The last thing Alice remembers is standing at the desk. The new girl, Zara? Zillah? stood behind her, putting her arm around Alice's neck and tightened. Alice tried to resist, but she was extremely strong. Spots danced in front of her eyes until black overtook everything.
"Alice? Wake up. Please." Somebody’s tapping her cheeks. She’s lying on something that definitely isn’t the floor—too yielding. Warm, too.
"Rhm?" She opens her eyes. Peter’s hovering above her, worried as she's ever seen him.
"Oh thank goodness." The relief in his voice warms her, and he draws her closer. She finds herself nestled in his arms, and it’s comforting. Safe.
Her mouth is dry and she coughs.
"Here." Peter holds a cup to her lips, tips it gently. She drinks some of the water in it, the cool liquid wetting her throat. When she stops, he takes it away. She nods her thanks.
"What happened?" She asks.
"I was hoping you could tell me." His expression has relaxed some now that he sees she's not in immediate danger, but still concerned. "I came up because you sounded funny over the intercom, and I found you on the floor."
"So your first thought was to get down and pick me up?" Alice flicks her eyes up at him, unable to keep a little smile from her lips. "Cheeky."
Peter blushes but sets his chin stubbornly. It makes something in her chest go all soft and funny.
"It looked uncomfortable. I didn't want you to get a crick in your back or something."
"That's very considerate."
At this Peter's blush deepens. Goodness, that is extremely attractive, and she wonders if there are other situations in which he would do that.
"And I thought it would be good for you to wake up, well, not on the floor." His voice is softer now, like a confession, only for her.
"Thank you, Peter. Your concern is most touching." She reaches a hand up to curve round his face and he tips into it. After a too-long moment she pulls her hand back reluctantly. "I do think I'd like to sit up now, though."
"Of course, sorry." He helps her upright, moving her off his lap. She scoots until she's sat next to him, close enough to bump shoulders if either of them leaned just a bit.
"Alice." Peter's looking at her, something in his eyes she can't quite parse. "We've been dancing round each other for months. I thought I could wait for this to resolve naturally, as it were. But when I saw you on the ground all still like that—"
He takes her hand. Brings it to his lips and kisses the back, solemn and reverent. "It made me realize life is unpredictable, especially here in Volisport. So we should go after the things we want."
"Oh, Peter." He's still holding her hand. She's not taking it away, not now.
"It might not work, could explode in our faces like a bad experiment. But I think we should give it a go, yeah?"
"I would like that, very much."
Peter beams, and Alice thinks she's never seen him so handsome.
"Oi!" There's a knock on the door. That must be security. "Intruders in the building! We think they passed through 'ere."
"They did indeed!" Alice calls. "Give me a moment and you can take a look."
Peter helps her up, and it’s then they see the large filing cabinet blocking the door.
“If that’s there, how did you get in?”
He grins, a little sly. “What kind of inventioneer headquarters don’t have secret passages?”
The door opens, revealing a disgruntled security officer. "You know Mr. Astor had all the doors open out because of situations like this, right?"
"And what an insightful decision it was." Alice did not, but she certainly was not going to let this man know that.
"Come on then, I've got to take both your statements."
Peter goes first, extending his hand to steady Alice whilst she climbs onto the cabinet.
“Arm over my shoulder, darling,” he murmurs, before he curls his round her waist. He lifts her down, and she can’t seem to give a toss about the eyebrow the security officer raises.
—
It’s well after the end of the workday when they’re finally released. Apparently the intruders wreaked a great deal of havoc, including incapacitating Mr. Helcker, who is currently in hospital getting his head injury examined and patched up.
Alice or Peter are not discussing any of that at the moment; they’ve decamped to a pub across the street for a hearty dinner and some wine. It’s the first time they’ve had a chance to really talk in a long while, and she’s missed it. The way Peter smiles at her, a little tipsy, she thinks he might feel the same.
He walks her home, lingering on the front step. She puts her hand on the doorknob.
“Come in for a nightcap, if you like.” Alice hopes it doesn’t sound too casual.
“I would, very much.”
She makes sure the door is locked before she pushes Peter up against it. Wouldn’t do to have anybody walking in on this.
—
Later in bed, Peter turns towards her, tracing the line of her shoulder with a finger. The bedside lamp flickers, making the shadows dance against his face.
“When you called down earlier today. What did you want to speak to me about?”
She groans and mashes her face into the pillow. “Is this a terrible time to confess that wasn’t me?” She probably should have said something before… all this, but it’s been so lovely, and she is terribly selfish.
Peter laughs, and she chances a peek. There’s only amusement, and the worry in the back of her head disappears. He leans over, kisses her easy and slow like they have all the time in the world.
“Maybe we should send our trespassing friends a fruit basket.”
Alice makes a thoughtful noise. “That’s not actually a terrible idea.”
—
A courier knocks on the door of the antiques shop. Barnaby, in an uncharacteristic fit of charity, opens it. He signs for the package and it’s shoved unceremoniously into his arms.
“Ed, old chap! Bruiser! Why the devil are you getting fruit baskets delivered here?”
They both look at the basket, large enough Barnaby can barely be seen behind it, then at each other.
“There must be some sort of mistake. Bring it here, then.” Edvard says.
Barnaby plonks it on the table in the hall where post usually goes, dislodging a teetering pile of letters. Edvard sees an envelope nestled within with both their names on it.
“What’s that?” Zillah asks.
“Getting to it,” he says, unfolding the note. He reads it, his eyebrows raising, before handing the note to Zillah. “We were noticed by more people than I realized.”
She looks at the note. It’s written in a precise, elegant hand.
Please do not be alarmed. While you are known to me, I have no intention of disclosing this to my employer. I bear no affection for him, and the circumstances set in motion by your visit are enough to override even my duty.
If you have need, leave a message with the bartender at the Pickled Bear Tavern regarding the utility of long-distance oscillotronic communication. I am not privy to everything, of course, but there is very little I cannot unearth with a bit of determination and a word in the right ear.
I am, as always,
Your grateful insider
Zillah looks up at Edvard, then at the wall. “Well, then,” she says, for lack of anything else to say.
Edvard smiles. It’s gentler than his usual smirk. Zillah thinks, a little surprised, it looks good on him. “Apparently you made quite an impression on this fellow at the other end of the line.”
She scoffs. “I could tell it was heading that direction anyways. Just needed to give it a little push.”
“Of course,” Edvard replies. She knows he’s humoring her, but she doesn’t really want to argue the point.
He takes a pear from the basket. “How many of these do you think we can eat before we get sick?”
She grins and plucks out an apple. “Only one way to find out.”