I nudged Dickens from my lap and pushed myself up from the couch, sending my eyeglasses skittering across the floor as they fell from wherever they’d been hiding. Dancing through the mounds of one-time shelf contents, I snatched up the handset and pressed it against my ear.
“Yeah, Ben,” I croaked groggily. “I’m here.”
“Yeah? So why aren’t you here?”
“What?”
“It’s a quarter after seven, white man,” he returned. “You were s’posed ta’ meet us here at six-thirty, and you ain’t one for bein’ late.”
“Damn,” I mumbled, remembering the meeting we’d set up earlier. “Sorry. I accidentally took your advice and fell asleep.”
“S’okay,” he huffed, a note of understanding in his tone. “Ya’ prob’ly needed it pretty bad.”
“Yeah, I think so. Listen, I’ll get cleaned up real quick, and I can be there in half an hour…maybe forty-five minutes.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Ben grunted. “Just gargle and put some coffee on. We’ll come to you. You want some food?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I shook my head for no one’s benefit but my own. “I’m not really hungry.”
“When’d you eat last?”
“It’s not important.”
“Yeah, it is. When?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, somewhat annoyed. “Yesterday I think.”
“You gotta eat.”
“Really, I’m good, Ben.”
“You want burritos or tacos?”
“Ben, really…”
“Forget it. We’ll just get ya’ both,” he continued, completely ignoring me. “We’ll see ya’ in twenty.”
I started to object again, but he had already hung up. I dropped the handset back into the cradle then stifled a deep yawn. Turning around I located my glasses and scooped them up from beneath the coffee table, giving the lenses a quick swipe with the tail of my shirt before sliding them onto my face. Continuing on to the kitchen, I set about starting the coffee before I tried to make myself presentable.
I was already on my second cup when they arrived.
It seemed that the scant few hours of shuteye had left me with little more than a crick in my neck and a patent desire for more sleep. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I did have something a bit more worthwhile to show for it, and that was a noticeable semi-softening of my mood. While the respite certainly hadn’t been a panacea, it did seem to have had a moderate analgesic effect on my anger. Therefore, by the time Ben and Constance made it to the house, I really didn’t feel much like hitting him. Although, to be honest, I really wasn’t sure if it was truly because the rest had calmed me down or if I was simply still too tired. Whatever the reason, in the grand scheme of things, the end result definitely qualified as a positive note on the day.
“Thought you weren’t hungry,” Ben said as he sat watching me toss down the last of an oversized burrito they had brought along from the restaurant.
I shrugged while I finished chewing then swallowed and washed it down with a swig of coffee before replying, “Guess I was wrong.”
“Told ya’.”
“Yeah, Ben, you’re a stark raving genius.”
“You’ve got to take care of yourself, Rowan,” Constance interjected before he could retort.
My mood truly was better, but my mouth apparently hadn’t caught up to it yet.
“I’ll have time for that after I die,” I quipped, mimicking Ben’s penchant for cliches.
“You aren’t going to be able to do Felicity any good if you make yourself sick,” she pressed.
The petite FBI agent was standing in the doorway that led into the kitchen, her back pressed into the jamb. She was still clad in work attire, a fitted suit which certainly accented her figure but did little to hide the forty-caliber Sig Sauer parked on her right hip.
Though her shoulder-length brunette hair was neatly styled, it still exhibited an end of day droopiness that matched her slouched posture and sagging expression. Even though she was right at a decade younger than either Ben or me, the power of her youth was visibly running out of steam. Judging simply by the way she looked, it was obvious that she was wearing down just like us.
“You get used to it,” I said, responding again to her attempt at mothering me. “After awhile it just doesn’t matter. You do what you have to do and get sick later.”
“You’re sounding just like Storm,” she countered.
“I probably got it from him,” I agreed.
“I’m sure you could pick a better role model to emulate, Rowan.”
Ben piped up. “Hey! Ya’know, I’m right here in the room.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted. “You’re kind of hard to miss. Besides, I think she’s kidding.”
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t place any bets on that,” he returned.
“A little sensitive tonight, are we?” Constance quipped in his direction.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’?”
“Can you two pick at each other later?” I sighed and then switched the subject. “So, anyway, what do I owe you for the dinner?”
“Depends. You gonna eat any more?”
“No, I’m done.”
“Let’s see then, you ate the burrito…,” Ben mumbled as he reached out and grabbed the sack, inspected the contents, then stuck his hand in and extracted one of the tacos. He already had it unwrapped when he added, “Well, near as I can figure, looks like nothin’.”
“You’re sure?”
“Uhm-hmmm,” he grunted with a nod, his mouth full.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said after swallowing. “Besides, the Feeb bought.”
“Ben!” she snapped.
I shook my head, embarrassed by my chauvinistic assumption. “Sorry, Constance, I thought…Oh, hell, doesn’t matter. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing, Rowan,” she replied. “I didn’t buy, he did. He’s just yanking your chain.”
“Great,” I said, shooting him a disgusted look. “You’ve just got to pick at somebody, don’t you? Did you forget I’m still kind of pissed even if you did bring me dinner?”
“Hey,” he grumbled. “Ya’ seemed like you were in a okay mood when we got here. You’ve even been halfway pleasant. Well, sorta. Anyway, I figured it couldn’t hurt ta’ lighten things up a bit more.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I dismissed the comment. “Light isn’t my thing right now. I’m going to need a lot more sleep before we go there.”
He simply shrugged and continued devouring the taco.
“You know,” I finally said, looking back over to Ben after taking another swig of coffee. “I hate to be an ungracious host, but earlier today you made out like there was some big reason for us to be having a secret meeting. Or, was I just dreaming all that?”
“The skulking around was Storm’s idea,” Constance offered. “He’s worried I’m going to get myself booted out of the Bureau.”
“Well, dammit, at the rate you’re goin’ you are,” he admonished, almost choking on his food before he could blurt the words.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” she returned. “At worst I’ll get a letter of censure. And that’s only if I get caught.”
“You just got one a’ those for losin’ your damn sidearm,” he chided. “That’d make two in a row, and even I know that ain’t good.”
He was correct. One of the strings Constance had pulled when getting Felicity out of the assault charge against her was somehow talking her superior into recommending a letter of censure go in her own file. Effectively, she had taken the blame for the situation and glossed over a few damaging facts in order to get my wife off the hook. On paper, what my wife had done had somehow been turned into Constance being reprimanded for temporarily misplacing her government issued weapon. How she’d pulled that off was anyone’s guess, but I suspected it was better if I didn’t really have that answer.
“Well, no offense, Constance,” I interjected. “Because, you know I appreciate everything you’ve done. I really do, and so does Felicity. But, right now I’m afraid I have to admit that she is way more important to me than your career, as harsh as that may seem. So, if there’s something you know that might help…”