Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The return journey from Lamishton is cold, long, and leaves Annette exhausted. By the time she reaches Mill Street, it’s certainly an hour or two past midnight, and her feet are aching and weary. Her face feels stiff and numb from the cold, and she’s sure she will be feeling the consequences of this exertion in the morning. She lumbers up the steps to her home, allowing her excitement to see Cordelia to carry her as it had for the entire journey. She can’t wait to witness the look on the detective’s face when she hears what has transpired. 

The sound of glass shattering inside electrifies Annette as she reaches for her keys, and suddenly the weight of her journey leaves her. Jarl can’t have gone after her yet, could he? She scrambles to open the door, swinging it open and grabbing an umbrella in the vain hopes it’ll sufficiently bludgeon any intruder. 

She hears noise in the dining room, and quickly leaps inside to find Cordelia slouched in a chair, the shattered remains of a whiskey bottle decorating the floor. She looks disheveled and injured, and Annette notices the far too familiar sight of blood on her knuckles, bruises on her torso, and the stench of alcohol. 

“Oh, Christ!” Cordelia leaps up, only to stumble to the floor and cut her hand on a shard of glass. She lets out a quiet curse and groans from the pain. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” Annette apologizes, carefully moving forward to assist her. 

Cordelia glowers at her as she rises. “Have you come to gloat?” She hisses. 

Annette freezes, depositing the umbrella on the table. She furrows her brow and asks, “What reason have I to gloat?” 

A chuckle of disbelief escapes Cordelia’s mouth, and she shakes her head, exasperated, and gestures to the wreckage around her. “The effect has been quite as expected!” She sighs, shaking out the pain from the cut in her hand. “Just… just leave me to grieve in peace. I at least deserve that, don’t you think, Miss Baker?” 

Annette feels a discordant pressure in her chest, trying to understand Cordelia’s anger. “Are you alright? Tell me what is-,”

“Am I alright? Christ, the audacity,” Cordelia spits. She shuffles back to her seat and drops her body into it without any care. “I could not bear losing you, Annette, that is what I told you. You promised you would stay, and like a fool, I believed you.” 

Annette frowns. “Am I to be blamed for being kidnapped?” 

“Kidnapped. Kidnapped?” Cordelia glares around the room. “She has the nerve to lie to me and gloat at my despair?” 

“I assure you I do not know what you mean.” 

“I tore the city apart searching for you. I called upon my entire network, scoured the dark and dismal places of Bellchester, and you were nowhere to be found,” Cordelia stands once more, pacing back and forth across the room, glass crunching underneath her boots. “And now, you stroll in as though nothing is the matter? As though tonight is like any other night?” 

“I was kidnapped.” 

“Spare me,” Cordelia dismisses. “I already know the truth.” She smacks a fist against her chest, leaving a small smudge of red on her button-up shirt. “I felt it in the pit of my stomach where you were, and I tried to ignore it. To give you the benefit of the doubt. I waited until the end of my search to approach your Mallets, and they told me plain and clear what occurred.” 

Annette steps forward, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you know what occurred then why are you angry with me?” 

“Christ, must you be so innocent of it all?” 

“I assure you my innocence is no act. Who did you speak to and what did they tell you?” 

Cordelia waves her arms in front of her as she talks. “Marian led me to Guy who led me to Merlin,” she explains. “Merlin informed me you were returning to them, despite Jarl’s objections.” 

Annette feels a surge in frustration at Merlin, annoyed he had so greatly misrepresented the situation. “And you believed him?” 

Cordelia shoves a hand into her pocket and pulls out the signet ring that had once decorated Annette’s collar. “I know you gave this to him. So easily tossed aside, am I?” She drops the ring on the table, letting the metallic sound chime out across the room. 

Annette retrieves it, holding it tightly in her fist. She speaks slowly, trying to get Cordelia to understand her. “Cordelia,” she exhales, “I gave it to him so that he might inform you I was still alive.” 

“So you deny nothing? I’ve-,” 

“I’m not finished,” Annette scolds. “I worried whether or not I would be alive because Jarl held me at gunpoint.” 

“And I am to-,”

“I’m not finished,” she interrupts more forcefully. She stares down the detective, challenging her to speak up once more. “Jarl is the one who kidnapped me. I did not leave you voluntarily. I am not leaving you now.” 

Cordelia shakes her head. “I know what Merlin said-,”

“Christ, will you listen!? Sit down!” Annette yells, gesturing for Cordelia to return to her seat. There’s a brief, standoffish pause, but the detective eventually sighs and drops back down. Annette grumbles to herself, departing to the kitchen to retrieve water and a clean cloth. She pulls a chair over to Cordelia and holds out her hand, waving for Cordelia to show her the cut on her hand, along with her bloody knuckles. “Are these injuries accidental or deliberate?” 

“Does it matter?” Cordelia mutters. 

“It matters to me,” Annette sighs. “Who did you box?” 

“The wall of the bar. No, I didn’t win.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask.” 

“Yes, you were,” Cordelia grumbles. 

“Yes, I was,” Annette admits. She dabs away the blood, gesturing over her shoulder to the glass shards on the floor. “Do you wish to speak about-,”

“The shattered bottle is your answer,” Cordelia says, deflating slightly, her voice defeated and weary. “I trust you’ll notice it’s empty.” 

Annette nods gently, looking up at her with a supportive expression. “Tomorrow is a new day.” 

“I’ll never be-,”

“Yes, you will,” Annette interrupts her doubts. “I know it.” 

“Sobriety isn’t natural for me,” the detective lets out a long breath. “It doesn’t come naturally.” 

Annette fills her voice with a sweet, gentle insistence. “Infants are not born wearing clothing, and yet they learn to cope.” 

Cordelia is quiet, and Annette feels her descend through a long and confused array of emotions. Eventually, the detective sinks even deeper into her seat, her rage melting into despair. She looks frail, and scared. “Why did you go?” 

“I didn’t wish to,” Annette says softly. She squeezes Cordelia’s wrist, careful not to touch her injuries. “Why would you let them convince you I was leaving you?” 

“Because you would be a fool not to.” 

“Cordelia, why would I-?”

“I’m a monster,” the detective replies quickly and Annette sees the spiraling inside of her eyes. “I’m an alcoholic. I own your contract and keep you captive here in my castle for my own benefit. I’m keeping you from the work you love. I’m controlling. I’m jealous. I’m impulsive. I’m eccentric. I’m a lesbian.” 

“That final reason is rather good justification to stay,” Annette replies sweetly. “Cordelia, you are no monster holding me hostage. You are a woman I adore greatly.” 

“Perhaps you ought to leave me,” she responds, unable to meet Annette’s gentle gaze. 

“You’ll have little success convincing me of that.” 

The detective’s voice waivers. “See how I have responded to such a crisis?” She gestures once more to the room around her, as well as herself. “I am incapable of deserving you. You ought to leave me now and spare yourself.” 

Annette shifts her focus to cleaning Cordelia’s other hand. “I have no interest in humoring such a ridiculous idea.” 

Cordelia pulls her hand away quickly, wincing as she grips it tightly to her chest. “I don’t deserve this.  Please leave me.” 

“I am not-,”

“Please,” she begs, her voice cracking. 

“And what am I to do then?” Annette exhales. “Spend the rest of my days desperately wishing you would come to your senses?” She shakes her head. “Regardless, my contract would force me to remain. My deal with Wemberly surrendered all of its value.” 

Cordelia continues staring away. “I’ll return to Simon and convince him once more. Or perhaps Samantha could be convinced to take pity on us.” 

“Once I am able to explain the story of my night, your questions about my next statement will be answered, so bear with me,” Annette begins. “Samantha has already offered to claim my contract from you this evening. She was quite insistent.” 

“So there is our solution.” 

Annette scowls and tilts her head to meet Cordelia’s eyes. “I turned her down. Emphatically.” 

Cordelia looks at her, confused and disappointed. “You shouldn’t have. Perhaps I could convince her-,”

Annette interrupts. “I tell you this not because it is an option upon the table. I tell you it so that you know I have chosen you. I will continue to choose you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Cordelia looks down at her lap. “Christ, look at me. My fears took over for a precious few hours and I have wrought this much devastation. I’ve shouted at you. I’ve broken my sobriety. You’re even triaging my wounds once more. I’m not worth your effort.” 

“It’s almost as though you believe I know nothing about you,” Annette says simply. “Cordelia, I am aware of your flaws. I am also proficient in naming your charms. I chose you.” 

“Please don’t. For your own sake.” 

“I also met with Miss Pennywise tonight,” Annette redirects, then adds, “Once again, I shall elaborate later. Do you know what she told me? She told me you would never see me as anything greater than a sidekick. A pawn. A tool to be used and discarded.” 

“You see? Another correct judgment of my character.” 

Annette smiles and disagrees. “Allow me to share some convenient truth. I am content with those realities. If all my position is to you is a tool to be wielded in your hands, I will be grateful to have been held. I would see such a role comparable to being the Queen of this country, so long as I could be at your side and share your bed.” 

Cordelia leans forward and touches Annette’s hand. “You are not a tool, Annette. You are so much more.” 

“I told her the same,” Annette looks at her gratefully. “Stop asking me to discard you. I shall never find it within myself to treat you so.” 

Cordelia rises from her seat. “And I will never be deserving of your graces.” She stumbles forward into the kitchen. 

“Then consider my love a miraculous gift, if you must,” Annette calls after her. 

Cordelia drops to the floor in the kitchen, leaning back against a cabinet and pulling her body into a tight ball. Annette rises quickly, rushing over to be at her side. She looks to see Cordelia trembling, and hears her breaths shallow and rapid. 

“I’m a monster,” Cordelia puffs out, a look of horror spreading over her face. She begins rocking in place and Annette wraps her arms around the woman, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I’m a monster… I’m a monster…” 

Annette holds her for a while, trying to act as a life raft through the storm of her emotions. She begins stroking Cordelia’s hair, holding her head to her chest, and takes long and slow breaths to encourage the detective to steady herself. It takes some time for the panic to subside, and after a quarter hour Cordelia weakly lays back into her, slowly recovering. 

“Dear monster,” Annette whispers quietly, kissing the top of her head, “if I must address you as such; you are tired and ailing, and the night is late. Might your captive convince you to find refuge from today’s horrors in her bed?” 

Cordelia lifts her head to meet Annette’s gaze, suddenly recognizing the exhaustion in Annette’s expression. A look of tired pain crosses into her face. “Oh God,” she mutters, “You’re exhausted. You’re exhausted and I’m placing a great burden upon you.” She begins trying to stand, only for Annette to pull her back. 

“You are no burden, sweet monster,” she coos. “You are my love, and you are as weary as I. Sleep it off tonight, and we will resolve this over breakfast. Will you allow me to guide you upstairs?” 

Cordelia thinks for a long moment, then slowly nods. Annette helps her up, feeling her aching muscles complain at the exertion, and she leads Cordelia upstairs to Annette’s bedroom. She gently deposits Cordelia into the soft mattress, then turns and locks the door behind them. Annette crawls in with her, pulling the detective into her chest and holding her sweetly. 

Annette returns to stroking her hair, whispering, “Rest easy, dear creature of the night. You will find yourself once again to be a fair maiden in the morning. Rest easy, love,” she places a trio of kisses on her forehead. “You are safe,” she exhales. “You are safe. You are safe.” 

Cordelia’s arms pull tightly against Annette, and she can feel the guilt radiating from the woman. “I’m sorry,” she croaks hoarsely. 

“You are, and always will be, forgiven,” Annette presses her lips onto her head. “Sleep sweetly and safe.” 

 

– – – 

Annette awakes, and notices first that the morning has nearly passed and left her behind. She buries herself deeper into the covers, feeling as though she could easily sleep clean through another full day, and revels in the comfort and warmth of her familiar bed. She reaches to pull Cordelia closer to her, only to feel a race of panic crash through her to find that she was gone. Annette sits up quickly, heart racing in her chest, and she stumbles out of bed, throwing on a robe and trotting down the stairs. 

She crosses towards the dining room, briefly remembering she should fear stepping on the shattered glass from the night before, only to find that it has been swept up. She shuffles forward into the room and finds Cordelia sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea with dark circles under her eyes. Annette is sure her own eyes look much the same, and she tiptoes forward. 

“How… how are you?” She croaks, moving as though Cordelia might be a frightened and cornered animal. 

Cordelia smiles as Annette enters her field of vision, and she sets down the book she was reading. An apologetic furrowing of her brow greets Annette, and the detective quietly replies, “Physically, I shall be fine.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Emotionally, I am unsure if I will ever recover from the embarrassment of my behavior.” 

“You have no need to be-,”

“And yet I shall regardless,” she lets out a long exhale, and as Annette follows her shifting gaze to the window, she sees Harold happily pecking at seeds from a bowl on the windowsill. “I don’t know how to thank you, or apologize, or… anything truly.” 

Annette, pulling her robe tight around her shoulders, lowers herself down onto Cordelia’s lap and places a sweet kiss on her lips. “You don’t need to,” she says softly. “I’ll always take care of you, sweet beast.” 

Cordelia frowns gently, a twinge of shame in her face. “Sweet as you are being, could… could you abstain from calling me names such as that?”

“Of course,” she kisses her cheek. “I find myself apparently in need of some term of endearment.” 

Cordelia smiles weakly. “Is my name insufficient?” 

“Too serious,” Annette chides lovingly. “I shall get to work on securing a new one.” Her stomach rumbles, and she gazes back at the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten?” 

Cordelia wraps her tightly into her arms and says, “Allow me to make breakfast for you. It would make me feel better to repay you in some way.” 

“I shall allow it,” Annette nods. 

“Join me in the kitchen,” Cordelia rises, encouraging Annette to stand, “and you can fill me in on the details of your time away. From what I can recall from last night, it sounds quite like your typical sort of incredible tale.” 

Annette recounts all that she learned and experienced, sitting up on the counter next to her. As she suspects, the detective is rather more impressed than worried for her, enthusiastically asking questions as Annette reveals new twists and turns in the adventure. She pauses for a brief moment when Annette tells her of Samantha’s kiss, and it takes some additional encouragement to ensure the detective knows Annette had chosen her over the noblewoman, and that this decision was truly an easy one. Some time later, she finds herself sitting next to Cordelia at the table, happily eating a lovely bowl of porridge and fruit. 

“So we know now there is some spy in the Mallets,” Cordelia summarizes, “this Darrius Winchester, and that they have some connection to Benton & Hayle.” 

Annette nods, quickly swallowing her next bite. “Hayle suggested he was supporting revolutions, and that this was somehow motivated by profit.” 

Cordelia thinks for a moment, raising a hand to scratch her chin. “It could be of some benefit to the barons to seize upon the wealth of the gentry and take it for themselves.” 

Annette shakes her head. “But why then would the Winchesters support them?” 

“To be spared the upcoming wrath? There’s always traitors.” 

“It would be far simpler to flee the country,” Annette rebuts. 

“An incomplete picture,” Cordelia concludes. “In the meantime, what are we to do about Jarl? You’ve likely incurred his wrath by returning to me rather than him.” 

“He’s promised to harm you should I disobey.” 

“And here you are, disobedient to a lovely fault,” she smiles, then gazes around the room with a mild look of worry. “We’re likely not safe here. We might wish to flee ourselves.”

Annette exhales a low breath, staring down into her breakfast. She feels a tiredness in her bones, a lack of willingness to move once more. “I don’t think he’ll harm us.” 

“So confident?” Cordelia’s eyebrow perks up. “Are we sure this isn’t simply wishful thinking?” 

“He gains nothing tangible by removing us and loses much,” Annette decides, hoping her intuition is correct. “We can force him into negotiation when he comes to us.” 

“Is it worth the risk?” Cordelia stares over at Annette, and the meaning feels clear to her. Cordelia wasn’t worried for her own safety, but she was not willing to risk Annette’s without very good reason. 

Annette lowers her spoon and takes Cordelia’s hand into her own. “We’re nearing someone’s endgame, Cordelia, can’t you sense it?” 

“Yes,” she replies quietly. 

“I need you. I can only deduce so much of this on my own. We’ve yet to see the full picture at work.” 

Cordelia smirks weakly. “It rather sounds as though I am your sidekick.” 

“Partner,” Annette smiles. “All this time, you have been preparing me to be an effective partner at your side, and I am ready. I know what I am capable of now, and surely you know it, too.” She squeezes the detective’s hand and allows her voice to fill with an inspired confidence. “It is time for me to see the Cordelia Jones of legend. No more holding my hand or testing my resolve. I wish to see you run at full speed and find me matching your pace, stride for stride.” 

Cordelia looks away, a little bashful, and little appreciative. “You think quite highly of my ability.” 

“It is not misplaced,” Annette insists. “Nor is your faith in me. I know you are capable of all of the things I believe you to be.” 

Cordelia takes a deep breath, filling her chest with as much air as it can tolerate before allowing it to slowly exit her. Annette can read it in her eyes, the fear that she might not live up to Annette’s hopes, or worse, that the person she would become in so doing might scare her away. “Are you sure?” 

“Entirely.”

The detective nods, closing her eyes and giving herself a moment to coax that side of her forward. When her eyes reopen, Annette sees a flash of brilliance cross through them, a spark of the intense fire she knew was always simmering inside. “Then let us get to work.” 

 

– – – 

The day is spent in a mixture of fortification and deduction. When Annette is not pouring over their gathered notes, all splayed out on the kitchen floor as some map of the conspiracy, she and Cordelia discuss as many contingencies as possible. Annette digs back through the full history of their involvement in the case; from Henry Rosen to Bembrook to Brimwell to the 8th Street Factory Fire to the Mallet's introduction to Benton & Hayle to the Winchesters, all the way up to the present. 

Cordelia sends Harold out on errand after errand, earning a disgruntled chirp and peck after his third or forth peck, contacting everyone she could within her network of informants and owed favors, trying to strike gold on an unexpected lead. Annette feels her mind race, considering as many possibilities as she could that would explain all of the available details. She settles on no less than three possible scenarios: 1) that Benton & Hayle were working to undermine the Mallet’s revolution and plant false evidence; 2) that the Mallet’s themselves were compromised from the beginning and being used for some nefarious goal; or 3) there was an unlikely set of impossible coincidences that produced the evidence at hand, and they were creating an explanation from nothing. 

As the evening nears, Cordelia sits beside her, comparing notes and theories and allowing their shared intuitions to guide them to new possibilities. Annette lets out a sigh of relief as she finds herself truly able to keep pace with Cordelia, and for the first time in their work, it actually feels as though they are equal partners in the case. Their separate paths and agendas finally align. 

Cordelia places a revolver on the floor next to her, and Annette switches between staring at it and staring at her for a long few moments. She sighs, understanding there might not be a clean or peaceful solution to the crisis at hand, and from the way that Cordelia keeps the pistol as far from her as possible, she knows the detective wouldn’t allow Annette to be forced to make that choice. If there was to be blood on anyone’s hands, Cordelia would suffer it. 

It isn’t until the evening arrives that there is a knock on the door, measured and stiff. It bounces through the house and Annette feels her stomach drop, understanding that the time was now. Today had been their calm, their last opportunity to walk away from whatever might occur. They were committed now, and there was no going back. 

Annette rises and walks slowly to the door. Cordelia takes up a position beside it, out of view of the doorway, her revolver cocked and ready to fire. Annette places a trembling kiss upon her lips, then steps back into the line of the doorway, ready to face Jarl’s vengeant ire. She places her palm on the doorway, takes a steadying breath, and slowly pulls it open. 

“Red,” a rumbling voice greets her, and Annette takes a step back to find Failinis at the door. “It’s good to see you.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, and as she looks over him once more, the familiarity of his face suddenly comes crashing through. She couldn’t be completely certain, but if she imagined the portrait aged up a decade, then the face made more rugged than regal, Failinis bore remarkable similarities to Darrius Winchester. 

She shoves aside her surprise and the shaking revelation, pushing an assured confidence upon her face instead. “I was expecting someone else,” she tells him. “Have you come to harm me?” 

“Not at all,” his beard parts to reveal a smile. “Might I come inside?” 

Annette nods, stepping back to allow him to cross the threshold. As soon as he enters, Cordelia places the barrel of her revolver against his temple, pressing it threateningly into his skin. “Empty your pockets, remove your shoes. Any sudden movements will be your last.” 

“Have no fear, detective, I will comply,” he replies calmly. Moving slowly, and in such a way that his hands are always in Annette’s field of view, Failinis reveals that his pockets are empty and then carefully removes his shoes. Cordelia shoves him forward, quickly patting him down to ensure he was completely unarmed. 

“Satisfied?” He smiles at her. 

“Any attempt to harm her will be met with force,” Cordelia threatens. 

Failinis nods, then gazes over to Annette. “You have a staunch protector, Red.” 

Annette crosses her arms over her chest. “And she will not hesitate.” She gestures for him to follow, where she guides him into a seat at the dining room table. Annette sits across from him, but Cordelia remains behind him out of his reach, pistol at the ready. 

“Tell me why you are here,” Annette commands, “and tell me why you’ve come instead of Jarl.” 

Failinis places his hands on the table, laying them open to continue to demonstrate he was no threat to them. “I’ve come with news that I hope will relieve your fears. Jarl is no longer a threat to you. He has been dealt with.” 

Annette leans back in her seat. “Elaborate.” 

Failinis complies, shifting in his chair and telling her, “I have learned of his renegade cruelty towards you, and it was the final step too far. I’ve tolerated his violent nature long enough, seen it as a necessary means to an end to protect us. But turning on our own like that? That is not what I want from this movement.” 

“Where is he now?” 

“I confronted him,” he explains. “I gave him an opportunity to make amends, and he resisted. He attacked me, and now he is dead.” The burly man sighs, shrugging his shoulders with displeasure. “It is not an outcome I am pleased with, but I am relieved that the threat to you and your dear detective is now gone. I’ve come to see you.” 

Cordelia kicks a boot against one of the legs of his chair. “What is your business with her? You’ve already tossed her aside.” 

“I never wished to send you away,” he asserts. “But Jarl and his supporters would never have tolerated it if you remained.” He sits forward, careful not to let any of his movements appear threatening, and lets his eyes meet hers with a shining sincerity. “I have long respected your heart and your dedication to minimizing harm. I want to offer you a place at my side.” He peeks his head up and nods at Cordelia. “With your permission, of course.” 

Cordelia snorts. “She requires no permission from me.”

“Say I accept,” Annette furrows her brow. “What am I being offered exactly? What would you have me do?” 

“You would take Jarl’s place,” Failinis answers. “You alone seem to understand the importance of making our efforts as bloodless as possible. I regret the necessity of our earlier work, but that was simply to ensure we have the power to control the terms of conflict. We have it now.” 

It’s quiet in the room for a moment, and he adds, “With you in Mallet’s leadership, we might successfully accomplish our goals whilst keeping the peace.” 

Annette shares a look with Cordelia. The revelation that Failinis might indeed be Darrius Winchester leaves her unsettled, and the scope of possible deception now feels far outside of what she expected. But, they needed more information, and if Jarl was to be believed, the Mallets were about to accomplish something on a scale unlike anything they’d done before. 

“I will not go alone,” Annette says sternly. “You must accept Cordelia into the ranks as well.” 

Failinis frowns, but nods in understanding. “It may require some convincing of the others, but if that is your price, Red, I am willing to pay it.” 

“Beowulf,” Cordelia pips up, “if there is to be a pseudonym for me.” 

Failinis lets a bemused grin cross his face, and he turns back to her to say, “Welcome, Beowulf.” 

Annette swallows her concerns, deciding to press on as best as possible. “Jarl informed me that something significant was on the horizon.” 

Failinis nods seriously, letting himself relax slightly at the awareness that they were now on each other’s side once more. “I imagine you will find this a fitting first task for your return. In a matter of hours, Patrick, Edward, and Abrahm will be recapturing Mister Wemberly and bringing him to us.” 

“To do what with him?” 

“Mister Wemberly is the greatest symbol and perpetrator of the collar system in Bellchester,” Failinis replies, his voice brimming with his usual candor and power. “If our government will not hold him responsible for his role in this injustice, then the Mallets will. We intend to hold a public trial for him, with the people of Bellchester as our jury.” 

“Ambitious,” Cordelia stores her pistol for the first time, though Annette is sure she keeps it in reach. “And what of the inevitable response from Captain Beckett and his police?” 

“We will invite both to participate,” the revolutionary seems to relax, slipping into a restful assuredness. “They are members of our city, after all. If they arrive in peace as the rest of us will, they shall enjoy equal representation of their voice. If they arrive in force, well… I have been working to shore up our union allies. We will be able to match their strength, if required.” 

Annette scowls. “It could turn into a bloodbath.” 

“Only if they instigate it.” 

“They will,” she furrows her brow. 

Failinis exhales, searching for the proper words to alleviate her concerns. “We owe it to morality to attempt an appeal to their better nature. If they neglect their shared humanity… then a revolution will begin in earnest.” He allows the words to settle in the room, falling upon them light a terrifying weight. “This is why I need you, Red,” he drops his voice quieter, and once again lifts his eyes to bore into hers. “You have been a voice for peace within our ranks. If we are to maintain the moral high ground, the Mallets cannot be allowed to strike first. You could convince them of that.” 

“They will interpret the capture of Wemberly as a first strike,” Cordelia mutters to herself. Failinis ignores her. 

Annette stares back at the man, feeling the heavy weight of gravity pull against her. “There… there is no turning back from this point.” 

He nods. “We must be an example for the world. Wealth does not buy immunity. Injustice must be called to account. If governments will not, the people will.” 

Cordelia shuffles in place, lifting a boot to rest it on the wall behind her. “What would you have me do within your midst?” 

“I’d leave that to Red,” Failinis shrugs. “I am sure your contacts and networks will be of great use to us.” 

“I’ll devise a use for you,” Annette affirms. “In the meantime, she will report to me.” 

“Where you need me,” Cordelia smiles at her, “I’ll go.” 

Failinis puffs out his chest and allows a resolute smile to decorate his face. “We’re approaching it now, I can feel it. Day after tomorrow, the Mallets are going to change everything.” 

— – – 

 

“She keeps staring at me,” Cordelia huffs, her arms folded tightly across her chest. 

Annette shrugs, pacing back-and-forth in front of her and leaving her cold hands in her pockets. She pauses to briefly bump her shoulder against the detective, then continues walking. “She’s simply excited for us.” There’s a chill blowing through the empty factory, but Annette understands that was typical of a Mallet hideout. 

“I understand that,” she replies, her voice filled with a mild annoyance, “but must she stare?” 

“Invite her over to speak and I’m sure she’ll cease.” 

“Am I allowed to do that?” 

Annette lets out a pip of laughter. “Since when do you concern yourself with permission?” 

“I am at your command.” 

She gazes at the detective and waves a dismissive hand, returning to her brooding focus. “I need Cordelia Jones, not a lackey.” 

“Not even a lackey named Beowulf?” 

Annette pauses, pushing her hands deeper into the pockets of her dress and furrowing her brow. “You’re doing that thing again.” 

“I’m doing no such thing.” 

“You are.” 

“Can you prove that?” 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I can,” Annette rolls her eyes. “I’m pacing, and you’ve decided this means I am far too consumed with the task at hand, so you’ve elected to pick a minor gripe to voice so that I may be distracted by something less serious.” 

The detective nods her head and grins. “You were supposed to ask why I took the name Beowulf.” 

“Must I?” 

“It’ll cheer you up.” 

“I didn’t realize I had such a need.” 

Cordelia tucks her hands behind her back, a proud smirk parting her lips. “He slays monsters, this Beowulf. And you’ve assisted me in combating the monsters abounding within me. It’s poetic.” 

“Truly?” 

“Nonsense,” she snickers. “It’s a joke. You’re Red Riding Hood and his name has a homonym for ‘wolf’ in it. I thought it was funny.” 

“Ah, so you fancy yourself poised to devour me?” 

“Only with permission.” 

Annette smirks for the first time, then quickly stifles it at Cordelia’s successful ploy. She returns to pacing, crossing in front of the detective and then turning quickly on her heel, trying to allow her mind to resolve the conflict at hand. 

If Failinis was Darrius, then Jarl was correct in believing there was a spy within the Mallets. Failinis, in dual roles as a nobleman and a revolutionary, would have ample access to placing influence with the police and the barons, which could explain why certain missions succeeded so often while certain others failed. However, if he was trying to capture Wemberly all along, it seems unlikely he would have been the person to tip the police off when they first attempted to kidnap him. 

Likewise, it answered nothing as to the motivations and intent of the deception. She can imagine Failinis easily deflecting her concerns, simply rebutting that he was passionate about the cause even when amongst the nobility, and was cast out of his family for doing so. But, then again, he remains close with his brother. Perhaps his brother was somehow sympathetic to workers as well? He didn’t seem the type when she met him, but perhaps it is a carefully crafted act to prevent fellow members of the gentry from ruining him with the scandal of labor sympathy. 

And what of the connection to Arthur Hayle and the barons? If Darrius was connected to his brother Lucian, who was connected to Arthur Hayle, then Darrius must have some connection to him as well. Or Lucian was acting as well. Or Hayle was playing them both. Or Darrius was orchestrating something from within. Or Annette was missing something vital entirely. 

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Annette’s fervor must be showing on her face, and on her next pass, Cordelia softly mutters, “She’s still staring.” 

Annette freezes in place, locking eyes with Cordelia and seeing her gently nudge Annette to halt her spiral. She nods, accepting that she was getting nowhere in her rumination, and weakly squeezes Cordelia’s arm.

“Marian?” Annette calls over her shoulder, waving to the woman across the room, “Would you come join us, please?” 

Marian’s face parts with a warm smile, and she exits her conversation with Guy to join the two of them on the far side of the building. As good as it was to see the two of them once more, Annette feels strange knowing she was now somehow above them in the Mallet’s structure. Marian was quick to accept it, but she could tell that Guy harbored a mild suspicion. 

“Good to see you again,” Cordelia winks at Marian. She’s blushing a little bit, and Annette feels a small, silly delight in the fact that she and Cordelia had both spent a fair amount of time with her. 

Marian smiles with her, feigning a proper bow as she arrives. “At least I know you’re capable of ensuring Red’s needs are met,” she teases. “Welcome to the Mallets.” 

“Has she informed you of our situation?” 

“Well,” Marian smiles, “you’ve stopped visiting the Gallery, so I assumed you’d found a new companion.” She and Annette share a playful look, and Marian adds, “And she’s told me nearly everything.” 

Cordelia places a hand on the small of Annette’s back, sending a little bubble of adoration through the girl, but shakes her head. “I’m actually referring to the other situation.” 

Marian tilts an eyebrow. “...as in?” 

“I’ve not updated her on this one,” Annette chimes in, feeling a twinge of disappointment as Cordelia withdraws her hand. “Marian, recall that I felt there was something off when I spoke with you a few days ago?” 

“I do.” 

“Something’s off.” 

Marian’s usual warm expression drops, and for a moment, Annette feels guilty for pulling her deeper into the Mallets in the first place. “Do you know what it is?” 

Annette nods. “I don’t have the full picture, but I have good reason to believe Failinis is not all that he seems.” 

She shuffles in place, a disconcerted scowl pouring over her face. “Red, that is not the most comforting thing to hear as I am about to barrel into revolution at his order.” 

“Guy?” Annette calls out across the room, feeling a decision well up inside her. “Could you join us as well?” 

Guy seems to read the tension as he approaches, and Annette can feel his usual assured confidence and dedication falter for just a breath. “What can I do for you, Red?” He asks, a twinge of worry in his voice. 

“I think you and Marian should stay away from the trial tomorrow,” Annette crosses her arms over her chest and drops her gaze down at the floor. She doubts either of them would be particularly willing to step back, but if her instincts were right, the trial would be the most dangerous place in Bellchester come tomorrow. 

“What?” Guy frowns, tilting his head as though he misheard her. 

“Something’s not right,” she confirms, “and I respect the both of you too much to let you rush headfirst into a crisis unfolding.” 

Marian shoves a hand against Annette’s shoulder, not threatening, but enough to convey her displeasure. “But you’re willing to?” 

“She’s got me to watch over her,” Cordelia defends over her shoulder. 

“Marian,” Annette says quietly, “you’re so close to getting your freedom with Wilcox. You deserve that.” She lifts her head enough to look over at Guy. “And you’ve got your wife to think about. Don’t let her be a widow for nothing.” 

“It isn’t nothing!” His scowl deepens. “We’re fighting for something bigger than I ever thought was possible. I’m not leaving at our biggest moment.” 

Marian doesn’t seem to share Guy’s displeasure. Instead, she meets Annette’s eyes and stares into them for a long breath, quietly asking, “Do you really think I should? I don’t want to leave you in danger.” 

“I truly believe it's your best option,” Annette promises. “I think it’s your only option.” 

“I’m not leaving,” Guy asserts. 

“Guy,” Annette sighs, “you stood by me and believed in me the whole way through. Even when Jarl was having me removed, you knew I was innocent of betrayal. I’m asking you, if you’ve ever trusted me, trust me again right now.” She places a hand on either of his shoulders, and he makes an effort not to meet her eyes. “Stay home tomorrow, or at the very least, stay on the outskirts of whatever happens. If anything goes wrong, run and don’t look back.” 

He’s quiet for a tense moment, then his shoulders seem to drop in resignation. “You really think so?” 

“I do.” 

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll keep to the outskirts.” 

Guy tosses her a weak smile, pats her shoulder, and wanders off through the heavy doors of the factory. Whether he’s simply gone for a smoke, or he’s gone home, Annette isn’t sure, but she’s grateful he listened. 

“Go be with Wilcox,” Annette nudges Marian. “You deserve that happiness.” 

Marian doesn’t speak, but she nods and places a gentle kiss on Annette’s cheek, her hand carefully pressing against her jaw for a soft moment. She locks eyes with her once more, flashing a look of gratitude and respect, then departs as well. 

Annette exhales a weary breath and walks out of the other door of the factory, propping herself up on a railing that overlooks one of the smaller forks in the Fennes river. She hangs her head over it, gazing at the water and letting her eyes glass over. 

“You’re doing the right thing, protecting them,” Cordelia says quietly, leaning back to press her hips into the railing. 

“I just hope we don’t need them.” 

“Whatever happens, I’ll protect you.” 

Annette shakes her head and looks away. “That isn’t what I’m worried about.” 

“Then tell me.” 

“If we’re correct, and there’s some grand conspiracy afoot…” Annette sits up and leans back against the railing as well, pressing her boot into the ground as she thinks. “Cordelia, a lot of people are going to be hurt, and I’m not sure we’ll have anything to show for it. We need to figure out how to counter whatever is happening.” 

The detective nods. “We think Benton & Hayle are involved, right? I’m still technically investigating Pemberly Exports for them.” 

“Do you think you could uncover anything else?” 

Cordelia raises her shoulders and drops them. “We’ve got a day left. Allow me to do some digging. I can go bother Morrigan Blackwall, see if she’s got any dirt on any of them we could use.” 

Annette timidly grabs one of Cordelia’s hands, squeezing it and feeling a little childish at wishing she didn’t need to go. “I… I don’t like the idea of leaving your side.” 

“Nor do I,” Cordelia affirms, taking Annette’s hand fully into her own and pulling the girl into a warm embrace. “But it’s what needs doing.” 

“Yeah,” Annette puffs out. 

Cordelia pulls back, raising a finger to lift up Annette’s chin. “Chin up, dear fellow. Annette Baker and Cordelia Jones are on the case. Nothing gets by them.” 

For a moment, Annette worries about being spotted by someone out on the river, or strolling around the area, but she ignores it. She lifts herself up to kiss Cordelia, raising an arm to the back of her neck to pull her into her. It’s so easy to melt into the feeling of being close to her, and for a long, wishful moment, Annette considers setting it all aside and begging her to take her home and spend the day in bed. It’s so tempting to want to set it all aside, but she already knows what Cordelia would say, and Annette knows she could never step aside either. 

“Be smart, be safe,” she whispers into Cordelia’s ear. “You better come back to me.” 

Cordelia smiles, a mildly cocky and endearing bravado entering her face. “You asked to see what Detective Jones is capable of. Now’s my time to show off.” She kisses Annette’s forehead. “I’ll be back sometime after midnight.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Cordelia rests a hand on her cheek for a comforting moment, then slips away into the cool afternoon, surely off to begin some plan of action she’d already thought out in great detail. Annette waits, watching her go for as long as she can stomach it, and decides on her own course of action. She makes her way to a low building a block away, descending through the heavy brick entrance and down a set of stairs that ends just below the surface level. She nods to the two Mallet’s members who were on guard, and gently asks them to wait outside. 

“Annette Baker,” a weary voice calls up to her from its place in the back of the small room. “Lovely to see you retain your collar,” it adds hoarsely. 

“It’s quite in fashion, so I’m told,” she quips back. “Though, trends change so quickly these days.” 

Mister Wemberly lets out a low chuckle, the chains on his wrists jingling as he shuffles into a new comfortable position. He sits in the corner of the small, empty storeroom, looking tired but otherwise unharmed. 

“Come to negotiate once more?” 

“Not at all,” Annette says, brandishing her confidence as best as she can muster and pacing slowly through the room. “I’ve come to see if I am moved by pity.” 

“And?” 

“I find myself wondering if Elaine thinks of her love for you as appeasement,” Annette muses, tucking her hands behind her back and refusing to meet his eyes. After a pause, she adds, “I don’t imagine it will proceed well for you tomorrow.” 

“I imagine not,” he sighs. 

“Have you any reaction to this?” 

He shuffles in place once more, resting his back against the wall and placing his hands into his lap. “History will look upon my death as a turning point for the world,” he declares, voice filled with the confidence of a man society deemed as important. “The first martyr in its descent into madness.” 

Annette looks at him clearly for the first time, deciding to let him see her empathy poke through. “I would not have you killed.” 

“The others would,” he dismisses, and Annette feels a similar sense of assuredness of that fact in herself. Wemberly watches her for a long moment as she paces, trying to devise her own strategy of how to proceed. Before she can think of her next question, he exhales and somberly asks, “Why are you here, Annette?” She stops her pacing, and he continues, “You are not consumed with the jealous bloodlust of denied wealth, like the others are. At the collarhouse, you were always so compliant and enthusiastic about service.” 

“Am I not allowed to change?” 

Wemberly lets out an amused puff of air. “Collar service was a success for you. It removed you from the streets and placed you in a comfortable position, one which you seem to enjoy greatly. You have no legitimate gripe against it.” 

Annette doesn’t answer, for a moment consumed by the question with the same amount of curiosity as he was. She returns to pacing, not exactly sure how to reply. Various Mallet’s members had asked her the question as well, but there was an easy and expected answer - it was already assumed one might wish to leave service. Wemberly, however, pushed a different side of honesty. He wasn’t wrong, service had worked out well for her, far better than even Wemberly knew. 

“Don’t deny me this answer,” he pleads, a surprising sincerity in his eyes. “If I am to be condemned to death, I deserve at least this. Why must the entire system be discarded simply to appease a radical minority of collars? You were a success. Elaine is a success. There are so many whose lives were saved by it.” 

“The easiest rebuttal,” Annette says half-heartedly, “is that there have been just as many who were ruined by it.” 

Wemberly shakes his head. “But that is not your reason.” 

Annette takes a moment to think, debating whether or not she wishes to provide him such a reason. “I… I am twice-born,” she begins, not entirely sure where she was going but knowing it was the right way to start. “Did you know this?” 

“I did.” 

She releases a low breath. “I am also a lesbian.” 

To his credit, Wemberly doesn’t seem to have a reaction to this news beyond simple surprise. “I see.” 

“There… there is no freedom to be found in either of those things, not in the way the world is now,” she continues, leaning back against the wall and staring down at the floor. “I was set up to be disobedient by nature, rebellious by simple matters of circumstance. I suppose I am simply ready for the nature of this world around me to be different than it is now, so that I am no longer disobedient by default.” 

She thinks for another moment, then adds, “I… I don’t place much stock in God anymore, not like I used to, but in times such as these… people have always told me I am obedient to God’s calling because I was reborn. That it shows a commitment to his stirrings within me. I suppose what I am doing now feels more of the same. Disobediently obedient.” 

Wemberly scoffs, a little respectful and a little dismissive. “When society caves in under the weight of your actions, I’m sure that will provide some comfort.” 

“It’s not too late for you,” Annette leans forward, trying to meet his eyes. “Disavow collar service. Forgive the debts of all the contracts, and I’m sure you’ll be spared.” 

Wemberly shakes his head and smiles, a grotesque expression that seems to resent her idealism, or perhaps her optimism. “And in doing so, invoke the ire of all the owners in Bellchester. My head is lost either way.”

This time, Annette smiles, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back against the wall. “Then you truly understand your position.” She nods, an idea forming. “So, negotiate with me?” 

Wemberly’s brow furrows. “I thought you weren’t here for negotiation…”

“I found my sense of pity.” 

He gazes at her, intrigued. “What are your terms?” 

“Tell me everything you know about Darrius Winchester.” 

 

– – – 

 

Annette braces herself for the cold and steps out into the night air, immediately resenting the stiff tremble that shivers down her spine. Her breath fogs out into the air before her, and she shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her heavy coat. It provides a little comfort that now that she was back with the Mallets, it no longer mattered whether or not she showed off her collar, and she’s grateful for the wool scarf keeping her neck from freezing. 

She finds Failinis sitting on the edge of the river, up on a stone wall overlooking the banks of the mighty Fennes. His feet dangle lazily over the edge, and for a moment, Annette considers the possibility of pushing him down into the icy water, wondering if she might regret the decision not to after everything occurs tomorrow. But the pragmatist inside her is quickly chided by the idealist, the part that truly wished to believe he was everything she hoped he was, and that she was missing some key detail that would explain away the mysteries around him. 

He puffs out a comfortable blow of smoke from his pipe, and turns his head as he hears her approach. He smiles and waves for her to join him. “Calm before the storm, eh Red?” She nods and takes a spot next to him, letting her own feet dangle. “Smoke?” 

She shakes her head, “No thanks.” 

He nods, returning to gazing out over the river, which looks dark and bottomless as it reflects the cloudy sky above. Failinis releases a long breath and says, “Everything changes tomorrow. I almost can’t believe it.” 

Annette feels a pit of nerves in her chest, and thinks of the same weight upon her own shoulders. She’d felt it all day. “Can’t sleep?” 

Failinis snorts. “On a night like this? Never.” 

Annette settles into her spot beside him, carefully sneaking glances at him to study his face once more, summoning all of her memory to confirm she wasn’t deluding herself for thinking he might be a Winchester. During one of her scans, she notices the faint bulge of a gun tucked into the pocket of his cloak. 

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” He asks

“I’m not sure anyone ever is.” 

“True enough,” he exhales another puff of smoke. “I suppose that’s why we have other people though, isn’t it? Me? I’m not ready. But the Mallets? The Mallets are ready.” 

“You’ve built something incredible,” Annette says, her voice a little hollow and restrained. She does her best to pass it off simply as nerves. “I could never have imagined any of this would have been possible.”

“Another reason we need other people,” he nods, “it wasn’t just me who built it.” 

“I’m just honored to be a part of this,” she says quietly. 

If Failinis reads her timidness as anything other than nerves, he doesn’t show it. He places one of his large hands on her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly, and affirms, “We need you there tomorrow, Red. Truly.” He removes his hand and returns to his pipe. “If this is going to go our way, we need your level head to keep things peaceful.” 

He turns his pipe over in his hands, looking out once more across the dark water. “History is shaped by moments like this, and at the end of the day all it is is just people. Half the battle is just getting the right people in the room to make a decision.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me,” she follows his eyes across the water, feeling a twinge of something at the base of her neck. 

“I do, and it isn’t misplaced,” he puffs out more smoke, thinking to himself for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer, a little more weighed down. “If… if something happens to me, you’re the face of it all. You’re the only one I trust to do it right.” 

A tremble descends down her spine, and not from the cold. “Nothing will happen to you, I’m sure of it,” she replies, her mouth dry. 

“It’s always a possibility for us, Red. For any of us.” 

Annette nods, disappearing back into her thoughts for a long few breaths, trying to sort out what to make of his words. They almost seem assured, resolved of the inevitability of something. She forces herself to remain as steady as she can, and asks, “I’ve always wondered… your red hair, are you Kerish, too?” 

A little smile creeps across his lips, parting his heavy beard. “Born and bred in Dellham,” he confirms. “You’re an orphan, right? Raised in Bellchester?”

“Supposedly I was brought from Kereland when I was little,” she replies, “but I don’t really remember it. Most of my early memories are all at St. Bartholomew’s.” She looks out over the water, feeling another question pull forth. “I’ve always wondered - why the name ‘Failinis?’”

“Had a dog I loved growing up. Beautiful hound,” he shifts in his seat slightly, propping a foot up onto the ledge. “I named him that after the folks' stories, and when I started the Mallets I took it up as my own name to protect myself.” 

“It’s a far more noble name than Red,” she smiles, though it’s weak and empty. “Red Riding Hood is a foolish girl who is devoured by a wolf in her grandmother’s clothing.” 

Failinis releases a low chuckle, shaking out his pipe to ready it for fresh tobacco. “You are no foolish girl, Red.” 

“And so I’m not.” 

As he pulls out his next match, Annette carefully watches him, stealing a quick glance at the pistol at his hip. Only the handle sticks out, but emblazoned on the grip is the Winchester coat of arms. She stills her reaction, telling herself there could be a wide variety of explanations, but she knows it’s unlikely. A man such as him could easily have come by another sort of pistol to disguise himself; but he was feeling sentimental, or the weight of the moment. This pistol was special to him. Set apart from others. 

Annette rises slowly. “I should make my best effort to sleep.” 

Failinis nods gently. “You should.” 

She sighs as she stands, tucking her hands deep into her pockets once more. “It feels strange that I might risk death at your side tomorrow… knowing you only by a false name.” 

He pauses, debating for a moment if he might reveal anything. When he speaks, Annette notices a faint hesitation, just a hint of deceit. “Samuel,” he answers. 

Annette smiles and nods. “Goodnight, Samuel.”

“Goodnight, Annette.” 

She strolls away, resolved in her discovery. It might be possible she was wrong, and that he wasn’t who she believed him to be, but at this late in the game it would be unwise to assume anything else. She slowly works her way home, wondering how on earth she was going to put a stop to something tomorrow. 

– – – 

Cordelia returns a little later than she stated she would, and Annette’s body releases more tension than she realized she was feeling when the detective enters their home. She finds Annette in the living room, depositing her coat onto a nearby couch. 

“You waited up for me,” Cordelia notices, a soft appreciation on her face. 

“I could never sleep on a night such as this,” she answers. 

Cordelia removes her scarf. “I discovered more than I expected but less than I hoped.” 

Annette nods, but allows her weariness to show on her face. “Might we speak on it later?” 

“We haven’t much time before morning.” 

“We have a few hours,” Annette counters gently. 

The detective reads her face and smiles. “And so we do.” 

Cordelia lowers herself onto the couch next to Annette, leaning up against the back cushions and lifting a hand to run it through Annette’s hair. Annette places her own hand against Cordelia’s, comforted by the warmth and mild pressure. 

“I… I have this frightening dread like a pit in my stomach,” Annette whispers, closing her eyes. “I’m scared.” 

“You are wise to be scared,” the detective replies, her voice low and soft. “But the Annette I know hardly ever shies away from fear.” 

“It could all go away tomorrow,” she croaks. “I might lose you. Or you, me.” 

Cordelia grimaces weakly, placing her other hand on Annette’s cheek and letting her thumb run along her cheekbone. “Might we not speak of such things?” 

Annette’s lips part in a sympathetic grin, and she asks, “Then what shall we speak about?” 

“How beautiful you look in the moonlight,” Cordelia exhales, wishful and sweet. “How desperately my heart aches for you. How each and every moment begs for me to reach out and hold you.” 

Annette blushes, a little bashful. “We’ve a few hours…” 

Cordelia crawls forward, softly pushing Annette back into the couch and pressing her lips onto hers. Annette sighs as she accepts Cordelia’s touch, settling into the warm and familiar feeling of her surprisingly gentle embrace. 

Cordelia pulls back enough to whisper in her ear. “I’ve still not properly made amends for my behavior the other night…” 

Annette lets out a low giggle. “Who am I to stand between you and your penitence?” 

She places a kiss just below Annette’s ear, and then a string of soft kisses along her neck. “If this is the last night I may boast of having you under my roof, then allow me my opportunity to savor these precious moments.” 

Annette lifts a hand to Cordelia’s jaw, directing her to kiss her once more. “You will find me quite receptive to this request.” 

Cordelia smiles and stands, removing her boots and approaching the fireplace. She retrieves a few logs and tosses them in, lighting it a few moments later. She clears the space in front of it and unfurls a soft blanket, which she sets down in the center of the floor. As Annette watches, she slowly sits down in the center of the blanket, spreading her legs open and waving Annette closer. 

Annette approaches, bringing her own body between Cordelia’s arms and legs and pushing her to lay back onto the floor. She kisses Cordelia, comforted by the feeling of the detective’s arms across her back, pulling her in deeper. It doesn’t take long for Cordelia to skillfully slip out from Annette’s grip and climb atop her. She lifts a hand to Annette’s chin, tilting it up to kiss her once more, gentle enough that her touch remains sweet and forceful enough that it is inescapably captivating. 

Cordelia’s knee slips in between her inner thighs, adding a delightful pressure as she begins opening the buttons of Annette’s shirt. Annette gently rocks her hips against her leg, enjoying the feeling of her clit rubbing against it, and the warmth of the fireplace greets her now exposed chest. She watches as the shadows flicker on Cordelia’s face and admires the beauty of a woman who was somehow rugged and polished. 

With her hands, Annette pulls down Cordelia’s suspenders and loosens the top buttons of her collared shirt. Rather than waste her time unbuttoning the rest, she grasps the tails of the shirt and pulls it over her head. Cordelia smiles, running a toned hand through her hair to contain the mess removing the shirt caused it, and Annette gleefully enjoys the suave and boyish charm across her cheeks. 

She pulls off Cordelia’s undershirt a moment later. Cordelia was surprisingly insecure about being naked for a woman who was exceedingly beautiful, and as Annette pulls her own exposed chest to meet hers she whispers, “If this is the last I am to see of you, I wish to see all of you.” 

“But of course,” Cordelia rumbles back. She sits back, providing a sensuous view for Annette as she slowly unbelts her trousers and slips them off. Annette follows her lead, shimmying her dress past her hips and only leaving her panties behind. 

Cordelia’s knee returns to its place between her thighs, and Annette delights in the feeling of the soft skin meeting the fabric of her undergarments and carefully rubbing her through them. She props herself up with one arm and pulls Cordelia into a sweet kiss, loving the warm feeling of the fire behind her and the cooler feeling of Cordelia’s skin mixing with her own. Once Cordelia’s hand wraps around her neck to lock her into the kiss, Annette’s free hand slips between Cordelia’s thighs and rests against her own undergarments. 

“I can see you’ve been thinking of me,” Annette teases, feeling her fingers glide across a wet spot on Cordelia’s underwear. 

“Constantly,” the detective confirms, a low breath leaving her lips as she settles herself onto Annette’s hand. 

Annette kisses her neck, her own breaths quickening in her throat. “How torturous it must be to be parted with me,” she says into her ear, loving the way Cordelia’s fingers grip the back of her head slightly strong. “And how much more passionate our reunions must be…” 

“Christ, Annette…” she mutters amorously as the pads of Annette’s fingers circle mischievously over her clit, never quite resting on it for longer than a second. 

“Easy, Miss Jones,” Annette’s voice purrs, “we wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea and conclude you like to be teased.” She places a string of kisses along her neck. “If I learned something like that… I’d be incentivized to tease you far more often.” 

Cordelia moans as Annette’s hand slides inside of her undergarments, her fingers drifting through the little hairs and adding a little more pressure. She places her palm against Cordelia’s clit, gently rubbing against it while her fingers glide between her wet lips. She’s careful not to allow them to enter, making Cordelia even more desperate for her. 

“I… I see you’ve brought quite an energy with you… tonight,” Cordelia sighs between heavy breaths. 

“All the better to please you with,” Annette smiles back, kissing her once more. 

Cordelia switches which hand holds the back of Annette’s head and carefully places her newly freed hand onto Annette’s panties, causing the girl to gasp happily. “Perhaps… Perhaps Miss Baker is in need of some teasing as well?” 

“Nonsense,” Annette puffs, feeling her clit stiffen at Cordelia’s touch. 

“I believe she might disagree,” Cordelia smirks, wrapping her fingers around the shaft and slowly stroking it. 

The two of them rub one another in earnest, feeling light and free and lovely, enjoying the playful competition and the satisfying closeness between them. With each one of Cordelia’s breaths that heave in her ear, Annette once again delights in the sweet bliss of unhurried time with her. Even with the impending dawn threatening their ardor, she could allow herself to rest in the simple enjoyment of this woman. And when Cordelia’s thighs clench against her palm, locking it in place while the detective utters desperate pleas for more until she finally collapses into Annette’s arm, it’s difficult to resist the urge to kiss her once more, on and on and on as the fire crackles beside them. 

“I told you once,” Cordelia whispers, holding Annette and running a finger along her cheek, “that my mind is only ever quiet when I’m fucking, boxing, or investigating.”

Annette smiles and places her own palm on Cordelia’s face, gazing joyously on her beautiful features. “You did.” 

“I find it also settles when I’m with you.” 

“Cordelia…” Annette kisses her sweetly, Cordelia’s hand gently running through her hair once more. 

“It’s true,” she confirms, sitting up for just long enough to grab a blanket and pull it over their naken bodies. “You often speak as though I’ve revealed some grand capacity in you simply by believing in you and such.” 

“You have.” 

“Annette…” she sighs contentedly. “I often… I cannot…” She pauses, trying to let her words form properly while Annette looks fondly upon her. “It’s as though my heart was a faulty machine, and you, a clever mechanic. I didn’t realize how far I allowed myself to slump. I’d forgotten what it felt like to walk in stride, and to feel as though I am at my greatest capacity.”

Cordelia closes her eyes for a moment and when they reopen, Annette is a little surprised to find them water ever-so-slightly. “Thank you,” she says hoarsely, “I cannot say it profoundly enough: thank you. I want so desperately to be this woman you see in me.” 

Annette leans forward to kiss her cheek. “You already are her.” 

The detective laughs, not out of any sort of amusement, but out of relief. She leans back, resting her arms behind her head and staring contentedly at the ceiling. Annette lifts her own head to lay it on her shoulder, allowing herself to rest in the feeling of being near her for as long as she can. 

It isn’t until she hears the morning doves softly cooing outside their window that she finally forces herself up, stretching a little and whispering, “I… I suppose morning comes inescapably nearer, and with it, the day.” 

“Alas,” Cordelia exhales, “it does.” 

Annette rises, retrieving her underwear and her shirt and slowly beginning to don them. “Shall I go gather our notes so we might work in earnest?” 

“A moment,” she sits up as well, watching her affectionately, “if you’ll indulge me.” 

“Always,” Annette grins. 

Cordelia stands, stretching at the hip as rises. She pulls her own undershirt and trousers on, quickly strolling upstairs. She returns a few quiet moments later with a box in her hands, low and flat. 

“I’ve told you I first thought I loved you when I saw you in my clothes,” she says, offering the box to Annette. “But I feel it is time for you to have a proper set of your own.” 

Annette looks inside to see a freshly ironed and laundered set of clothes. There’s a crisp collared shirt, a set of lovely slacks, and a matching vest, all tasteful and elegant. “Cordelia,” she kisses her quickly, “This… this is so thoughtful.” 

“Do you recognize them?” 

Annette’s eyebrow pops up lightly. “Should I?” 

Cordelia looks proud of her own cleverness, grinning and stating, “This is the outfit you took from me to go steal Brimwell’s letter. I had them retailored to fit you properly. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give them to you.” 

“Cordelia!” Annette exclaims happily, her voice almost squeaking. 

“Put them on.” 

Annette quickly removes the clothes she had so hastily thrown back on, trading them out for the new set in front of her. She smirks with the realization Cordelia must’ve studied her more often and more closely than she realized, pulling the pants on to find that they fit better than some of her own clothes. She buttons the shirt, tucks it in, and choses to take Cordelia’s suspenders instead of the vest. 

“They’re perfect,” she sighs, quickly gazing in a nearby mirror. 

“You look incredible,” Cordelia smiles, delighted at her successful gift. “I shall rest easier knowing a part of me is with you.” 

Annette isn’t sure how to respond, overwhelmed with appreciation and a warm tenderness in her heart. She kisses Cordelia, pulling away with a glow on her cheeks. 

“I’ve another gift,” the detective continues. She pulls a small key out from the pocket of the vest. “With Wemberly in chains… I took the opportunity to swipe this.” 

Annette’s eyes narrow. “Is that…” 

“Lean forward,” she directs. 

With a hand on her collar, Annette feels a small twinge of fear press forward into her chest. “Cordelia… this is what allows me to stay in your home. It’s what prevents suspicion of why we’re together so often. I…” 

“You will always have a place here, so long as you desire it,” the detective asserts, her face firm and kind. “If people require an explanation, tell them you’re my official partner in my investigations.” 

Annette grimaces with a weak smile. “Must I escape from service twice?” 

“When you are in front of the city today,” Cordelia’s voice sounds important and proud, “I should like you to be properly free and clear. A powerful woman in your own right. Allow me this, if you would.” 

“I will,” Annette nods, feeling her own eyes water. 

Cordelia leans forward, carefully placing the key inside the mechanism on Annette’s collar. She feels the lock tick quietly inside, slowly giving way to the key, until the pressure from the band releases. Cordelia soberly pulls the collar away, gently setting it on the table beside her. From her pocket, she pulls out the signet ring that had recently adorned the band, and her eyes meet Annette’s as she slides it onto the girl’s finger. 

“It need not represent betrothal,” Cordelia whispers, “but I should like you to have a physical token of my love.” She kisses Annette, lifting a hand to wipe away the small tear trickling down her cheek. “Now, let us prepare for the most important day of our lives.” 

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