Ride or Die

Take It Back

a/n: remember when the warnings on this fic were for smut and not for murder? We'll get back to that, I promise . . . just not today.

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Chapter 21: Take It Back

Theo had just finished emptying the last of the contents of his refrigerator (a few too many packets of soy sauce left behind a plastic container that had once contained store-bought pico de gallo) when he heard an unexpected knock at the door. He glanced at his watch - a gift from his father for his twenty-first birthday that Theo now realized he should probably take it off, lest the reminder continue to irk him - and frowned.

He walked to the door, pulling it open. "I thought we said - "

He stopped, catching the familiar head of dark auburn hair. "Daph," he commented, surprised. "Sorry, thought you were someone else."

"Hey," Daphne said, smiling with an uncharacteristic timidity. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, taking a step back to permit her entry. "Of course. I was about to shower and head out," he supplied as a caveat, "but I've got a few minutes, and - "

He broke off, watching her fidget. "Is everything okay?"

"It's - yeah, actually," Daphne said, glancing around the room. "I'm - " she hesitated, furrowing her brow, and then set her jaw. "Good," she murmured under her breath, frowning at something that he wasn't sure how to identify.

"Convincing," Theo remarked, rolling his eyes. "Want anything to drink? I just cleaned out the fridge," he remembered, "but I could get you a glass of water, if you're - "

"Theo," Daphne interrupted, her hazel eyes flashing as she looked at him. "What the fuck?"

"Ah, wonderful," Theo replied. "I do love when people react appropriately to my hospitality - truly, it warms me completely - "

"You cleaned out your fridge?" she demanded, and sweeping an arm violently around the room. "This room is clean," she declared furiously, suddenly taking off to stomp in the direction of the bedroom. "You're a mess, Theo, you always have been - you once yelled at me for trying to pick up your socks, and let me guess, you've - "

She burst through the door to his bedroom, throwing her hands in the air. "Theo," she seethed, "what the fuck is this?"

He sighed, following her to the doorway and knowing precisely what she'd seen. "It's nothing," he assured her, and she spun around, glaring at him in a dazzling fit of fury.

"It's not nothing," she said forcefully, jabbing a finger at his face. "You - you wrote letters," she said, picking them up off his desk. "Fleur," she murmured to herself in confusion, frowning at the unfamiliar name, "Draco, and - "

She turned around again. "Me?" she asked, a little disbelieving. "You wrote to me?"

Theo leaned against the doorway, letting out a grumble of a sigh. "Of course I fucking wrote to you," he muttered, shaking his head. "But, for the record," he added, louder, "this really isn't what it looks like."

"Really?" Daphne prompted skeptically. "Because it looks an awful lot like you're preparing for something." Her hard frown slipped, softening. "It looks like you're preparing us, Theo," she murmured worriedly, walking up to him and meeting his eye with concern. "What's going on?"

He hesitated.

"It's not what it looks like," he said again, feeling helpless, and she grimaced.