The Rookie and the Lieutenant

"You seem to be in a good mood."

Estella looked over at Dr. Myers. She gave him a weird smile. "Really? I feel normal."

The man studied the trees. "Well, I've noticed the elevation in mood for a few weeks now."

Dr. Myers shot her a smile. "You haven't noticed?"

Estella shrugged, looking out into the trees with him. "I guess… it has been a little easier to go through each day."

During the building repairs, Estella and Dr. Myers had taken to doing their sessions outside. Now that the offices were back to normal, Dr. Myers had the good idea of continuing some of their sessions outside while the base was empty and the sun wasn't as harsh.

The tops of the trees were tinged with pale greens and yellows, signaling the first signs of autumn. Dr. Myers turned to her. "How is your journaling going?"

"Good. I'm drafting a letter to someone who used to be on the force team." 

Dr. Myers looked pleased. "You are? Who is it, if I may ask?"

Estella turned sheepish. "His name is Elliot."

Dr. Myers's eyebrows furrowed. "Elliot Bryant?"

Estella perked up. "Is that his last name?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes and smirking.

"Deimos–sorry, the lieutenant won't tell me his last name. He doesn't want me writing to him. Can you believe that?" Before Dr. Myers could respond, Estella then became suddenly urgent.

"Wait! Do you know Elliot? Have you met him?"

Dr. Myers blinked in confusion. "Well, not… formally. I know his name."

Estella deflated in her spot on the bench. "Oh. Dei–I mean, the lieutenant told me many people haven't met him, so I guess I got my hopes up."

Dr. Myers frowned into the dirty grass, puzzling over Estella's words. "Why doesn't the lieutenant want you writing to Elliot?"

Estella shrugged. “I think he doesn't want me bothering him." She picked at a blade of grass from the ground and twisted it in her hands. "I found out Elliot had gone through a lot when he was younger, much like I have, and I figured I would write to him to let him know that he isn't alone."

"I see."

Estella winced at the doctor. "Is it too much, do you think? Deimos makes fun of me for it, he calls them love letters." She wrinkled her nose thinking of it.

Dr. Myers smiled. "Seems like you and the lieutenant have been forming a camaraderie these last few weeks."

Estella's cheeks became pink. "We… aren't friends. I think we just don't like being by ourselves while our people are gone." She looked sheepish again. "I'm sure when everyone comes back that it'll go back to normal."

"Do you want it to go back to normal?"

Estella frowned. Did she? She wasn't sure. It's not that she didn't want things to change completely; Deimos obviously was her superior and she needed to complete her sixth months of therapy. Even despite being on the same force team now, he still was her superior and he still had other things he needed to do. She knew this. Yet.. .something upsetting flitted through her system at the idea of breaking their usual routine. 

Estella exhaled. "I'm sure he'll be relieved when he doesn't have me to pester him anymore."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

Estella could only give him a weak smile, not wanting to confront the idea of Deimos ignoring her after next week. She felt herself wither at the sudden realization. They had a week and a half left. Where had the time gone? 

Dr. Myers shifted on the bench. "Do you think the lieutenant feels the same way you do?"

Estella blanched. Did Deimos like spending every morning, and sometimes a few afternoons, with her? He didn't have to do that. His office was back to normal now; it must be collecting dust from the neglect. But Deimos was not a man that did things out of obligation. He was black and white. Estella wanted to think if he really didn't enjoy spending time with her, he would have passed up her offer several weeks ago and left her alone.

"Estella?"

She looked over at her doctor. He wore a courteous smile. "From what I've gathered, I'm more than certain the lieutenant enjoys your company."

Estella felt like crying out of nowhere. How could he be so certain of that? What if he was just tolerating her company and was waiting for everyone to return to finally be released from her clutches?

Estella swallowed hard, blinking back tears. She didn't have it in her to ask Deimos if he liked being around her. It seemed like such a childish, insecure question to ask; it didn't diminish the plaguing curiosity. Deimos said friendship wasn't in the handbook—did he mean that literally? Or was he determined to keep people at a distance to refrain from forming attachments?

She hated overthinking; she was getting worked up over nothing. But she couldn't help the sting behind her eyes or the way her nose became hot and runny. Estella wandered off in another direction, heading toward a different room than her own.

Deimos rarely used his room. He told her he mainly used it to be alone or eat food; he rarely slept in it or made it home-worthy.

She knocked timidly. There was never a reason to be at his door; he always came to hers. Maybe he didn't like the invasion of privacy. Estella felt herself become anxious. Maybe he wanted to be alone and she was disturbing him. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was avoiding her to get some peace and quiet–

The door opened. 

Estella and Deimos looked at each other. His eyes were bloodshot. She must have woken him up. Estella tried to swallow, choking when her throat closed up and prevented her from doing so. She chewed on her cheek. This was a mistake.

"You alright, rookie?" Deimos murmured, his timbre husky.

Estella studied his face. He was exhausted, in need of sleep. She needed to leave him alone.

"Sorry," she mumbled, turning on her heel to go back to her room.

A large, bare hand reached out and took hold of her stiff arm, stopping her in her tracks. Estella felt her heart thump hard inside her chest, her watery eyes turning back to look at the man in the doorway. Deimos nodded his head toward his room. He let go of her arm to let her walk in, her head low from embarrassment. 

His quarters looked untouched, the furniture still in their same spots. Nothing about his place indicated anyone lived there; nothing adorned the walls or shelves, minus a couple of books. Estella didn't want to be caught observing, feeling like she was in forbidden territory. She practically was in forbidden territory—this was her lieutenant's quarters.

Estella thanked every god out there that the room was dark enough to hide the way she blushed furiously at that moment. She turned to look at Deimos again. He had closed the door a moment ago.

"What's goin' on?" he tried again. 

Estella shuddered out a breath. "Did I wake you up?"

"I was tryin' to sleep. S'hard to do sometimes."

Estella winced in the darkness. "I can leave."

"You can stay, rookie."

"But if you're trying to sleep, I don't wanna–"

"Paczowski."

Estella stopped talking. She just walked in here and she was already getting on his nerves.

Deimos took a couple steps toward her. "Turn off that organ between your ears for a minute, yeah? I said you can stay."

She closed her eyes, trying to reign in the anxiety. He said she could stay—that was what mattered, right? Estella took a deep breath and exhaled through her mouth.

"Much better," Deimos murmured. She opened her eyes. Deimos had his arms crossed across his chest, fingers against his biceps. She had never seen him without the gloves. In the dim twilight, she could barely see the outline of his long pale fingers.

Estella now noticed his attire. Gray sweats, a simple cotton tee, his casual hood with the face mask in place. He looked. . . 

"Keep starin' and I might do a little trick for you."

Estella blushed again, feeling awful she got caught. "Sorry," she mumbled out, looking down at the beige carpet. 

"Christ, rookie. What did Myers have you talk about to get you so tense?" 

Estella rubbed her face. He was right. This was Deimos; she didn't need to be so uptight. She heaved out a sigh as she moved toward his couch. "I don't want to talk about it," she intoned, flopping onto the cushions and burying her face into a pillow. 

Deimos's feet shuffled by her. "What brings you to my side of the buildin'?"

Estella peeked out at him towering over her. "I… just didn't want to be alone." She wished she hadn't said it as soon as it left her mouth. It sounded desperate, needy—weak.

Deimos only hummed and knocked her legs off the couch so he could sit down. Estella shifted her legs underneath her and ran the edge of her thumbnail over the pillow’s fabric, trying not to overthink again.

Deimos took something off the table by the couch and flipped it open. Estella almost had to squint in the darkness to realize it was a box of cigarettes. He removed one from the box and eyed the table again, perhaps looking for a lighter. He turned to Estella. "How's about a light, rookie?"

Estella padded her pockets for her lighter, reaching it toward him when she found it. "This one has almost run its course," she said, wondering if Myers had an abundance in his office drawer, considering she was his patient of priority.

It took her a few tries to ignite the flame, providing the room with dancing shadows. Deimos pulled up his mask and leaned toward the small flame, not bothering to cover his face much. Estella wanted to indulge herself, to look at the strength of his jaw and perhaps look for the stubble she always searched for. Instead, she focused on his eyes. She liked how the fire made them lighter in color, turning them into swirls of chestnut brown. They almost looked golden, almost amber.

She seemed to melt slowly at the softness. How was she ever scared to look at them? How was she so blind to the color? His eyelashes looked almost blonde in the light; were they blonde? She realized she never noticed how long they were.

Deimos spoke, his voice quiet in the dark. "You're gonna run out of gas with that on, rookie."

Estella couldn't extinguish the flame, not quite yet. She didn't seem to care if it ran out anyway; whatever helped maintain the liquid gold color in Deimos's eyes. "That's okay."

Deimos didn't move back from the lighter. He too couldn't look away from her. Estella wanted to tell him how pretty his eyes were. Would he laugh at her? Would he roll those eyes? She found herself being okay with that. 

"Your eyes."

Estella couldn't seem to finish her sentence. Deimos had reached across in the same moment to brush a finger against her temple, moving a stray piece of hair away from her face. The touch sent shivers down her arms and up her spine.

"What about 'em?" Deimos asked, blinking at her.

She swallowed, now incredibly shy. His eyes flickered to her throat. She briefly wondered what his carnal fascination with watching her throat was about. But she was much too distracted to dwell on it further. The flame from her lighter was dwindling, shadows flickering against his face.

Estella wanted to reach out and touch him, touch the small section of exposed skin, just to see how it felt on the pads of her fingers. He seemed brave enough to touch her, why was she so nervous to touch him?

The light went out. The only light that glowed in the dark was the embers on Deimos's cigarette, glowing a hot red as he inhaled smoke. Estella searched for his eyes in the darkness; she didn't want to lose the connection. Deimos had shifted. Was he closer? Smoke filled her nostrils, the cigarette glowing just a few inches from her face. 

He was closer, and he was still looking at her.

"You gonna finish your sentence?" he asked lowly.

Estella felt her hands shake with nerves. He was almost as close as he was in her dream from a few weeks ago. Estella took a shaky breath, hating how loud it was; it seemed to echo off the walls. Deimos grazed a hand on her knee. She had no idea if it was an accident or on purpose; she couldn't seem to process anything, the neurons in her brain failing to do their job.

"I–uh…," she trailed off, despising the hitch in her voice.

Deimos leaned closer. "Hm?" His arm had bumped hers.

Estella couldn't do this. She jumped up from the couch, as if the cushions were burning her. She tumbled backward, tripping on her feet. 

"I–I should probably… go back to my room." It was a bit rushed of an excuse, but she feared if she didn't get out of his room, she would burst into flames.

Deimos raised himself up slowly, cool and collected. "You alright?"

"Yeah, uh–yeah. Just need to shower and stuff. Eat dinner." Estella was having a hard time getting her bearings back. She didn't really understand what she was saying, she just hoped it was coherent enough to make sense.

Deimos grunted. "S'nearly eight o'clock. You haven't eaten yet?"

"No, uh, Dr. Myers wanted to be outside and I–" Estella looked anywhere but his approaching form, "-uh, I just lost track of time."

Deimos stopped in front of her. "Shoulda said somethin', rookie. I coulda made you dinner."

Estella felt her chest ache, eyes welling up again. She felt on the verge of hysteria. "That's okay. Really. It's late. I should get going." She tried to manage one foot in front of the other as she made her way to open his door.

Deimos followed, smoking his cigarette lazily, ever still the picture of sophisticated ease.

"See you tomorrow then, rookie." He leaned his arm on the open doorway, eyes hooded, cigarette between his fingers.

Estella almost became paralyzed all over again, not wanting to ruin the moment but not wanting to seem creepy. She wanted to keep looking at him; nearly swayed by the siren's spell again.

She huffed at herself, cheeks uncomfortably hot. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."

She was hightailing it out of his hallway and down hers before he had even closed the door. She fumbled with the lock on her door, dropping the key in a moment of dysregulation. Once she had stumbled inside, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, huffing and puffing hard.

Her face was unbearably hot, the flush moving down to her chest. Estella yanked her jacket off in a flurry to get cool again, anything to get the flush off her skin. It was embarrassing; she was embarrassing, rushing out the door like that. She hoped she didn't offend him by leaving so quickly.

Estella breathed, golden irises imprinted behind her lids.