The Universe's Mixer

Arya had never been a good patient. When she was very small, Winterfell had been swept by redspots: not a serious disease to children, but a potentially disfiguring one if the pustules were broken in visible places. They had itched horribly, and Septa Mordane had been driven to distraction trying to find ways to keep Arya from scratching and bursting them, potentially harming her chances for a good marriage later in life.

So it was here. Her leg itched in its cast, and she was bored in her room, and she hated the wheeled chair. Arya had always been an active child--Fat Tom had not called her "Arya Underfoot" without cause. She had nothing to do. So long before she had been given clearance by Hannibal or Erik, she was back on her feet--her foot, perhaps, was more accurate; though she leveraged the cast in a sort of awkward hobbling walk that became easier with practice--and slipped from the room.

She had only made it so far as the kitchen last time. This time she changed directions and began to wander further in, even navigating a staircase. She rested for a moment, taking the opportunity to make sure that nobody would come investigating the loud thumps that her cast and hopping steps had made on the ornate steps, and then turned to a long hallway filled with doors. She pressed her ear to the first one, listening for sounds from inside.

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, feeling a headache coming on. Headaches weren't usual for the lawyer, not something that he incurred any more than anyone else might. But the call that had come in to the office pertaining to a certain incarcerated male was enough to spawn the beginnings of a whopper of a migraine. This was the last thing, for the last person on Earth, that Matt wanted to deal with at present. He had not signed up for all of the baggage when he agreed to assist Effie Nashton with her marital problems.

Effie was one thing, an easy enough ordeal fixed with a quick process. Edward was more complex and he was still trying to work through all of the details. When the call had come from The City Jail, Matt had managed to stifle a series of irritates groans as he discussed representation with the Officer. Edward had named him as the appropriate outlet of legal representation, and while Matt wanted to refuse....well, he really couldn't. Ethically, Matt avoided cases like these. He did not want to represent an obvious criminal against the justice system, but he knew that nobody else would take the case if he didn't. Matt was not going to push this case off on Laurel, either.

It was better that he handle it, clear it up and be rid of it as soon as possible.

So after a dreaded trip to the Jail to get the full story from the battered man he was supposed to offer legal counsel to, Matt found the idea of a late lunch to be welcome. And necessary. There was so much to go over, and from what his client had described, Matt knew Eddie had deserved every beating he had taken. Honestly, Matt would have been honored to shake the hand of he man responsible for beating up his client. The idea actually made him smile a little in amusement because Matt would have done the same thing to Eddie had the oppertunity presented itself in the same way. But he hadn't been out sweeping the streets looking for trouble, either, and he felt a little bad about it.

Rose would understand a nocturnal check of the surrounding area, right? He hoped so. If anything like what happened to Ariel even came in a breath near Rose, Matt would be doing more than putting a man in jail. He hoped it never had to go there.

He pushed open the door to the Deli next door, and the chime of the bell greeted him warmly. His briefcase was clasped in one hand, white-knuckled, anxious to get back to the office and begin sorting through everything needed to wrap this case up. The other hand was holding his baton, the end near the ground swaying back and forth as he moved. Only when Matt reached the back of the short line to the register did he stop.

This was turning out to be one hell of a day.

The sun hadn't quite yet made it up into the sky yet, but Giselle was already very hard at work in the kitchen. She was trying to be quiet, but every so often she'd make a tiny little sound - the soft clang of a pot touching the side of another pot, or the squeal of an un-oiled drawer as she opened it. Overall, though, she believed she was being highly stealthy, and she was quite proud of herself.

On the arm of the couch, Pip was still sleeping. He never was a morning chipmunk, and Giselle was quite surprised he even managed to make it this far. Then again, it wasn't every day she cooked such a sumptuous breakfast - and she'd been planning it all week with her dear friend.

It was meant to be a surprise for Logan. After all the kindnesses he'd shown her and all the special care he'd given her, she wanted to do something very nice for him. So, before he left today, she wanted to make him a lovely meal.

The trick was making something without making any noise. She didn't want to wake him up. And, she knew she couldn't actually do the cooking until he was awake, or it'd all get cold. So, right now, she was preparing every last detail -- from the sprigs of herbs, finely minced, to the clean white linen on the table. And all of it, she was doing as quietly as she possibly could.

In all the time they'd spent together, mostly all they'd done was work on improving the state of the apartment that Eric invited Leeloo to share with him. When they first started, the windows were exploded out and glass covered the inside of the space. That was the best of it. The worst.. Leeloo knew it'd been blood. She tried not to show her feelings to Eric, knowing that it hurt him more to see it himself - but it had been very difficult to watch him clean it. He wouldn't allow her to help. She'd tried.

But as the weeks fluttered by, the place became more and more livable. Finally, there came a day when they both sat back and realized - there was nothing else to do to make the place whole again. Neither said it, but they shared a look and a smile. It was good enough - that. And, Leeloo had learned more about Eric while working beside him than she was likely to have otherwise.

She liked him. She liked him quite a bit. He was full of opposites - kind and dark, broody and considerate. He treated her as well as Peter had, but with one difference: he never really touched her. There were no hugs, there were no kisses, and he didn't wrap her up with him at night. After having experienced that, and having thought it normal, the difference was strange. She'd not asked about it. Maybe she would, one day.

But today, it could wait. Today, he was taking her 'house shopping' - though she didn't know exactly what that meant. He said she should pick out whatever she wanted, but as she walked into the store with him at her side, she wasn't sure exactly what that might be. Then the aisles opened up to her, and her eyes widened.

All of this could be theirs? Leeloo picked up a whisk.

"What's this?" she asked, waving it about experimentally. It didn't seem like a weapon.

They'd taken the car belonging to the woman that Steve interrogated. When Steve dropped him and Ariel off at their apartments, he'd tossed his keys without a word. Buck caught them in a flash of silver and gently led Ariel upstairs to the room on the key. Steve was right. Ariel's apartment was on the ground floor - too easily accessible. It was better to put her up at Steve's place, at least temporarily. They made a quick stop at Ariel's place to get the things she wanted. He also took the time to clean her up a little. His hands were gentle, though his eyes still hadn't softened from the moment he'd learned she was missing.

Still, once her hurts were tended and she had everything she wanted, he helped her carry things up to Steve's place. All of this was done in relative silence. Neither seemed to want to talk.

He was curious about the gesture she'd given him when he asked her what sort of power Eddie was referring to. All she'd done was pat her throat. Her voice, perhaps. He thought her voice was beautiful. He wanted very much to hear it again - laughing. He wanted to hear her laughing. The ache of want for that was great enough to hunch his shoulders, to overshadow the pain in his ignored hand.

When they were upstairs, he started helping her settle in. James was surprised to find sachets of tea in the cabinet. He made Ariel a cup and briefly considered one for himself, before his throbbing head determined that it was not wise. He avoided anything to eat or drink, knowing better than to test the limits of his body's tolerance while in this much pain. But he hid the pain from her as much as possible. She had other things on her mind.

At last, when he'd led her to the couch, tucked a blanket around her, and done a circuit of the apartment to familiarize himself with the layout, he finally came to her again. Though he didn't sit down - he was her sentinel until Steve returned - he was close enough to her that he could reach out and touch her shoulder if he wanted to. He did want to. But he didn't do it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.