger into the very corners of his eyes, though whether it was exhaustion or frustration he was rubbing away, you couldn’t tell.

When he looked up at you, he seemed a little more present, but no happier to see you.

It hurt, you couldn’t deny it. Mordecai wasn’t exactly cuddly, but he usually seemed pleased to have your company. As Viktor said, you were two birds on a wire. It was rare for anyone to see one of you without the other, not after all these years.

Finally, Mordecai looked away and picked up his pen again.

“Traditions make me sad. They make me think of home.”

Usually, getting any sort of emotion out of Mordecai was like pulling teeth. In all the time you’d known each other, you thought you’d heard him laugh more often than he’d offered up his innermost feelings, and that was saying something. What could he possibly have been about to say before he changed his mind? What could be so difficult to admit that he’d rather talk about something as private as the home he left behind all those years ago?

Suddenly feeling nervous, you sipped your drink, hoping to find some extra courage at the bottom of your glass.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Of course, Mordecai just scoffed, not even willing to justify the question with a proper response.

Stupid, really. But it was worth a shot.

You let the quiet stretch on for another moment or two as you took another bolstering sip of your drink.

“We could make some new traditions. You and me.”

“What part of ‘I’m working’ didn’t you understand?”

There it was. The in you were looking for.

You couldn’t work closely with someone for six years without picking up on the little ups and downs in their speech, and you could read Mordecai’s like sheet music. The edge was gone from his tone. There, right at the end of his question, you’d heard the lightness you were looking for. It let you know he wasn't half as annoyed as he’d have you believe. He was allowing you in.

Being careful to avoid his untouched drink, you reached across the desk and tucked your fingers under Mordecai’s jaw.

He froze, his hand stilling, but did not pull away.

Slowly, gently, you lifted his chin so that he was forced to meet your gaze.

“You’re wrong, you know.” You smiled. “The world does stop. Just for a moment. Everyone in this crummy city stops and takes a moment to think about the past and the future all at once. You can have tonight, Mordecai. Your books will still be here in the morning. The world won't end because you had a drink with me.”

“The future,” he scoffed again, but his voice had lost its venom now. “You’re so maudlin sometimes it’s barely palatable.”

“You never think about the future?”

“What would be the point?”

“So, what do you think about?”

“Usually, whatever’s right in front of me.”

Mordecai still hadn’t pulled away. He just gazed up at you, his sharp eyes softened in the low light.

His implication hit you hard, like you’d jumped into the Mississippi from the Eads Bridge. It punctured your lungs and made your whole body tense up.

If he meant what it sounded like he meant, Mordecai seemed unusually calm. Maybe you were reading into things too closely, as usual. But his chin still rested in your hand.

Mordecai tilted his head, his ears back and low on his head. He looked calm and relaxed, and maybe it was just your imagination, but his whole body seemed to be slowly unwinding with every passing second, your gentle touch the key.

“What kind of new traditions?” Mordecai asked softly.

He was seeing you and only you now. No more names. No more figures. No more dollar signs, import taxes or inventory checks. Being Mordecai’s sole focus could be terrifying. If you’d caught his interest, that usually wasn’t good news. But this was different. This was something entirely new and completely unexpected.

You began to respond when you heard it, the tail end of the countdown. Everyone down in the bar was chanting, glasses raised. And then finally, a terrific shout.

“Looks like we’re out of time.” You smiled, though it didn’t quite meet your eyes. “It’s midnight.”

Mordecai lowered his gaze.

Slowly, as if frightened you’d pull away, he took your hand and removed it from his jaw, but he didn’t let go. He slipped his fingers around yours as he rose to stand, interlocking them with such gentleness that it stole your breath.

It happened so quickly, you could’ve blinked and missed it. Mordecai leaned across the desk, his gaze not quite meeting yours. For all his efforts, he was still that shy, neurotic, lost little boy underneath it all. Desperate to do well, to make the right decisions, and not let a good opportunity go to waste.

Mordecai hesitated, then finally bowed his head, as if in deference, and kissed you. It was over before you even realised it had happened, but you could hardly breathe as he pulled away.

He held your hand tightly in his own, begging you not to disappear as all good things seemed to.

“Happy New Year,” Mordecai murmured, his voice lost. “That’s the tradition, isn’t it?”

Later, you would hate yourself for it, but all you were able to do was stare. And who could blame you? Mordecai was gazing at you with such uncharacteristic softness, it felt like your chest could cave in. It was a guarded, anxious look, but it was for you and only you. Mordecai was trusting you with something deeply important, something he’d never shown anyone.

You stared too long. You let precious seconds slip through your hands like sand through an hourglass. And the moment was gone before you even knew it had begun.

Mordecai’s ear twitched, then he dropped your hand and took a step back.

Before you could say a word, the office door burst open, and Mitzi poured herself into the room. Her laughing and hollering was so abrupt that it shattered the peace that had fallen between you. You had to fight the urge to cover your ears.

“There you two are!”

Mitzi rushed over to pinch your cheeks and wish you a happy new year, then grabbed Mordecai by the arm.

“Come on, don’t you know there’s a party downstairs?” Mitzi tugged Mordecai towards the door, ignoring his protests. “You, you old mortician, you. Let’s get a drink down you.”

You watched them go, feeling like you had just burst out of the water after coming close to drowning. Everything seemed too bright, too loud. Every crash of the cymbals felt like a gunshot, every giddy laugh, a scream of terror.

You raised your fingers, the same ones Mordecai had held, to your lips. You could still feel him there, the quiet, certain urgency of him.

Mordecai had kissed you, and all you’d done was stare.

“Christ…” You drained your drink, then Mordecai’s in quick succession. “Oh, fuck.”

/

4th July, 1927

“Your apartment is abominably easy to break into.”

With a shriek, you span around, hands raised to defend yourself from an attack that never came.

It was so dark that, for a moment, you couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, but then you saw the flash of familiar olive-green eyes.

Mordecai was sitting on your couch, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his back ramrod straight and his gaze fixed on you.

As you turned to switch on the light, you noticed his coat hanging up by the door beside yours. How long had he been waiting for you in the dark?

You pressed your palm to your chest and felt your heart thudding against your ribs. It had been a long time since Mordecai had made it do that.

“You idiot! You scared the hell out of me!” You exhaled slowly, hoping it would help expel some of the adrenaline flooding through you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Mordecai watched you, unblinking.

“Since you refused to take my career advice, you’d do well not to ignore me now. You need to secure this place better.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reached into your coat, the one hanging up behind the door, and pulled out the pistol you kept there for emergencies.

“I have.”

“Funny,” Mordecai said, though his flat expression never changed. “I’m serious, if you’re going to insist on working for that moribund little club, you need to take precautions.”

“Mordecai, what are you doing here?”

He was quiet for a moment as he stared at you. Mordecai had a reputation for being an unnerving foe, but you’d never really understood it before. Now, you realised it’s because you’d always been on the same side.

Finally, he said,

“I was told you’d moved.”

“No. Same old place.”

“I was hoping that was the case. I rather like this building.”

Sighing, you slipped the gun back into your coat pocket and began to kick off your shoes. It had been a long day. You really didn’t need this right now.

“Mordecai, is this a business matter? Because I’m really not the one you should be talking to if that’s the case.”

“No? Who should I speak to then? That pyromaniac, buck-toothed imbecile? Or maybe one of his little friends?”

That caught your attention.

Tonight, Ivy, Rocky, and his baby-faced cousin had tumbled back into the bar with quite the tale to tell. By all accounts, it had been a very narrow escape for all of them, with just a few bottles surviving the journey, and the company car a total wreck.

They hadn’t mentioned any names, probably to save Mitzi the pain. But of course, it all made sense now.

“You’re the one Rocky had a run-in with tonight.” You shook your head, somewhere between disappointed and heartbroken. “I should’ve known.”

Mordecai’s impassive mask slipped at the sound of Rocky’s name. His lip curled, just for a second, but it spoke volumes.

With a grace you’d almost forgotten he possessed, he uncrossed his legs and rose to stand.

“He’s going to get you all killed.”

Mordecai tugged at the hem of his waistcoat, adjusting it even though he looked perfect, as always.

To anyone else, he seemed the picture of poise. But you weren't just anyone. There were probably only a handful of people on earth who knew Mordecai as well as you did, and they hadn’t seen him tipsy after one drink, or felt him purring softly in his sleep. You knew when he was trying to hide something. He was nervous. That was interesting.

“You never liked him.”

Mordecai’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help it. You smiled.

The sting of seeing Mordecai again after not hearing from him for over a year was softened, just a little, by the realisation that he was just as easy to rile up as he ever was. Few things irritated him as much as your fondness for Lackadaisy’s resident poet, and it amused you immensely.

“He’s sweet. He makes me laugh.”

“Well, I wonder if you’ll still think he’s so hilarious when he runs what’s left of that obsolete little outfit into the ground.”

As he spoke, he came closer, making almost no sound as he crossed the living room.

Now that he was fully in the light, you could see that he didn’t look quite as pristine as you thought. His charcoal grey suit was clouded with the same quarry dust that the others had left all over the bar. He’d loosened his tie, and the cuffs of his pants were soaked. It must be killing him to be so untidy.

“Looks like he gave you a run for your money tonight.” You smiled. “I always thought you looked especially handsome when you were jealous.”

That made Mordecai stop in his tracks. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened a fraction, and his ears flattened to his head.

“You and him,” he said, slow and quiet. “You’re not..?”

You felt your heart surge up into your throat.

Mordecai was a master of his own emotions, but just for a moment there, he’d looked completely devastated. He was jealous. And suddenly, the fizzling power imbalance shifted in your favour.

He’d surprised you, turned up unannounced, and castigated you for making it so easy, but something about you made him lose his grip on his own senses, and that was worth its weight in gold.

“No, Mordecai,” you murmured, shaking your head. “We’re not.”

He processed this so slowly, you could practically see the cogs turning. Finally, Mordecai nodded, feigning nonchalance so poorly that you almost felt bad for him.

“Well… Good,” he said. “Good.”

Any empathy you felt quickly gave way to an irritation that made your teeth itch.

He’d abandoned the family that gave him everything. He’d stolen from them. He’d permanently incapacitated Viktor. He’d almost killed three of your people tonight. And stupid as it was, you were still furious with him for leaving just weeks after he’d kissed you. And he had the temerity to turn up in your apartment and pick at you? He’d always been a hard pill to swallow, but this was too much.

With a sigh, you pushed past him, knocking his shoulder a little harder than necessary. It didn’t even begin to scratch the itch you felt to slap him right across his smug face, but the night was still young.

“What do you want, Mordecai? I’m sure Asa Sweet is much better company than I am. Won’t he be missing his new pet?”

You filled the kettle and set it on the range, relieved to have an excuse to turn your back to him. There was a slight tremor in your hands as you switched on the stove.

When you were sure you’d got control of your shaky breathing, you turned to find Mordecai had followed you into the kitchen. He was so close, you took an instinctive step back and would've bumped into the quickly heating stove if Mordecai hadn’t snapped his hand around your waist.

You froze, eyes wide. He was never all that keen on physical contact, so every touch felt like the first. It was only quick, but the sudden press of his fingers was enough to make your stomach drop.

Suddenly, all you could think about was the soft look in his eyes that New Year’s Eve night, and the feeling of his mouth against yours. He’d avoided you the next day, and the day after that, and before you knew it, he was gone, and all you were left with was an empty gun store, a dead boss, and a bewildered heart.

Mordecai held you a little longer than necessary, but did eventually let go. He immediately swept his hand behind his back and stepped away, choosing instead to lean against the edge of the table behind him.

“You look tired,” he said. “You haven’t been sleeping. You never did get enough sleep.”

“We’ve been busy.”

“That cannot possibly be true. I kept the books, remember?”

“I’ve been trying to get us back on track.” You sneered. “No thanks to you.”

“You could always…”

“No, Mordecai. Loyalty means something to me.”

He looked away, shaking his head to himself. Behind him, his tail lashed, irritated.

“Loyalty… Sentiment… What use are they?”

“Not everyone sees life like that. Not everyone sees people like that.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s exhausting.”

He looked just the same as the day he left. Except… No. He seemed thinner, like he hadn’t been eating as well or as regularly. Mordecai was always forgetting to stop and rest.

His clothes were nicer too, much more expensive-looking than the hand-me-downs Atlas had once given him. He was his own man now, you supposed. He had to look the part.

Mordecai’s eyes met yours again. With every moment spent in your company, he appeared to be unwinding right in front of you. You’d always been relaxed in each other's company. Even now, after everything he’d done, Mordecai found comfort in your presence.

“Are they looking after you?” he asked quietly.

“Mitzi’s always been kind to me.”

“But you have everything you need? You have enough to make do?”

“Mordecai,” You gave a dry, humourless laugh. “I stopped being your concern a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago.” He frowned. “And I’m not concerned, I’m simply… Curious.”

“Well, you know what that did to the cat.”

You smiled.

Mordecai did not return it.

You let a moment pass, eager to see if he had anything else to say. An apology would be nice. An explanation would be even better. But Mordecai just stared down at you, unmoving, like a statue in a museum.

It had been an extremely long day. Lackadaisy was, as Mordecai so astutely put it, on its last legs. The bar was empty. Your friends seemed like ghosts of themselves. And you were trying so hard to keep things ticking over, but being Mitzi’s right-hand-woman as well as her shoulder to cry on was growing exhausting. You didn’t have the energy to deal with the feelings Mordecai stirred in you, not after spending your days trying to clean up the mess he’d made.

It occurred to you that you could just ask him to leave. And then, if he wanted to be difficult, tell him to go with the added emphasis of your pistol. But a stupid, anguished part of you, that was still so aggrieved by all that had happened over the last year, decided you were allowed to be selfish, just for an evening.

“Why are you here? Tell me. Honestly.”

For a moment, you thought he might try to avoid the question for a third time, but then Mordecai’s gaze lowered to somewhere near your throat.

“I heard that you were dead. That you’d been caught in the crossfire in some backwater little town.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Behind you, the kettle began to whine as it reached boiling point. You grabbed a cloth from the counter and carefully lifted it off the range.

“So that’s it, is it? You came running because you thought I’d been killed? It’s not like you to pay your respects to the dead.”

“I came to confirm that it was true. And then I intended to ascertain who was responsible. And then I was going to… Well, I hadn’t really gotten that far, but my imagination ran away with me, I assure you.”

You paused, your hand halfway into the cupboard where you kept the teacups.

After all this time, after everything, he was still looking out for you. But where was that care when he kneecapped Viktor? Where was that loyalty when he robbed Lackadaisy of its entire firearm store? There had been no gentleness in him when he sent you on a wild goose chase across the city, only for you to return to the café to find your world changed forever.

But he was here…

Gritting your teeth, you pulled down two cups, then the good tea bags. It was the kind Mordecai loved. You bought some after he slept over that night. You had replaced the pack several times over the years, ever hopeful that it would not be the last time he stayed the night. Yet another delusion to add to the pile.

“Were you sad?”

You poured water into both cups, hoping to drown out him and everything he’d done.

Behind you, you heard Mordecai shift uncomfortably. Good.

“I was… Put out. Yes.”

Something in his tone made you pause. You put the kettle down and turned back to face him.

Mordecai had never found it easy to maintain eye contact, especially when emotions were heightened, but he rarely let that get the better of him. Now, though, he could hardly look at you. Was it regret? Shame? No, those weren't feelings he liked to indulge. Mordecai was far too busy and important to be bogged down by something as trivial as his conscience.

But something about him seemed off. His shoulders were low, his mouth downturned at the corners. You were missing something. What was it? What was wrong? What sore spot had you brushed too close to?

Then you noticed his hands, still tucked behind his back. He often stood like that, elegant and poised. But it didn’t match the look on his face, and when he noticed that you’d noticed, Mordecai’s eyebrows drew together.

“Hold out your hands.”

Slowly, so slowly you didn’t think he was going to acquiesce, Mordecai unfolded his arms from behind his back, almost like a praying mantis in his precision. He held up his hands, palms up, but still refused to meet your gaze.

He flinched when you took his hands. After working side by side for so long, he’d learned to trust that you’d never touch him without good reason. That tolerance had been lost, it seemed.

When you tried to turn his hands over, you felt all his muscles tense, like he wanted to pull away but couldn’t.

“Don’t…” he said quietly, just a reflex, but a sharp one.

Undeterred, you twisted his hands, flipping them palm-side down, so that you could see his knuckles. Raw and red, they glinted like twin ruby brooches in the low light.

It wasn’t difficult to picture the scene. Someone, probably some idiot you and Mordecai had crossed paths with in the glory days, had made the mistake of exaggerating just how poorly Lackadaisy was managing to keep its head above water, and had dreamt up some story about you, looking to get a rise out of him.

Contrary to popular belief, Mordecai did feel. You wondered how long he’d been able to keep a straight face before he had to excuse himself to drive his fist through a wall, or maybe a window, judging by the scratches.

You kept a first aid kit under the sink. He didn’t say a word as you laid out its contents on the table, or when you pressed an iodine-soaked cotton pad to his bloody knuckles.

You wrapped them up, as he had done for you once, and made sure to tie the bandages just that little bit too tight so that he wouldn’t think about doing it again in a hurry.

“Check those tomorrow. Don’t pick. See a doctor if it gets worse,” you said, echoing his own words back to him.

You poked his chest, hard, your lip curled.

“Don’t ever hurt yourself over me again, Heller. Or I’ll hurt you worse.”

Mordecai raised his eyebrows.

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

It seemed to do the trick. The only language Mordecai understood was a plainspoken flick knife of a warning, pressed right against his throat. You’d never had a reason to lie to each other. You weren’t about to start now. If you ever caught him doing anything like this ever again, he’d be sorry.

You weren’t sure what did it, what you’d said to make him finally give in, and in the years to come, it would be an ever-fractious cause of arguments between the two of you, but the next thing you knew, Mordecai was kissing you, his bandaged hands on either side of your face.

It was clumsy, endearingly so. It wasn’t often that Mordecai wasn’t naturally good at something, but his mouth was just that little bit too harsh against yours, and before you thought to close your eyes, you could see that his were screwed shut, like it had taken all his courage to make the leap, which explained why he’d very nearly head-butted you.

Clunky but sweet, his mouth moved against yours until finally, your brain kicked into gear, and you kissed him back, your heart in your mouth. The notion that Mordecai had very definitely never kissed anyone before flitted through your mind, but you could work with that.

His nose was pressed awkwardly against yours, making it hard to breathe until you thought to angle your head. He leaned into you, his hands still cupping your face, so that you came close to losing your balance. You shot out your hands, grabbing at the closest thing to steady yourself, and let your fingers catch between the buttons of his waistcoat.

A small noise rolled in the back of Mordecai’s throat and ended up in yours. You thought maybe he wasn’t best pleased about you tugging at his neatly tailored clothes, but you couldn’t care less.

His hands dropped to your waist, spinning you round so that the kitchen table bit into your back. It gave you the clarity you needed to press your palm to his chest and push him away.

You broke apart with a wet sound that made Mordecai wrinkle his nose, and if the situation were less fraught, you might’ve laughed.

“Mordecai,” Your voice was hoarse, your chest tight. “You can’t just keep… You can’t kiss me and then refuse to talk to me. You can’t desert us for a better offer and then break into my apartment and kiss me again. It’s not- You need to decide what you want.”

His hands were still tight around your waist. Now that you’d stopped to catch your breath, you realised you could feel them trembling.

His glasses were a little wonky, probably knocked off-centre when he kissed you. It gave Mordecai a wild sort of a look, like the vice he kept his heart in had finally loosened.

“This,” His fingertips pressed into your waist. “This is me deciding. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

“Of what?”

Chest heaving, Mordecai moved closer again, pushing against your palm so that you could feel how hard his heart was beating.

“You.”

It didn’t answer your question, but you found you couldn’t care less. Mordecai was here. He was here. And he’d kissed you so hard, your lips were still tingling.

With your fingers still tangled in the buttons of his waistcoat, you pulled him the rest of the way, until his body was pressed to yours. He was so tense, you could lay him flat and serve dinner on him, but he didn’t resist. Mordecai trusted you, he always had.

When you kissed him this time, it was slow, careful. You were out of practice, and he sorely needed a teacher, so you took your time, showing him how to move just as you’d taught him how to dance all those years ago. The steps weren’t so different, hands, hearts, lungs. Mordecai seemed to catch onto this fairly quickly.

A selfish need pricked at you. This was all you’d wanted for years, Mordecai melting under your touch, his heart pressed against yours. It was almost painful how good it felt, to be touched and seen and warmed by another body after so long alone. The urge to take what you wanted from him was deafening, but you forced yourself to go slow. You’d just got him back, you didn’t want to scare him off now.

But then Mordecai’s grip on your waist tightened again, and he broke the kiss just to lift you onto the edge of the kitchen table. Heart hammering, you edged back the rest of the way until you were sitting comfortably, and Mordecai moved between your parted knees as if magnetised.

He was kissing you again before you could comment, which was probably for the best. To draw attention to his sudden confidence might’ve broken the spell, and you were happy to get lost in the gentle brush of his mouth against yours. You were starting to feel lightheaded, and you wanted to blame the lack of oxygen, but you had an awful feeling that’s just what Mordecai did to you.

He was still a little clumsy, but what Mordecai lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm. And those hands of his. They crept up from your waist to your back, dragging his fingertips up and across your shoulder blades, then back down again, retracing his steps until he found your hips, where he pressed in with his thumbs, just squeezing the soft warmth of you.

“I thought you didn’t like…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence, it all seemed too unreal. The moment felt brittle as the ice over a frozen lake, and you feared drawing attention to his sudden ardour might remind Mordecai of his own apathy towards physical intimacy, but you couldn’t let it go unsaid. He’d never expressed any interest before, you didn’t want to be an outlet for his confused feelings, and you definitely didn’t want to be another regret.

But Mordecai seemed almost in a daze, like he was running on instinct alone. He watched his own hands smooth across your thighs as if they weren’t his own, only looking up when his curious fingers brushing against you made your breathing hitch.

“I don’t, usually,” he said honestly, his voice low and strained. “I never really think about it. It never seemed all that appealing, but now, if I ever do… Think about it… It’s always you.”

As your fingers tightened around the buttons running down his stomach, Mordecai allowed himself the tiniest of smiles.

“You won’t leave me be.”

The weight of what he’d admitted was not lost on you. Mordecai was many things, but he did not exaggerate, and he did not lie. You haunted him, like a second shadow. The complicated, unstable nature of your lives had woven you together, and the trust you had in each other had unlocked doors you never thought possible, even now.

You wondered how long he’d been thinking about this, about what he might say if he ever saw you again. You wondered if Mordecai would have ever given in, found his way across the city and picked your lock if the reports of your death hadn’t been greatly exaggerated. You wondered if your welcome might’ve been different if Ivy, or one of the others, hadn’t come home tonight. You hoped so. But you didn't want to think about that right now.

In an effort to clear your head and stop yourself from overthinking, you pulled Mordecai in again and felt a stab of pride when he practically whimpered against your mouth. Oh, he loved this. He loved this a lot more than he thought he would

God, he tasted so fantastic, and he smelled incredible, like gunfire and soap and autumn and the rum-soaked wood of a bar and something else, something different. You thought it must be his new home with Marigold, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to kiss him and kiss him and hold him against you, just to get rid of that unfamiliar scent, to bring him back home to you, to erase any thoughts of Mordecai ever leaving you again.

He had almost got the hang of kissing now and was following your lead so obediently. And there, as you angled your head and nosed in closer, you felt it, pressed against your mouth.

“You’re smiling,” you murmured, your lips brushing his.

Mordecai frowned, as if the suggestion was completely ridiculous.

“No, I am not.”

“Mm, you are. I can feel it.”

“Liar.”

You grinned, just so happy to have him close again, and to have his hands on you, unsure but warm and searching.

Carefully, you tucked your legs around his narrow hips and dug your heels into the backs of Mordecai’s thighs, pulling him even closer until there was absolutely no space between you.

"Stop me if you're uncomfortable, okay?"

You held Mordecai's steady gaze as you slowly pushed the leather holster straps over his shoulders and rested them on the chair beside you. There, unarmed. But he didn't seem to mind. He'd once told you that he never went anywhere without a weapon, and even slept with a knife under his pillow, but he'd let you disarm him like it was nothing.

His tie came next, the silk like water between your fingers. With Mordecai watching you so intently, it was difficult to untangle the complex knot he'd made, but soon it joined the rest.

You thumbed open the buttons of his waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders, grimacing when it sent up a cloud of dust.

“Mort, ugh, you’re filthy.”

Mordecai hummed against your mouth, and the feeling went straight through you.

“Yes, I’m well aware. It’s not ideal, but I came straight here.”

“Rocky rattled you that badly, did he?”

He leaned back to look at you, eyes flashing.

Unable to resist, you grinned.

He was so silly. Cold-blooded killer, and total idiot. Mordecai so rarely expressed any emotion other than indifference, it never ceased to amuse you that, of all things, it was Rocky Rickaby who riled him up enough to emote.

“I don’t want to hear that name again tonight, or preferably ever again.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. The only name I want to hear is mine.”

His mouth was on yours before you could poke at him further. If digging at the jealousy Mordecai refused to admit to caused this kind of reaction, it was no wonder he wanted to shut you up. He was already in uncharted waters, Mordecai was probably clinging onto any last shred of control he could find.

You started working on his shirt buttons, your fingers knotting in your hurry. It was a nice shirt, otherwise you might’ve just ripped it open.

“Did you make a mess of my couch?” you wondered aloud, remembering that he’d been sitting there in the dark when you came in. “I like that couch. You better not have ruined it.”

Mordecai bowed his head, mouthing his way down the length of your neck until he found the point where your pulse raced. When he spoke, his voice rumbled in your throat.

“I’m more concerned with ruining this table.”

His hands still kneading at your hips, he kissed his way back up your neck to a little spot under your jaw you didn’t even know was there. It made your hands stumble as they finally finished with his shirt buttons.

“Big talk for a first timer.”

“I’ve always been an overachiever.”

Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tugged him towards you and rolled your hips against his, swallowing his surprised moan. You couldn’t seem to get close enough. It was never, ever enough.

“C’mon then, wonder boy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

You carefully pushed his shirt off his shoulders, your mouth only leaving his so that you could fold it carefully over your arm, then over the back of a chair. You tugged at the vest he wore underneath, smiling to yourself.

“Can I take this off, too?”

Slowly, uncertainly, Mordecai nodded and allowed you to tuck your fingers under the hem and carefully pull it up and over his head.

The patch of white you’d sometimes spied peeking out through his unbuttoned collar travelled further than you thought. His whole belly was soft and white, and suddenly the gravity of the situation hit you like a steam train. He was showing you something he’d never shown anyone. The trust he had in you was knee-buckling.

You bit your tongue hard, a blood-pact with yourself not to ruin this, or to give credence to Mordecai’s dim view of the world.

Then you saw it, the mark, right over his heart. Someone had carved a symbol into his skin. Recently too. It bloomed scarlet on his chest, like he was wearing a rosette.

Your eyes must have said everything you were thinking. Mordecai caught your hand as you reached to touch the mark, raising it to his lips instead.

“It’s nothing,” he said, kissing every one of your fingertips. “Just a proof of loyalty. An initiation ritual, of sorts.”

“I don’t like those crooks, Mort. No one at Lackadaisy would dare-”

“It’s just business.”

And there he was, the man who’d left you and the life he’d built for a better offer. It wasn’t personal, reasonably, you knew that. Mordecai was nothing if not practical, but still, it stung to be reminded just how easily he was able to close himself off.

“Is that what this is?” you asked. “Am I just business, too?”

“No. No, you were never…” Mordecai sighed and let his forehead rest against yours. “You were always a painful reminder that I still have a heart.”

Grand romantic gestures had never been all that appealing to you. And, you supposed, that wasn’t what this was. Mordecai was just being honest. Caring for someone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And you thought it probably pained him every day to know that he wasn’t quite as bulletproof as he’d like to be. Well, good. Serves him right.

With his forehead still pressed against yours, Mordecai sighed, half frustration, half something else, the something that was still making him knead at your hips.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, and it sounded like it almost pained him to say the words. “You should come with me.”

“You should stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Neither can I.”

He moved away, just far enough to meet your eyes, then Mordecai seemed to come back to his senses a little.

His hands left you, and he sheepishly reached for his vest, flung somewhere over your shoulder.

“Then I should…”

You put your hand over his and brought it up to your mouth.

“Stay for tonight. Please, Mort.”

You kissed every one of his fingertips, just as he’d done to you, then settled his hand back on your hip.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, but tonight, just… Let me make you feel something sweeter.”

Slowly, so as not to spook him, you leaned closer and pressed your lips to his forehead, then both his cheeks, peppering his face with soft kisses until he’d melted into you with a sigh. His mouth found yours again, and soon he was back neatly between your thighs.

It doesn’t take long for those little kisses to grow more heated again. His head was already starting to feel fuzzy, like his senses were just out of reach. Mordecai wasn’t entirely sure it was a feeling he liked. But as he allowed himself to sink deeper into you, he felt his mind begin to grow quiet, and the weight on his back began to lift. He hadn’t felt so peaceful, or so light, since he- Well, he didn’t know when.

You were so beautiful. He couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t seen it sooner. Or perhaps he had and was just too stubborn to admit it.

You were beautiful on the day you met, and you’d stumbled over his name and shaken his hand too hard. You were beautiful when you slumped in the back of the car, all tired smiles and impatient limbs, always making sure that he’d eaten and never once interrupting him.

You were beautiful when you picked him up outside his apartment in the mornings, the sun in your eyes, your daggerish smile locked and loaded. You always had a hundred things to talk about, like you’d been storing them up since the last time you saw each other and couldn't wait to speak to him again.

You were beautiful on the night he left, and every night he was away from you, and on the day he decided to face the music and see if the awful rumours were true. And right now, shining with warmth and life and happiness, you were the most wonderful thing Mordecai had ever seen.

He wanted to tell you, but couldn’t form the words. Still, he thought you probably knew. Or at least, he hoped you did.

“I’ll stay.”

He let his hands smooth down your chest, down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath stuttered as he met your gaze.

“Yeah? You want to stay?”

”I want- I want you, yes.”

Impassive as ever, Mordecai slipped his hands around your hips to tug you closer, and even through all the layers that still separated you, you could feel how much he wanted you as your hips met his.

“You’ll have to…” Mordecai swallowed hard, looking uncomfortable. “You’ll have to show me…”

It took all your strength not to smile. A sweeter invitation had never been offered. Mordecai trusted you so completely that he was allowing you to guide him through something completely new to him, something that was probably terrifying from where he stood. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You wouldn’t let him down.

“Don’t worry, handsome.” Your lips found his neck again, murmuring the words against him so that he’d get the message. “Just follow my lead, Mort. I’ve gotcha.”

You felt him shudder against you, and it took everything in you not to tease him about it. He was so sensitive, so wound up. All it took was a soft kiss and the graze of your teeth to make him choke on air. He’d starved himself of touch for so long, you were half afraid it might all get overwhelming quickly, but his hands palming and tugging at your thighs told you otherwise.

With a soft, almost resigned sigh, Mordecai let his head fall back for you, and you immediately took advantage of the newfound land, sucking a mark just below his jaw, his heavy breaths making you roll your hips against his again, harder now.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” you murmured, right by his ear. “If you don’t like something, tell me. If you want to stop, we’ll stop. I won’t be upset.”

Mordecai exhaled with a groan, his hands tightening on your hips. He was faintly aware of you talking, but he was having trouble focusing. His head felt completely empty, and everything in his body seemed to be focused somewhere else, somewhere almost foreign to him and utterly neglected. The heat in the pit of his belly was all-consuming. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

You called his name, his full name, coaxing him back to the surface. You wanted verbal confirmation, not a grunt or a haphazard nod.

“Fine, whatever you want.” Mordecai huffed, his tongue like rubber. “Just, please, can we- I feel like I’m going to-”

Before he could finish, you bit down on his shoulder, and Mordecai let out a shaky moan, eyes squeezed shut. It confirmed a suspicion you’d long held, and suddenly you couldn’t think of anything you’d rather do than sink your teeth into him again and again, just to see what other lovely little noises you could pull from him.

“That’s for leaving.”

His eyes sharpened, and you could practically see him come back into the room.

Mordecai pulled in a breath, let it go again, then leaned into you.

”I thought we were done talking shop tonight.”

His clever hands fell to push your dress up your thighs. You thought about helping him with it the rest of the way, but the urgency with which he touched you was hypnotising.

“We are. That one was personal.”

“Probably well deserved.”

Your underwear followed, then your trembling hands managed to yank down his pants just far enough. You guided him to you, your eyes fixed on Mordecai’s face as he sank into you at last.

“Oh…”

His eyebrows pinched together, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan, as if it were all too overwhelming to even make a sound.

His hands were so tight on your hips, it was almost painful, but it helped ground you to the moment. You bit your lip, pinning back your own moan, not wanting to overwhelm him. But it was so much, almost too much.

Shaking now, you kept kissing him, his chest, his neck, his jaw and his lips, helping Mordecai relax as his hips met yours at last. He was too busy trying to catch his breath to kiss you back properly, but he managed to haphazardly catch a few of them.

“I…” Mordecai tried to speak, but nothing came. “You’re…”

His head fell to rest on your shoulder.

You watched his shoulder blades rise and fall, his breathing ragged and hot against the crook of your neck. Still, his fingers kneaded at you, just as he’d done in his sleep all those years ago, like it was all he needed to keep his head above the water.

“I’ve got you.”

His head rose off your shoulder again.

Mordecai gazed at you. You were so close, you could feel his heartbeat against your chest, hammering just as hard as your own.

“You’re okay. You’re doing so well. You feel so nice, Mort.”

You smiled at him, your hand coming up to hold his face. It was a frankly admirable show of restraint on your part. He felt more than nice, he felt white hot inside you, filling you in ways you didn’t think possible, the pressure in your lower belly almost unbearable. If he didn’t move soon, you thought you might die.

“You feel…”

Mordecai shook his head.

He looked so scared and hopeful and desperate. Mordecai Heller, your Mort, serious, sensible, plain-talking, ridiculous, incredible, Mordecai Heller.

“You’re indescribable…”

His words echoed and echoed in your head, far louder and sweeter than the worries that nagged at you. Was this the right thing to do? What would happen after? What would the world look like when you separated again?

But that was later, this was now. Now, Mordecai’s chest was against yours, his hands were everywhere, and he was totally at your mercy. Later could wait its turn.

Then he was kissing you again, so slow and delicate, searching and sweet.

The change of pace made your head spin, wondering how he could be so gentle after all the sinful things he’d done. You could feel him smiling against your mouth again and realised you were smiling too.

You started to push his hips, showing him how to move, slow at first but soon picking up speed as Mordecai’s grip on you tightened, keeping you close against him.

You gasped into each other’s mouth, his nose brushing against yours, lips just catching as the two of you moved together.

“You clever thing…” Mordecai moaned, right into your mouth.

You tried to keep your voice down, tried to keep your noises to yourself, afraid you’d scare him off if you made too big a deal of how good it felt, but you couldn’t hold on. You pressed your mouth to his shoulder, barely resisting the urge to bite down again, but it wasn’t enough to stifle your breathy moans.

Mordecai soon picked up on what you needed from him and moved without your hands to guide him. He picked up speed, pushing harder.

Your hand tangled in his hair, and to your surprise, that only spurred him on, one hand slipping round your back so that he could lean you over the table, the new angle making you see stars.

You clung to each other, hardly making a sound other than soft sighs of relief and broken, shaky moans.

Mordecai was a complete mess, but he was doing so well, pulling you against him again and again, chasing the feeling only you could give him. He gazed at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, as if you might blink out of existence at any moment. Under different circumstances, you might’ve poked fun at him about how silly he looked, but the idea of teasing him right now was heartbreaking.

Both of your arms moved to wrap around his neck, keeping him close as you drove each other close to the edge. Neither of you were going to last much longer, you knew it, you thought Mordecai could feel it, too.

You wanted to ask how he doing, but couldn’t manage much more than his name between broken moans, just as he’d wanted. It was more physical contact than Mordecai had ever known, and while you were honoured that he’d trusted you with it, you couldn’t help worrying it might be too much.

But then Mordecai slipped one hand round so that he could grip the base of your tail between his middle and ring finger, the other slipping under your thigh to angle your hips just that little bit higher, and you knew he’d found a way to make the maths make sense to him.

“I’ve missed you…”

You hadn’t meant to let it slip, you’d just been thinking it, and your pleasure-soaked mind had confessed. It wasn’t a power you ever wanted to give Mordecai, you didn’t want to let him know just how much he hurt you when you left.

But he nodded, his forehead bumping against yours.

“I’ve missed you, too. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

It caused his glasses to fall off his nose and land in your lap. You laughed softly and put them on the table behind you, before wrapping your arm back around his neck.

You didn’t think you’d ever see the day when Moredeai apologised to you. It sent a shiver through you, a thrill you didn’t quite understand. He was completely yours in this moment, drunk on a pleasure he’d never tasted before. He was yours.

“I…” Your own gasp cut you off as he sank his teeth into your neck, retaliation for earlier. “I think I lo…”

You caught yourself. It was too much. It was the wrong time. It was too painful.

You turned your face into his neck, mouthing your confession into his skin instead, where it would be safe.

Mordecai moaned, really, truly moaned, right by your ear, and pulled back to press his forehead against yours again. Without his glasses, his eyes were wide and unfocused, though that could’ve been from how hard and fast he was rocking his hips into you.

You kept his forehead pressed against yours as the tension in your abdomen reached its peak, like a rubber band, about to snap.

“Mordecai, don’t stop, don’t stop-”

You rutted against him, chasing your release as your eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open in pure, unabashed pleasure.

With one more perfectly angled thrust, Mordecai hit that perfect spot inside you. You gasped his name, back arching as you clenched around him.

Immediately, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your moans so that they mixed with his own, sweeter than any cocktail and richer than the darkest rum.

Mordecai felt your tongue press against his and abruptly lost all control of his senses, and though he was ashamed to admit it, kissing you was enough to push him over the edge.

“Darling, I’m…”

You were faintly aware of Mordecai trying to warn you, but you were still in a haze. Instinctively, you dug your heels into the backs of his thighs, keeping him close as he fell.

Mordecai cried out, eyes squeezed shut, panting and groaning into your mouth before you pulled him in to kiss you again, just wanting him as close as possible, never wanting him to leave you again.

He all but collapsed on top of you, his energy spent.

You only just managed to shoot out a hand to keep yourself upright as your chests swelled and sank together, the only sounds in your little apartment your twin shaky sighs and keening groans, bodies trembling and hearts full.

Mordecai was still for a moment, his eyes still closed and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.

Still coming down, you pushed your fingers through his hair and half-heartedly attempted to fix it for him so that he wouldn’t have to stress about it later.

Together, you just existed in the moment, neither of you aware of how much time had passed, and neither of you even remotely interested in moving.

Finally, you had to sit up, the stretch in your back beginning to grow uncomfortable, but you kept your legs around his hips, keeping him close to you.

It gave Mordecai just enough clarity to get part of his brain working again, the part you’d managed to silence for just a little while.

“You’ll need to tell me all Lackadaisy’s moves in advance.” He spoke the words against your neck, hushed and hurried. “I can orchestrate things from my side. I can make sure that you’re never in any danger. I can warn you, maybe even help you, I just-”

“I can’t do that, Mort. They’re my family.”

You kept stroking his hair, just listening to Mordecai overthink and wind himself back up again. No, you couldn't have that, not tonight.

“Hey.” You slipped your fingers under his jaw and lifted his head so that you could look him in the eye. “Tomorrow. We’ll think of something tomorrow. There’s an answer, Mort. We just have to find it. Tonight, just stop. Stop thinking, just… Stay… Stay…”

Between each whispered imploration, you pressed kisses across Mordecai’s brow until he had relaxed in your arms again.

“Alright,” he murmured, eyes closed. “Alright, I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

With a discontented sort of grunt, Mordecai moved away. His expression soured as reality set back in. You’d been a nice distraction, a very nice distraction, but now his brain was functioning again, he felt sweaty and tired and gross.

You kissed his cheek, able to read his mind like today’s newspaper.

“You wanna get in the shower?”

Mordecai blinked at you. He looked sleepy, like the day was finally catching up with him.

“Would that be alright?”

You handed back his glasses after cleaning them on your dress and watched, smiling fondly, as he set them back to rest on the end of his nose.

“You want me to come with you?”

Slowly, Mordecai nodded.

You stood with your back to him in the shower, thinking he might appreciate some privacy. As you let the hot water soothe your aching muscles, you closed your eyes, allowing the evening to seep over you.

Close to drifting off, you thought you might be imagining it when Mordecai’s chest pressed against your back, but then you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You smiled as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

“Nothing to thank me for, Mort.”

He followed you to bed as awkwardly as he had that first night. As you got comfortable, he stood to the side, looking lost and small in just his vest and his underwear.

Only when he was sure that you were comfortable did he slowly slip under the covers, placing his glasses on the bedside table as he went. Every movement was slow and measured, rehearsed and precise.

You closed your eyes and tried not to react when you felt Mordecai rest his head on your chest. You didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious, not now, not after he’d given you everything.

His arm came to rest across your middle, his fingers tucked under your side. So that night wasn’t a fluke. That was just how he was when he felt safe.

Mordecai’s body was so warm against yours, it wasn’t long before you drifted off, your fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles between his ears. You just about managed to whisper ‘goodnight’ to him before you slipped away, mouthing the words into his hair.

It took Mordecai a little longer to drift off. He felt unnaturally content, like the tinnitus whistle of his worries had finally ceased. Something had shifted. Something had changed. For the better, he hoped, and for a while, at least.

He buried his face in your warm chest, breathing in your sweet-smelling coconut shampoo, and the scent of you, the scent you’d left on his clothes, his fur, and worst of all, your handkerchief, still tucked away in a drawer at home. He’d missed it. He’d missed you. His one regret.

Mordecai waited until he was sure you were asleep, ears pricked and honed in on the tick tick tick of the clock on your bedside table. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, silent and still, but he had to be certain.

At last, Mordecai turned his head inward and mouthed the words ‘I love you too’ against your chest, right over where your heart was beating.

He had so many secrets, what was one more?

//

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