She was immediately worried when Elisa didn’t greet her as she walked in the door. She wasn’t behind the counter wrapping a bouquet or paused mid-stroll in an aisle. Cyg swallowed, stepping cautiously deeper into the flower shop, the intoxicating aroma of blooms and pollen waging war on her senses.

Then Isaac spoke and she almost jumped out of her skin, so poised to jump into the thick of things; her heart hammered in her chest as her brain and body registered NOT A THREAT. “Oh. my god,” she said, her pulse a roar in her ears as her FIGHT/FLIGHT gear slowly cranked down. She fixed Isaac with a look of concern. “Step out? Is she okay?”

Because of course Isaac doesn’t know the hidden facets of Elisa’s business venture so he wouldn’t know the shady, underhanded dealings that often went on in her boss’ life. Or the chemistry lab and scary spiders (literally) crawling around her basement.

Cyg frowned. “Floral arrangement colors?” she parroted, remembering, again, that this was the face of Elisa’s legitimate business she was currently representing. “That’s a shame. Elisa’s much better at it than I am, really.” But she started to catch onto things when he asked her to close her eyes and it dawned on her, then, that she hadn’t yet asked him what he was doing here.

She doesn’t know what made her do it because she’s not normally the sort to go along with this sort of thing but it’s Isaac, and her feelings towards him are convoluted, at best, and downright sloppy affectionate at worst, so she turns her suspicious eye narrow into pressing them closed. She twitched a little when she felt something slip along the side of her head, through her hair, resting behind her ear.

“What do you me--,” she opened her eyes and froze, caught off guard by the mirror and, just, the look of confusion on her face. She got to watch in real time as the blush steadily crawled over her nose, and she ducked her head and looked away, fingers coming up to brush against the petals of the flower-- her favorite kind of flower, he’d remembered-- and she just sort of. Her brain made a little whirring noise and shut down.

“Did you…” she started, trying to find the words to explain how she was feeling, “did you come to the flower shop, where I work to… get me flowers?”

⚰︎ wearing

Isaac Merlo

“Yeah, you will,” Cyg snorted, and it came out more brusque than she’d intended. Or maybe not. Maybe she had intended it like that. Maybe it was time to cultivate some realness so that Isaac could see what he was getting himself into. She was… pretty terrifying, at least in her own mind’s eye, and he just seemed so… whimsical, and free.

This was a lot. This was a lot bordering on too much.

“Good.” He had listened to her. That was surprising. Immediately, she was filled with fear, backpedaling through all her first aid knowledge and making sure she hadn’t steered him wrong. No, no, she felt pretty certain she was, at least, slightly right. One night shouldn’t make things worse, anyhow.

The movie was coming to an end-- the action was rising.

“Good,” she repeated, more forcefully this time, squeezing his hand back. And she meant it. “If you get yourself killed on the job I will hunt down your ghost and bind it to the most embarrassing object I can find. Like a vibrator. A big sparkly one.”

She scoffed in mock insult. “My disaster sense is always pinging, because you’re always a disaster. The ‘Isaac’s in Danger’ ping is the same as the ‘Isaac tripped over his own two feet and fell on his face’ ping.” She huffed. “It’s a work in progress.”

⚰︎ emotional! damage!

Isaac Merlo

He’s looking at her with an open mouth and something close to wonder. Cyg shrugs. “It was pretty simple,” she said. “I just had to find out what signal the CCTV was broadcasting on, program a raspberry PI with a repeat command, and turn it on. The programming is the hard part. It took forever.” She shuddered. “So many little pieces.” And soldering gun burns.

“The problem is,” she said, not wanting to seem like her head was actually that big, “it only really works if-- if it makes sense. Like, at night, right? Nothing’s supposed to really be happening. The image is pretty static. It loops easily. Any sort of movement, either objects or people or even light, throws it off.” This left practical application to late-night jewel heists.

She grinned at his utility belt idea. “As soon as I make a batarang, I’ll let you know. But I always preferred the Flash, to be honest.”

⚰︎ beer run

Isaac Merlo

Cyg frowned into her phone. ‘Urgent customer order’? What the heck did that mean?

Okay, she sent back to Elisabeth Fiorelli, give me 10 minutes to become presentable.

Urgent customer order could’ve meant anything. It could’ve been someone rich and famous-- or someone who was a danger to Elisa. That thought spurred her onwards, shucking out of her greasy coveralls and throwing her hair up in a ponytail to hide its unwashed-ness. She threw on the first few things she could find that were appropriate enough and all but ran out the door.

She was breathless as she pushed into the shop, and trying to act like she hadn’t just sprinted over.

“What’s--,” wrong, was the second word out of her mouth, but she swallowed it, remembering she was on the job.

“What’s up?” she amended, mentally patting herself on the back. Good save, Cygne.

⚰︎ wearing

Isaac Merlo

She raised one eyebrow in an astounding display of slightly inebriated facial control.

“If I’d wanted you on the couch,” she said, pointedly, “I’d have put you on the couch.”

She was not subtle. Never had been. She was also not shy, bashful, or easy to shame. It was a double-edged sword. Isaac was hurting, in more ways than one, and Cyg would never, ever take advantage of anyone like that, let alone a friend. But she was also very bad at playing the quote-unquote romance game, if that’s what this was… becoming.

She hoped her point was obvious.

Watching with cautious eyes, ready to jump in if it seemed like he was in pain, she hovered as he undressed his injured limb. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, kneeling on the bed to get a closer look.

Dog bites, from a purely authorial point of view, are different than anyone imagines. Yes, the teeth are sharp. But it’s the crush of the jaws that actually does the most damage. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve gotten well and truly bit. Soon the skin will start to mottle and bruise.

“We should keep it uncovered for the night,” Cyg said, unable to keep the frown off her face or out of her voice. “Sometimes punctures collect bacteria and if they can’t drain or air out they become infected.”

Also from the author: never put thick ointments on animal bites. That’s how you get infections.

“What--,” she started, then pressed her lips together, humming a consternated note. She wanted to grill him about what the fuck he’d been up to, but maybe this was not the time. She exhaled sharply through her nose, returning to her original spot.

“Call me, next time,” she finally said, as she adjusted to let him curl up next to her, “if you’re going to do something dangerous. You don’t have to tell me what. Just so that-- I know.”

Because what if he hadn’t made it through? That was a terrifying thought.

Not nearly as sobering as the one that immediately followed, which was that she’d be devastated if anything happened to him.

Oh no.

Oh, no.

⚰︎ emotional! damage!

Isaac Merlo