“Okay, so Castillo said he can meet with you tomorrow morning at 8,” Henry says as he comes back into the living room.

I frown over my cup of coffee. “Does he not give a shit about his wolves?”

“I did hint that this was a…pressing matter, to which he said something in Spanish that I’m quite sure was a curse; that yes, he did know, but he’s also running a large organization and has a lot of pressing matters to attend to.”

“So, fuck you…basically,” I sigh.

“Basically,” Henry agrees.

I shrug, finish my coffee and get to my feet. “Thanks for setting it up, Henry.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know…I guess…” I fumble for some direction and feel that precipice sneaking up on me again, the one that leads to madness if I slip over it. “Look for more clues. Go back to the market and see if anyone there knows more about Elena. Or Castillo.”

“Riley, sit back down,” Henry says.

“Why?”

“Because you need to take this moment to recover.”

I scoff and look away from him, trying to pretend my breakdown never happened. “I don’t have time for that, Henry.”

“No? Because the next step in your investigation isn’t happening until tomorrow anyway.”

“Are you holding me hostage here?”

“If that would make you stay…yes, you can say that.”

“You are the worst kidnapper, Henry Stone. Stop being so accommodating.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop proving my point!”

Henry doesn’t entirely succeed with hiding a soft smile. “Sorry,” he says again. I glare at him, but I don’t feel it. I feel grateful, even if I can’t find it in myself to admit it. I flop gracelessly to the couch again, crossing my arms and looking up at him. Henry nods, satisfied, and joins me. “Do you remember…that awkward birthday dinner we had with your parents? It was the one after we got engaged. The one for your mother?”

I can’t immediately recall, because my mind is still overwhelmed with everything that’s happened recently. Taking a minute to force myself out of the present, I eventually remember the night he’s talking about and wince. “I was so close to repressing that night. What is wrong with you? Making me relive it like this?” I ask, my chastisement entirely flippant.

“I’d entertain you with a different story if I had one,” Henry replies. “But you know all of them, and this is the one on my mind.”

I sigh loudly. There are some stories I don’t know, like the details around his being turned, but those are details even he doesn’t know. From what he said when I asked after learning what happened to him, whoever sired him ambushed him, turned him, and abandoned him. He never got a good look at their face. No answers as to why, no clues to point him towards the multitude of questions he undoubtedly still has. I know it’s a sore subject anyway, so I leave it alone. I know he’s trying to distract me, more than that, he’s trying to cheer me up. It’s not working, not yet, but I appreciate the effort and don’t demand that he change the subject.

“My mother was so mad at our gift,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s like…if you don’t drop three paychecks’ worth on her present, you’re an asshole. But it was a nice watch!”

“It was,” Henry agrees. “It matched her favorite jewelry set very nicely. I remember you spent a good amount of time hunting for one to fit.”

“Mhm, and she takes one look at it and doesn’t even have the moral decency to just say thanks.”

Henry leans back against the couch, eyes aimed at the ceiling but not really looking at it. I know he’s focused on the image of that night. We were sitting outdoors at my mother’s favorite restaurant, she ordered the most expensive wine - as she always did, my father sat idly by, having long learned it was better to be a yes-man around her, and to be himself when she wasn’t around. Then there’s me and Henry, thinking we finally got her a gift she wouldn’t snub, that maybe she would warm up to Henry, hell…maybe she would even warm up to me, but the look on her face said we expected too much.

“What was it that she said?” Henry asks.

“You had all year and this is what you ended up with?” I reply. “What, did you wait until yesterday? Do I mean so little?” I chuckle softly. “And she was getting more and more hysterical about it, remember? Making sure other people heard her, as if hoping they’d give us dirty looks when really, no one gave a shit because they just wanted to eat their fucking dinner in peace.”

“So you opted to say her real gift was our presence,” Henry continues. “But not just our inactive presence…”

“God,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I said we arranged that interpretive dance.”

“Not only did you say it, but you got up and started and expected me to act like I knew what you were doing.”

“Hey, you did pretty well…after about five minutes of me gyrating and looking like I was having a seizure to classical music.”

“While your mother looked on in horror.”

“And Dad just kept eating like it was any other night.”

“The climax was fitting,” Henry’s laughing now.

“My double bird while you did jazz hands? Classic,” and my voice isn’t so heavy anymore. “She blamed you later.”

“Did she really?”

“Said you must be a bad influence and she wasn’t fooled by your polite ‘public persona’,” I snicker. “She couldn’t fathom how something ‘she made’ could be so ungrateful otherwise.”

“Dear, sweet Jocelyn,” Henry chortles. “She always made a night out interesting.”

“A study of narcissism.”

“Yes, that too.”

I smile at him, not for the story. Or not just for the story, but for his continued ability to get me to smile even when I felt like I never would again. He returned it, and I felt the precipice receding again, like I was turning away from the dark and back towards the light. He patted his lap suddenly and I raise a questioning brow.

“Your feet,” he instructs.

I know it should feel weird, reliving these old moments with him. But I think I’ve had enough questioning and investigating and hardships that I don’t let myself sabotage this. I kick my shoes off instead, swing my legs up to the couch and rest my feet in his lap. He still remembers what I like, and as he starts rubbing my feet, I feel like I’m relaxing for the first time since this case started.

“It must have been a letdown,” I say softly. “Having such a monstrous mother-in-law.”

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“Well, you did warn me about her before I met her,” Henry reminds me. “And while it would have been nice, what we had was more than enough. In some ways, not having a family made it easier to bear her disapproval.”

I know this is a sore subject too. He pretends it isn’t, but there’s always a look of sorrow when the topic goes to his childhood, to his family. Sorrow, and sometimes I can’t help but think I see fear too. Then again, I imagine foster homes must be scary for a variety of reasons, none of which I ever want to force him to relive unless he says he wants to.

“I’m always an advocate for choosing family anyway,” I say. “Which, you’re still part of by the way.”

“As you’re mine.”

“So was Billy,” I continue, and now I don’t bother holding back tears. I’m not sobbing like when I got here, just letting them flow, knowing I won’t be judged. “He was such a fun bastard. I wish you got to spend more time with him.”

“Me too,” Henry says. “He never treated me differently for being a vampire. I remember when I met him before…and figured after the turn, he would be like, well…most of the Order.”

“Billy never let what someone was cloud his judgment,” I reply. “It was always about who they were. And man, I’ll tell you he was never afraid to express his opinion either. I know you never met Carver, but trust me when I say she’s still terrifying…anyway, Billy didn’t care about giving her a ton of shit. I think he was the only one who wasn’t afraid of her, and I think she loved that about him. I bet she wishes more of us were like that, honestly. No one could pull it off like Billy though.”

“He’s the one who first initiated you to the Order, right?”

“Yeah. Sentinels tend to get visions of potential Centurions and scope them out. When I chased down a werewolf who mugged me and kicked her ass, I guess that put me in the ‘yes’ category. Imagine my surprise learning werewolves existed, and that I just knocked one out with a handbag.”

“I’m still surprised you managed to keep your job from me so well,” Henry admits. “Carrying on like you were in some office job, private security - need-to-know type of business. How you didn’t blurt it out was very impressive.”

“I thought you might think I was insane and run,” I tease, wiggling my toes at him. “Plus, it was better to keep you in the dark. Or, at least I thought it was. If you did believe me if I told you, you’d spend the rest of your life looking for it. But then…I suppose it found you anyway.”

“It did,” Henry muses. “Entirely outside your control, may I add.”

I hope he’s right, and think that he’s probably right. Vampires may not be our biggest fans, but I’ve never made a personal enemy out of one. Nothing to suggest that turning Henry was payback for my actions. It still bothers me, because Henry never deserved something like this. He deserved to be happy, to settle down and raise a family like he wanted. Of course, looking at him and interacting with him, you’d never know he was burdened with so much. Sometimes I’m very envious of his perpetual optimism.

“I hope I can end this tomorrow,” I say quietly after we spend some time in a comfortable silence. “I don’t know what else Castillo knows, but I feel like…I’m so close, you know?”

“Let’s hope he’ll cooperate,” Henry replies. “There is too much on the line for anyone to be stubborn.”

“I know he said in the morning, but any chance I can convince you to come with me?”

“Sometimes, I think you are my greatest threat, Mr. Averline,” Henry groans. “I’ve been out in the sun more times than a vampire should.”

“But your fifteen layers are very chic,” I venture. “You’ll be a trendsetter before long, just you wait.”

“I think I’d prefer to skip the attention…and the potential for bursting into flames.”

I know he’s joking, although the risk is very real, but even the briefest thought of losing him is far too much after Billy, and I shake my head. “You’re right,” I say. “I’ll catch you up on what happened afterwards.”

“Riley—”

“No, Henry. I mean it,” I smile at him. “I’ll be fine.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but maybe it’s the fact I’m smiling instead of crying that has him push down any retorts. He nods, a bit stiffly, but in agreement anyway, and we fall into another moment of silence.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

I must have fallen asleep. When I wake up, it’s dark in the apartment and Henry is no longer on the couch. Amendment; I’m no longer on the couch. I’m in a bed and I sit up slowly and scratch at my head, looking around blearily as I try to get my bearings. I’m still fully dressed, and I can feel the press of my jean’s seams against my skin as I get out of bed.

I leave the bedroom and return to the living room, which is washed in shifting colors. Henry’s on the couch, watching TV. It’s set at such a low volume I can barely hear it, but I assume for him he can hear it just fine. At least there are some perks to the vampire thing. When he sees me, he turns off the television. “Good morning,” he says.

“Morning,” I yawn. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 5. I’m glad you were able to sleep.”

“You and me both,” I agree.

Henry gets up from the couch and beckons me to come with him to the kitchen. He gestures to the small, square table equipped with only two chairs and I take a seat. I watch him curiously, and can’t shake the feeling that I’ve fallen into a memory from happier times. Things are different, of course, so very different…but right now, I permit myself to be selfish and enjoy the morning for what it is.

His kitchen is still equipped with all the things you’d expect to find in one; a fridge, stove, countertops and the like, but when he opens the fridge I notice it’s nearly entirely bare. No surprise, since he can’t eat anymore. It does leave me wondering…

“What’s up with the food?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t come off as tactless as it suddenly feels.

“There’s a little grocer nearby, I stopped by after you fell asleep. I don’t trust that you’ve eaten a decent meal lately.”

“You…stocked up for me?”

“Well, stocked up for a big breakfast at least.”

“Thanks.”

He busies himself with cooking, putting on a pot of coffee, getting pans out and ingredients. I see a carton of eggs and a few different vegetables spread out on the counter. “Can I help you at all?” I ask.

“Please no,” Henry quips. “That dinner with your mother was not our only misadventure with food, remember?”

“If you’re talking about the oatmeal…that was one time,” I huff.

“You set the microwave on fire. With instant oatmeal.”

“The house smelled like cookies though, so that was an unexpected bonus.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Henry concedes. “But truly, I just want you to relax, Riley.”

“I’ll try.”

And I do, though now that I’m a little more awake my mind is starting to race again. Primarily, it races around Castillo and our upcoming meeting. I have no idea how a syndicate boss, with a reputation for being guarded about his personal life and horrifically violent, is going to react to my probing questions. If he did have some kind of connection to Elena, one that didn’t bother him, I would think he might mention it the first time we spoke. Since he didn’t, there’s only two other options; he never knew her, or he did and doesn’t want me to know about it. I’m adamant about not asking Henry for backup, given the time we’re meeting (and I wonder if Castillo arranged for that time on purpose), but I am nervous about going back there alone. I’ll have no Order operatives on call, no one else will even know I’m there.

Still, I have to hope that someone as successful as Castillo will understand that whatever shit he wants to keep from me isn’t more important than stopping the mage. I frown inwardly, noting that after some proper rest my mind isn’t automatically labeling said mage as Elena. I’m not ready to say I’m wrong, but my conviction is no longer fueled by the maniacal torment that seized me after my meeting with Vasilisa.

“Here you go,” Henry’s voice breaks me from my thoughts as he sets a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“You are an angel.”

“I’d take wings over fangs, come to think of it,” Henry replies.

“Kind of noticeable, don’t you think?”

“They would be retractable.”

“Ah, of course. Stupid of me not to realize that off the bat.”

Henry laughs softly. “Let’s blame your lack of caffeine,” he suggests before returning to the stove.

Now that I’m not deep in thought, I hear the sizzling of food cooking and catch the smell of it too. My stomach growls loudly, and I try to remember the last time I really ate anything. It may have been at Castillo’s…no wonder my stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself.

I stay in the moment as I sip at my coffee, watching Henry as he makes an omelet for me. He used to cook for me in the mornings, when he was human. I’d wake up and come out to a hearty meal waiting for me before going to headquarters. Sometimes he’d be there to eat with me, other times he’d have left for work himself - leaving a note behind to wish me a good day. It makes me happy that that hasn’t changed, that he’s still Henry even after everything.

“What?” he asks.

I blink. “Huh?”

“You’re staring at me rather intensely,” he points out, expertly flipping the omelet from the pan to a plate.

“I’m just getting my fill of a good sight before diving back into the shit,” I say with a grin. The grin fades and I look down into my coffee. “Thank you for all this, Henry. You pulled me back. Again.”

“I’m only glad I still have the ability to do so.”

He comes over and leaves the plate for me, sitting in the other chair across the table. I look up at him, and there’s a moment where I just want to pull him in and feel his arms around me again. My mind stutters around a platonic hug versus a more intimate moment, but I quickly dismiss the latter. I don’t want to ruin this moment. I don’t want to do anything but enjoy it as it is.