She might as well have hung a welcome sign for anyone who wanted in.
My phone buzzes. Text from Griff:
Heard you finally made your move on the mermaid. Want me to bring celebratory beer?
I type back:
Bring coffee and food. This isn't a celebration.
Three minutes later, he responds:
On my way. And Holden? Don't fuck this up.
I pocket my phone and return to helping Fallon sort through the wreckage. I drag the mattress to the floor, flip it so the intact side faces up, and make it up with clean sheets from the linen closet. At least she'll have somewhere to sleep tonight.
We work in silence for twenty minutes, filling garbage bags with destroyed belongings, salvaging what can be saved. She moves with quiet determination, but winces when she reaches for something high or bends too low.
"Take a break," I tell her when she pauses to press a hand against her ribs.
"I'm fine."
"You have bruised ribs and a concussion. You're not fine." I take the garbage bag from her hand. "Sit down before you pass out."
"I don't need you to?—"
"I know. You can handle yourself." I meet her gaze, keeping my voice level. "But you also nearly drowned this morning, got discharged from the hospital an hour ago, and you're running on adrenaline and stubbornness. So sit down, catch your breath, and let me finish the heavy lifting."
She looks like she wants to argue. Instead, she sinks onto the edge of the slashed couch and closes her eyes. The win feelshollow because I know it's exhaustion, not my argument, that made her give in.
I'm finishing with the bedroom when footsteps echo in the hallway outside. My body positions between the door and Fallon, hand reaching for the go-bag where my weapon is stowed, before I consciously decide to move.
"Holden, relax. It's just me." Griff's voice carries through the door before he knocks. "I brought sustenance and moral support."
Griff holds a carrier with three coffees and a bag from the deli down the street. He grins with entirely too much amusement.
"Heard your protection detail started with a bang," he says, pushing past me into the apartment. "Literally." His gaze lands on Fallon. "Dr. McKay. Hell of a morning you've had. Griff Holland, EOD. Friend of this guy, unfortunately."
The coffee carrier passes from his hands to mine. "Not funny."
"Little bit funny." He drops the deli bag on the kitchen counter, one of the few surfaces not completely trashed. "Also brought sandwiches because Holden forgets to eat when he's in mission mode."
"I don't forget to eat," I mutter.
"You absolutely do." Griff pulls out sandwiches, chips, bottles of water. He hands Fallon a coffee and a turkey sandwich. "Eat. Doctor's orders. Well, not a medical doctor, but I did take a first aid course once."
"That's reassuring." Fallon accepts the coffee and sandwich. "Thanks for the food, Griff."
"Anytime." Griff waits until she unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite before catching my eye and jerking his head toward the door. I follow him outside, pulling the door mostly closed behind us.
"How bad?" he asks quietly.
"Apartment's a disaster. Someone wanted her scared." Exhaustion starts creeping in around the edges, making me lean against the wall. "Slashed everything personal. Took her laptop, probably her research files."
"And she's okay with you being her neighbor?"
"Hartwell assigned me the guest quarters next door. Non-negotiable protection detail." I run a hand through my hair. "Fallon accepted it, but she's not thrilled about having a babysitter."
Griff studies me with the expression that means he's about to say something unwelcome. "You know this is a bad idea, right?"
