81 - Worry

“Hey!” Delaney greeted, coming around the foyer wall to toss her keys on the dining table.  The taxi trip home had taken a little longer than expected, but it shouldn’t be too hard to convince Jon to overlook that.  “Did I make it in time?”

“In time for what?”

Lifting her eyebrows at the flickering glance of annoyance and equally annoyed tone, she meandered toward the couch and the man who was hunkered over his phone.  “You said you’d save me a bottle of wine if I got here in forty-five minutes.”

“Oh.”  The dark irritation eased by a shade as he nodded toward the coffee table, where there sat a bottle minus one serving.  The glass on the table held the missing serving.  “There it is.”

Scooping up the stemware, she dropped next to him and held out the drink.  “Sounds like you could use it more than me.”

This time when his gaze hit her, it lingered and haughty nostrils flared over a flattened mouth as he held out a hand. 

“I probably do.”  There was no hesitation between accepting the glass and tipping it against his lips for a gulp.  When he returned the half-emptied vessel to her grasp it was with a sighed, “Sorry.”

“You can apologize by telling me what’s wrong.”

Flat lips turned sharply downward.  “I’d rather not.”

God, that first taste of wine was always the best, and a long day only made it better.  She held it in her mouth for a moment, savoring the subtle flavors before allowing them to continue down her throat. 

“You’ve got two choices,” Delaney informed him wearily as the fermented bliss splashed in her stomach.  “Either tell me or…  Well, that’s really your only option.  I’m too tired to barter.”

“And I’m too tired to deal with the conversation you'll wanna have after finding out what’s wrong.”

“Then we won't have the conversation.  Just tell me and I won't say anything."

Blatant distrust caked his features as he took the glass and tossed back the remaining contents.  “Katya wants me to meet her tomorrow to resolve some situation I assume she’s made up in her fucking psychotic mind.”

Delaney wanted to be a woman of her word.  She’d told him no conversation about it, and she really, really wanted to uphold that promise.  Honestly, she did, but for freep’s sake.

Don’t converse.  Tell.

“I’ll go with you.”

Ominous eyes cut over his shoulder as a stream of rosè splashed into their shared glass.  “No.”

“Why not?”

“I thought we weren’t going to discuss this.”

“Sorry.  Woman’s prerogative to change her mind and all that gobbledygook.” 

He leaned back against the cushions with a grumble and she followed suit while casually assuming custody of the wine for her turn at the well.

“This is precisely why I didn’t want to tell you,” he groused as she drank.  “I knew you’d do this bullshit.”

“And you knew that because you did the exact same thing when I told you about meeting Hugo.”

Twisting his head just far enough to throw her some shade, he chose not to address that undeniable accusation.   “And like that meeting, Matt’s coming with me.  Unlike that meeting, you’re not.  Not only because I don’t want this bitch near you, but because you have a million fucking things to do in the morning before we leave for Chicago.  You said so yourself.”

It sucked when her own words and life itself came back to bite her in the butt, but maybe she could work around this.  Delaney didn’t want that biyotch anywhere near Jon, either.  She’d had her hands on him enough, already. 

“Why are you going at all?  She can’t be the first nutcase to make this kind of demand.  I find it hard to believe this is how you handle them.”

“It’s not,” he confirmed, reclaiming the glass and sliding a hand into her now empty one.  “I don’t think she’s dangerous, but she could cause a hell of a lot of problems for you.”

“Me?  She’s fixated on you, not me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my girl, so same difference.”

Delaney snuffed with disbelief.  Katya had already made her intentions clear, and as long as Delaney stayed out of the way, it was all about Jon.  “No it’s not.”

His fingers went tight on the wineglass when she tried to snag it back from him and when her eyes lifted to give him a dirty look, it was to find him somber.  “She was watching you tonight, Mou.  Said you’d just left when she called.”

Blinking slowly for a moment, she willed both her stomach and her temper to settle.  A normal person under normal circumstances would feel frightened, but Delaney wasn’t operating under normal circumstances this week.  If Katya wanted to take her on, she could bring it anytime.  Just not tomorrow.  Delaney’s priorities for tomorrow didn’t involve cracking a Nordic nutcase.

When she tugged on the glass this time, he let go.  “She doesn’t scare me, Jon.”

“No fucking kidding,” he drawled with the faintest trace of a smile.  “That scene in the pizza parlor was only two days ago.  I haven’t forgotten, but she’s still not gonna get away with a threat to vandalize your business.  I plan to let her know exactly what she can expect if she does.”

She hitched a mocking brow.  “More ‘as-needed’ employees?”

“That’s fucking right.  She wants trouble, the bitch will find enough of it to fill the goddamn Grand Canyon.”

With a sigh and skyward flick of her eyes, Delaney expelled a resigned breath.  His stubbornness was as rampant as hers.  There was nothing she could do about it except badger him about being cautious.

“Matt’s going?  For real?  You’re not just saying that to pacify me?”

“I’m pissed, not stupid,” he countered, confiscating the last drink before she had a chance to take it.  “Matt and his Glock will be there.  You can fucking count on that.”

“But you’ll still be careful?”

The narrowed gaze that slid her way was rife with insult.  “I just said I wasn’t stupid.”

“Oh, stop.  You’re ego isn’t that fragile, and – as you already mentioned – I have a million things to do in the morning.  I don’t have extra time to worry about you.”

The foot of the empty glass hit the coffee table with emphasis, and he rose to lightly accuse, “Uh huh.  I see how you are.  Can’t even be bothered to worry about the guy defending your honor.”

“Hey.”  Delaney grabbed the hem of his ever-present black t-shirt, and he turned to regard her with impatience.  Fine.  He could be impatient all dratted day as long as he was still around at the end of that day.  “I’ve spent my whole freeping life looking for you, and I’m on the verge of maybe getting my daughter back.  I don’t wanna mess up either of those over this cow.  Okay?”

Irked features went gentle, and Jon’s fingertips dusted an arc from her cheekbone to jaw before tilting Delaney’s chin.  “Nothing’s gonna mess ‘em up,” he promised quietly.  “Not even me.”

*****

A muffled thump jarred Jon from unconsciousness.  He wasn’t normally a light sleeper and considering that they’d gone to bed after midnight, it was strange to find himself awakened at… three-twenty. 

Rolling over to pat the bed beside him, he searched for the body that should be occupying it.  “Mou?”

“Sorry,” she stage-whispered from the closet where light peeked around edges of the door she held mostly closed .  “Go back to sleep.”

A sense of déjà vu came with the instruction.  She’d accidentally woken him up by tip-toeing out of a closet in Montreal, too.

“What the fuck are you doing up?”

“Packing.”

Exhaling quietly through his nose, he propped up on an elbow and squinted toward her shadowy figure.  “You’re going on an overnighter to Chicago, not safari.  Come back to bed and throw in jeans and a shirt after sunrise.”

“No,” she stubbornly insisted with a sniff, tossing an unidentifiable blob of clothing toward the chair. 

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m going to wear.”

Obviously deciding she couldn’t waken him any more than he already was, she cracked the door and slid into the space to start rifling through garments. 

Really?  Three o’clock in the morning and she was worried about what to wear the next day?  What happened to the woman who wore ripped jeans unless her sister intervened? 

Jon would never fucking understand women.  Jeans and a shirt.  Seriously.  It was suitable for anything, and he’d honestly believed she shared that motto until this. 

“Delaney.”  He spoke as firmly as sleep-thickened vocal cords would allow.  “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

There was something about the muffled rebuff that had his brows knitting.  Her voice was thicker than his, and there was another sniff as the scrape of hangers on the rod took on a sharp, staccato rhythm.  When, after a pause, she muttered unfamiliar Greek and started flipping more agitatedly, Jon threw back the covers without bothering to even pull on a pair of shorts. 

This wasn’t a simple case of OCD at play.  Something wasn’t right, and he drew the closet door wide, forced to slit his eyes against the brightness. 

When he could tolerate the light, it was to find her clad in nothing but the Jovi shirt she wore to bed and inspecting a blue flowery top that she threw to the floor.  It wasn’t the only garment there, either.  Stripes, polka dots and solids in a host of colors completely covered her bare feet.

“Jesus Christ.  How long have you been at this?”

“A while.”

One hanger was pulled free and relocated to another spot while one more dangled in her hand.  Puffy eyes lifted to the top shelf, and when she tried to jerk a single pair of pants from those stacked there, they all came tumbling down to a string of bawdy-sounding Greek.

Is she…?

Holy hell.  There wasn’t a waterfall, but those were definitely tears dotting her cheeks as she kicked at a pile of ragged denim with unreasonable fury. 

“Hey.”  Sliding both arms around her waist only to have Delaney fight against the embrace, Jon held tighter.  “Hey, hey!  What the fuck is going on?  Huh?  Talk to me.”

Thank God she didn’t fight dirty, or his exposed balls would’ve become inverted.  She just continued to lean forward, attempting to escape the restrictive squeeze that was only meant to calm.

“I don’t have anything to wear!”

“What’s all the stuff in the floor then?” he quizzed mildly, with enough experience to know that this was not the time to match her decibel for decibel.  When a woman took this attitude in front of a closet, the only hope a guy had was to talk them off the ledge like a jumper. 

There was a weary huff before the garment in her hand joined the pile.  “None of it’s right.”

Easing slowly closer, he constricted the embrace until her spine was burrowed against his naked torso. 

“Right for what, Mou?”

There was a lull of deep, middle-of-the-night silence before she whispered, “It’s been four years, Jon.  What shirt, dress or mother trucking pair of leggings says that I’ve survived it but am tired of having to?  Yes, maybe she involuntarily killed her sister and used me as her scapegoat.  I’m mad.  I’m hurt.  But I also can’t do this anymore.  It sucks dog toes knowing she’s out there and that I can’t call.  Can’t visit.  Can’t see my only child.  I need it to be over.  What outfit can fix it, ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’s not in here.”

Gently tucking his chin into her shoulder, Jon pressed a kiss against the tousled head that probably hadn’t lain in bed longer than an hour tonight.  “There isn’t one, baby, and you don’t need one  You’re gonna fix it, but you’ve got to get some rest first.”

“I tried.  I can’t sleep,” Delaney lamented.  “Between Poppy, work and Katya….  There’s too much worry.  My mind won’t shut down.”

He’d wondered if it would ever happen.  Wondered if his little fighter would ever be so overwhelmed that she'd willingly allow him to help her fight.

It looked like this might be it.  “You just need a distraction, kardia mou.  I can take care of that.”

“Yeah?” Her skepticism was evident as she twisted to look around at him.  “How?”

Touching soft lips to the corner of her mouth, Jon let his hand drift under the Jovi shirt to find it really was the only thing she wore.  He slipped his fingers low, finding the soft seam between her legs.  

“Come to bed, and I’ll show you.”