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She really hopes she's just being paranoid.

Takes place in the Some Enchanted Evening ‘verse because apparently these are all about continuing existing ‘verses now.

She really hopes she’s just being paranoid, but Grant’s done his utmost to impart to her just how dangerous it is being the girlfriend of an agent of the Counterterrorism Response Office’s supernatural subdivision, and it seems all his harping on the topic has had an effect. She can’t even close her window without hesitating.

It’s silly, but ever since her screen fell off the other day, the gaping hole has seemed a lot more ominous. It’s also the perfect way for bugs to get inside and now that she’s gotten some cool air in here, she really needs to close it before going to bed.

“Grant is going to pay for this,” she mutters, fully intending on shutting him down next time he tries to scare her into keeping her guard up. She pulls aside the curtain with a sharp tug, only to leap back with a muted cry. There is a man outside her window. Her third story window without a balcony or tree in sight.

“Hi!” he says brightly. “Mind if I come in?”

“What?” she asks, feeling it sums up all her feelings on the situation quite nicely.

“It’s kind of cold out here,” he says, “and I am kind of conspicuous. So…?” His fangs catch the light from her desk lamp and Jemma hastily backs up a few more steps. She knows he can’t come in, but she isn’t the only one who lives here, better safe than sorry.

“And be murdered for my hospitality? No thank you. Go away!”

He sighs heavily and folds his arms over her windowsill. When he rests his chin on them, he looks like nothing so much as a sad puppy. “Listen,” he says reasonably, “I’m not here for dinner. I’m just here to talk.”

She finally comes level with her desk and plucks a pair of wooden knitting needles from her pen cup. Skye bought them for her after she decided to give dating Grant a go. At the time they seemed silly, now she’s glad for the protection.

“Seriously?” the vampire asks, his annoyance peaking. “Your boyfriend’s a CROSS agent, the girl across the hall’s a bloody werewolf, and rumor has it your roommate’s a corpse you reanimated. I’d have to be brain dead as well as actually dead to try anything.”

She shakes her head. Even if she didn’t have all those supernatural connections, she knows better than to take her chances around a vampire.

“Fine,” he says petulantly. “I’ll make this quick then. I need your help.”

Her grip on the needles slackens in surprise. What could a vampire possibly need from her?

“Bobbi’s in danger.”

The pieces click smartly together in her brain. “You’re Bobbi’s vampire boyfriend!”

He blinks, surprised by the recognition, but grins eagerly enough. “Yeah. That’s me. And she’s kind of got this ‘stake first, ask questions later’ policy about me lately, so I can’t exactly tell her in person that her life’s in danger.”

Jemma sinks onto the corner of her bed closest to the window. “Why come to me though? Surely there must be someone better qualified to pass a message along.”

He shrugs, which is interesting to see from a man hovering in midair. It ends in his whole body rising up a few inches. “Figured you’d be my best bet. Bob’s friends all have an even less generous attitude about the fangs than she does, but everybody knows you don’t mind the living challenged.”

That’s the second time he’s spoken of her like she’s a topic of public discussion and much as she’d like to demand answers, Bobbi is the one in immediate danger.

“You’ll have to give me more than that,” she says. “Her entire job is putting her life in danger.”

He scowls. “Tell me about it. But this is worse. This is a thousand year old vamp who’s come to town for the sole purpose of killing Bob in the bloodiest way possible. She needs to lay low.”

Jemma’s already edging for her phone on her nightstand. “Old enemy of hers?” If that’s the case, CROSS might already be tracking the vampire.

“Of mine, actually. My sire,” he laughs, “she doesn’t like to share.”

Jemma turns sharply back to the window, but the vampire is gone. She runs to the opening, hoping to catch sight of him on the street, maybe call him back. Grant told her that vampires, especially the older ones, regard sire-childe relationships as near sacred and if this one is as dangerous as her age implies, CROSS won’t be able to say no to assistance, even from one of the undead. Only he’s nowhere to be seen, even when she leans her head out for a better look.

“Thanks, love,” she hears from above her, followed swiftly by what can only be a fond kiss at the crown of her head. She twists to look, but sees only a dark pair of wings swooping gracefully into the dark.

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