Clockwork Redux

Untitled Part 6

They get back to the apartment block at around half-one, having walked all the way from Durante's house. As he fishes in his pocket for they key he had made, she makes a breathless little noise-"Oh..."-and falls up against him.

He catches her with one arm and brushes her hair back with his other hand. Her face is fog-coloured, and her eyes stare up through his head.

"Aw, fuck," he mutters. He jabs his fingers back into his pocket and finally retieves the key. "Hold on, sweetheart. I got this. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" The tumblers click. He kicks the door in and drags her inside.

The apartment is as dark as it was when he first arrived. He locates the couch by feeling for it with his foot, and rolls her onto it. She snuffles, coughs, and murmurs something.

"Hey, shhh, shhh," he hisses. The first aid kit is lying on the floor somewhere-he neglected to put it back after fixing his foot. He gropes around on the floor for it.

"Tell me where it hurts," he begs her. "Is it your legs?"

"No...no, I'm just...." She pulls her mouth down on one side and squeezes her eyes shut. When they flick back open, they are clear and hard, whiter than spider eggs in the hazy dark. "Just tired. That's all. I've been living on adrenaline this past week."

"Right. Uh, you like Chinese food?"

That sure gets her attention. "Food? You have food? I haven't eaten since Monday morning! I'd eat you if you stood still!"

He straightens up. "Received and understood. I'll go heat up some noodles. You like noodles?"

"Keep moving, buddy, that's all I'll say."

He hits every light switch he passes on the way into the kitchen. When the noodles are lukewarm-they smell like rubber, he should've put them in the little icebox that serves for a fridge in this shithole-he sticks a fork into the carton and pokes his head into the bedroom.

"Hey! Taylor!" he whispers.

The armoire stays shut. The rooms is as quiet as a stillborn.

Muttering curses, he reaches the armoire in two flatfooted strides and throws the peeling chifferobe door open. A lump nestled between a pair of shoes and some socks washes the fear from him.

Relief and affection, and anger at both. The tumbleweed of feelings blows around in his brain, nudging the bank heist and his stupid damn mercenary employees out of its way.

He puts the noodles on the bed and bends down, groaning when his knees click. Taylor wheezes, holds all her muscles stiff, goes floppy. Squints up through the dark at his fairground nightmare face.

"You came back," she mumbles, her voice flat and toneless. Her mouth gapes open to yawn, showing him the wet rosy glint of her throat. "You kept your promise." She sounds weird, like his return has inconvenienced her. It makes him laugh.

"Kid, one of these days I'll leave you here to die, I swear," he tells her, gathering her into his arms. She clings to him and sighs pinkly, rubbing her grease-glossed scalp against his chin. "But not tonight, okay?"

She balls her fist around a strand of his hair, the way babies do.

"Hey, leave off." He brushes the cramped little starfish away. "Come with me. I gotta surprise."

"A surprise?" Taylor cranes her head up to look at his eyes. Her own are are still hooded with sleep. "What is it?"

He picks up the noodles with the hand that isn't holding her steady.

"You'll see," he says.

He carries her into the room with the couch-he doesn't want to dignify the damn hole by calling it a sitting room-and rolls her into her dozing mother's lap.