Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Having a teenager in the Annex—albeit, one that was an adult in the eyes of the law, but a teenager nonetheless—had taken some adjustments, but to have that same teenager become a literal child was a bit of a doozy. Looking at her innocent face—now much younger than usual—he had the thought that no one could have predicted how she would have grown up. It was hard to reconcile this child with the teenager that would go on to blackmail him and Jenkins and throw him on his ass during spars.

Lexi was so… timid. She clung to Jenkins and seemed to be afraid to speak up to the adults around her even if she seemed to like them well enough. He’d say she warmed up to Ezekiel well enough, though she’d yet to approach him of her own volition and the crush on Cassandra seemed to keep Lexi from approaching the woman. The only one she would approach without hesitation was Eve and their Guardian… was not doing well. Honestly, it was probably best to keep Eve and Lexi apart for a day to give the Colonel a bit of time to digest the fact she knew this little girl. If only they could get her to relax and play with them.

Luckily, Jacob had some experience winning over skittish kids, granted his nephew not warming up to anyone for the first few years of life unless it was his parents was a bit different. Regardless, he knew enough about kids to have an idea of how to get Lexi to approach him.

Jacob grabbed his sketchbook and pencil and walked to the far side of the worktable where the art supplies were still set up. He did his best not to look over at Lexi sitting in Jenkins’ lap and sat on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other bent to rest his sketchbook against.

He looked around for several seconds before deciding to sketch the intricate design on the floor. He barely needed to glance up at his reference since he had a decent view of it despite sitting. He felt eyes on him, but he didn’t need to look up to know who was looking at him.

There was a bit of whispering nearly halfway through his sketch before he heard small feet approaching him. He tried his best not to smile and kept his air of concentration so that Lexi could think she was sneaking up on him.

“What’re you drawing?”

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. “Hm?”

She stepped back, one hand fiddling with the crescent moon pendant that never left her neck, and spoke in a softer, but clear voice, “What’re you drawing?”

“Do you wanna see?” He tilted the sketchbook for her to see anyway.

She stepped forward, tilting her head to look at the compass design and her eyes lit up. “That’s so good!”

“Thank you.” He tapped his pencil to his chin and glanced up to the ceiling thoughtfully, humming under his breath as if he were thinking of something. At last he looked at her and asked, “Would you like to color it when I’m done?”

She beamed at him. “Yes please!”

He allowed himself a smile as she sat beside him, nearly pressed to his side, to watch him draw. As he drew, he made light conversation with her, telling him about his favorite classes in school and asking for hers and other such simple things. She began opening up a bit more, voice growing louder and more confident as they continued talking.

“Alright, now it’s your turn,” he said, passing the sketchbook to her and lifting himself up just enough to snatch some colored pencils left over from their art lesson the day before. He fanned out the colors in front of her and asked, “What color first?”

She studied the colors for a long moment before plucking the bright pink one. “This one!”

He held the colored pencils and took the ones she was finished with and relinquishing the ones she needed next. He watched her color and thought he hadn’t seen her this excited before. The closest he could think of was when she’d finally gotten the bruising salve right (she’d crowed her victory and eagerly used it to heal a bruise on Ezekiel’s cheek from his running into a door Cassandra was coming out of).

“Done!” She declared while holding up the sketchbook for his viewing.

He looked at the amalgamation of mismatched colors with exasperated awe. “It’s beautiful! Why don’t we go show Jenkins?”

Jenkins and not the nickname she gave him (which begged the question of what his real name was) because the man’s eye twitched when Ezekiel used it in his presence and Jacob was definitely not willing to get a pen hurled at him from any distance considering his impeccable aim.

“Yes!”

She scrambled up with the sketch book clutched to her chest and ran over to Jenkins’ desk calling, “Gallie! Look!”

Jenkins raised his head as the duo approached. “Look at what, Lexi?”

She lifted up their combined work and practically shoved it into Jenkins’ face. “Look at what we made!”

He took the sketch book and brought it out a little to look at it properly, a small smile curling his lips. “Did you do all of this?”

“Mr. Jacob drew it, and I colored,” she said.

“You both did excellent work,” Jenkins praised.

Lexi beamed and shared a proud smile with Jacob.

Jacob stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You know… You can just call me Jacob or Jake.”

“Okay, Jake. Can we make more?”

Jacob nodded. “As much as you want, sweetheart.”

She snatched back the sketchbook and ran back to their art station excitedly.

“Thank you,” Jenkins said quietly.

Jacob waved his hand. “It’s nothing.”

“But it’s everything to her,” the older man reminded.

A shrug as he watched Lexi pick up his pencil and begin to draw on a blank page. “Yeah, well… She’s a cute kid.”

“C’mon Jake!” She called, looking up at him with shining eyes.

He grinned and started walking over. “Coming, Lexi.”

Chapter Text

In the brief time he’d been working there, he learned that Jenkins was a hard taskmaster and cryptic to boot, but unwaveringly helpful where it counted. Most days it felt more like being a sorcerer’s apprentice than an assistant curator, but that was because most of his wore lessons revolved around magic—potions and experiments and innumerable theories. If he was to work in a magical library, he ought to understand how magic worked, after all.

The longer he worked there, the more blatantly obvious how undervalued and underappreciated the Curator was. None of the Librarians seemed to understand how much upkeep went on behind the scenes to ensure their missions and the aftermath went smoothly. How much magic it took to open and keep open the Backdoor, how it and majority of the artifacts that were brought in needed to be cleansed at the end of a mission; how many hours went into keeping their potions stores full and at the ready for unexpected injuries; how many impromptu therapy sessions needed to be done to make sure they were all in the right headspace—including their Guardian. He saw all that Jenkins did because he was damn near glued to his side every day.

He needed to convince Jenkins to take a break someday—a vacation, really—because that would really hammer in how much was done by the Curator for the lot of them. If only he could convince the dutiful man to take that break…

“The Clippings Book’s updating,” Jacob called.

Curious, he wandered closer and looked over Jacob’s shoulder opposite of Cassandra. The sight of the familiar building next to an image of ruins made his heart stop.

“No,” he muttered in denial, scanning the Clippings for the damning words he inevitably found. “No… no, no, no.”

“Sam?” Jacob asked.

He stumbled back and yanked his phone out of his pocket without acknowledging the other man. Thankfully the person he needed to call was the one he contacted the most and so he didn’t need to scroll or search for her name. The phone was pressed against his ear as he started pacing around the room, thumbnail between his teeth and chest tightening to the point that each heartbeat throbbed.

“Hey!” The chipper voice of a girl said.

“Alexis! I need—”

“I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”

Her damned voicemail got him every time even when his nerves weren’t fraying. If he got in contact wit her, he was going to force her to change that damned thing to something more reasonable so that he didn’t have a heart attack next time he needed to call her because magical chaos fell in her lap.

His eyes burned and he had to blink rapidly to keep his sight clear as he redialed immediately.

“Hey!” He waited this time. “I can’t come—”

He redialed again and again, pacing the length of the card reading room and not giving a damn about the people in the room watching him. His burning need to speak with Alexis drowned it all out. Alexis, the girl he’d taken under his wing, who he’d done everything to protect, who he’d give anything for. He just needed to hear her voice—her actual voice and not a voicemail—and confirm she was safe and then he could breathe again. He needed the Clippings Book to be wrong.

“Hey! I can’t—”

“C’mon, Alexis,” he hissed into the phone as he recalled again.

“Hey!... I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”

He let it beep this time.

“Alexis, I know you’re probably really busy and scared right now, but I need you to call me back,” he said in as calm a tone as he could. He took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. “Please… call me back.”

He left the voicemail, but there was no way he was going to sit and twiddle his thumbs waiting for a call back.

“Sam?”

He looked up from his phone to Cassandra and looked quickly to the ceiling to regain his composure. “I’m… I’m going.”

The pair of Librarians shared a look that spoke volumes.

Jacob held out his hands placatingly and said gently, “Sam, I don’t think—”

“I’m going whether you like it or not,” Sam snapped as he strode to the coatrack and yanked his jacket off. “If you wanna get technical, I’ll go scout. Just let Jenkins know where I went.”

“Sam, I don’t think you’re in the right headspace,” Cassandra insisted.

He ignored the protest as he set the Backdoor to an address that he knew was outside of the demolition zone. It’d certainly be quicker than running or catching a bus or cab and he knew in these situations every second counted.

“Sam, let us—”

He didn’t hear what Jacob was saying because he was stumbling out of the Door before either of them could make any sort of valid argument against his going. He didn’t wait to see if they followed after him and instead sprinted towards a building where hundreds of people had gathered as close to the yellow caution tape as they could.

His dark eyes swept the crowd, searching desperately for Alexis’ familiar form, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stopped people and asked if they’d seen her, went to the emergency vehicles to see if she’d been thrown into an ambulance, but there was nothing.

“Alexis!” He shouted.

“Are you looking for Alexis Jenkins?”

He whipped around to see an older woman in a dusty security uniform, dark hair lightened from more than just the silver streaks. Despite the expression on her face, hope throbbed painfully in his chest.

“Yes, have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, sir…”

She led him to the triage by the arm (and he needed it because he no longer felt like he was in control of his own body) and showed him the body. She looked so small under the white blanket, like a child. No matter how long he stared at her chest, it didn’t rise and fall.

His knees gave out from under him, and he had only caught his upper body due to instinct. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as the truth settled into him. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling—didn’t date—because Alexis was worth every tear and every struggle…

And now she was dead.

He was vaguely aware of two sets of hands grabbing him and pulling him to his feet, of someone taller than him taking his weight and taking him somewhere. He wasn’t sure how they managed to et back to the Annex, but he blinked and suddenly he was there in the safety of the Library.

He screamed for everything he was worth and pitched forward, only saved from dropping to the unforgiving floor by the arms that still held him up. As he was lowered to the ground, he wailed and clawed at the cloth above his chest in hope of finding some relief from the pain but there was none.

It should’ve been him. He should’ve been in that building buried under the rubble. It should’ve been Alexis that the Library chose to learn about magic. She was the one that was supposed to live and stay safe. She was the one that had all the potential to do something great. He should’ve pushed harder, made her take his money and go to college months ago.

He should have he should have he should have—

He wept as he hadn’t since his father died. He screamed as he couldn’t remember screaming before.

His heart, his very soul was crushed and ripped and shattered in his chest.

With each undeserved heartbeat there was one whisper.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

His dark eyes roamed every corner of the room and all he could see were memories. Memories of Alexis laughing on the couch and crying in the bed and throwing things at him when her sleep was disturbed. So many memories within that small room in such a short amount of time. He’d never had a sister, but he imagined Alexis’ needling and teasing was exactly what it was like to have one.

And now she was gone.

He roughly wiped a hand down his face and proceeded to pack up his meager earthly belongings as well as a few keepsakes from Alexis’ possessions. When he finished, he did a sweet of the room and nodded to himself. He was done with Sanctuary House.

He shouldered his bags and walked to the bus stop, not bothering to sit otherwise he might not get up and head to his destination.

“Hey, Sam, I heard about Alexis,” the bus driver said.

Sam paid for his ride and ignored the man entirely to sit down in his usual seat, staring out of the window into the lamplit city.

What was the point in staying at the Sanctuary when there wasn’t someone to return to? There wasn’t. With Alexis gone, there was a hole in his chest, his life, his soul. No matter that emptiness, he had to keep going regardless. The job he had was more important than him and his life couldn’t just stop (no matter how much he wanted it to).

At the designated stop, he managed to push himself to his feet and get off the bus. Through sheer determination of his destination, he walked to the familiar front door and rang the doorbell.

After a solid ten minutes the door opened, and Jenkins stood there blinking at him. “Mr. Green. What’re you doing here so late?”

His fingers flexed around the strap of his duffel anxiously. “I need help. I… Can I come in?”

Jenkins opened the door fully and gestured for him to enter with perplexed expression.

Sam’s body felt heavy and lethargic as he walked in and down the stairs. It was easy to ignore the quiet warning bells that went off when he walked into the corridor simply because he was too numb for it to penetrate and set off his survival instincts.

He entered the greater Annex—so warm and dim this time of night—and sincerely said, “Thanks for letting me in.”

“Of course,” Jenkins replied politely.

He dropped his bags onto the middle table between the maps Jenkins must have been looking at. It took everything in him to lean heavily on the table rather than collapse entirely. His head hung low as he vied for the energy to say what he needed.

“I seek Sanctuary,” he finally managed in a rasping voice.

“Sanctuary?” Jenkins asked, voice startled and distant.

“Yes.” It took a great effort to straighten up and turn around to face the other man. “I formally request Sanctuary from the Library.”

“I’m not a Librarian or Guardian. I can’t—”

“This is your Annex,” he insisted in a quivering voice, chest tight. “… I seek Sanctuary.”

Jenkins’ dark eyes grew somber. “You’ll need to—”

“Dammit Jenkins!” Sam turned and began pacing. “You’ve been in this place longer than anyone else. You’ve been part of the Library even longer than Flynn. If anyone has the right to accept or decline—especially here—it’s you!” He stopped moving and looked into eyes as dark as his own, voice dead. “I request the Sanctuary of the Library.”

Jenkins closed his eyes with an expression of agony. After a second, his expression hardened, shifted and he was opening his eyes with a steely determination. “I grant you my protection and entrance into my home. Should any call on you, they must come through me.”

The magic that had been ringing at the edge of his senses quieted to a powerful stillness. The fist that had twisted his insides released its grip abruptly and he could breathe again.

“Thank you,” Sam said just as his legs gave out from under him. He barely managed to catch himself to keep his head from cracking against the table behind him. A half-hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest as he stared into the middle distance. “I was homeless, y’know? Lived in a place called Sanctuary House. That’s where I met her.”

“Mr. Green—”

Sam looked up and Jenkins’ approach halted abruptly. “I met Alexis there and gave her sanctuary within the Sanctuary even though it went against the rules. I had no business being around her, but if you’d seen how tired she looked after the break-in, you’d’ve done the same thing. I put a bunch of shit on the floor so that she’d hear me move if I walked around the room. I gave her my bed. I would’ve given her my entire life savings if she’d’ve let me.”

Jenkins’ eyes softened. “You loved her.”

“I did… I loved her as if she were my own flesh and blood.” He pressed his hand against his breastbone, inadvertently making the sun pendant dig into his flesh. “It should’ve been me.”

“Samuel—”

“It should’ve been me that died!” The world blurred as he wiped eyes ferociously. “She was gifted too, y’know? Like me. I was gonna start teaching her to sense magic so that she could avoid it… so she…”

Should have. Was going to. Wanted to.

There were so many of those that made his head spin. There were so man things he could’ve done differently. So many things that would have kept her alive if only he’d just thought of them sooner. Alexis was always the smarter one out of the two of them, he simply just has more life experience. It was the only way to keep up with her, to stay a step ahead most of the time. She’d have thrived here.

“Samuel… You can’t shoulder this burden when it wasn’t yours,” Jenkins said as he slowly approached. “You aren’t at fault.”

He looked at Jenkins levelly. “If It’d asked for Sanctuary and brought her with me, would you have given it?”

Jenkins startled, but readily answered, “I would’ve.”

“Then it’s my fault. I could’ve brought her here and she wouldn’t’ve had to die. She wouldn’t’ve had to suffer anymore.” His lips quivered and he pressed his hand over his eyes to hide them. “I failed her…”

A strong hand gripped him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. Jenkins’ grip was unrelenting and strong and steady, enough to keep him up even with dead weight, Sam was pretty sure.

“You didn’t fail her. You did the best you could by her with what you had at the time, and she would’ve never faulted you for this.”

A wry smile. “She was too good to lay the blame at my feet. She… She was really blind when it came to the faults of the people she loved… I never wanted to be one of the people that made her learn that lesson the hard way.”

Jenkins turned and grabbed both of Sam’s bags with one hand. “Come. I’m taking you to your room.”

Sam didn’t try to shake off the hand that was holding him up. “I think you would’ve liked her. You remind me a lot of her.”

“Then take my word for it… She doesn’t blame you.”

Chapter Text

He had made the decision months before his passing from the physical realm to linger in the afterlife. For five years, he’d lingered for Flynn as a guide as the young man grappled with being the Librarian, a decision he’d not regretted in the least. After separating the Library from the physical realm and coming to the conclusion Flynn was ready to lead the Library towards something greater than it had been, Judson had done what he thought best by disappearing into the fringes.

He did not reveal himself to the new or old occupants, but rather flitted through reflections to observe the newly formed team and relay the information he’d gathered to an incredibly bored Charlene. His Guardian had been inordinately amused, but ultimately pitied Guardian Baird for her unusually large workload in comparison to Guardians past. Watching the new Guardian, he was confident in telling Charlene that she would keep all four Librarians alive until they saw retirement.

He had thought all he would have to relay would be the antics the young Librarians found themselves in, but a new development came a mere three days after the Conclave that he was eager to tell Charlene about.

“You’ll never guess,” said Judson as he entered the mirror of the main Library.

The woman looked up from her book, brows raised expectantly. “They didn’t burn down the Annex, did they?”

“No,” he chuckled. He leaned forward and was gratified to see her do the same. “There’s been an addition made.”

“Another Guardian, I hope. I can’t imagine how much worse it would be to have another Librarian,” she deadpanned as she leaned back into her seat.

He shook his head with a grin. “No, we don’t have a new Guardian or Librarian. We have a new Curator.”

Her stormy eyes flickered with concern. “Is Jenkins…”

“No, he’s alive and well. He has an assistant.”

Unbridled amusement drove her to set aside the book and leaned forward in her seat. “Tell me everything.”

He relayed all that he’d observed from the brief meeting of one Alexis Jenkins. From this, he’d come to the tentative conclusion she was very similar to a young Jenkins once he was finally comfortable enough to share his acerbic wit and that she was as considerate underneath that humor. These suppositions were supported throughout her first month as he watched her learn with avid hunger the lessons Jenkins had so meticulously prepared over the first weekend for an assistant he’d not expected, as she tended to minor injuries with disgruntled care. It occurred to Judson as he watched from a distant reflection Ms. Jenkins agonizing over the Clippings Book that her most difficult lesson to learn would be how little control she had; how the disasters and deaths that would come had little to do with her capabilities as a Staff member. He imagined Jenkins would have his work cut out for him.

Over the course of months, he and Charlene had shared a great sense of vindication in the fact their friend had to deal with what likely felt like a self-incarnation. After all, Jenkins had laughed heartily whenever Judson or Charlene had agonized over or grown frustrated by successors that were too alike to themselves in personality. It was high time for the man to receive his just desserts. For example, in her third week working in the Library, Ms. Jenkins had locked herself in a secret passage whilst exploring and could not be located for hours—even Judson had been unable to locate her due to a lack of substantial light in the room she’d found herself in—and Jenkins had been silent with rage when he finally discovered her. It was clear to Judson that the younger immortal did not remember the beginning of his time in the Library when he’d gotten lost so thoroughly in the expansive Library that he’d earned a tongue lashing from Charlene. As he relayed to her this particular story, Charlene had doubled over in raucous laughter as she praised magic that he finally understood her pain.

To his surprise and fascination, this young woman shared his empathic gift, and she was quite powerful. With Jenkins as her teacher and a plethora of resources, he had no doubt her growth would be steadier and swifter than his own. Albeit, Jenkins was not a master of empathy magic, he was adept at the often-underestimated skill enough to get her started. Judson, for his part, had been forced to learn how to control his talent through wives’ tales and experience the first decade or so of his life and after decades, centuries, millennia of experience he’d become confident enough to teach others. Perhaps if Jenkins could not find a suitable tutor in a timely manner… Thoughts for another time.

Charlene eagerly awaited news every day as to what sort of trouble Ms. Jenkins had gotten into as it was just as, if not more, entertaining as the Librarians stumbling about. Judson could not fault his Guardian for relying on him for entertainment as she had lived in the Library just as long as he had and had grown easily bored being in it no matter how much inside it’s immaterial walls could be used for entertainment.

He thought Charlene would have more than enough material when he drifted back to the Annex and found what looked to be a miniature version of Ms. Jenkins sitting on Jenkins’ lap. The little girl watched him write with no small amount of fascination and was still save for her little legs kicking softly. He decided, at the sight, to wait a couple of days to bring back news.

In that time, he’d gathered more information as to her character than he’d been able to with months’ worth of observation. She was well-behaved for the most part and very sweet and kind as a child. He knew those same traits had remained in her older self; however, they’d become more subdued, or rather were wrapped in a hard outer shell from a difficult eleven years. He’d told Charlene with a heavy heart of the latter and she looked at him contemplatively.

“Alright. What is it?”

“Nothing,” said she with a shake of her head and a wry smile. “You seem to have become incredibly fond of a girl who has no idea you’re there.”

He gave her an unamused look. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

She shrugged and lifted her hands slightly. “I’m just saying.”

He rolled his eyes at her—and she was one of few that could manage that still—and proceeded to tell her of how the crush Ms. Jenkins harbored for Ms. Cillian was still prominent in her de-aged form. Charlene had grinned with unmistakable mirth over Ms. Jenkins’ hiding behind Jenkins’ leg when Ms. Cillian had offered snacks.

Upon the fourth day of her second childhood, Flynn had returned, and the elder Ms. Jenkins had started making her way to the surface where Lexi had been most prominent. Despite this, she was still very much a child. He thought little on it, finding that it was an optimistic sign she would return to herself in due time. That is, until he’d learned she’d run off into the Annex alone and disappeared into one of the several hidden passages within. A child in a makeshift Library, where many artifacts could and would target an unsuspecting and distraught child, was reason enough for him to abandon caution and seek her out. He flitted from mirror to mirror, through reflection after reflection throughout the entire Annex until he’d finally found her crawling out of a small passage into Jenkins’ lab.

Relieved to have found her unmarred, he placed himself squarely in the large mirror that Jenkins had yet to remove and broke his self-imposed rule to never again interact with the mortal Staff of the Library.

“Where are you off to in s-such a hurry?”

She startled and whirled around to face in with a wary expression. “Who’re you?”

He placed his hands behind his back and smiled indulgently. “I’m Judson. “Wh-what’s your name?”

“Alexis Jenkins,” answered the little girl as she stepped forward and poked the mirror where his knee would have been. “Why’re you here but not here?”

“Because I’m here and not here. I’m a spirit in a mirror.”

She looked up at him with a surprising amount of concern. “Are you trapped?”

“No, child, I’m not trapped,” he assured. “Wh-when I died a few years ago, I bound my spirit to this mirror t-to help those that come after me.”

She walked around the mirror to peer behind and them came back around the other side to poke the mirror again. “Are you like the evil queen’s mirror?”

“W-well, no, but I can say without a doubt that you are the fairest in the land.”

She smiled wanly. “Thank you.”

He tugged up his pant legs and crouched so that he was eye level with her. From here he could see that her eyes were red, but more upsettingly he could make out the crimson dripping from her finger.

He gestured to her injured hand. “Can you place your hand on the glass?”

She gave him a curious look. “Why?”

“I’m going to make it better,” he answered as he pressed his hand to the glass.

“Oh. Okay.” She lifted her tiny hand and pressed it against his on the other side.

The magic he could still grasp, control and mold filtered through the clear reflective surface and he used it to carefully knit the skin back together. When complete, he let his hand fall away and watched her wipe her finger against her pants and peer at her finger with amazement. She was so enthralled by the show of magic that she belatedly remembered to thank him only as she was cleaning her blood from the glass.

“What’s—wrong?” He asked in a soft voice.

Her bottom lip wobbled. “Gallie lied to me.”

In all his years walking the earth, he’d not once been able to properly handle a child crying and had often been scolded for coddling them through crocodile tears. In this case, at least, he knew they were of genuine distress. Had he the ability, he would have pulled her into a hug, but he would have to content himself in using his words to comfort her.

“What did he lie about?”

“He said we were related… And I—” She started crying and wiped her eyes with her tiny fists and wrists. “He doesn’t love me.”

Judson as a rule did not to speak on behalf of others regarding their emotions regardless of his ability to sense, feel and read the emotions of those around him, but in this he was confident. He had seen Jenkins love before, and he saw the signs well before Ms. Jenkins was turned into a child. It was in how Jenkins went to great pains to ensure her comfort and safety, in the way his eyes softened uniquely for her in comparison to the rest of the team. Judson had personally seen this specific softness once and that was over a century prior with Guardian Behati.

“Yes, he does.”

She stomped her foot. “No, he doesn’t! He’d’ve told me the truth!

“Trust me when I say that he loves you very much. I know he’ll prove it to you.”

“How?”

Judson opened his mouth and closed it abruptly upon hearing the sounds of, most likely, Jenkins approaching. He thought Jenkins would do well not to contradict Judson just because he was stubborn, but he knew the man well despite their differences of opinion: Jenkins would not break this little girl’s heart.

His gaze returned to the little girl with a confident smile. “He’ll prove it to you. Just wait here.”

“Where’re you going?” She asked as he stood to his feet.

“I’m going to leave you and your Gallie to your conversation. Stay here and let him prove that he loves you.”

She dropped to the ground with a petulant huff and pushed herself against the wall. “Fine.”

He chuckled. “Good luck, hakatan sheli.”

She glared up at him with an expression he’d seen her send Jenkins as a young woman and he thought it was much less threatening and more adorable with this softer, rounder face.

He winked at her and stepped out of the mirror’s frame. He pondered, as he made his way back to Charlene, if he would ever have to reveal himself to her again.

Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

"Flynn!"

He didn't look up from his research but did call out a response to allow his Guardian to locate him. So far his research has been leading him from dead end to dead end, but he knew there was something out there that would help him figure out how to get the Library back. He just needed to stumble across the right bit of information to spark the inevitable fire of inspiration.

He heard the fluttering of paper as Eve approached and held out a hand with the assumption she'd brought him some paperwork he needed to read or sign or both.

"We've got a visitor," Eve said while handing it to him.

He frowned and glanced at the invitation half-heartedly before returning his attention to the book in his lap. "Yes, I grant them—wait." The words he'd read processed, and he was taking his feet off of the table and discarding his book to read the invitation more closely. "Is this real? There's no name."

"Since when've you known me to play pranks?"

"You're right," he said as he stood to his feet and finished reading the invitation. "A new Curator?"

"Wait, a Curator?" Eve asked as she saddled up next to him to read it herself.

He nodded with a grin. "Yeah! Not another Librarian. So, they're gonna help Jenkins around here… I wonder what they're like."

"She can handle a gun well enough."

He gave her a questioning look and only received a shrug in response. "Alright… Well, I won't be doing the interview since, honestly, I don't know everything Jenkins does. I still haven't found his file."

And he knew it was because the Library was keeping it from him for some reason. Certain clearances or circumstances had to be met in order to access certain Staff members' files. As Head Librarian, Flynn had access to most files on past and current Librarians, Guardians, and Acolytes, but there were some he wouldn't be able to access for somewhere between two and one hundred years since even death didn't make it possible to access locked files. He'd only gotten access to Judson's file a year ago, and he'd given up trying to locate Charlene's about six months before the Library was cut off from their dimension. The thing was, he would never know the circumstances until one day he stumbled across the files. Problems for another time, of course.

"Don't ask me, I barely know what he does." She glanced over her shoulder. "I left her in the card reading room, but I don't feel comfortable leaving her alone in there."

"Shifty?" God knew they didn't need another Ezekiel Jones on their team.

"No… She looks about as lost as I did when you crashed into my life."

He smiled and gently nudged her. "Crashed, flew. Semantics."

His smile grew at her amusement, and he felt a bit lighter. God, she was beautiful when she smiled. And frowned. She was just beautiful. He didn't know why she was giving him the time of day, but he would bask in it every second that he could.

He shoved the thoughts aside and followed her to the mezzanine where he heard a short, unfamiliar cry followed by some talking. He only managed to catch the tail end of the conversation before his impeccable timing dawned on him.

"Interview?" Cassandra asked while patting herself—probably for a handkerchief since their potential Assistant Curator was bleeding.

"We've got enough Librarians, thank you," Jones bit out.

"She's not here to be a Librarian, Mr. Jones!' Flynn called out as he approached the railing and took in the scene in its entirety.

The new girl—who he'd place no older than… twenty—was hunched forward with her nose pinched between her fingers as she stared up at him. She seemed to be very conscientious about where her blood was dripping because her body was angled so it landed on the exact same spot on the floor. Perhaps she'd played sports at one time or another since she looked somewhat athletic.

Like a flash, he realized he couldn't read her like he could everyone else. She was even more difficult to read than Jenkins in the beginning and all he could glean was that she was injured and didn't want blood on her clothes. This girl, he knew, would be a challenge.

"Then what's she here for?" Jacob asked.

He didn't spare his trainee a glance as he leaned against the railing and smiled down at this interesting new puzzle that the Library had dropped into their laps. "This young lady is here for the position of Curator."

"But we already have Jenkins," Cassandra said as she shifted her search to Jacob's person.

He was glad he was watching the new girl so keenly because the name seemed to spark her interest for some reason. Perhaps she knew of someone named Jenkins or even knew their Curator as well. Something to watch when they were finally face-to-face. Oh, once he brought back the Main Library, he'd definitely shift gears to figuring this girl out.

"Yes," Flynn conceded, "but the Library seems to think we need someone else which is fascinating."

"Guys, if we could focus here," Eve sighed, having already started down the stairs. "Our guest is—"

"Bleeding," the girl interrupted nasally while glaring at Jones. "All over the nice floors, too."

Jacob finally handed over his handkerchief to Cassandra who thus gave it to the girl. Flynn watched her bend down to clean the floor before using the handkerchief to catch the blood dripping from her nose. He thought it was a good sign that their incoming curator (because he had no doubts that she would be joining) seemed to have the mindset of leaving things that didn't belong to her in the same (and, he suspected, sometimes better) condition that she'd found it. She even gave a perfunctory thanks for the handkerchief. She was definitely Curator material if this small act was any indication.

He didn't quite catch what Eve muttered, but the girl's eyebrows twitched slightly, so she definitely did.

"So… what now?" The girl asked. "Are we going to the hospital or…"

"No need for a hospital!" Flynn assured and then slid down the railing of the stairs. When he landed in front of her with a grin, she simply stared bemusedly at him. From this close, he could see that her dark eyes had subtle green flecks in them—five in the right and four in the left—and he knew he was definitely too close if he could see that. So, he walked past her. "If you'll follow me, we can get that taken care of in a jiffy."

"What kind of library is this?" She asked after him.

"It's the Library," he threw over his shoulder as he led their rather large and curious party to the infirmary.

He bustled around the infirmary in search of the very specific brown bottle that would heal her broken nose, but he ran into the problem he always did when he was in Jenkins' infirmary. Nothing was organized in the same way for longer than a month (something about limiting substance abuse), and Flynn couldn't figure out how Jenkins' mind worked when he created these filing systems. He'd have to dedicate more time to figuring it out if he wanted to get more than bandages and Sanjeevani oil, which had a home on the center table. He figured it'd be easier than convincing the stubborn man to make a uniform and unchanging system.

"Found it," the girl called.

He turned and saw that she had a cabinet open and the inventory in front of her (he should've known there'd be one!).

He grinned. "Oh, you found it! You just—"

"Apply a drop into each nostril and pinch the nose closed for exactly thirty seconds then blow the nose clear of liquid. Failure to do so in the prescribed amount of time will result in fire being shot from the nose with every breath for an hour," she drawled impatiently with a cutting glare. "We're in the twenty-first century. I can read, y'know?"

Naturally, he opened his mouth to defend himself, but the common sense in his head that sounded suspiciously like Charlene had him snapping his mouth shut and letting her take the lead.

She wasn't so much sharper than Jenkins more than she didn't seem to hesitate or pull back like him. And there was an undercurrent of something… Something he couldn't quite catch because that mask was so firm—and he knew it was a mask… If only he could figure out the right approach.

He glanced at the rest of the team and found them looking between him and the girl with confusion, directed towards him, and awe, towards her. He shook his head and returned his attention to the girl who watched the clock now. At thirty seconds she blew her nose for several seconds and then smartly made small breaths before being content.

He tilted his head slightly as he recognized her face while writing in the inventory. The slight downturn of the corners of her lips and the most minute furrowing of her brow. If she were a foot taller, she'd be—

"She's a mini-Jenkins!" Cassandra gasped.

"Erm… thanks?" She replied before shaking her head and looking back at Flynn. "Mr. Carsen, are we gonna get on with our interview now?"

For a split second he was taken aback by her knowing his last name, but he remembered his name had been written in that inventory several times and it'd be easy to find given she already knew his first name. This girl was resourceful and clever and he was officially intrigued.

He latched onto the almost hysterical glee that overcame him at the thought of Jenkins seeing he was getting an assistant like her.

"Oh no," he chuckled, trying and failing to keep the mania from his eyes. "Your interview isn't with me. It's with—"

"What're you all doing here?" Jenkins demanded as he walked in, dark eyes locking in on their potential Staff member quickly. "And who is this?"

The suspicion he had for them would have been insulting if it weren't for their track record, so Flynn decided to brush it off. He noted that the girl watched Jenkins with a calculating look that made the back of Flynn's brain itch but he couldn't pin down why. For now, he figured he'd settle the confusion by having, perhaps, a bit more fun than was warranted.

Flynn gestured grandly to the girl. "This, Jenkins, is who the Library sent an invitation to."

Jenkins blanched and turned to her with a look that was both puzzled and apprehensive. "Another Librarian?"

"No, not another Librarian," he answered while striding forward and holding out the envelope and letter. "You'll be conducting the interview."

And as far as I'm concerned, she's hired, hung unspoken in the air.

Jenkins plucked the paper from his hands and read over the contents several times before lowering them sharply and shouting at the ceiling. "Assistant Curator?! I've no need for an assistant!"

"The Library seems to think you do," Eve piped up with a subtle smug lilt to her voice.

Jenkins glared at the Guardian. "Your input is not necessary, Colonel."

"Alright, fine," she sighed, lifting her hands in surrender before looking up at the ceiling. "The Library's input's what matters."

Jenkins' scowl deepened and then he turned to face their soon-to-be Assistant Curator. The tentative theory that Flynn had about Jenkins being nice—nope, not nicer… more cordial with strangers and kids was immediately confirmed when the older man's expression softened lightly in the face of blatant youthful confusion.

"Your name seems to be conspicuously absent from his invitation. What might your name be?" Jenkins asked.

Though her lips only twitched slightly, her eyes lit up like a cat that caught the canary. She was getting a lot of enjoyment from this question.

"Alexis Jenkins. Either we're distant kin or your people owned mine."

Flynn blinked and widened his eyes as he stared at her. That… was a bold statement to throw out as a first introduction. In fact, it was so bold that he was beginning to rethink all he'd gathered thus far.

Jenkins scowled. "Either one is impossible."

Alexis Jenkins (oh, the pure irony and coincidence made him want to laugh were he not so enraptured watching two Jenkinses meeting each other in a controlled (semi-controlled?) environment) trailed her finger across the table as she walked closer. "Well, about that… 'Jenkins' is a Welsh name that loosely translates to 'son' or 'kin of John' and sometimes used as 'little John' to denote a younger John of the same family." She stopped and smiled sharply up at Jenkins. "Considering the immigration of the Welsh in the early 1700s and the booming business of the Atlantic slave trade, it's not an unreasonable assumption to make." She glanced around at the dead silence and shrugged somewhat awkwardly. "I did background on my surname in high school as a class project."

Flynn was beginning to think he'd got off easy earlier.

Jenkins took a second to recalibrate before asking, "Might I ask when high school was?"

She opened her mouth and closed it thoughtfully for a second before she confidently answered, "About six months ago."

"Months?!" Jenkins cried in despair. It turned into fury as he glared up at the ceiling. "No, no, no. She's too young! Find me someone else if you think I need an assistant!"

"Well, y'see… problem with that is she's got a white envelope," Jacob said as he leaned against the counter and pushed the inventory closer. "I'd say she's qualified just for being able to shut Flynn up. No offense."

Flynn waved it off. "None taken."

After all, he'd been told on numerous occasions he was annoying and it was somewhat refreshing to be shut down by someone that wasn't Eve or Charlene.

"She also found the potion for her nosebleed before Flynn and made note in your inventory," Cassandra added as she gestured to the item.

Flynn watched Jenkins pick up and open his inventory to the correct page on his first attempt. It was honestly a shame how often they were injured, but the life of a Librarian was dangerous even with a Guardian. Though, admittedly, at least half of their injuries were self-sustained due to clumsiness outside of their Guardian's arm reach. If Ms. Jenkins had picked up on nothing else, she'd at least picked up on the fact they got injured a lot.

When Jenkins looked at his potential new assistant, it was a piercing gaze that most outside of their strange band of fellows would have flinched at. However, Ms. Jenkins merely allowed an eyebrow to twitch upward questioningly.

With a great put upon sigh, Jenkins returned the inventory to the counter and straightened. Alright. Follow me if you please. If you would like another woman present, I would suggest the Colonel for her discretion."

Ms. Jenkins' dark eyes flickered to Eve warily and Flynn privately thought it was smart of the girl. Guardians were renowned for their physical prowess alone, but his Guardian was a cut above the rest considering she was the first commander they'd had.

"I'll opt out, but I appreciate the offer." She turned and carefully bowed at the waist in mock deference and teasingly said, "Please, Mr. Jenkins, lead the way."

"Oh, ho-ho…" Jones chuckled with a large grin. "I like her already."

Those words provided no comfort, but Flynn had to remind himself that the Library chose her for a reason. He just hoped the Library knew what it was doing, bringing in someone Ezekiel Jones seemed to like.

Jenkins' eyes flickered with amusement. "Very well then."

As the Jenkinses walked out of the door, Flynn was overcome with the feeling that the key to figuring them both out was one another. Watching how they interacted, how they worked together would be crucial to understanding them as individuals. That… was interesting.

"She's definitely staying," Eve said when the doors closed.

"She's kinda young," Cassandra said tentatively. "She might choose to do something else like the rest of us."

"But unlike us, she came to the interview," Jacob reminded. "I'd put my money down that she's staying."

"We can make a wager," Jones said with a catlike grin.

"No betting," Flynn lazily called and earned a smirk from the thief.

"What're your thoughts on her?" Eve asked quietly as their young Librarians-in-Training continued to bicker on whether or not Ms. Jenkins would stay on.

"I don't know yet… She's a tricky one," Flynn confessed just as quietly. "If this is what she's like right out of the gate, I'm almost afraid to see what she's like when she's comfortable."

Her lips quirked up. "You're just saying that because she caught you off guard."

"No one expects that kind of sass during an interview."

"You're right about that."

He nudged her gently and jerked his chin in her direction. "What about you? Any thoughts?"

"She's definitely got nerves of steel and she's quick. Two qualifications that're necessary for anyone working here."

"Can't argue with you there. If she's got a dose of common sense, we'll be golden."

"Something tells me that she'll have the common sense you four dropped," she teased.

He grinned at her. "Here's hoping."

Chapter Text

The headache she'd been nursing all day had sharpened to an unbearable migraine in an instant while sitting on the bus. One second she was squinting against the sun hoping the ibuprofen would do its job and the next her world seemed to explode. The sunlight was too bright; the people shifting and talking and snoring were a cacophony of noise; and the suffocating sweat and cloying perfume and overbearing cologne and greasy food smelled unbearably strong. She'd found her hands clapping against her ears as the breaks released a high pitched squeal so unbearable she considered cutting her losses and walking home the remaining eight blocks, but she was so nauseous that it was debilitating. Her head pounded in time each each heartbeat and—

Why could she hear the driver asking her if she was alright so clearly through her hands?

"Migraine," she ground out as she tried to crack open an eye and peer out the window to gauge how far she had left in this living hell, but she could only see white and was forced to close her eyes again. "Lemme know when we're at my stop."

Mrs. Taylor agreed and Alexis could practically feel the concern radiating off of her. Concern she'd likely be addressing when it didn't feel like her head was about to explode.

Every second was agony and breathing through her mouth only brought a minute amount of relief considering she could still smell everything . She couldn't remember if she'd asked Mrs. Taylor to tap her when they got to her stop, but surely she did because the woman tapped her wrist after several more stops.

She cracked open her eyes and glared through the unbearable light to see she was, indeed, at the correct stop. She threw her thanks over her shoulder as she forced herself to remove her hands from her ears to readjust her backpack. She had a horrible squint as she walked and she honestly couldn't answer as to how she made it back to her room. She just knew she stumbled a few times and had to support herself on the walls as she went. Halfway up the stairs inside, she'd slapped her hands over her ears again to fight off the noise of talking and humming lights and she was closing her eyes more and more. Why did everything have to hurt? Why was it so bright and loud and smelly? And dear god , why did Sam have to wear cologne?!

"Alexis?"

She leaned back against their bedroom door to close it and whimpered at the loud noise. Death… death would be preferable to this fresh hell.

"What's wrong?"

She whimpered and shrunk into herself, pressing her hands more firmly over her ears. "Migraine… cologne…"

"I see…" It was significantly quieter than his question, but she could hear him perfectly well.

His footsteps drew closer and soon his hands were on her shoulders, guiding her back to the bed where she sat heavily enough to make the springs squeak. He moved away and unzipped something—probably a bag—and rooted through it for only a few seconds before he made a triumphant sound. Soon there was a click and the harsh light behind her eyelids was gone. He'd turned off the lights.

She tentatively opened her eyes and was relieved when she wasn't blinded. She could see Sam clearly as he approached with his earmuffs from his first job. She'd thought he'd gotten rid of everything he'd had from construction after ending up here (his back was too messed up from an injury for him to return in the capacity he was used to), but apparently not.

"Here," he said softly while holding out the object.

In reaching out for them, she grimaced as she heard—

Wait… Why could she hear Old Jim complaining about "dirty-ass roommates" from another room?

Nope. Not right now.

She snatched the earmuffs and pulled them on immediately. The results had her tightly wound shoulders relaxing minutes now that she couldn't hear Old Jim. She watched Sam nod to himself and go to the bathroom with a handful of clothes and wondered about it until she heard the shower running… which she shouldn't be able to do with earmuffs and a closed door between them.

I'm losing my mind or dying, she thought as she shrugged off her backpack and kicked off her shoes.

By the time Sam reentered the room, she'd curled up on the bed and finally didn't feel like her head was about to explode. Oh, her head still hurt and her body was starting to ache, but she didn't want to throw herself in front of a moving bus anymore. Instead, her mind was racing over the fact she could still hear Sam moving around and all the smells—oh, his scent was much more bearable now. His usual shower products were still strong, but it was easier to breathe now that he'd showered.

"Better?" He asked as he walked closer.

"A little," she confessed.

An incredulous chuckle. "Something's happening because there's no way you should be able to hear me that well through…" He trailed off and squinted at her. "The hell?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Your eyes… It's hard to tell, but they're different." He bent down as he got closer and looked into her eyes for a long second before his eyes widened. "They're blue."

She blinked. "What? How… how in the hell does that even happen?"

"Hell if I know, but we'll figure it out," he promised, backing away and grabbing his laptop. "Go to sleep. You look exhausted."

She felt exhausted. It was like she was sick but without the fever.

"G'night, Sam," she muttered as she laid on her back.

"G'night," he called.

Everything hurt. Her muscles felt like she'd used all of them simultaneously for the worst workout of her life and her temples throbbed something fierce. If someone told her she'd been hit by a train, she would be inclined to believe them.

To her surprise, she didn't have any broken bones and was able to roll to her side, but she quickly realized multiple things at once.

One: she was naked.

Two: She was under a large blanket.

Three: There were multiple people in the room.

She pulled the blanket more securely over her and rolled over until she could look at the rest of the room. Along with her roommate, there were four other men in the room. Sam was awake and sitting with his back pressed to the farthest corner from her. Even from here she could see his eyes were red and that his entire body was trembling. On the couch, Old Jim sat with his elbows on his knees and looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him with his shoulders slumped and lips pressed into a thin line as he supported a sleeping Gary Gray on his shoulder. Meth-head Larry was sitting on the floor closest to her with a clearly concerned expression in his surprisingly vibrant and sober eyes. The roommate Sam was supposed to have, Terrance Reed, lied on his back on the bed peering at her sleepily.

Terrance's lips twitched into an exhausted smile. "Welcome back."

She secured the blanket over her and looked to Sam. "What happened?"

Old Jim got up and Gary slammed onto the couch and woke up. "C'mon, boys. Let's leave her to get dressed."

She frowned. "But—"

"We'll explain after you're dressed. We'll wait outside," Old Jim promised as he grabbed Gary by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

Meth-head Larry hesitated a second before jumping to his feet and following after. Terrance groaned mightily as he sat up and stepped over her legs to walk out of the door and Sam seemed unable to move until Old Jim snapped for him to get a move on.

When the door closed behind Sam, she sat there for several seconds completely confused and incredibly scared. What the hell happened last night? Why did everything hurt and why did all five men look like they didn't get a wink of sleep?

Won't get any answers until after you get dressed, the rational part of herself reminded.

She pushed herself to her feet at a painfully slow pace as her muscles screamed at her. Getting dressed had never taken so long, but eventually she managed. She could hear all five of them shifting and breathing on the other side of the door, but none of them said anything. The air smelled wrong and made her uneasy as she finally opened the door.

They all looked at her as if they were about to tell her she was dying. She backed away until she was sitting on the bed and watched them all enter. Sam was led in by Old Jim who had a hand on his shoulder and guided to the couch. Terrance sat backwards in the desk chair with his chin resting on his arms looking like he wanted to either go to sleep or be anywhere else. Gary had collapsed on the other side of Sam on the couch, leaning until he could rest his chin on his palm. Meth-head Larry ended up sitting in the corner Sam had been in before and was glancing around anxiously.

"What happened?" Alexis demanded.

"You're not gonna believe us even if we tell you," Gary drawled from his place on the couch.

"Try me."

Sam sucked in a breath and released a laugh that he choked on halfway through. "You turned into a puppy, Lexi. You're a fucking werewolf puppy."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You're right… I don't believe you."

"You've got five witnesses," Terrance said. "Which, by the way, is traumatizing enough I'd consider going to therapy if only it wouldn't put me in a padded room."

"Think back," Meth-head Larry said so quietly that she was pretty sure Terrance didn't hear it. "Do you remember anything?"

She frowned. "Remember what?"

"You were screaming," Old Jim said. "The pain woke you up for a little bit and then… then you were small."

She cast back her memory, trying to remember anything aside from the migraine that'd had her curled up with… earmuffs that were on the floor. She suddenly realized all of them had been speaking quietly the entire time. She rubbed her forearm and noticed five marks on her upper arm. When she placed her fingers over them, she saw that her fingers naturally matched the pattern. She remembered, suddenly, the feeling of snapping bones. She sort of remembered Sam yelling for help and trying to pull her hands away from her arms.

"Oh… Oh, shit…"

"Yeah," Gary said. "Took Sam and Larry to keep you from clawing yourself."

She gulped thickly. "Did… did I bite anyone?"

"No, but you damn sure scared the hell outta us," Old Jim huffed sardonically.

"So, I guess we gotta figure out what to do," Terrance said.

"We've gotta keep it secret," Sam said. "It's a miracle no one else heard her."

"How're we gonna keep it a secret?" Gary snapped. "She's a fucking werewolf and she's probably gonna grow."

"If we don't, someone's gonna get it into their heads to kill her or experiment on her," Sam snapped back. "We can't let that happen to her."

"And how're we gonna hide it? Where can we even take her to make sure no one hears or sees her?" Terrance countered.

"I might know a place," Meth-head Larry said. "It's an abandoned farm a bit out of town, but no one would be around. It'd also give her plenty of room to run."

"But what if she has to be restrained? If she's not a pup forever, she's gonna attack people," Gary countered.

Meth-head Larry shrugged. "I mean, it depends on which werewolf legend's true, right? I mean, she changed during the full moon, but I'm pretty sure there's an old European legend that says she'll change back if she's clothed by a loved one or something."

"So, what? We just experiment to figure out which one she is?" Gary asked.

"Do you have a better idea?"

Gary shut his mouth and hid his face with his hand.

Alexis rubbed her eyes and unlocked her phone to look at the time with a groan. "Shit…"

"You're not going into work today," Sam said firmly.

"But—"

"Kid," Old Jim interrupted, garnering her full attention. "Trust me when I say you look like shit. Call out and get some rest."

She scowled. "And what about next time? If I call out once a month, I'm gonna get fired."

"I'm not saying call out every month. I'm saying call out this month. By next month, you'll probably have a better idea how to handle all of this."

The imploring looks all around had Alexis sighing and relenting. "Fine, just this time."

"Thank you," Sam sighed.

"It'd probably be a good idea to have someone here to look after her and get her out if there's a room inspection," Terrance said.

"I'm off," Meth-head Larry and Old Jim said.

Gary pushed himself to his feet. "Great. Now that we've got babysitting duty set up for the day, the rest of us can take a nap and go to work." He paused at the door and looked back at Alexis. "Actually rest, kid. I'm not gonna be happy if I come back and find out you were awake all day."

Good old Gary could always be counted on to be blunt.

"Go get some beauty sleep," she said while waving him off. "You need it."

He rolled his eyes. "Hardy-har."

With that, he left and Terrance paused in getting up to reach over and pat her shoulder. "G'night, kid. Call out."

Only after she called out did Old Jim and Meth-head Larry leave her and Sam alone in their room. Sam stretched out on the couch and covered his eyes with his arm while Alexis curled up in bed and closed her burning eyes.

Just when she thought life couldn't get any worse, she ended up contracting lycanthropy. Just great…

Chapter Text

The card reading room had been empty the last time he'd been inside, however now it was filled with every member of their current available Staff and a young werewolf woman. Judging by the looks they were sending him, their unexpected guest had proven herself to be a handful.

"Who might this be?" Jenkins asked as he approached.

Mr. Carsen gestured grandly to the young woman with the paper in his hands fluttering. "This, Jenkins, is who the Library sent an invitation to."

His stomach dropped. "Another Librarian?"

"No, not another Librarian," Mr. Carsen said with a touch more glee than Jenkins liked. He held out the paper and envelope with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You'll be conducting the interview."

Jenkins plucked the paper from the other man's hands with the full knowledge that this girl was as good as hired from the Head Librarian's point of view. All Jenkins could do was go through the motions as always and make it as difficult as possible while he gave in. He skimmed the letter, but he went back and read those two crucial words.

You have been selected to interview for the prestigious position of Assistant Curator—

Assistant Curator.

"Assistant Curator?! I've no need for an assistant!"

He'd been sole Curator for over seven hundred years and not once in that time had the Library ever felt the need to give him an assistant . It was a blow to his pride that it thought he needed help wrangling four Librarians. Did it not remember the time travel incident where he'd had to keep alive seventeen Librarians at once?

"The Library seems to think you do," Colonel Baird said smugly.

He glowered but knew it had no power over her. "Your input is not necessary, Colonel."

"Alright, fine," she sighed while placatingly lifting her hands. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling meaningfully. "The Library's input's what matters."

Jenkins' scowl deepened and he turned back to the young woman who… was younger and smaller up close than he'd expected. Her cheeks were still rather round with youth and her curious eyes were wide and confused. Given the blue in the center of her iris, she was still a pup.

He softened his expression slightly. "Your name seems to be conspicuously absent from this invitation. What might your name be?"

As was the case with all pups and teenagers, she immediately proved to be mischievous given the glint in her eyes and twitch of her lips.

"Alexis Jenkins. Either we're distant kin or your people owned mine."

His scowl deepened. "Either one is impossible."

Firstly, all but one of his adopted children had no children and that one daughter's lineage hadn't crossed the pond as far as his research had indicated. Secondly, he'd never and would never own slaves of any denomination. In fact, he might have had a hand in liberating this very girl's ancestors given how… busy that time had been for him.

Ms. Jenkins walked forward with her fingers trailing along the metal table, eyes downcast. "Well, about that… 'Jenkins' is a Welsh name that loosely translates to 'son' or 'kin of John' and sometimes used as 'little John' to denote a younger John of the same family." Her eyes lifted to meet his and the corners of her lips twitched into a smile. "Considering the immigration of the Welsh in the early 1700s and the booming business of the Atlantic slave trade, it's not an unreasonable assumption to make."

No, it wasn't unreasonable if his name had actually been Jenkins or he'd been born in the last sixty years, but she didn't know that. That small monologue showed promise, however.

She glanced around and seemed to realize everyone was staring at her and added with a careless shrug, "I did background on my surname in high school as a class project."

He took a slow inward breath and knew he'd hate the answer to his next question. "Might I ask when high school was?"

She thought for a moment before answering, "About six months ago."

" Months?! " The Library had to have lost its mind if it thought he would accept such a young assistant in this day and age. He glared up at the ceiling. "No, no, no. She's too young! Find me someone else if you think I need an assistant!"

"Well, y'see… problem with that is she's got a white envelope," Mr. Stone said as he leaned against the middle table. "I'd say she's qualified just for being able to shut Flynn up. No offense."

"None taken," Mr. Carsen said.

Ms. Cillian perked up and gestured to the door that led outside. "She also managed to find her way inside without any help."

He thought she was incredibly lucky that he'd needed to fix the front door that morning and his scent was fresh enough for even a week old whelp to follow. He would need to test her sense of smell to see if she could trace a fainter scent, but that was for later.

Jenkins turned his eyes towards Ms. Jenkins, taking stock of how unphased she seemed to be, but the blue in her eyes was too prominent for him to believe she was as unbothered as she presented. All she did was raise a single eyebrow questioningly at him and he already knew what was being asked.

With a great sigh, he put down the inventory and straightened. "Alright. Follow me if you please." He realized how uncomfortable a young woman might be with being alone with an older man and quickly added, "If you would like another woman present, I would suggest the Colonel for her discretion."

The look of pleased surprise that flickered across Colonel Baird's face spoke to how rarely he blatantly complimented her (or any of them for that matter). He didn't linger on it and merely turned his attention to the young lady who eyed the Colonel somewhat warily.

"I'll opt out, but I appreciate the offer." She returned her gaze to him and bowed at the waist in mock deference with such care he would have thought she'd practiced it. "Please, Mr. Jenkins, lead the way."

"Oh, ho-ho…" Mr. Jones chuckled with that mischievous grin that he always had. "I think I like her already."

He fought a smile at her boldness and rather silly behavior. Whether she was doing this to make him uncomfortable or to alleviate the tension, it mattered not to him. He was, decidedly, amused.

"Very well then."

He walked past her into the shelves and thought she looked mighty pleased with herself. He thought her smile grew as they reached the door that he'd opened and could only guess that it was something being said by the Librarians.

"Are they always so… chaotic? Scatterbrained?"

"Yes, but you seem to be referring to something specific," he said while following her through the door.

"I stood around for… I dunno, ten minutes listening to them speculate on why I'm here."

He sighed wearily. "Unfortunately, they're very susceptible to distraction. The only ones available to rein them in are the Colonel and myself."

"The only ones that have been available," she corrected while looking at the paintings on the walls.

Though he and the rest of the team knew beyond the shadow of a doubt she would be working here, he also didn't want to give her the impression it would be an easy job. A werewolf she may be, but it was a dangerous job to take on for one so young, even as a Curator.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. We haven't even conducted the interview."

"I'll try not to get my hopes up," she deadpanned.

He reached the bland study room and opened the door for her, taking in how her nose twitched slightly as she entered—no doubt noticing the staleness from lack of use in the air.

She turned to him and she blinked as she stared at his eyes as if she could see through to his very soul. He was suddenly aware of green flecks in her eyes. He was certain if there was not a rim of blue in her iris, the green would have been less noticeable. Her next words only proved to shake him from his ruminations and shock him to his very core.

"You're older than you look." Her eyes narrowed slightly as he stiffened. "Which, considering you look old enough to be a grandpa, is saying something."

He cocked his head to the side and observed her. She didn't seem to know exactly what she was talking about, but she was observant. He didn't think she was any reincarnate, or at least not one he'd met in his millennium and a half, but there was always the possibility.

"And what, might I ask, gave you that impression?"

She was silent for a long moment, internally debating the merit of telling him the truth, but she gave it freely anyway with a helpless shrug. "Your eyes."

His eyebrows rose in a silent request for her to elaborate.

Her eyes averted. "I had a friend in middle school—Maria—who was reincarnated. She had eyes like yours." She grimaced and amended, "Maybe more like the Colonel's, actually. Her eyes always looked at the world differently than everyone else our age."

"I see…"

So she had some experience with magic, but clearly not a lot outside of this and her recently contracted lycanthropy. Something he would have to take the time to address at the end of the interview since he could only gather so much in regard to her variant of lycanthropy in this form.

He sat on the other side of the desk and pulled out a writing tablet and a pen.

She sat in the chair across the desk and said, "Can we make this interview fast? I have a cat to feed, after all."

He scoffed and tested the ink in the pen by scribbling a little on the corner. "You don't have a cat."

She tilted her head in a way reminiscent of a wolf. "And what, might I ask, gave you that impression?"

Oh, she's interesting , Jenkins thought as he entertained her by answering, "Not a speck of fur on your clothes or in your hair."

"I see…" She leaned back in her chair. "So am I right about you being older than you look?"

He tapped his pen against the notepad a few times. He didn't have to continue entertaining her, but she was likely going to be working there and his assistant ought to know more of him than the rest of the Staff if she was clever enough to pick up on something in thirty minutes that they hadn't in three months.

"Yes, however I'm no reincarnate."

She looked as if she had a million questions, but he didn't give her the opportunity to ask them.

"Let us proceed with the interview." He leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a sharp smile.

Her eyebrow twitched upward. "Yessir."

"Are you aware of what the position of Curator entails?"

Now that the contract was made for the position of Assistant Curator, he moved onto the more practical portion of a welfare check. After all, most new werewolves from the mortal world didn't start out with packs and it was important to ensure whelps were given the tools necessary to learn and grow safely.

"I take it you've only recently become a werewolf and you're the only one in your family," Jenkins said.

Ms. Jenkins shot to her feet with the blue in her eyes bleeding out until they seemed a strange hazel. "How—"

"I work in a magical Library and I've lived in the magical world my entire life. If I can't spot a werewolf, I no longer deserve to work in this institution." He held up his hands placatingly. "I've no intention of hurting you at all. We wouldn't be hiring you if we discriminated against other beings."

"If you knew I was a werewolf the entire time, why didn't you say anything?" She demanded.

"It wasn't relevant to your qualifications for or acceptance of the job. In fact, this has nothing to do with your job, but rather is a wellness check. Many young werewolves have pitfalls when they don't have someone experienced guiding them."

"And you have experience?" She asked dubiously. "What? Are you a werewolf, too?"

He rested his chin on his fist. "No, but when you've been around as long as I have, you end up gaining some unique skills and knowledge."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you offering to help?"

"Simply because it's the right thing to do." He released a soft breath in irritation at her complete lack of answers. "Now that you've interrogated me, would you be so kind as to answer a single one of mine?"

Ms. Jenkins blinked twice. "Um… what were your questions?"

With a considerable amount of patience, he asked, "How many months have you been transforming? One or two?"

"Only one."

He nodded and knew that they had a little under a month before her next transformation. "Do you have a safe place to transform?"

Her eyes darted to the side. "Safe for me or for others?"

"Both."

"Erm… One of my… friends knows of an abandoned farm outside of town. We used that for the third night since by night two we figured it'd be at least three nights." The slight trembling in her voice told him how relieved she'd been that it was not for every night the rest of her life. He'd heard it from countless whelps from human-mortal backgrounds and the sympathy, the pity in his heart never became easier to bear when they were so young.

"And have they fed you while you were in your wolf form?"

"Erm… I think so. I don't exactly remember."

He rubbed his temple with two fingers and groaned quietly at the inadequate provisions that were being made. Granted, they had been doing their best, but there was much more that went into helping a whelp grow into a healthy wolf. He would need to see the site for himself to determine how well they'd managed. Additionally, he wanted to meet these dubious friends of hers to determine that she would come to no harm.

"I see… And how many of your… friends know you're a werewolf?" Jenkins asked.

"Five. It was… traumatizing for all of us," she answered.

"And have they become your pack?"

"My… pack?"

"As a were wolf , it's imperative that you have a pack. Wolves are social creatures and if you don't have any, it's… detrimental to your health otherwise."

She shifted from foot to foot. "I dunno… How do I know they're pack?"

"Usually a sense of safety when you're around them and a strong sense of protectiveness," he answered.

She shrugged. "One of them is, but the other four were kinda… happenstance."

He weighed his options very carefully before finally asking, "If it is at all possible, I would like to meet your friends."

"Why?"

"To assure both parties that we are all working in your best interest," he said bluntly. At her thunderstruck expression, he softened his and forced his shoulders to relax. "Ms. Jenkins, you are young and you're very new to the magical world. This is, no doubt, a frightening experience for you. It's important that your personal and professional life have some sort of stability. That works best if we all have at least a decent working relationship."

"Okay…" She said softly. Her eyes focused on him and her voice strengthened with determination. "Okay, I'll talk to them when I get back."

"Much appreciated," he said as he rose from his seat. "Allow me to escort you out."

He'd have his work cut out for him, but he was determined to help in any way he could. Something told him that she would be worth dealing with five additional people.

Chapter Text

Had someone approached Jenkins and told him in the beginning that he would have to pretend to be his assistant's husband, he'd have sighed and asked for the details of the mission. Had they told him it was because the only other women on the Staff were already well-known to the venue hosts, he'd have asked questions as to how they met. Had all of this happened when his assistant was still new, he'd not have found it as disquieting as he did now that he'd come to know her on a personal level.

His assistant, Mrs. Sarah Jenkins, had lost a husband and child a few years before she'd come to work for the Library and, quite frankly, hadn't healed as much as she would have led everyone to believe. It felt as if he were treading on sacred ground that he had no business stepping foot on. Deep in his soul, it felt wrong.

Even as he approached the dressing room to check on her, he felt discomfited. It shifted to pure awkwardness when he'd barely brushed his knuckles against the door and it opened. Sarah startled slightly and pressed her arm tighter across her chest.

"Oh. Jenkins," she sighed in relief. "Your timing's perfect."

His eyebrows raised questioningly until she'd turned to present her back which was almost entirely exposed due to the zipper only being a quarter of the way done. He perfunctorily zipped the dress the rest of the way and informed her that they had approximately an hour and a half before they absolutely needed to leave for their mission. Thankfully, she had proven herself to be a punctual woman and he figured she would be finished in an hour at most.

"Noted. Help me choose my necklace?" She asked as she returned to the vanity on the far wall.

He found himself shaking his head in baffled amusement over how blasé she was regarding the whole affair. Whatever nerves that had roiled inside of him eased in the face of the mundane, of her nonchalant disposition. He did not bother closing the door after himself as they were the only ones in the abandoned Budapest Annex. He walked over to survey the potential options for her jewelry. All chains and bracelets were pure silver or white gold and any jewels that were on the table were sapphires. It seemed that she had already decided on a theme for accessories she wanted. Some options bordered on gaudy and others were too simple for such a dynamic dress.

"Which do you think goes best with this dress?"

He hummed slightly and his fingers brushed one of the simpler pieces—a thin chain with a sapphire wrapped in crisscrossing silver bands—with his mind's eye imagining it around her neck. He found that he was particular to this piece, but ultimately it all came down to her preferences.

"It depends on how elaborate you want to be," he finally said as he removed his hand from the necklace.

"Then I'll go with this one," she said as she plucked the very one he'd taken to from the table. She held it out to him with a tentative smile. "Help me, please?"

He took it and waited until her thick hair was lifted up to bring his hands around the front of her neck and loop the chain around her neck. As he secured the clasp, his eyes lifted to meet hers in the mirror whilst she watched him with a slight furrow in her brow. He made sure to take two relatively small steps back until he was outside of her personal space, but did not shift out of her line of sight even as her hair fell back to her shoulders.

He cleared his throat and briskly asked as his hands clasped behind his back, "What are your ground rules?"

She looked up from grabbing her lip gloss and cocked an eyebrow at him through the mirror. "Ground rules?"

"Your boundaries for this façade."

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she focused on adding lip gloss over her smoky topaz colored lipstick. He honestly could not tell whether she was using it as a stalling tactic or if she was truly as unconcerned as her expression would lead him to believe. Regardless, she took her time.

One would think after so many years of working with one another he'd be able to read her as an expert, however, Sarah did not allow herself to be read. Her amusement, her joy, her anger, her sorrow were all subtle enough that he often missed it. Thankfully, their resident empath often knew what she needed at any given time and would gently direct the rest of their team as necessary.

She finished and set the lip gloss back in its place precisely before turning to face him directly "That's simple. No wandering hands or kissing on the lips unless necessary for our cover, but it's rather a moot point to tell you this when I know you won't." Her face lit up as she seemed to remember something and her lips twitched upward as she pointed at him and then herself in turn, "Oh! And if we're going to pretend to be in a relationship? You've only got eyes for me."

He huffed quietly and marvelled at her complete faith in his character. Gratifying as it was to know she trusted him, he needed specifics. He'd witnessed her stiffen at the casual touches their rather charismatic and incredibly affectionate Librarian and Guardian were wont to give. Often, despite how he loathed it, he would take the bullet and request a hug when Sarah was particularly high-strung which neither could ever pass up on since he so rarely asked. Though she'd softened to their charges, he'd never known her to return the affection given without a great deal of emotion moving her to do so.

"Hand on the waist?" He asked as a ploy to have her elaborate further.

"That's fine. Touching the shoulder and knee are fine, too. And you can hold my hand as much as you want since I know what a scaredy-cat you are," she teased whilst flashing him a white smile that had his shoulders relaxing.

"My fearless protector," he mused, one hand unbuttoning his blue suit jacket. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and fought a smile. "I don't know how I'd leave the Annes without you."

She sat on the bench and crossed her legs, inadvertently causing the slit of her dress to part to reveal a decent portion of her thigh. "If you move your hand higher than this while we're sitting, it means we need to leave immediately."

He took note of where she pointed and saw that it was a little under two hand-widths above her knee. "Why make that the signal?"

"Because I trust you not to do it unless it's an emergency," she carelessly shrugged. "Alternate signal for while we're standing is shifting your hand back to about here."

Her hand moved to the side of her rear, and he couldn't imagine what could possibly be dangerous enough to risk placing his hand there. He hoped he wouldn't find out.

"Alright. If you think we need to leave at any point I believe the same signal sitting down is appropriate… Standing, you can put your hand under my jacket."

She nodded solemnly. "God it. Just so you know, I don't mind you getting close to whisper in my ear."

"The same could be said for you."

She leaned back against the vanity with a tilt of her head. "What're your other boundaries?"

He stared at her with what must have been the most profoundly stupid expression he'd ever worn. "What?"

"Your boundaries," she repeated slowly. "What are they?"

Casting his memory back in his, admittedly, fallible memory, he could not remember if anyone had ever asked for his boundaries whilst pretending to be a husband or lover. He'd never felt the need to state his boundaries since he'd been confident and consistent in his ability to curb his enthusiastic counterparts and, quite frankly, the feminine people and beings he temporarily partnered with were often asked to push their boundaries much further than the masculine. It had never occurred to him to lay out what made him uncomfortable. Not until now.

"I… Forgive me, I wasn't expecting to be asked."

Her face contorted into an expression of disgusted confusion. "You mean to tell me that in all the time you've been working for the Library, no one's ever asked what your boundaries are?"

"No, not exactly…" When her face further twisted with an emotion he couldn't quite grasp, he hastily assured, "I've always been able to curb the… ill-manners of any faux partner with me."

"Huh… Well, I'm asking. It'd be pretty inadvisable for me to distract the more experienced and well-informed member of our duo because I accidentally made you uncomfortable."

He supposed she'd asked for the very reasons he'd asked her. Not only was she concerned with ensuring the success of their mission, but she wanted to protect both their professional and personal relationships. Perhaps they were more alike than he'd been willing to admit. The both of them were willing to do almost anything for the sake of protecting the world simply because they had nothing left to lose.

Deciding to take this seriously, he took his time to think of all the things previous partners had done that he'd found distinctly and distractingly uncomfortable. He thought of anything that almost made him break his cover entirely.

"Don't sneak up on me," were his stern words despite knowing she already knew better. "You know how to flare your magic subtly but strongly enough for me to feel it, so I expect you to use that skill."

She nodded slowly, eyes somewhat distant for only half of a second. "Makes sense. Anything else?"

His thumb rubbed against his forefinger in his uncertainty. What further boundaries did he have? What had that one Acolyte—what was his name? Adam? Alec? It was four letters—done to earn his eternal annoyance? He'd remembered snatching his hand and forcing them into a nearby wall where he'd used a sickly sweet voice to warn him to never do it again. His hand touched his neck and he remembered. It had been a casual touch, shifting from his shoulders to his face but rather than shuddering, Jenkins had gone completely stiff and snapped before he could quite think.

All the while, Sarah watched him with a patient, open expression. He doubted that she would ever judge him for his boundaries when she'd been the one to ask.

"Nothing to do with my neck. Face, ears and shoulders are perfectly fine, but don't touch my neck. I also ask that you refrain from, as you say, 'coping a feel' as well."

She nodded her understanding. "Thank you for telling me." She stood in a smooth and fluid motion, hands smoothing out her dress instinctively. "Before we go, we oughta get some practice in."

His eyebrows twitched downward. "Practice?"

"We ought to get used to holding each other and I'd really rather not knee you in the groin because I didn't realize it was you."

The exasperated look he sent her nearly had him laughing. "This is my first mission. I wanna be prepared."

"Second mission," he corrected.

Her scowl was fierce. "Being kidnapped doesn't count." When he stayed in place and merely grinned at her in amusement, she raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Well? Come embrace your wife?"

He shook his head and took slow, deliberate steps. "I beg to differ. I've met countless Librarians whose first missions were being kidnapped." He hesitated a second and placed his hands chastly on her hips. When she raised a single, questioning eyebrow, he self-consciously muttered, "I'm a bit out of practice."

"I couldn't tell," she teased as she shifted closer and wrapped her arms around his middle.

He shook his head and forced his body to relax despite the contact. "You're having too much fun."

"Ah, but it's so rare when I'm more experienced." She pulled away from him entirely with a slight sparkle to her eyes. "What're our names on the RSVP? I doubt I can get away with calling you 'Galahad' in front of so many people."

His mouth suddenly felt dry as he realized she'd entirely forgotten the name he'd chosen for himself. Granted, he'd chosen it before he'd met her, but all the same his name was a point of grief for her.

"Jacob Jenkins," he finally said quietly and did not miss her slight grimace. He pressed forward in the hopes of distracting her from her grief, however brief it might be. "You're my plus one, so whatever name you choose will be fine."

Her arms wrapped around her middle and shoulders crept up slightly as if she were cringing away from the cold. Her eyes had grown rather distant, enough that he feared he would have to go to drastic measures to put a temporary spell on Judson to have him pass as his plus one for the retreat, but she returned to herself with a shake of her head quickly enough. He decided to keep the backup plan in his back pocket. Just in case.

"I don't care so long as it makes it difficult to track me down. There're plenty of creeps out there."

That he could easily concede. It was a small, but not insignificant part of why they did their best to stay under the radar.

He watched her meander away from the vanity and suggested, "How about Fatima?"

"Too notable. I need something that hundreds of women that look like me have." She stopped at the corner, facing it as if she were on time out, but her shoulders had relaxed by now. "Come up behind me whenever you like and put your arms around me."

He hummed once and waited several minutes whilst she toyed with her necklace, likely lost in thought. Finally, he walked forward on silent feet across the carpet and slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

"What about Tia?" He asked as she leaned into him with the slightest hesitation.

"Tia Jenkins… Yeah. It has a ring to it, but I prefer my name."

He huffed in amusement as he tentatively set his chin upon her shoulder. He was rather pleasantly surprised when her head tilted to meet his in feigned adoration. "I can't imagine a name more suited to precede Jenkins."

"Thank you, Jacob," she said with a slight grimace.

"Had I known, I would've chosen a different name," he said quietly at the subtle sadness in her eyes that belied the light, unbothered mask she wore.

"It's fine…" She turned slightly to meet his eyes with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Though, I think you look more like a John or a Richard."

He snorted. "You just want an excuse to call me Dick."

"No," she said at just an octave too high to be believable. "But you do act like one sometimes."

"How else would I be able to wrangle hard-headed and easily distracted Librarians and Guardians and get them to listen to me on the rare occasions I'm needed?"

"True…" Her eyes softened. "But you're the kindest man I've known in a long time." She turned her head further and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

He resisted the instinctive urge to release her and regain the distance they'd had just seconds before. "You're… you're welcome."

She suddenly grasped his wrists and tugged them tighter around her with a grin. "C'mon! You can do better than that. Hold me like some sort of pimp showing off the merch."

"One: you know exactly what you did and I resent your being merchandise," he said as he tightened his hold around her. "Two: pimps don't hold their 'merch' like they're married to them."

A sly smile. "I know. Humor makes you relax and with the level of intimacy we'll need for a couple's retreat, you're gonna need it."

Warmth sparked in his chest at her consideration, and he shifted slowly until his lips brushed against her cheek. "Thank you. I couldn't ask for a better faux wife for this mission."

She turned in his arms and forced him to straighten. "Just know that you're gonna be my only fake husband. Much as I love Judson, he's not someone I imagine has jungle fever."

He made a valiant effort to not laugh by pinching his lips together, but it ultimately failed. He released her and nearly fell into the nearby wall in search of sturdy support as he guffawed over the silly notion. For as long as he'd known Judson, the man's type had never been rigid in the least. He turned to say just that to her, but the confusion written across her face sent him into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"I'd like to know what's so funny," Sarah said whilst placing her hands on her hips.

"Clearly, you've not heard enough stories of Judson's exploits. Limited as his tea palate is, his taste in women is… varied." He straightened slightly and pressed his hand against his side to ease the aching, but he grinned despite the pain. "Do you remember him mentioning an Ayele?"

She nodded slowly, apprehensively.

His grin widened and he tilted his head forward whilst raising his eyebrows pointedly.

Her eyes grew large, and she made a noise in the back of her throat that was a pure mixture of embarrassment and revulsion. "Nope. I'm not thinking of that ever again."

It was difficult to refrain from laughing again, but he'd managed this time. With a deep breath, he straightened again and stepped forward. He telegraphed his movements as he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "I wouldn't worry. He doesn't sniff where he's not wanted, and you're a bit young for his tastes."

She opened her mouth and then closed it with a shake of her head. "Nope. Not asking. Don't want or need to know."

He bit his bottom lip and removed his hands to press one fist to his lips to keep from laughing at her reaction.

She narrowed her eyes at him without any heat. "Hardy-har-har." She raised her hands to hold his face, pinkies grazing the edges of his jaws. "Is here okay? Too close to your neck?"

His eyebrows twitched downward in confusion and curiosity. He'd not flinched from her as he would with anyone else making the same action. He hadn't even felt the need to grimace.

Experimentally, he took her hands and lowered them until three of her fingers were resting on his neck and, to his increasing curiosity, he didn't have the visceral need to throw himself away from her.

"No, not too close…" He tilted his head slightly and looked at her—really looked at her for the first time.

Her dark eyes flickered about his face and the corners of her lips were downturned in that peculiar way they did when she felt genuine concern. He could find not a trace of disgust or discomfort in her or in himself.

He recognized, as he lowered her hands so that they could wrap around his neck, that his body knew that no pain would be inflicted by her hands even if he lowered his own away. Somewhere along their journey, he'd come to trust her completely.

He noticed flecks of green in her eyes and he was overcome with uncertainty. He stepped back and averted his gaze entirely. "Apologies. That was… intimate."

"That's okay. Though… I won't be doing that to you."

He nodded and fidgeted with his tie to give his hands something to do as he fought to regain whatever distance they'd had before. His heart stuttered in his chest, but he couldn't quite place why when fear didn't have a home in his heart in regard to this woman. All attempts at distance, however, ground to a halt when he heard her next words.

"Kiss me."

He whipped around to look at her with blatantly alarmed confusion and… something else he couldn't quite define and wasn't inclined to at that moment. "What?"

The normally confident woman crossed her arms in uncertainty. "I crossed a boundary, and I feel it's only fair.""

He sent her an unamused, almost scolding look. "That's not how this works. I made you cross a boundary."

"I was too close to your neck to begin with. Closer than what anyone else could get away with, anyway." She took a step forward and seemed to have some of her confidence back. "It's a boundary I don't mind you crossing in this instance… That and if we get this awkwardness out of the way, the rest will be easy in front of an audience."

He gulped thickly and looked into her eyes where the green flecks stood out suddenly. "Are you sure?"

The corners of her lips curled upward. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You know me well enough by now."

He was silent for a long moment, trying to understand the fluttering of hist stomach in conjunction with the tightening of his chest. He couldn't have been that uncomfortable, could he?

"Alright," he finally managed.

Her movements were slow and careful, eyes sharp as she searched for any hint of denial. The closer she came, the more aware he was of their proximity. His heart thundered in his chest as she stood just in front of him. Her hands guided him closer until he could feel her breath and smell hints of the minty toothpaste she'd used after breakfast.

He closed his eyes as their lips brushed together and surprised himself by placing a hand on her waist and guiding her forward until she was properly pressed against him.

It was a split second of insanity that was quickly followed by a crystal-clear sobriety. He broke the kiss, taking care not to make it so hasty that it would insult her, and stepped back into the wall as he cleared his throat. He hadn't a clue as to what he would say since he was taken aback by how his heart stuttered like a trotting horse.

Luckily, Sarah Jenkins was a master of avoiding awkward silences.

"Good. Now if we need to kiss, it won't look like I don't know what I'm doing to you," she said with a definitive nod. She returned to the vanity and waved for him to follow. "Come here so I can wipe the gloss off."

He felt off-kilter, but he walked forward steadily. She, of course, fussed over getting the lip gloss off of his lips and in this time he found himself counting the flecks of green in her eyes. He thought it curious that she had five in her right eye and eight in her left. Thirteen flints of green in her brown eyes. He wondered if it was a sign.

"There." She turned back to the vanity to touch up her own lips for a moment and then she was straightening up. He knew she was going to grab his hand before she grasped it and allowed himself to be dragged towards the door. "C'mon, we're gonna be late for the retreat if we don't start driving now."

He let her lead him out of the old Budapest Annex, trying his best to still the stuttering of his heart by sheer force of will.

Chapter Text

Weekends were a hit or miss when it came to getting an actual break between missions. There'd been times where the team would have to work every single day for two or three weeks before they felt at liberty to take a weekend in the middle of the work week. It shook up training schedules and who was assigned what duty when. Alexis' day-to-day life, admittedly, was the most stable one due to the herculean effort on Jenkins' part. He made sure to adjust her schedule whenever the unexpected happened and make up for any lessons that had to be missed during missions.

But even her schedule wasn't quite as stable as a regular office job and so on their first day off in two and a half weeks, she collapsed on the couch and turned on mindless television. She'd only been paying half attention to the marathon that was on, but soon she only picked her phone up during commercials for she was interested in not just the show but one character that had caught her attention. It was like this that the rest of the team found her.

"What're you watching there, kid?" Ezekiel asked as he plopped down on the couch beside her.

"I dunno. Some old sitcom about court," she said. "Got any snacks?"

Ezekiel handed over the bowl of popcorn. "Here."

"That's Night Court, it's not that—" Jacob stopped himself and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "God, I sound like an old man."

She shared a mischievous grin with Ezekiel, something that had brought wariness to all who witnessed it. Even Alexis could admit it was almost scary how well and how often their wavelengths matched up.

They turned to Jacob with near identical grins and said, "What do you mean, grandpa?"

Jacob's lips pinched into a thin smile. "Y'all think y'all're funny."

"Do you think we're funny?" Alexis asked her compatriot.

"I think we're hilarious," Ezekiel insisted with a hand to his chest that he upturned towards her in turn. "Do you think we're funny?"

"We could be comedians."

Jacob took his usual seat beside the couch as far from Ezekiel as he could get. "I don't know what the Library was thinking putting y'all in the same place."

"That's easy. The Library needs more entertainment." Alexis' lips twitched into a broader smile when she noticed the amusement dancing in the air around her. "Trust me when I say it's way less… prestigious in personality than it looks."

P̸̧̡͖̤̪͙͇̘͙̜̘̳͈̱̰͋̅͆͑͗̌͝ḷ̸̨̜̱̫̙̫͙͍̱͛̀̈́̄̿̄̍̆̃̂̎ͅǎ̸͓̠̩̱̥̤̤̭̳̼̤͕̂̏̏̋̔̈́̊̓͜͠y̵̡̯̼̗͈̤̼̱̙͍͍̘̫̪̬̋̀̀͝f̶̛̞̣̩͉̖͛̊̀̈́͗͌͗͌̓̿͗̓̕͝u̷͉̹̲̬̟͇͈̻̥̮̻̩͖̙̓̈́̈̓̓̇͊͌́͜͝l̶͇̰͕̪̲̈́̀̌̇.̵̢̡̖͉͙̻̠̞̼̙͉͚̠̥̀̔̇̈́̈́̈̍͐͊̐̾̚͠͝ ̴̡̢̨̟̦͉͍̯̣̟͓̬̝̑͛̔̔̐̂̀̈̿̒̍̓̑͝͠Ȏ̴̖̲̭̤́̍́̂̏́͛́̀̉̽̚̚͠f̶̢̛̮̳̮̟̳͋͑̔͊̌̊͛͗̏̚͝f̵̡̛̤̭̱̑͂̑͝ė̸̦̼̥͍͔̰͕͔͔͇͊̈́͗͒͛͜͠͠ͅn̸͖̳͖̟̙̰̬͎͕̑̾̀̀̆͘̚ͅs̴͔̜̐͗̎͐͌̋̍͗ḙ̵̞̼͙̖̗͙̃.̶̪̱̣̌͛̑̒̈́̐̿̂͛̊͑͂

As the magic reeled back from her, she tilted her head back and yelled at the ceiling, "Don't give me that! I kept my mouth shut about that one thing, didn't I?!"

The one thing, of course, being a bout of mischief. Mere days before it was brought back to the physical world it had decided to turn Jacob's hair pink and plant the false evidence in one of the common area trash cans. Jacob had been convinced Ezekiel had done it, but Ezekiel stood by the fact he would never be so sloppy. Alexis had stood there feeling the equivalent of a gut-busting guffaw from the Library while they argued.

As the Library conceded with what felt like a grin, Ezekiel laughed.

"You sound like Flynn and Baird!"

"We take the time to get to know it," she shrugged. "You guys don't notice all that it does for you."

Ezekiel pulled a face. "Are you calling us ungrateful?"

"No, no," she placated as she patted his arm. "I'm calling you assholes."

"Who're the assholes?"

Alexis tilted her head back to watch Cassandra enter the room with a bag of chips and a can of soda. "These two. Wanna be my buffer?"

"Sure." Cassandra settled in the couch between Alexis and Ezekiel—who was her biggest threat for retaliation—and crossed her legs. "Why're they assholes?"

"They don't talk to the Library."

"I've never seen Cassandra talk to the Library either," Jacob said. "Why aren't you calling her one?"

Alexis narrowed her eyes at the man for the subtle dig and didn't miss the pure, unadulterated amusement in his magic. Thankfully, Cassandra saved her from making up what would've undoubtedly been a dumb excuse.

"Because I use an interpreter to ask after the Library."

"Wait!" Ezekiel sat up and leaned forward until he could look past Cassandra at Alexis. "You interpret for the Library now?"

Alexis shrugged. "I mean, it's not really all that clear all the time, but yeah. I've been learning morse code so we can play hangman."

"You… You're learning morse code from where?" Jasob asked.

"A book… and the Library's been helping me learn by making its magic kinda flex in patterns."

"Why didn't you ask me or Baird or even Jenkins?"

She sank lower into the couch, face darkening. "It's embarrassing to ask for lessons when I'm just gonna use it to play a game with a sentient building."

"It's not embarrassing, it's sweet," Cassandra insisted with a beaming smile.

"And funny," Ezekiel added.

She pulled the collar of her shirt up to hide her face and proceeded to curl up until her knees were practically to her chest. "Just let me die."

"Don't be embarrassed." Jacob leaned over and tugged at the collar of her shirt until she peered over at him. "It's like learning sign language for a friend who's deaf. It's a nice gesture."

"I wanna go back to watching TV," she groused, letting her feet fall back to the floor so that she could look at the screen.

Ezekiel snorted. "Why're you watching cable?"

"We don't have the budget for a DVR… or at least that's what Charlene told Jenkins."

"That bites."

"Tell me about it."

"Hey," Cassandra said as she leaned forward a bit. "Doesn't that sarcastic guy look a lot like Jenkins?"

Alexis relaxed as the boys leaned forward. "Oh, so I'm not losing my mind. Thanks for that."

"He looks like a really young version of Jenkins."

Jacob shook his head. "He acts too different."

"We're not saying he acts the same. We're saying he looks the same. Besides, we haven't known him all his life," Cassandra said.

"He's Galahad, he wouldn't've looked like that in the nineties."

This, of course, sparked an entire conversation on immortal aging and how a man that looks like a young Jenkins could exist. It went from a semi-scholarly discussion of magic and turned into fantastical theories because none of them thought it was possible for him to have had a child with anyone or anything. The most accepted theory was that someone successfully made a clone.

Suddenly there was a tap on her shoulder and when she turned there was no one there. The Library seemed to buzz frantically and shift towards the door. She frowned slightly and extended her senses until she realized, with alarm, Jenkins was walking toward them.

"Jenkins is coming. I'm guessing we… shouldn't ask him?"

A̶͕̬̺̬̜͙͂͑̓͆̊̎̉͐g̵̨̛̫̠̪̞̲̩̳̙̥̿̾́̉̀̄̒͐͘̕̚r̶͍̳̲̖̱̝͍͆̏̄̚ͅę̶͓͔̰͎̻̗̥̙̘̕e̶̮̞͓̹̮͚̥̜̾m̴̜̭̑́̅̊̅͌̾̕͝͝͝e̷͉̩̘͙̽̾̑͝͝n̸͔̲̤̺͓̦̲͋̃̒ͅͅt̴̠̳̮̜͔̎͋͜ͅ.̸̘̻̼͎͈̗̙̐͗̇̈́̋̄͋͂͐͒́͛̽͌͜͝

"We should change the channel?"

Ȅ̸̢̨͕̣͖̤͎͙͓̲̳̋̇͐̔̓̏́̇͆̋̓̾̕ẋ̷̧̨̮̤̞͈͓̮͈̻͉̥̞͆͐́́̑̀̀̊̏̑͝ͅc̷̢͖̙̫̅͌͑̈́́̑̈͗í̴̢̢̭̟̩̣̻̞̼̯̲̥́̋̆̏t̴̨̳̭̳̝̬̦̳̟̲̪̖̞̃̌̃̉͜͝͝ẻ̶̢͙͙̟͉͖̯̓̍͘͝m̸̳̫͚̯̓́́̎̈́̊̐́̊̂̿̏́̽ḙ̶͙͇͈̎͑͠ͅņ̶̡̘̜͔͇͈̝̲͓͚͕̟͖̊̑̔͐̂̀̌͗̓ẗ̶̡̤̬̲̩̤̺͖́̔̊̿̅̓͌͌̀̕!̵̨͓̻̍̃̏̇̑̑͒̿̋̌̇ ̶̨̮̐̓̉̑́̓͑̅̕̚U̸̬̝͍̲͒̀̔́͗̊͆̕͘͝͝r̸̢̳͇̪̜̦̠̮̦̜̖͐g̷̡̡͓̙̭͇̖͕̞͕̬̻̺͔̀̀̌͋̔̅̽̏̂͘̕ẹ̸̢̰̪̼͆͋͛͐̅͗͌͆͘n̷̗̙̹̲̼͈̺̜̻̏͘c̸̢̭̺̣̼̳̹̞̳͇̟͎̋͛̔͝͝y̶̩̮̱͈̩̫̟̼͘͜!̸̡̨̪̪̤̀͒̑

Ezekiel changed the channel and kept flipping channels until their door was darkened by Jenkins. The sheer delight in his magic on the channel he'd landed on made her look at the television and bite her bottom lip to stop a smile.

"Would someone care to explain the mess in the kitchen?"

Alexis glanced between the Librarians with some confusion but none of them looked or felt guilty. Which led her to believe Ezekiel or Mr. Carsen had been the ones to ruin the kitchen.

"What mess?" Jacob asked.

"Don't look at me," Ezekiel said as he grabbed a handful of popcorn. "I popped this in the break room."

Jenkins pinched the bridge of his nose. "At least clean up after yourselves in here when you're done… What on earth are you watching?"

"Ancient aliens," Ezekiel grinned.

Jenkins' eyes narrowed at the thief and turned his gaze to Alexis as if she had any influence over the Librarian thief.

Alexis shrugged. "He's got the remote."

Jenkins lifted his eyes to the ceiling and walked out muttering something about "deserve this" and "love" but she couldn't catch anymore. When the door closed, Alexis burst into laughter and was joined by the rest of the Librarians.

Chapter Text

No matter how important it was to bring back their missing Library, it was imperative that Flynn not neglect the other duties required of Librarianship. Some of the more important and time-consuming duties he had were, of course, collecting artifacts, acting as a liaison between magical factions for trade negotiations, and doing all sorts of checks with his Staff.

The latter most he delegated a decent portion to Jenkins and Eve for the LITs and ACT (Assistant Curator-in-Training) and he'd come to realize they were a frighteningly efficient duo. Most of the time, he only had to sign paperwork, but he did try to do assessments himself for the LITs whenever missions permitted (which it rarely did).

As for any assessments on their young ACT, he left that to Jenkins since he'd been in the job for years and had a better grasp on the requirements for the job, but he couldn't help his curiosity as to how she was progressing. He'd only asked the one time a week into her time there, but Jenkins and Eve reported Ms. Jenkins' progress regularly.

Yet, he'd not had an opportunity to do any of these check-ins due to a sudden surge of artifact retrievals that he wasn't quite sure his LITs were up to yet. He preferred to take the higher risk missions from them such as anything happening in war torn or radioactive locations, but he knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep them from those horrors forever. At the very least, he could slow it down.

Currently, he was stumbling through the dark in a lightless, abandoned city. His breathing was quiet through sheer force of will and he was beginning to feel where he'd be sore in the morning from this last altercation despite how he'd done his best to stay healthy and in shape.

A curse slipped through his lips at a hiss as he stumbled over a piece of trash and landed on his side. Only two thoughts went through his mind as he tested his sore ankle: he desperately wished he were allowed to use his flashlight without earning the attention of the scouts he'd just lost, and it was going to take longer than he remembered for his sprained ankle to heal even with potions.

He ruffled his hair in agitation and listened out for any movement nearby to find that he was still alone. With a long outward breath, he pushed himself back to his feet and readjusted his grip on the Velificatio of Pluto to ensure he didn't lose it. Just a bit of weight drew a hiss from between his teeth.

His hand found the wall and he leaned heavily against it as he picked his way through the dark with more care towards where he knew the Backdoor was waiting. The last text he'd read before his phone had been destroyed by a boomerang had been the coordinates to get back to the Annex, so he was confident he knew where it was in conjunction with his location even after backtracking several times to lose his tails.

When, at least, he found it, he took a moment to take in a breath and force himself to walk at his natural gait. If any of the Librarians remained, then they'd probably start fretting and get distracted from whatever they were supposed to be doing. He had every faith in Eve and Jenkins to slip away to help him if he found himself overwhelmed with a need to crawl to the infirmary.

He pulled open the door and rushed inside despite how blinding the light was after hours in the darkness. If he'd lingered any longer, there was little hope one of the scouts wouldn't investigate. Naturally, as he disconnected the Backdoor from his previous location, he called out a greeting.

"Hello, Jenkins." He stopped when he got a foot into the Annex and finally saw that there were multiple people and he mentally readjusted his clock to the hours he knew Ms. Jenkins kept. He quickly corrected, "es… Jenkinses."

"Mr. Carsen," Jenkins greeted in return as he stood from his desk.

"Hey," Ms. Jenkins called, her sharp brown eyes flickering about him and brows furrowing slightly as Flynns started tossing the ball of cloth between his hands.

He admired the caution she held for artifacts, but he wouldn't play with anything too volatile. The worst that would happen would only happen to him: passing out from loss of magic for a day or two and an out-of-body experience. Nothing he hadn't recovered from in the past.

"I see you retrieved the Vilificatio of Pluto," Jenkins said as he took it from him with a scolding look. "Did you get hurt?"

He shook his head automatically. "No."

"Liar," Ms. Jenkins said.

When he looked at her incredulously, he noticed how her eyes had narrowed and jaw had set. It wasn't too far from the look she'd had when Jenkins had set her on burpees for not noticing a click and getting in her field position the one other time Flynn had seen her after the initial interview. That brief time had been bountiful in learning a little of how the young Curator interacted with the rest of the team and gave him tells that he would otherwise not have known.

In the span of a second, Flynn had decided he would do as he would with his LITs and deflect to ease any potential worries.

"I think I'd know if I were hurt," he chuckled.

"Oh, I know you know," she drawled as she prowled forward. Her walk had become lighter, more purposeful since he'd last seen her—likely due to her training with Jenkins and Eve—and her expression was carefully blank. "Fact is, you don't want anyone else to know."

There was a frustrating lack of any of the ticks he'd come to catalog. No twitching hands or eyebrows, no pinched lips or cocked head. Nothing substantial. He didn't understand why he couldn't read her when teenagers, in his limited experience, weren't that complicated. Was he out of touch with teenagers or was he just losing his touch? He couldn't be sure since even in the field, he didn't run into that many teenagers and none had ever been chosen to work in the Library during his tenure.

As she stopped in front of him, he leaned back instinctively when he'd caught an unfamiliar gleam in her eyes that made the green flecks in her eyes stand out briefly. He swore they became brighter, but he had no time to decipher that because she'd moved quickly enough to catch him off guard. One hand snatched his lapel in her fist and her foot hooked behind his left knee to raise it. For a second, he thought she was going to throw him to the ground, but she'd caught the fabric of his pants and allowed him to grab her shoulder for balance instead. Her expression was, briefly, horrified and frustrated, but it was wiped away as quick as it came.

"Congratulations, Mr. Carsen, you're now required to come to me or Mr. Jenkins for a checkup after every mission," she drawled with a tone and expression of sarcastic displeasure that was similar to Jenkins.

He readjusted his balance with a grimace. "It's fine."

"And I'm blond," she groused as she dropped his leg and shifted to support his weight. "Just let me do my job and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble."

He wondered, as he eyed her, if stubbornness was a requirement to work in the Library. Not all of the Staff were stubborn in every area, but when one of them got something into their head, it took what felt like the combined work of a pantheon to get them to change their courses. He wasn't certain a single pantheon could dissuade Ms. Jenkins from taking care of him and the glance toward Jenkins confirmed that when he'd shrugged and shook his head in a way that clearly said there was nothing he could do.

As they slowly made their way to the infirmary, Flynn tried his best to keep most of his weight off of her since he knew he wasn't exactly a light man and he wasn't sure if strength training was a main focus for her. ACT training was a bit of a mystery to him, but he knew more than he ought to having not trained her at all. He knew that she was picking up on her swordsmanship and hand-to-hand more quickly than either of her main instructors had expected, that she was able understand magic in a more instinctive way than the majority of their Librarians and how passionate she seemed to be in potions which tied into how proficient she was with healing. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to see how she did since Jenkins clearly thought she needed no supervision (granted, it was likely because Flynn knew enough healing potions to keep her from accidentally killing him).

He decided silence was the best policy since she seemed to be content with it. Silence also gave him the opportunity to observe her a little and pick apart what he could to understand her as he'd come to understand the rest of the team.

Near the moment they'd entered the infirmary, Ms. Jenkins had deposited him on the nearest bed and set to work inspecting his injuries. He noted how her brow furrowed slightly as she found a more than shallow cut on his wrist and how she seemed to want to bite her bottom lip in nervousness. In the face of this, he'd decided he would go against his instincts and try to be a good patient. Despite the feigned confidence, he wanted her to gain actual confidence in her potions, diagnostics and treatment.

She stood once her assessment was finished and went directly to the inventory to flip through it. "Let's play a little game while I get everything. I say a word, you tell me the first word that comes to mind."

That wasn't the test he was expecting, but he'd comply. "Alright…"

"Theft."

"Jones."

She dragged the rolling table to her side and proceeded to raid the potions. "Gold."

"Marrakesh."

"Hyacinth."

"Apollo."

"Thirteen plus seven."

He frowned at her back as she opened a drawer. "I thought—"

"Do the math, Mr. Carsen," she said while snatching the gauze from the drawer and closing it with her hip.

"Twenty."

"Mouse."

"Capitalism."

That earned him a surprise snort and only further confirmed that she, like her elder counterpart, was easily amused. It was because of this that they had a high tolerance for jokes and he'd yet to figure out what would get them to laugh aloud as he had for the rest. Thoughts for another time, he supposed.

"Forty times eight."

He squinted at her continued math problems. "Three-twenty."

She rolled the table over, eyes scanning over her supplies once more as she walked and she only paused to pluck the Sanjeevani oil from the middle table and add it. When she was in front of him, she pulled the stopper off the pain potion and poured until the paper cup was a quarter of the way full.

"Good."

"Fertilizer."

"We're done with word associations," she informed as she held out the cup. "Drink that. It'll numb the pain."

He grabbed it and took a bracing breath before he shot it back in hopes that it would help with the taste. The only good it did was ensure he didn't have it coating his entire mouth, but he still gagged at the flavor.

"I'll never get used to that."

"You're not meant to." She handed over the Sanjeevani oil. "The goal is to not get injured, but I don't expect that much from Librarians and Guardians at this point.

He'd heard the rest of the team throw around the term mini-Jenkins when it came to their ACT, but never had he been so certain of their assessment as in that moment. He may not have heard Jenkins say it verbatim, but he certainly wouldn't have been surprised it had come from their cantankerous Curator.

He kept his eyes on his wrist and rubbed a couple of drops of oil into the injury. "Have you been told you sound just like Jenkins?"

She glowered at him, but that expression was all her. "I'm aware. Drink this, it'll make sure the tendons set in the right place."

He traded the bottle for the vial of silvery liquid. He shifted in discomfort as she knelt in front of him and lifted his ankle until it rested on her knee. He was only just starting to get used to Jenkins taking care of his injuries, so he didn't expect to get used to being Ms. Jenkkins' patient any time soon.

Unrelated, he felt just a shot of envy at how easily Ms. Jenkins had sunk to a knee and showed no sign of discomfort or ease. He could still crouch and kneel fairly well—he'd kept in shape due to how strenuous Librarianship happened to be—but his knees popped and he began to ache after a few minutes.

He discarded those thoughts and shot back the vile tasting potion and decided to distract himself by talking to the Assistant Curator. "How are…" He shivered involuntarily and smacked his lips with a grimace at the revolting taste. There was a reason why he was so careful about sprains—he hated the acrid, sock-like taste of this potion. "How're you liking the job, Ms. Jenkins?"

"It's interesting. You put off paperwork for about twenty minutes," she answered as she gently spread the anti-inflammation ointment on his ankle.

Sensing an opportunity to get to know his youngest Staff member and understanding how dull paperwork was, he chuckled. "I guess it's a good thing I sprained my ankle."

"Is it?" She hummed with just a touch of challenge in her voice.

He closed his mouth and glanced away from her. He had to reassess her again—as he'd found himself doing in their every interaction both direct and indirect. Perhaps she liked paperwork? He could've sworn he'd heard from Eve how much Ms. Jenkins had complained about paperwork, but maybe it was specific paperwork?

With a quiet sigh, she began wrapping his ankle and elaborated. "Truth be told, I'd rather deal with boring paperwork than have to patch all of you up."

"We're notoriously bad patients," he conceded.

"There's that," she agreed easily, "but the fact of the matter is I don't like seeing people in pain." She pinned the bandages in place with butterfly pins and lowered his foot to the ground gently. "You're gonna need to stay off that for at least two days."

He sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the bed as petulantly as he could. "Yes, Jenkins."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

He noted her amusement and found himself smiling at the realization that, perhaps, she wasn't as complex as he'd made her out to be. Really, she was just a prickly softy. In noting this, his grin only grew when he imagined Jenkins as a giant teddy bear. Jenkinses were softies, apparently.

He managed not to squawk when she dropped an extra pillow on his face and swiftly took it off his head and stuffed it behind his head. She'd turned away completely to hide her larger smile which only served to make him feel a little smug that he was making progress on reading and understanding her.

"Rest up. I'll bring you something to eat."

He blinked at the unexpected promise of food and only managed a soft, "Thank you," when she was near the door.

She pulled a face and shrugged. "It's my job… When I get back, we're gonna talk about those receipts."

He groaned in despair, but he knew that receipts were required for a reason. It was his own fault for being so notoriously bad about keeping track of them that even Ms. Jenkins wasn't going to let up on him. Still, he'd learned more about his Curators, so he'd say it was a win.

Chapter Text

Despite what many would assume, Cassandra Cillian was not a fan of children by any sense of the word. She tolerated them just fine because that was what was expected from society. Children could be cute. They were rather… innocent (or rather ignorant until they were taught better). Regardless, she would rather do manual labor than be charged with the care of a child. Though teenagers and adults weren't much better, at the very least she could be assured they wouldn't go sticking forks into outlets or anything atrociously dangerous… for the most part. More importantly, the rules of engagement with children seemed to change every year, and she'd much rather avoid dealing with them altogether than navigate that minefield.

But—and life seemed to always give her a 'but' when she'd made up her mind—Alexis was different. She was just different in general, but Cassandra couldn't put her finger on what it was. She had some tentative theories since the young Assistant Curator had been added to their team. Though she hadn't had many conversations with Jacob since before the Crown of King Arthur fiasco, she had been there a couple of times when he let something slip with the rest of the team and thought, perhaps, Alexis' situation was similar to his—grown up before being grown. Other times, it seemed like she had a more similar situation to herself—forced to submit to the whims of the adults around her. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. Whatever it was that made Alexis Jenkins different, it also served in making her endearing. Alexis was an outlier to Cassandra's predisposition to not liking children or teenagers.

It all started when Cassndra had told Alexis about the tumor in her brain that would one day kill her. There'd been no fanfare or tears or apology of any kind. Alexis had dropped the water bottle she'd been tossing and eyes had gone distant as she processed the words and then, when she came back, she accepted it so easily. She'd never gotten that reaction before and it was… freeing. That moment and several after—like the moments she'd forced the entire team to get back on track during a mission—that Cassandra had forgotten she was even a teenager.

What teenager—average teenager—had the drive to learn every subject available to her even when she hated it (the pouting that Alexis did when an equation was put in front of her was telling but Cassandra had no hard feelings)? What teenager was chosen by the Library to do a job that was, admittedly, demanding? What average teenager could sit for hours listening to someone get lost in the details of concepts of subjects they didn't understand without complaint?

The long and the short of it was that she liked Alexis. She liked her sarcastic wit and the kindness that she'd shown in that abrasive teenager way.

It was because she liked Alexis that she was willing to take care of Lexi within her limited capacity. She didn't like being in charge of or entertaining a kid, but seeing Lexi's panicked expression had moved her to do what she could. This mostly consisted of giving her healthy snacks and herding her away from the dangerous areas within the Annex. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than she was used to. The boys really stepped up in entertaining the little girl and, within a couple of days, they'd settled into a decent routine.

Routines, however, were often disrupted.

"Cassie?"

The voice was soft and hesitant, but because she was listening out for it naturally, Cassandra noticed. In response, she lifted her head with a smile plastered on her face as she took in the sight of the little girl in front of her.

Lexi was wearing jean shorts and an emerald green shirt—the one with the bumblebee that she'd picked out when shopping with Ezekiel—and hugging a book to her chest. She looked uncertain but it was much more self-conscious than when she was eighteen. Cassandra remembered how it felt to be unsure if an adult would indulge her, and she couldn't do that to this little girl.

She set her book aside entirely and turned her body to show the girl she had her full attention. "Yes?"

Lexi's eyes dropped as she shifted from foot to foot. "Um…"

"Go on. You can talk to me," Cassandra encouraged as she shifted forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

After a deep breath she asked in a rush, "Canyoureadtome?"

It was sometimes hard to see Alexis in the little girl in front of her, but she knew in her heart of hearts that it didn't matter what age this girl asked her anything, Cassandra would say yes.

Cassandra's smile became beaming and she shifted to make room beside her. "Of course! Come sit next to me."

Lexi's eyes lit up so that the green flecks in her eyes were hard to miss and scrambled up on the couch beside her, carefully maneuvering herself until she was sitting right beside Cassandra with the book in her lap. For all that Alexis complained about how cold it was in the Annex, Lexi was a space heater. Despite the minor discomfort, Cassandra didn't shift away to cool off because even Jenkins knew that the girl was touch-starved, per the fact that he allowed her to sit in his lap or give her hugs any time she wished.

"Here," Lexi said as she held out the book. "I haven't started reading it yet."

"Alright, then we start at the beginning."

Having read Little Red Riding Hood several times, Cassandra was able to do the voices to make the little girl giggle. When Cassandra looked at how delighted Lexi was about the little things, Cassandra had this creeping sadness at the realization that Alexis hadn't had a childhood either.

Maybe none of them did.

As Cassandra closes the book, she notices Lexi looking at her with big, pleading eyes that made it impossible to say no even before she'd voiced her request. Cassandra wasn't sure what Lexi could ever say that would force her to deny a wish, but what came out of her mouth was not that limit.

"Can we read it again?"

Cassandra tried her best not to sigh. "Sure. Let's read it again."

Lexi listened attentively while leaning into Cassandra's side, not minding how much less energetic the reading was this time around. Slowly, her chin dropped and she curled into a tighter ball until it was clear that she was asleep.

Cassandra checked her internal clock and found that it was getting close to the little girl's bed time, so she would not be up in the middle of the night with any luck.

With a small sigh of relief, she set aside the book and picked up her own research material and sat there for a second trying to figure out how to go about it. In the end, she used the arm of the couch to hold up her book and draped her other arm around Lexi as there was nowhere else to put her arm without discomfort. It was easy to pick up where she left off . She ignored the miserable heat from being cuddled by a living heater in favor of the similarities and differences between megafauna and their modern day descendants.

She had become so engrossed in her reading that she hadn't realized that she had company until he cleared his throat.

Cassandra startled with a quiet, "Oh!" and loosened her grip on Lexi when she realized it was Jenkins standing there with a slightly amused expression.

Lexi, having been rattled by Cassandra's jolting, sucked in a deep breath and sighed, "Cassie? Y'okay?"

Cassandra turned away from the Curator in favor of his de-aged Assistant and patted her shoulder. "I'm fine, Lexi. Jenkins just scared me by being quiet."

Her dark eyes trailed over to Jenkins and then she sleepily smiled. "Hi, Gallie."

"Hello, Lexi," he said as he stepped forward to crouch in front of the couch so that he was closer to eye level with her. "Did you enjoy your time with Ms. Cillian?"

"Mmmhmm," she hummed as she nodded her head against Cassandra's side.

He held out his hands for her. "Come on, it's bedtime."

Apparently, she was too tired to think of it as some sort of punishment because she leaned forward with outstretched hands so that Jenkins could pick her up and lay her on his chest.

In the brief time she'd known Jenkins, Cassandra had never expected him to look so… natural with a child, but… Well, how could he be any way else when that child was just a smaller version of Alexis? From nearly the moment the two had met, Cassandra had seen that Jenkins was willing to make exceptions for Alexis. He'd been as against her being his Assistant as he'd been about having additional Librarians, but it was simply because he thought she was too young to be burdened by what the Library was calling her to do and not because of any sort of tradition like the LITs. But once he'd decided to take her on, he'd gone above and beyond.

"Due to the lack of experience our new Assistant Curator has, it's imperative that we prepare her as best we can," Jenkins had said as he furiously wrote at his desk.

"None of us were prepared," Ezekiel pointed out.

"All of you had enough life experience to make up for your lack of field work. This girl is only six months out of high school with no higher education or military experience under her belt," Jenkins reminded with a brief glare before he moved the paper he'd been writing on aside to start on a new one. "Unlike Librarians and Guardians, Curators must be trained before they can take the position."

"Trained in what?" Cassandra asked.

"Everything."

Eve rolled her eyes to the sight and muttered something about being cryptic before raising her voice. "Care to elaborate?"

Jenkins looked liable to roll his eyes, but all he did was sigh. "Trained to be a Librarian and a Guardian, to be succinct. To have knowledge of mathematics, history, burglary, weapons, magic, and whatnot."

The silence in the room was deafening.

It was finally broken by Jacob who asked, "Jenkins, what exactly is your job?"

The corners of Jenkins' lip quirked up in a sort of smug amusement as he slapped another piece of paper to the side. "To take care of everyone and everything in the Library." He didn't even allow a second for those words to sink in before he took a small stack of papers and put them on their side of the desk. "Now, there's a guide for you all to make lesson plans for her. I want a general syllabus by Wednesday. You'll be prioritizing practical lessons that she can use in the field. There's one for you, too, Colonel."

"Self-defense, I'm assuming," Eve said as she took her paper.

"Physical fitness in general to ensure she's in fighting condition as well as modern weaponry.

"Are you trying to turn her into a monster?" Ezekiel asked incredulously as he looked at his list.

Cassandra couldn't help but agree when she saw chemical reactions near the top of her priority list to teach their newest Curator.

"I'm trying to make sure she survives," Jenkins said softly with steel in his eyes.

The novelty of having a new member of the team hadn't worn off until that moment. In the sheer excitement of their new profession, it had been easy to forget how truly dangerous their job could be.

Suddenly, the task wasn't just about making sure their new Curator could do her job. It had become ensuring she had the tools she needed to stay alive. There was a weight of responsibility that seemed to drop onto her shoulders as she realized one thing:

If Alexis Jenkins didn't know what she needed to get out of danger, that girl's death would be on her head if it was applicable to her fields of expertise.

Jenkins had continued to go above and beyond: giving her maps of the Annex and greater Library for when it returned, giving her an amulet that would help her adjust to her sudden awareness of magic around her, and the list went on and on. She was pretty sure even Flynn knew that Alexis was special to Jenkins before this whole de-aging debacle happened and he wasn't even really in the Annex most of the time.

"Thank you for watching her," Jenkins said as Lexi rubbed her face against his shoulder, shaking Cassandra from her ruminations.

"Any time."

Because, in all honesty, Alexis was an exception for her, too. An exception to children and teenagers. An exception to people. Alexis was a bit prickly, but she was, at her core, caring and accepting. She respected Cassandra's autonomy and didn't step in to help unless Cassandra was blatantly pushing herself too hard (and always with what she and Ezekiel called "the Jenkins side-eye" that wasn't too far off from her elder counterpart). Alexis was her friend (even if Cassandra wasn't sure if she was considered Alexis' friend).

"Night, Cassie," Lexi mumbled as Jenkins turned to take her back to her room.

Cassandra waved as dark eyes cracked open to look at her and gave a smile. "G'night, Lexi."

It didn't hurt that Lexi was such a cute kid.

She caught Jenkins' warm smile just before he turned completely and distantly thought he ought to let himself smile like that more. Maybe if he had, Alexis would have caught sight of it and been able to see what the rest of them had: that Jenkins would do anything for her.

Chapter Text

It was almost immediately apparent that her boss would use anything as training, but most especially her own curiosity. This meant that the mysteries she wanted to solve about her enigmatic supervisor had become practice for research.

Two things had been clear when she'd met him:

1. Mr. Jenkins was far older than he looked.

2. Mr. Jenkins was not human.

His eyes had given her the impression that he was older—she couldn't vocalize why, but she knew—and she'd watched his eyes go from dark to light to dark again in a moment of pure frustration. The quiet, reverberating growl that was an undercurrent to his words had been substantial evidence towards the latter as well.

On her first day, she was given two trails of inquiry to investigate. The first, he was gracious enough to give her vague hints. Hints that did little to narrow the range of her search. It was somehow more annoying than the second where she could only used her powers of observation.

Mr. Jenkins had given her a small notebook to keep track of her observations. So far her only notes were that his eyes changed color when upset (anger and annoyance were the only times she'd observed), he growled in an animalistic way and his senses were incredibly keen. A cursory look into a bestiary only expanded the possibilities. Berserkers, dragons, vampires, werecats and werewolves were the forerunners for her guess, but vampire was quickly crossed off the day he had waited outside of the Annex for her.

Alexis would be lying if she said she didn't spend an inordinate amount of time listening to different animals growling to try and pin down what sounded closest to his. The problem was that he was always quiet and it was too deep to really get an idea what it would sound like at full capacity. That and there were no actual recordings of what dragons sounded like, so she couldn't scratch that off yet.

After two full months of observation, she reached the conclusion that he was a werebeast. Mr. Jenkins' was at his most irritable the entire day before the three nights of the full moon. From there, it was a matter of pinning down whether he'd contracted ailuranthropy or lycanthropy. Ailuranthropy covered every sort of undomesticated cat from wildcats to jaguars to lions, whereas lycanthropy only covered coyotes, jackals and wolves.

She'd taken copious notes over his moods and, going over them again with her newfound knowledge on the social constructs of each variant, she had come to the conclusion that he wasn't a solitary creature which narrowed it down to two broad categories: werelion or werewolf. Legends of both varied on when their compulsive transformations were, but both had several strains that manifested differently. Still, she found herself leaning towards the latter.

Unfortunately, it was a depressing subject to read about.

Werewolves of the Canis lupus persuasion always do best with a pack. In solitary life, they will often become depressed and neglect their needs and, if applicable, non-compulsory transformations. These self-harming tendencies lead to more painful compulsory full moon transformations.

If concerned a werewolf is suffering from prolonged isolation, check for signs of malnutrition, change in behavior and faint silver scars from claw marks under an ultraviolet light.

She'd read with a growing sense of unease that catapulted into sheer despair when she remembered, with vivid clarity, the faint silvery lines crossing his face and neck and lining his hands under the UV lights of the infirmary. She hadn't known at the time they were scars. When she'd asked, he reminded her that humans had stripes that cats could see and she had been thrown into a spiral as she inspected every inch of the infirmary to ensure it was sterile and spotless. She'd never brought it up again because their lesson had moved on. Knowing him as she did, she doubted that he'd ever bring it up again.

She couldn't understand why he'd been left alone. How was it possible in a magical Library that no one knew he was a werewolf? (And at this point, she was certain that he was a werewolf.) Why had no one done anything about it?

I've merely had over a dozen centuries of practice reading people and one hundred years of virtual solitude does nothing to temper that ability.

Her fingers curled into her hair as she inhaled sharply to steady herself at the memory of those words. Words that had shifted her interactions from distant to engaged even before this horrifying discovery. It'd been sad knowing he'd been alone for one hundred years with minimal contact with anyone, save the Library and maybe a few Staff, but knowing he was hurting himself in doing so made her want to cry. It made her want to punch whoever had left him alone. She wheezed and tugged her hair at the sheer hopelessness that had seized her. What could she, a mortal girl, do for an immortal werewolf without being turned herself?

She tightened her grip before forcing her fingers to uncurl and lowering her hands to the table. She gulped thickly and used her sleeve to wipe her face.

No. No, there's gotta be something I can do, she thought fiercely. I just gotta research.

Unlike discovering who he was, she wasn't boastful about discovering what he was. In fact, she didn't even tell him that she knew that he was a werewolf. She knew him well enough to know that he'd likely veto any plans she was forming to help him.

So, she kept picking up the bestiary and books on dragons and werebeasts to throw him off of her scent (god, she'd been around Sam too long). She would bide her time until she could do something.

She started staying later than was probably recommended trying to research which kind of lycanthropy he had. Sam had been concerned, but she assuaged his worries by stating she was allowed to read any of the antique books in the Library so long as she didn't take them out due to their age. All he'd asked of her was that she sent a text when she was staying late which, at this point, was most days. She picked up a few potion books, which wasn't unusual considering it was her favorite subject, and started down the list of different wolfsbane potions which led to a revelation.

All she could do was laugh hysterically in her study room as she found that Jenkins had been an inventor of one strand of wolfsbane potion over a fifteen hundred years before. Of course, a creator of a wolfsbane potion wouldn't want to infect anyone magically and would take great pains to ensure everyone within his vicinity was suitably treated. Mr. Jenkins had been drugging their tea with wolfsbane from day one. Had it been anyone else for anything else, she would have fled, magical contract be damned. It did make sense as to why he had been testing teas on her to see which she liked best since the first day.

"Holy shit," she breathed out. "He has to know how shady that is, right?"

Magic danced around her like laughter and swept through the room with anticipation. Now that she knew his curse could only be contracted via magic and not a bite, scratch or fluid exchange, it gave her hope that her tentative idea had merit. After all, most magically contracted strains were from rather docile variants when transformed. There was only one question she had to ask. If there was anyone in this building that would be able tell her if it was a dumb idea, it was the building itself.

"Library?" She whispered, hoping that Jenkins was far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear her.

A̷̢̢̗̠͈͇̯̣̘̼͎̲̥͌͜͜n̸̛̥͕̱̜̬̝̉̎̇͗̄͊̀̅́̔̔͆̉̕ţ̴̨̼͚̞̺͙̹͇̞̀̾͌̈́̓͒̇̚͠i̴̳̝̠̲͉͙̒͑͊͜c̵̡̣͍͈̞̖̈̑̾̊̏í̶̧̧͕̮̮̻̼͔̦͍̜̩̋͒ͅp̷̢̢̛̯̼̯͓͙̭̘͐̄̊͒̄̋̋͊̉͛͜à̷̡͚̥̪̥̱͍̯͐̿̅̒́̓̐͌̈́͂͠͝t̵̙̪͉̦̮̩͐͗̇͒̏̍i̸̢̧͖̩̤̯̱̱̮̬̩͇͕̻̎͑̑̓̎̆̈́͗̆ơ̸̢͍̳̠̳̆̒̒̅̇̊͘̚̕n̵̨̟͕͎̗̫̪̗͖̹̥̟͚̾̌̀͛̈́͘͜͝A̵̢̢̛͔͈͙͕̺̭̗͎̫̱̘̟̒̈́̌̔̓̂͆̌̑̌̚͝t̴̹̰͚̙̼̻̤̭̲̼̘͘͜ͅͅt̷͇͎̃͗̌̿e̶̱͈̮̟̟̤̮͊̒̈́̅̍n̸͍͙̺̰̯̩͓̝͎̄̉̀́́̂̿̈́̚̕͝ͅṯ̶̡̦̬̣͈̝̦̙͑̐̐͑̈́̉͂͛̽́͐͒͠͝i̴̻͗̍̄̿̇v̸̘͓̬̽̄ͅe̴͙͖͈͆̇͊ñ̶̫̯͓̖e̷̢̱̦̗̙͔̞̱̗͉̦͚̟͂͊̌͐͒s̵̨̡̡̜̟͍̬͓̤̠̘͇̟͐͋̇̈́́̒̍͂̊̑s̸̪͙͚͕̥̭̞͙̭̟̆̓̒̋A̵͇̗̰͋͌̍̽̈́͆̅̀̅̅͂̒͋͝d̷̻͔̖̻̈̓̄͘̕͜͠m̶̖̘̥̖͊̆̊͊̌͜i̶̗͙̲͔̤̤̘̯̝̳̻̘͍͒͒̀̀̈̎̂̐͝͝r̸͈͈̺̮̤̥̬̤̭̣͉̈́͆̆͂̂̋͜͠͝͝a̶̢̢̢͔͕̦̣͙̹̻̪̥̜͙̪͆t̸̫̥͗̃̔í̴̧̡̧͖̰̫͙̖̲̭̬̘̤̓̒͑͒̂̑̅̅̇̕̕͝͝͝o̸̥̺̣͍͚̻̞͗̒͗̂͋̊̾̌̄́̃̃̿ͅn̵͉͑̿̾̿̆͋̎̀̓́̈́͊̈́͘͠Ą̶̡̩̺̲̰̜̠̹̭͙͓̎̿̏͋̽̆̈́̓͘͜͠ͅt̴̛̥̲͓̞͍̫̙͈̄͂̽̒t̵͖̤̲̭͖̮͌ē̷̥͓̳̠͙̭̺͇̰̪̼̙̞͗̓̌̆͜n̶̨̛͎̮͍̱̟̠̂̍̎̔̔̄͐̊̕͠ţ̵͕͇͇͇͈̤͔͖̠̤̭̞͚̗̿̒́̈i̷̡̧̲̳͇͓̱̳͍̰̼̻͔̹̝͛͊̈́̐̈́͂͌̔̚v̸̨̬͈̘̑̓̾̾̈́̈́̉̆͐e̶̺̩̭̺͓̮̗͙̲̯͎̖̰̖̱͗̂̈̽̊ṋ̶̡̂̐̍̓̎̾̾̓̄̐̓́̔͐͘e̴̢̡̨̝͍̳̺͕̪̹͙̰̝̓͌͌͛̑̉͊̂͆ͅs̵͉͙̒̓̓̉̚s̷̠̙͑̈̀̓̈̆͊A̴̡̡̛̙̙̖͈̟̥̺͇̞͍̽̓͊̔͒͆̈́͘͝ḑ̷̡̪͓̬̲̥̖̱̾̐͆̾̎̃̎̃͜m̴͕͖̬̼͒͋̈́̈́į̸̛̱̫̼̳̙̗͙̩̝͎͋͑̅̍̌̈̒̄̚͘̚͝͝͝ŗ̶͚̖̗̯̦̣͈͍̺̱̜͉̊̀̑̈́̈̐̊̊̏̿͒̌̏̓ͅͅā̴͍̼̥̪̹͔̋̎̅̓̐͑́͑̂̈͘t̴̨̢̡̬͎͉̯͍̹̟̭͈̠͇̻̊͛̓̽̈̃̽̃̋͂̊̀͘͝į̴̛͇͕͔̯̲͕̖̙̗͐̋͌̏́͛͜͜͝͝͠o̶̧͇̦̹̘̘̼̔͂͂̀̑͐̇͑̂̄̈̏̚͠͝ͅn̶̛̙̰̲̐͗̒͛̃̈́̆͛͌͝A̸̟̩̰̭͎͇̻͎͓̣͔̮̐͗͜n̸̙̮̼͛̂̏̏́͝ẗ̷̨̖̲̙͕̹͚̫͚͉͇̣̮̘́͒̀̀̈̒̄̊̕͝į̵̛͚̲͎̟̈́̉͂̌͊̎͗́͗͗͒͘̚͝c̵̱͖̼̬̟͚̠̗̩̈́̋̋̍̐̈́̑̕͘͝i̷̬͍̙̹̬̜̼̟̺͎̰͕͍͕͆̄̾̓̀͜͝p̸̡̩̠̜̯͚͕͇͓̍̾ͅȁ̷̡͎̘̖̹̦̟̤̰̜̣͈̈̾̐̃͊̂̓͒̀̕͝͠͝t̴͚͖͈̏́͑͊̿̈́̌̏͝i̴̹̓̽̒͐̓́̈̊̂͝͠ỏ̸͇̟͈̠͔̥̲̖̳͝ņ̸̗͎̙̠͉̖̻̘͖͔̬̬͑̒.̴̢̧̹͔̭̫̖̞̻̜͔̥̘̓͆̽̿̀̉͠

"If I were to take extra wolfsbane potion… would I be able to sit with him during his transformations?"

S̷̰̙̟͔̣͇̟͍͔̥̾͌̏̈́̊̆̏̾̋̎͝ų̶̧̡̮̫̩̮̤̟̥͖̳͚̄͂̀̓̒͐̔͘͜ř̷̛̳̮͈̉̐̈́̋̉́̓͘͝ṕ̵͔̳͝ͅr̴̛̗͔̲͈͖̃̋͋͂̎͝i̴̧̢̭̙̘͖͖̣̮̠̮͖̱̓̈̔͋͜͝ͅs̶̢͉̣̙̺͙̪̥̹̗̗͎̉̒e̶̛̦̪͒È̶͙̋͒̿͑̔̓͂̕x̴͚̔̎̂̈́̾̇͠ç̷̡̧̟̥͎͖͙͖̞̟̖̼̮̖̌̈́̓̆̍̐į̸̨̙̠͉̥̥͓̎́͜t̷̢̡̖̟̻̼̫͙̥͍͗͛͗͌́͊̂̕ě̷̦͑̽̎̅̈́͛̈́͌͝m̵̡̪̘͈͇͇͎͎̺̭̥̠̫͖̋̑̆̋̒̏̉̽̋͛̒̈͜͝e̷̦͍̱̭̺͉͉̙̠̜͈̬̫̅̔̒͒̐̋ͅn̷̨̢͚̙̞͇̞͔̈͂̔̒͜͠͝ͅt̴̡̥͕̩̮̣͉̪̙̫̠̹͍̮̄̀̈́͌͋̄͑̀̃͝Ą̸̢͎̙̯͇̭̤̲̥̝̤̩̣͎̍̐̓́f̷̢̻̝̙̯̎̒̈́̍͛̆͋̀̀͒̐f̴͍̝̠͈̺͉͖͙̮̈́͆̐́̀̂̽͛̓̚ͅì̶̡̫̤̥͔̩̻̻̊͋͋̆̅̎̑̕͝ͅͅr̶̰̀͌̋̇͐̇͜m̶̨̮̞̣͙͍͍̘̤̻͓̫̩̳̬̒̈͛a̴̢̡̛̻̼͎͙̣̪̘͈͉̠̎̾͑̃̈́̅͘͜ţ̵̨͉̤̮̞̪̮̦̘̰̉̈́̌̾͂̋̔̈̒͂͊̌͑͝͠ͅͅͅi̴̻̠̦̩̙̘̟̮̬̰̲̭͂͒͊̀͛̾̋̀̐͘͝o̵̢̢̟̫͚̫͚̹̲͋͑n̶̯̟̤͛̎̃̐̋͋̑̀͌̊̓̅͘̚͠P̶̜̖̱̥͖͌̉̎̓͜r̶̛̩͎̈͐̓̇̐̏̔̓͗͒́̉̕̚i̴͉͈̠̜̼̹͇̱̘̍̀̊d̸̢̡̫̫͚̜͉̤̄͗̀̉͜͜é̷̢̼͖̳͔̰̉͐̉͒̄̔͂́́̇͌͝Ṣ̸̛̹̻̬̲͕͋̉̄͑̈́̈́͐́́͐̈́̕ư̴̮̪̹͛͊́̈̀̉̌̂͝͠ř̸̤̟͓̯̼̘̺͛̇͌̅̉ͅp̸̨͈̻̻̖͍̣̟̥̟̰̣͚̒͑̃r̶͉̥̹̩̞̲̰̮̜̓͒̓͆̌i̵̫̥̪͖͕͖͛̍̉̓̽͜ș̵̛̛̻̤̻͉̃̋͛͐́̐̀̒̈͝͠ͅē̵͙̘̗̲̠̰̳͉̰̻̩͚̣̄ͅP̷̨̯̘̹͉̳̗̦͙̭̱̥̳̱̩̈́̍̀̾̏͋͊͝͝r̸̡̨͕̲͓͙̪̤̥̪͎͕̟̮̈́͋̂̑͋̽̐͆̓ï̶̡̧͔͇̖̲̝̻̺̘̦̩̜͔͈d̵̢̠̼̫͛̀͊͒̂̅͛͛́̚̕e̶͔͕̣̱̥̹̜̒́̿ͅĔ̵̡̞̻̪͓̙͎̿x̵̢̼̳̯͉̦͕͉̫͎̭̹̠̰̅̇̀́̋̽͒̏͋͑͋̎̌̕͜c̶̢̧͍̳͉̜͚̆̅̈́̎͐̎̆̃̃͒́̒̈́̏i̴͔̓̍̐̈́̉͘t̷̡̨̹͖͇̦̻̘͖͈̠̹̱̪͙͒̓̂̓̆̊̓͛̉̄̊̏̄ē̸̻͕̗̻̣͓̹̱̏͊̔m̷̨̪̼̯͙͉̹̺̭̠̽͂ę̶̮͓͚̒͐̑͋̑̆̈́̑̋ň̴̢̟̫̳̖̝̞̄́̒̃̈́̈̃̀ţ̵̢̛̛͕͇͎̳̠̳͉̂̀̌͒̓̑̈́̎͂̕͝͠Ä̶̧̼̪͕́̔͌̀̉f̸̢̢̹̞͖̼͘f̵̧̨̛̟̱͕̹͚͖̼̲̤̯̰̺̂i̷̤̠̩̰̅͋̏̒̅̄̀̋̕ͅr̴̤̲͖͈̜̞̠̫͎͂͊͠ͅm̶̨̡̠̮͉̪̗̠̼͊͊̀͜ą̴̨͎͔̝̰̺̾̊̾̍͜͠ͅt̸̪͊̆͆͂̿͜i̵̡̫̰̥̣̝̰̗͔̭̭̼̔̐͝ͅơ̴̭͇͚͍̤̳̌̐͋̍́͗̓̋̾̕̕n̴̛͔̜͒̀͗́̈́̃̇͌̒̈͝͠!̶̣͎̱̙̩̍

She grinned and smoothed her hand over the desk gratefully. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

The prototype communication stone made a fantastic impromptu baby monitor when it had magic fueling it. He discovered that it only had two nights worth of charge on the third night of Lexi's second childhood. Despite having a surefire monitoring device, Jenkins had decided that, now that he knew she just needed a bit of time to return to her teenage self, he would make himself available to her regardless of the time. The night before, he had shown his room two doors down at the end of the hallway and told her that if she woke up and needed him, to just knock on his door.

He'd quickly learned that, barring the use of a bathroom, little Lexi slept through the night quite soundly. Despite making these concessions, he hadn't expected her to knock on his door in the middle of the night.

He called for her to come in and immediately took in how tired she looked… or had she been crying? Her eyes were red and puffy and she was rubbing her eyes.

His heart ached at the sight and he held out his hands for her to approach. "Did you have a nightmare?"

She walked directly to him shaking her head. "No. I hadda good dream."

He frowned slightly as he sat her upon his knee. "A good dream?"

She nodded and thumped her head against his chest. "Gran'pa told me t' tell you 'thank you.'"

The concept of the deceased visiting the living in a dream was not farfetched in the least. He could only assume that he was doing something right considering her grandfather had gone out of his way to ensure his granddaughter conveyed his thanks.

Intending to pay his properly respects to the man whenever he had the opportunity, he asked, "What was his name?"

"Gran'pa Rod," she muttered as she rubbed her face against his shirt tiredly.

He chuckled quietly and readjusted her bonnet (he really should've sent Jacob to buy it in retrospect). "Do you know his full name?"

"'Zekiel Jed'diah Jacks'n."

He'd met and forgotten more people than he could remember, but the name and nickname stirred something in his mind. Memories of Louisiana heat and a young black man sitting on a stool as he observed Jenkins fixing cars came flooding back.

Young Mr. Jackson had gushed about his little girl, Sarah, and complained about his inability to find a job more stable than construction, which was a point of contention between he and his wife. Jenkins had stared at the young man until he'd gone completely silent and told him to come by his workshop once a week to learn how to fix cars other than his own. They'd kept to that agreement for a year before Jenkins was satisfied with Mr. Jackson's skill. In that year, he'd met some of the young man's associates who insisted on calling him 'Rod' for his beautiful hot rod.

It really was a small world.

"I see… You're originally from Louisiana, yes?"

He'd made a passive note in the back of his mind during their first meeting that Ms. Jenkins had a light Cajun accent and had noticed that it had begun to thicken the more time that she spent around Mr. Stone who was, unabashedly, Midwestern. Now that he looked at her and remembered her older self, he realized that she had Mr. Jackson's eyes.

"Yeah. Moved after Gran'pa died."

He smiled softly as she rubbed her face tiredly against him, as if she were trying to come to a decision between staying awake or hiding from the light and falling asleep.

"I'm grateful that he brought you into my life," he said genuinely, hoping that the man's spirit was still present enough to hear him.

"Mmmhm," she hummed and then tilted her head up with her chin resting on his chest. "I don' miss Gran'pa Rod 's much when I'm witchou. Y'give me big hugs n' tuck me int' bed like he used t'."

It felt as if someone had reached into his chest and crushed his lungs and heart in their fist. He sniffed and raised his eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to stave off his crying. Lexi had proven to be a bit of a mother hen, and should she see his tears she would not be going back to sleep.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and released a shaky, "That's wonderful…"

"C'n I sleep witchu?" she slurred sleepily.

"Of course, my child," he whispered as he turned off the lamp on his desk.

Tired as she was, she was awake enough to be fussily demanding that he lie down and hold her with both arms. He simply gave into her demands and laid on his back with her hugged her to his chest as she fell asleep.

It was only when her soft breath had smoothed out to a slow rhythm that he allowed himself to cradle her head to his chest and cry quietly.

Chapter Text

Alexis had thrown herself into her self-made mission with vigor greater than when she'd started either of her research projects. Her ultimate goal was to make his life easier in every way that she could and it started with a request to the immortal werewolf himself.

She finished her definitely drugged tea and played with the teacup for several seconds, working up her nerve to ask. It was such a simple question that he probably wouldn't even look too deeply at, but he always seemed to be able to see past where she wanted his vision to stop.

Ȩ̷̧̡͎̗͇̼̱͙͉̝́̈̑̌́͝n̵̹̼̍̀̿̉̅̋̋̎̑̚ͅc̶̰͇̘̠̳͈͓̗̙͊̓̕͠o̸͔̙̝̣̬̽̿̔̈́́̕̚͜ǘ̸̢͇͎̌͒̇̓̒̽̓͑̀̕͠͝͠ŕ̸̩̗͈̮̯̾̂̔̔̽͝a̶̭͇͉̬̖̼͇̖̭̓͆̅͜͜g̸̨͈̹̬̎̀̆̏̍̓̔ę̴̛̝̘̝͍̯̪͍̽̃͗͐͒̈́͌͌̎̐̑ͅm̷̡̨̛̭̥̩̞̱͚͆̃̏͆̋̂͑̊́̽͑̚ȩ̵̡̥̭͔̤̠͓͓̫̓̀͗̈́͝n̵͉̼͙̙̻̋̓́͜ẗ̴̨͙̳̦̥̖͈͚͚͍̲̱́͗̿̋́̎̉͑̏̅͝H̷̛̫̐̈͒̒̃ữ̵̧͙̠͕̅̍̒͒̌̅͑͝m̷̹̪̎̎̈́ỏ̶͉͖̪̘̽̃̓̊́̏̾͜͝r̵͕̭͍̥̱̬̥̖̼̣͒̂̅̈̒͆͋̀̊͛H̸̛͖͖̄̈̍͒͒̂̄͑̽̽͘̕u̷̖̼̮̹̯̱̇̉̀͛̂͌̆m̶̢̛͈̜̦̳̲̖͖̹̥̈́̌͛͌͌͊̽̈̀͌ò̵͖̜͎̫̮̹̩̇̐͆̈́̏̉͒r̷̨̰̗͕͍͚̝͓͉̥̼̖̈́̇Ẻ̷̢̳͔̬̞̥̝̠̝̣̲͇͇̥̳͂̌͛̀͊̿̑̅̆̑̌͠͝n̵̨̢͔̩͔͔̜̜̩͈͍̪̝̹̝̐c̶͓͈̫͉͑̀̅͛̑̀̓̇̈́̐̓̈́ö̸̢̘̲́͌̍̔́̇̿̽̾̍͛̔̒͝u̶͎̝͔̪̖̫͉̗̘̐̀̂̇̂̓̽̑́͘͘͜r̷̨̬̫̹͕̦̭͖̜͙̀͑͐͂͛̔̃̀͋̀͆̿̔͝ą̵̺̥̜͇̈g̶̨͇͔͚̦̩̪͐́̿̏̉̋́͐ĕ̵̺̙̝̞̗͙̹̟̦̳̪͈̺͉̓̓͂̉́̌̐̂̉̿͝͝͝͝m̵͔͔͚̤̼͒̽̀̔̋̊̀̈̒͠e̷̮̤̥̭̿̅͑͗̾n̴̢̯̼̄͗͗͑̓t̷̢͚̗̣͖̻̖͆͗̀͗̒͑̌̔͛̒̍́̒͝.̷͓͔̺̆̉̋̉̍̎̇̔

With that push from the Library, she got up and approached her boss with her empty tea cup and what she hoped to be a decent mask of indigence. She shifted from foot to foot as he looked at her and felt her face grow hot.

Mr. Jenkins raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Ms. Jenkins?"

She rocked back and forth on her feet to expel some energy. "Could you teach me how to make tea?"

He blinked in surprise, but nodded. "Of course… Why the sudden interest?"

"Sometimes I crave tea and no one at home knows how to make it," she answered with a shrug.

It wasn't a complete lie. She sometimes craved a cup of tea when she was in the Sanctuary, but too few residents liked tea enough to keep it stocked. Coffee was the popular drink, of course.

"Very well. We can start lessons during lunch tomorrow." He cocked his head slightly and asked, "Have you figured out your second puzzle?"

She purposefully didn't think about how she'd solved it already, but over how frustrated she was at the slow pace her research had taken in learning how to help him. That utter frustration colored her voice as she regretfully answered, "No…"

It was effective because Mr. Jenkins smiled sympathetically at her and tried to encourage her. "Don't give up yet. I'm sure you're close."

She released a tiny huff and turned on her heel with renewed frustration.

She was no closer to her goal than she'd been when she'd decided she would make Mr. Jenkins' life easier. If she could learn to brew the wolfsbane potion and learn to make tea, she'd be able to take over making sure the rest of the team got their daily doses so that he wouldn't have to worry if he'd forgotten during a rigorous mission. It would probably not do anything for his transformations, but it'd be one less stressor until she could figure out how she could sit with him. She highly doubted Sam would be at all convinced that her staying three nights a month at work wasn't shady. He was already gearing up to show up to her work when she stayed late. The only thing keeping him away was the fact that she threw in Ms. Cillian was staying behind and helping her.

She'd figure it out. She was willing to swear by the foundations of the Library itself (which was, in fact, a binding Oath) that she would do everything in her power to make sure Mr. Jenkins wouldn't suffer on her watch.

After all, wasn't he the one that taught her that the job of a Curator was to see to the care of everyone and everything in the Library?

But those plans that she'd been meticulously making and scrapping and remaking were derailed and put to a halt when she stared at a Clipping with a list of the deceased. Samuel Green glared back at her in black and white.

A hand touched her shoulder and pulled her away, but she found that, when she blinked, Sam's name had been burned into her retina. She saw red and white and pink in front of her. The light blue didn't sparkle like they had mere minutes prior but were scrunched with concern. There was no proud smile, but a worried frown.

How such a large space could feel so small was something she didn't give herself time to figure out. It was too small. The air was too thick. It was too much.

She ran.

She didn’t run into the Corridor or the shelves where she could get easily lost. She ran out of the nearest door: the Backdoor.

She stumbled through and kept going despite the shock of cold slamming into her. Despite the white all around her, she ran until the white became dotted with black. When she couldn’t run anymore, she fell to her knees and grasped the pendant around her neck as the cold seeped into her bones.

S̴̡̢̡̡̻̭̹̙̼̲̠̥̟̳͆̔̈́̑̆̓̄͋͊̒̓͆̅̄͑̕̚̕͝͠ą̴̨̦͖̭̗͎̰̪̞̥͚̦͙̖͇̟͆̑̊͝f̴̢̖͑͛ȇ̷͉̤̈́̋̂̓̑̕͝t̸̬̬͆̊̈̍̂̄̉̽̒̈́̃͘͝y̶̛̪̪͉̺̼̗̝͚̖̹̝̺͉͂̎̓̇̎́̏͘͘͝P̷̨̛̲̱͔̪̘͖͉̮̣͑̈̐͌̓̈́̿͊̀͑̂̈́̕͠͝ŗ̵̧̨̲̘̞̣̖̱͇̗͙̖̖̜̉̓̉͒̈͗̾́̀͠o̵̡̨̧̟̤̹̙͈̥̹̲̣̤̯͒̎̈́̈́͂̀̋͆͘͝͝t̵̫͓̯̬́̅͊̾̌̍͋͊͊e̶̖̠̫̪̹̯̣̮̫̟̬͓̣͖̯̥̹͗̉͑̑̾̂̀̃̄̿͐̚͝c̶̤̫̖͖̱͖̝͖̟̃̀̅̃̅̅̀̊̓͛̕͝t̶̨̻̣͎̯̲͓͈͔̪͓̲̪͕̺̳̮͐̂́̂͜͝ï̷̤̈̊͒̈̿̾̏̓̅̃͘͘͝o̷͍͔̯͍̻̠͚̰͉͚̦̺͑̈̑͗̀͂̎̆̀͂̍̿̈́̉͒̅̾͘̕͜ͅņ̶̡͉͚͍̙̖̺̦̼̦̖̥̠̠͍̑͌̌̒͒̓̋͜ͅC̶̛̛̟͔̱̳͇͖̤͉͎͑̾̋̌̔̑̋̊̇̈́̒̎̀̚͘͘͜͝͝ơ̷̢̨̖̦̪̩̹̙͙̫̻͙̼͍̇͊̈́̔͑̀̈́̓̌̚͜͝͝m̷̛̖͚͇̬͍̰̙͒͌̋̌͊̈́̋̊́̏̐̒͑̚̚͠͝f̷̢̨̹̗͓͇̘͓̳̼͙̘͇͚̻͕̗̲̎̈́̚ơ̷͉̦̘͈̱̜̭̫̣̬͖̟̝̳̹͈̦̲͈̎̀̈́̂̈̍̈́̀͊͒̌̀̎̒̃́͑͋̚͝r̸̭͍̮̹̥̹̬̦̰̦̩̙̖̊̒͋̂͛̿͌̆̈́͑̐͂͐̋̚͜͝t̴̨͇̬̳̺̠̭̰̗̯̰̱̠͔̐͋̿̌̎͆͋͜S̸̡̗̙̳̦̳̲͉̮͚̺̹̰̰̺̦̠̺̮͂̇́́̽̽̓̂̀̈́̒̎͂̊̃̒̚͠ą̵̢̧̭͙̘̪͓̮͈̝̥̫̖̤̝̱̦̓̿͊̈́̎̈͊͜͝͠f̶̪̮͙̆́̐͗́͆̌͘e̷̡̧̨̧̗̹̻̤̱̼̮̭͕̥̙͉͍̳̠͌͜͜ţ̵̡̛̬͉̟̗͔̜̠̜̺̊̿̈́̓͋͘͝ŷ̴̝P̵̨̨̩̲̪̺̳̖͚̗͊̈̒̀͑̑̈́̄̒̉r̴̡̜̬͕̫̭͕͈͔̄͠ǫ̴̢̛̙͇̹͉̤̘̼̞̪̭̟̣͇͍̖͕̉̎͗̍̾̽͌̇̂͒̃́̉͒͜͠t̷̢͖͇͈͚͇͇̮̬̤̙͙̱̩̻͇̬̱͐̈̏͂̚͠ę̴͎̮̪̃̀̀̾̊̈́c̴̛̮̠̹̼̩̠̑͂̋̈͗͛̈́̚͝͠ẗ̵̢̧̰̹͖͍̼͉̩̗̻̫̭̰̠͕́̔͊̊̌́̐̐̐̓͑̾͒͝ḯ̷͙̦̳͍̳̞͓̥̹̘̙̬̹͒̑̓̐̔̾̀ơ̶̡̱̼͆͗̓͛̈́̔͋͗͠n̷̨̢͍̖̰͙͇̪̤̠̹̓̈̋̋̍̈̒̐̃̀̓̂͠C̶̡̻̠̘̜͈͑̑̇̔̆͐̊̔̋̿̅̃̎̍́̎̓̔͘͠o̵̧̧̘̟̘͚͈̗͉̣̦̖̜̘͆̂̓̎̂̋́͋͋͆̚͘͠m̴̢̝̗̫̖͖̪̖͕̭̍̉̒͊͋̆̾̋f̶̡̻̰̺̹̤͓̺̘̺̦͈̈͐͌̆̐͒̚͝͝ͅö̴̢̡̡̗͈̝̠̺̦͙̯̯̥̲̬̲̟̞͉͔͔́͊̀́́̆̾̃̌́̓͋̐̽̐͌̒̕͝ŗ̸̢̥͍͕̠͕̥̥͍̻͇͎̭͙̆̋͆̾͊͒̔̐̈́̍̿̾̊͘t̶̢̛̬̫̲̼͖̫͚͇̩̖͑̉̿̋̋̈̓͊͒̎̅̌̀͗́̀͜͠ͅŠ̸͙̠͉͙̮̘͙̹̺̱̘̫͕͔͍̙͚̬̬̹͒̀̇̔̓̑͗̊͛̊͗̽̂͝͝a̷̢̢̘̙͍̜͖̪͔͓͍̬̘̬͔͉͓̖̜͗̉̃͂̀́́͊̀͜f̸̨̣̙̝̟̃̍͒̓̀͐̈́́͐̓͂̄̀͑͂͝ȩ̵̢̨̧̢̢̨͎̟̫͍̳̼̫͍̎̈́̃́̉̏̔̃̍̓̾̕̕͘͠͝͝͝t̸̨̡̛̜͎̩̹̥͕̆̈́̌̓̃͂̈́̓̃̆͘͝ỵ̴̧̦̹̺͇͚͔͈̰̲̘͔̹̼͉͍̬̻͈́̏̀ͅP̸̪̭̅̍͌̓̇͋͘͘͝r̸͍͚̈́ơ̴̡̭̂̇͛̒̊͂́͗t̵͚͚̗͓̤̜͇̯̟̘͈̮͓̟̝̰͎̘̝͐͜ȩ̵̛̖̜͙͉̗͕͔̭͕̍̂̆̆̒̈́͊̈̕͝c̴̡͍̣̺̦̗͕͕̞̞̗͓͇̲̭̙͋̒̃̆̓̊̀̚ṱ̷̢̢̛̬̣͚̺͓̩͇̬̥͔̝͓̣̙̮̊̐̊̍̓̑̈́̀ͅi̵̧͉͇̙̙͖̝͊́̓̎̌̓̆̏̾͐̎̍̀͘͝o̸̼͙͍̞̗̥͉̲̣̥͋̆̊n̴̢̛̹͙̲̣̮͚͈͇͖̠͔͎͙̘̍̈́͑́̊̕ͅC̴̢̛̣̦̠͎̟̱̝̮͑̏͛̽̈́̓͐̅̃̑̿̆͌ō̴̢̨̡̰̲̞̬͉͍͔̩̬̗̹̬̯̰̫͘ͅm̶̛͔͇̾͌̀͝f̷̨̢̢̦͇̜̬̘̯̙̟̹̟͗̓͊̇̅́̆̚ǫ̴̛̦̠̬̹͉̮̒̈́̓̐͂͛͐̎͗̐̀͜͜͝ͅr̸̡͍͚͎͓͇͉̦͎̖͖̫̻̱̹̻̗͎̆̀͂͛ͅͅṱ̷̢̙̑̔̅.̸̧̱͖̰̺̫̩̻̞̙͔̱͎͍̐̊̃̏̂͐̕

The pleasant feeling associated with the crescent in her hands was drowned out.

G̴͇̓r̴̯̍̕ï̸͍͋͛ḗ̴̤̼͍f̵̰͚̚P̶͎͉̓͌a̵̗͔̽̋̓ì̷̲͔̓̅͜n̴̮̬͛̋G̷̠̅u̶̙̝̘͒̊̚ỉ̴̥͇̾͘l̵̼͚͗̓͂t̴̻̝͛H̴̜̽̔̓ȅ̷͈̚a̴̯̭̝̒́r̴̗̺̈͘t̸͈͉̓͋̕b̷̩̮̩̈̏r̷͐̓̏͜e̷̗͌̒̾ạ̷͋k̴̙̹̿P̵̮̩͂̇͑ḁ̶̍̌̏i̴̯̟̿n̷̳̂͛͜H̷̥͈͘͘è̸̼̿͗ả̸̮̪̝̄r̴̦̓͝t̷̛̙͜b̴̞̯́r̷̝̙̿e̸̯̰̳̐́̓a̵̲̎͂̇k̷͔̪͐Ǵ̵̭̰͂̈r̸̗̼̟̈́̍i̸̳͔̿̐̏͜e̸̪͎̚f̶̳͍̔͑Ğ̸̛̖̫̊u̷̝̻̾͠i̸͖̺̇͆̔l̸̖̲̽t̷̻̫̂͆P̸̨͇͐̋ạ̸̞̕î̴̤̲n̴̲̅̌G̶̭̀̒u̸͎͆̎͝i̸̖͚̐̈́̓l̴̫̿̋̊t̸̹̿Ḣ̴̙́e̴̢̻͛ã̸̢̎́r̴̠͑͆t̶̰̀b̵̢̍͊̽ṙ̴̯̭͑͘ë̴̛̟̫́͂ã̴͉͐͗k̷̺̂̚G̸͉͐r̸̟͗̒i̴̭͇̔̒͐e̴͓̟̋̕f̵̨̯̐́͠.̶͉̭̺̉

"Ms. Jenkins!"

Not a moment later and she was being hauled up by a pair of strong, warm arms and she was swaying. She blinked hard several times until the black spots finally made a pattern where she could see who had come. Bright orange eyes scanned her face and, when the spots moved again, his lips were pinched with displeasure. She could swear that, over the howling winds, she could hear a high-pitched whine.

"Sorry," she managed through her chattering.

"Save it," he snapped as he looked forward.

Mr. Jenkins barrelled through the snow at speeds she hadn't seen him use. Logically, she was aware that werewolves were fast, but she hadn't quite realized how fast that was until now.

She could feel throughout her body and hear so clearly the deep and drawn out growling in his chest. She thought that the volume came a bit late in her research binge.

She looked back at his fiery eyes and soon the world went black.

The first thing she noticed was the warmth and weight of a blanket over her. When she opened her eyes, the room was bathed in the flickering orange light of the hearth fire. She hadn’t ever seen the Library’s infirmary like this: warm and almost homelike. Normally it was bathed in harsh white light so she and Mr. Jenkins could see every minute injury. She’d also never been a patient within said infirmary since Mr. Jenkins and the Colonel were so careful to ensure she wouldn’t need it beyond the occasional bruising salve during their physical training.

Someone shifted to her right, but she elected to ignore them until she could remember what had led her to being a patient.

Unfortunately, they didn’t give her the chance.

“Would you care to explain why you rushed to the top of Mt. Everest without any warning or safety gear?”

The voice was a deep and sophisticated and seething growl. There was only one person in the entire Library that sounded like that, and that tone had never been directed at her before.

“I thought the Door was still set to Higgins,” she muttered as she pushed herself to sit up. She fought a shiver as the cold air hit her and refused to look at Mr. Jenkins. “I didn’t think it’d take me there.”

“That doesn’t explain why you ran out without warning.”

She closed her eyes and grabbed her necklace.

S̴̡̢̡̡̻̭̹̙̼̲̠̥̟̳͆̔̈́̑̆̓̄͋͊̒̓͆̅̄͑̕̚̕͝͠ą̴̨̦͖̭̗͎̰̪̞̥͚̦͙̖͇̟͆̑̊͝f̴̢̖͑͛ȇ̷͉̤̈́̋̂̓̑̕͝t̸̬̬͆̊̈̍̂̄̉̽̒̈́̃͘͝y̶̛̪̪͉̺̼̗̝͚̖̹̝̺͉͂̎̓̇̎́̏͘͘͝P̷̨̛̲̱͔̪̘͖͉̮̣͑̈̐͌̓̈́̿͊̀͑̂̈́̕͠͝ŗ̵̧̨̲̘̞̣̖̱͇̗͙̖̖̜̉̓̉͒̈͗̾́̀͠o̵̡̨̧̟̤̹̙͈̥̹̲̣̤̯͒̎̈́̈́͂̀̋͆͘͝͝t̵̫͓̯̬́̅͊̾̌̍͋͊͊e̶̖̠̫̪̹̯̣̮̫̟̬͓̣͖̯̥̹͗̉͑̑̾̂̀̃̄̿͐̚͝c̶̤̫̖͖̱͖̝͖̟̃̀̅̃̅̅̀̊̓͛̕͝t̶̨̻̣͎̯̲͓͈͔̪͓̲̪͕̺̳̮͐̂́̂͜͝ï̷̤̈̊͒̈̿̾̏̓̅̃͘͘͝o̷͍͔̯͍̻̠͚̰͉͚̦̺͑̈̑͗̀͂̎̆̀͂̍̿̈́̉͒̅̾͘̕͜ͅņ̶̡͉͚͍̙̖̺̦̼̦̖̥̠̠͍̑͌̌̒͒̓̋͜ͅC̶̛̛̟͔̱̳͇͖̤͉͎͑̾̋̌̔̑̋̊̇̈́̒̎̀̚͘͘͜͝͝ơ̷̢̨̖̦̪̩̹̙͙̫̻͙̼͍̇͊̈́̔͑̀̈́̓̌̚͜͝͝m̷̛̖͚͇̬͍̰̙͒͌̋̌͊̈́̋̊́̏̐̒͑̚̚͠͝f̷̢̨̹̗͓͇̘͓̳̼͙̘͇͚̻͕̗̲̎̈́̚ơ̷͉̦̘͈̱̜̭̫̣̬͖̟̝̳̹͈̦̲͈̎̀̈́̂̈̍̈́̀͊͒̌̀̎̒̃́͑͋̚͝r̸̭͍̮̹̥̹̬̦̰̦̩̙̖̊̒͋̂͛̿͌̆̈́͑̐͂͐̋̚͜͝t̴̨͇̬̳̺̠̭̰̗̯̰̱̠͔̐͋̿̌̎͆͋͜S̸̡̗̙̳̦̳̲͉̮͚̺̹̰̰̺̦̠̺̮͂̇́́̽̽̓̂̀̈́̒̎͂̊̃̒̚͠ą̵̢̧̭͙̘̪͓̮͈̝̥̫̖̤̝̱̦̓̿͊̈́̎̈͊͜͝͠f̶̪̮͙̆́̐͗́͆̌͘e̷̡̧̨̧̗̹̻̤̱̼̮̭͕̥̙͉͍̳̠͌͜͜ţ̵̡̛̬͉̟̗͔̜̠̜̺̊̿̈́̓͋͘͝ŷ̴̝P̵̨̨̩̲̪̺̳̖͚̗͊̈̒̀͑̑̈́̄̒̉r̴̡̜̬͕̫̭͕͈͔̄͠ǫ̴̢̛̙͇̹͉̤̘̼̞̪̭̟̣͇͍̖͕̉̎͗̍̾̽͌̇̂͒̃́̉͒͜͠t̷̢͖͇͈͚͇͇̮̬̤̙͙̱̩̻͇̬̱͐̈̏͂̚͠ę̴͎̮̪̃̀̀̾̊̈́c̴̛̮̠̹̼̩̠̑͂̋̈͗͛̈́̚͝͠ẗ̵̢̧̰̹͖͍̼͉̩̗̻̫̭̰̠͕́̔͊̊̌́̐̐̐̓͑̾͒͝ḯ̷͙̦̳͍̳̞͓̥̹̘̙̬̹͒̑̓̐̔̾̀ơ̶̡̱̼͆͗̓͛̈́̔͋͗͠n̷̨̢͍̖̰͙͇̪̤̠̹̓̈̋̋̍̈̒̐̃̀̓̂͠C̶̡̻̠̘̜͈͑̑̇̔̆͐̊̔̋̿̅̃̎̍́̎̓̔͘͠o̵̧̧̘̟̘͚͈̗͉̣̦̖̜̘͆̂̓̎̂̋́͋͋͆̚͘͠m̴̢̝̗̫̖͖̪̖͕̭̍̉̒͊͋̆̾̋f̶̡̻̰̺̹̤͓̺̘̺̦͈̈͐͌̆̐͒̚͝͝ͅö̴̢̡̡̗͈̝̠̺̦͙̯̯̥̲̬̲̟̞͉͔͔́͊̀́́̆̾̃̌́̓͋̐̽̐͌̒̕͝ŗ̸̢̥͍͕̠͕̥̥͍̻͇͎̭͙̆̋͆̾͊͒̔̐̈́̍̿̾̊͘t̶̢̛̬̫̲̼͖̫͚͇̩̖͑̉̿̋̋̈̓͊͒̎̅̌̀͗́̀͜͠ͅŠ̸͙̠͉͙̮̘͙̹̺̱̘̫͕͔͍̙͚̬̬̹͒̀̇̔̓̑͗̊͛̊͗̽̂͝͝a̷̢̢̘̙͍̜͖̪͔͓͍̬̘̬͔͉͓̖̜͗̉̃͂̀́́͊̀͜f̸̨̣̙̝̟̃̍͒̓̀͐̈́́͐̓͂̄̀͑͂͝ȩ̵̢̨̧̢̢̨͎̟̫͍̳̼̫͍̎̈́̃́̉̏̔̃̍̓̾̕̕͘͠͝͝͝t̸̨̡̛̜͎̩̹̥͕̆̈́̌̓̃͂̈́̓̃̆͘͝ỵ̴̧̦̹̺͇͚͔͈̰̲̘͔̹̼͉͍̬̻͈́̏̀ͅP̸̪̭̅̍͌̓̇͋͘͘͝r̸͍͚̈́ơ̴̡̭̂̇͛̒̊͂́͗t̵͚͚̗͓̤̜͇̯̟̘͈̮͓̟̝̰͎̘̝͐͜ȩ̵̛̖̜͙͉̗͕͔̭͕̍̂̆̆̒̈́͊̈̕͝c̴̡͍̣̺̦̗͕͕̞̞̗͓͇̲̭̙͋̒̃̆̓̊̀̚ṱ̷̢̢̛̬̣͚̺͓̩͇̬̥͔̝͓̣̙̮̊̐̊̍̓̑̈́̀ͅi̵̧͉͇̙̙͖̝͊́̓̎̌̓̆̏̾͐̎̍̀͘͝o̸̼͙͍̞̗̥͉̲̣̥͋̆̊n̴̢̛̹͙̲̣̮͚͈͇͖̠͔͎͙̘̍̈́͑́̊̕ͅC̴̢̛̣̦̠͎̟̱̝̮͑̏͛̽̈́̓͐̅̃̑̿̆͌ō̴̢̨̡̰̲̞̬͉͍͔̩̬̗̹̬̯̰̫͘ͅm̶̛͔͇̾͌̀͝f̷̨̢̢̦͇̜̬̘̯̙̟̹̟͗̓͊̇̅́̆̚ǫ̴̛̦̠̬̹͉̮̒̈́̓̐͂͛͐̎͗̐̀͜͜͝ͅr̸̡͍͚͎͓͇͉̦͎̖͖̫̻̱̹̻̗͎̆̀͂͛ͅͅṱ̷̢̙̑̔̅.̸̧̱͖̰̺̫̩̻̞̙͔̱͎͍̐̊̃̏̂͐̕

The newspaper clippings were burnt into her retina and all she could see was Sam’s name on the list of confirmed dead.

H̷̱͒̒é̵̳̓ä̵̱̾r̵̢̄ṱ̸̌͗b̶̨́͒͝ŗ̷̆e̴̙̳͔͐̂͝a̵̬͔͉͒k̷̗̙͍͒͐̔G̸̲̠̺̊̀̅r̸̰̪̄͆i̵͖̩͛̿̌ē̴̬̻ḟ̸̝̲͘̕P̸͙̖͆͂̚ā̸̫̟͓ĭ̴̧̲͔̃n̵͎̓̈́̕G̵̩̝̼͐̉u̶̢̞͉͑i̶̩͒͛͘ͅl̶͍̭̫̅̇̈t̴̟̋̊͜G̴̫̺͋̑ŕ̵̢͔͉ĩ̸̥ę̷͠ͅf̵͖̳͍͋̂P̶͍̻̦͂̀a̷̙̽͠i̵͖̲͊͗n̶̫͆͐͝G̷̣̲̔̋u̵͚̽̈́ḭ̸͔͛̔͘l̷̞̜͗̈́͝ͅt̵͈̟̿́ͅH̷͙͎̠̍͘͝e̵̘͝ă̷͇̜r̵͉͍̳̚͝ť̴̬͝b̴̭̹̅r̶̈́ͅe̷̛͚͖͔̋ä̸̡͇̲̉k̷̨̅̇̿.̷͉̜̜̄̃͗

Cool tears dripped from her wobbling chin as she fought to speak. “I… I needed air…” In an afterthought, she added, “C-could you—g-et me a vial?”

A hand on her shoulder guided her so that her face was buried in a wall of white. Arms around her shoulders and a hand cradling her head made her feel small. It nearly sent her spiraling to be held, but she had asked for a vial because… because how often would she be able to give them tears of grief?

“Th-e tears,” she gasped into his shirt.

“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Jenkins shushed gently. “You don’t need to gather your tears. I’ll make enough for the both of us. Just let it out.”

She remembered silver marks all over his face and neck in the ultraviolet light. She recalled the words speaking of how wretched a lone werewolf's life could be. She clutched his shirt tighter as she sobbed all the harder for it.

Chapter Text

She didn't know where she was, but she was certain she hadn't been the one to break the glass of water. Her heart stuttered anxiously in her chest as she looked around for Carrie, but all she found were unfamiliar adults staring at her with confusion.

A white man approached her cautiously. "Ms. Jenkins?"

Carrie told her to always ask a question when someone knew her name but she didn't know them. Anyone that Carrie knew would know the word of the week. This week's had been a new one she hadn't heard before, but she'd liked it when Carrie explained it to her.

"What's this week's word?" Lexi asked.

His eyebrows scrunched up and he looked confused. "Erm… Hagen-Daas?"

Not the right answer.

She turned and dove under the desk, tripping on the oversized shoes that she'd been wearing. Her forehead collided with the wood on her way, but it didn't hurt too bad. She knew that she was supposed to run away, but she was inside of a building and she didn't know where the exit was, so the desk seemed like the best option.

"Oh boy," a woman said. "Jenkins!"

Lexi flinched hearing her name and felt like someone had sat on her chest. Was she going to get in trouble for breaking the glass when she hadn't done it? Were they going to take her to one of those bad places Carrie had warned her about? If Carrie came in, would they make her think she'd broken it?

Footsteps approached her hiding place and she whimpered, curling further into herself in hopes of disappearing. The footsteps crunched over the wet glass and she closed her eyes.

"Ms. Jenkins?" A deep, gentle voice called from just in front of her.

Her eyes snapped open and she saw that there was an older white man with a soft but stern face crouched there. His eyes looked like fire and seemed to grow brighter when he froze at the sight of her.

"What happened?" He asked.

"I didn't break anything!" Lexi blurted.

"I can assure you that I'm not the least bit concerned with the mess," he said as if he really didn't care.

His eyes dimmed to a softer orange and she stared. She'd never seen orange eyes that grew brighter and darker and she didn't know what to make of it.

But then she realized she hadn't actually heard what he said.

"What does that mean?" She asked instead of having him repeat it.

"That is to say, I don't care if you or anyone else made this mess." He shifted forward and stopped when her back hit the desk again. His orange eyes looked pained just before they darkened to a deep brown. "You're perfectly safe here, Ms. Jenkins. I just want to get you away from the glass, so you don't get hurt. Will you let me pick you up?"

He seemed genuine. He sounded like he knew her, but she didn't remember his face. Still… he felt safe and felt familiar in a way.

She leaned over her knees and reached out for him, wanting to make him feel better (he wasn't supposed to be sad when she was around).

He looked so much better when he saw her reaching for him and he picked her up with strong but gentle hands. The second she was sat on his hip, he pushed up her sleeves to look at her arms, nose twitching slightly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No sir," she answered truthfully.

He patted her back and nodded shallowly. "Good. May I carry you for now? I'm afraid there's too much glass to let you walk on your own."

She nodded and looked around even when he started wiping at her face. "Where's Carrie?"

"Who's Carrie?" Another man asked with the same accent as the crocodile hunter she watched on Animal Planet.

Feeling much safer, she answered, "My foster mom."

For some reason the adults seemed surprised, but then again all of the kids at school had moms and dads that weren't fosters. She didn't like that adults always made faces when they heard that.

The man holding her answered softly, "I'm not sure, but you're staying with us for the time being."

She eyed him and heard Carrie's voice whispering about running off with strangers. "Who're you?"

He smiled softly and she thought it was a nice smile. "I'm Jenkins—"

"That's my name too!" She delightedly gasped, hoping against all hope that this Jenkins was hers.

"I'm aware."

"I'm Alexis Jenkins. Are we related? Are you taking me home?"

He opened his mouth and said nothing. Before he could say a word, the Asian man with the crocodile hunter accent leapt forward with a grin.

"Yes! He is! He's your… grandpa's cousin's half-sister's brother. And he's been looking for you for a really long time. He brought you home while you were sleeping."

Since living with Carrie, she'd fantasized about a family member coming and sweeping her away. Now, it seemed, those dreams were coming true. Carrie wasn't… bad, but Lexi knew she didn't love her. She just wanted someone who loved her and who was better than family?

"I get to stay?" She whispered as her fingers instinctively wrapped around her necklace. (A necklace that she never takes off, she knows, but she didn't remember receiving it. She just knew that it was important.)

"Yes, you're staying here," Jenkins said.

Elated, she threw her arms around his neck and made every promise she'd swore she'd make in the event of this dream coming true. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I'll be good. I'll clean my room and I won't bother you and I'll eat all my veggies and feed any pets and not get in the way and put dishes in the sink and I won't talk to strangers, and I'll stay quiet, and I'll take all my naps and go to bed on time! I promise!"

His hand rubbed her back and he was silent until she loosened her grip. "All that isn't necessary. I'm here to take care of you."

She almost said something but she didn't know what he wanted her to call him. She knew the names of all of her guardians because it was important and she needed to know his, too.

She leaned back abruptly to look at him and felt him take a deep breath. "What'm I supposed to call you? What's your name? Ms. Florene says I'm supposed to know my um…" She didn't really remember how the crocodile hunter man said they were related, so she adlibbed, "… your name if you're taking care of me. Just in case I get lost and have to ask an officer for help."

He eyed her for a second before tilting his head, eyes searching her face for something. "Can you read, Ms. Jenkins?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yessir!"

He brought her closer and whispered, "I'll write my name, but you have to keep it secret.

Understanding that she needed to be quiet, she whispered back, "Why?"

He jerked his head towards the other adults in the room and she giggled at the realization she would be the only one to know his real name.

"Um… that's insulting," the crocodile hunter man said.

Her… Jenkins shook his head and walked confidently to the table where he bent over and wrote on a sheet of paper. When he finished, he lifted it up for her to read.

My name is Galahad.

She wanted to mouth it or ask how she was supposed to say it, but if she did then the rest of the room would know and she wouldn't get to keep such a fun secret.

"What?" Galahad asked.

"Nothing." He gave her a look that said he was a little annoyed and she didn't want to annoy him, so she admitted, "I think I know how to say it, but I don't wanna ask."

"That's alright," Galahad said while he folded the paper between his fingers and lit it with a nearby candle.

Everyone else looked upset that he would get rid of any evidence of his real name, but he looked smug.

"Maybe you can spell it out for me, and I can help you make sure," the crocodile hunter asked.

She grinned at his trick and shook her head. "Nice try, but you won't get it from me."

Galahad laughed enough to make her shake when the younger man pouted.

She really needed to figure out what she was going to call him.

She gripped his lapel and tugged. "What'm I supposed to call you, though?"

"What would you like to call me?"

No adult had ever asked her that before. Normally, adults would tell her what they wanted to be called or they would say their name and she'd tag Mr/Mrs. before it. It felt like an incredibly important task, especially when she'd also been tasked with keeping his name a secret.

The first three letters were the same as the code word Carrie had given her for the week… she could play around with it and she didn't think anyone would question it if she prefaced it with a simple question.

She smiled at her cleverness and asked, "Can I make up anything? Even if it doesn't sound like your name?"

He hesitated a second, but nodded.

"Gallant Gallie," she pronounced, bouncing in her excitement as she elaborated. "Carrie told me the word 'gallant' means heroic."

He stared at her, looking rather impressed, and slowly said, "I don't believe I've done anything heroic."

"You found me and brought me home."

It was really the most heroic thing she could conceive. All she'd ever wanted was a family and a home and now she had both. And—and if this was her home, she could read for forever!

He smiled at her. "I think it's time for me to introduce you to my associates." He pointed to the crocodile hunter man. "This young man you seem to have taken a liking to is Mr. Ezekiel Jones."

Mr. Jones grinned at her. "Pleasure to meet you, princess!"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones," she said with her own grin.

"This young lady is Ms. Cassandra Cillian."

"Hullo!" Ms. Cillian said with a bright smile.

Lexi waved back and smiled, thinking Ms. Cillian was the prettiest lady in the whole world.

"This gentleman is Mr. Jacob Stone."

The man that had gotten the week's word wrong nodded and greeted, "Howdy, little lady."

She took in his accent and attire now that she wasn't scared and asked, "Are you a cowboy?"

His shoulders relaxed and his smile seemed softer. "No, but I'm like one."

Gallie turned and gestured to the last woman that Lexi instantly recognized. Mr. Greg and Ms. Trish had shown her a picture of her before Mr. Greg left for work and died.

"And this young woman is—"

"Evie Bear," Lexi whispered excitedly.

She remembered having trouble pronouncing "Baird" and, on a phone call, Ms. Eve said that she could call her "Evie Bear" if she wanted. After that, it stuck.

"I—Hello," Evie said softly.

"Mr. Greg said we'd meet, but I didn't think we would after he died." She missed Mr. Greg and Ms. Trish a lot. They always made her smile and feel safe and feel loved and she hadn't felt that way since her mommy and daddy died.

Evie didn't seem to recognize her and asked, "What was… What was Mr. Greg's last name?"

"Cunningham."

Something changed in Evie's face and Lexi wondered what she'd done wrong. Did Evie not remember her? Had it been too long? Lexi remembered her and she'd dreamed of Evie finding her and reuniting her with Ms. Trish and living happily ever after just as often as a distant relative.

"Do you remember me?" Lexi asked tentatively.

Evie's smile seemed a little like the one from her picture. "I remember you, Lexi. I'm glad we finally got to meet."

Mr. Stone stepped forward and got Evie's attention. "Hey, Baird. I need your help with moving the thing to the… room."

Evie nodded and waved to Lexi. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lexi. Promise."

"Okay."

"Somone should probably do research on the mission. We've got it from here, Jenkins," Ms. Cillian said before looking at Mr. Jones. "Ezekiel, come help me."

"Right. See ya princess!"

"Bye Mr. Jones."

"Just call me Ezekiel," he called back over his shoulder.

"Bye Ezekiel!" She watched the go for a second and wondered if Gallie would call her Lexi instead of Alexis. She could try like she had with Carrie, but Carrie never called her by the right name, let alone her nickname. "You can call me 'Lexi' if you want…"

Gallie looked at her with a strange expression for a heartbeat before smiling warmly. "Very well. Lexi it is."

She grinned at him, elated that, so far, everything was coming up Lexi.

Chapter Text

Gallie and his friends were really nice. Ezekiel and Jacob would play with her whenever she wanted and Ms. Cassandra would read to her while she ate snacks and Evie Bear watched movies with her and Gallie was everything she'd hoped for.

Gallie brought up hazy memories of her Grandpa Rod. She'd loved when Grandpa Rod babysat when her mommy and daddy went out for a date. He gave her big bear hugs and tucked her into bed and call her his sweet pea. She remembered seeing him lying in a nice suit sleeping and hadn't learned what that meant until her daddy sat her on his knee and told her that he wouldn't be babysitting her anymore because he'd died.

Maybe it was because she was thinking of him so much that she had a dream about him.

She sat up in her bed—the one that she'd decorated with flower and Dora the Explorer stickers—and looked around. It looked exactly like she remembered it before the fire. Warm and cluttered with a dresser pushed up against the wall beside the small closet and toys strewn about. The popcorn ceiling was lit up and shadowed by the slowly spinning fan. She could even see the white paint peeling from the wall from where she slammed the door against it repeatedly in her excitement.

The door opened gently and there was a tall man with curly white hair and a deep widow's peek. His face was wrinkled and he had a thick mustache and beard that was darker than his hair. He wore his jeans and plaid button up with his black suspenders as he always did.

His dark eyes crinkled when he grinned at her. "Hey, sweet pea."

Alexis stared at him for a second before she remembered and she felt her chest tighten. "Grandpa…" She leapt off of the bed and crossed the room in two bounding steps, slamming into him and hugging him with a sob. "Grandpa!"

She didn't remember being this tall with him, but she reached his shoulder now and it was easy to bury her face into his chest. He smelled like pipe smoke and his favorite cologne. He smelled like home.

He hugged her as tightly as she remembered, squeezing her as if he could put her back together. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she broke down. She couldn't believe that he was really here. How did she ever forget him?

She pulled away so that she could look at him, take in every line of his face and sear it into her memory so she'd never forget him again. So that she could never forget the man who'd once been her favorite person in the entire world.

His dark eyes twinkled. "Been havin' a rough go of it, ain'tchu, baby?"

She released a harsh, barking laugh. "Yeah, you could say that."

He shook her lightly, gripping her elbows with strong, calloused hands—the hands of a working man. She was pretty sure he did something with cars, but she didn't remember the details. "Let's sit a spell, why don't we?"

She let him guide her back to the small bed and she leaned into him as he kept an arm thrown over her shoulders. He used his handkerchief to wipe her face as if she was four again. All thoughts seemed to vacate her mind and it was consumed by a swell of wordless love and adoration and awe.

"What're you doing here?" She asked when she could finally pull together a coherent thought.

"Been here the whole time, you just ain't really been open to me 'til now," he answered without accusation or malice. Just stating a fact. "I'll always be there for my sweet pea."

She pressed her lips together but her eyes watered regardless. "I miss you…"

"I know, baby, I know… But I worked hard to get you to someone that'd love you much as I do. You oughtta let yourself love him, too."

Her face scrunched up. "Huh? What do you mean worked hard?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed—deep and hitching. When he regained his composure, he was cupping his hands over his mouth to quietly yell, "Go t' the interview! The bridge's bigger on the inside! The dark tunnel's not gonna hurt you, baby, just walk on in! Go for the job, sweet pea!"

Understanding left her gaping. "You?! You made me throw away every ounce of common sense I have to get this job?"

He lowered his hands and leaned back on the bed with a self-satisfied expression. "It was hard work, too. You're hard-headed."

Her lips stretched into a smile that mirrored his own. "Pretty sure I got it from you."

"Come by it honest, at least." His grin softened and he gave her a stern look—or as stern a look as he was capable of when he looked at her. "You've been runnin' like a mouse when you a cat, too."

"Whatchu mean by that?" She asked and then stopped and laughed when she realized she'd started mimicking his drawl.

She'd never really lost the accent, but it lightened up considerably when she moved in with Carrie, who'd corrected her pronunciation at every turn. She wondered if it'd thickened up since she'd been around Stone.

He chuckled. "What I mean is… You ain't gonna be very happy if you keep running from love. I know you've lost a… a lot at a young age, but it ain't gon' be forever. You stop lovin' folks and then you end up like ol' Mr. Simmons. Rotten and lonely. And sweet peas ain't meant t' rot alone."

She leaned heavily into him and let her head rest on his shoulder. "Fine… I'll take your words into consideration."

"Hard-shelled pea you are," he said as he hugged her to his side. "Go n' find your Gallie and tell him thank you for me. And you take care o' yourself, y'hear?"

"Yes, Grandpa," she said with a roll of her eyes and a grin that wouldn't go away.

"There's a good girl. Love you, sweet pea," he said as he kissed her forehead.

Lexi woke up feeling happy and sad and wanting her Gallie. She slipped out of the bed and opened her bedroom door, looking down the hall and seeing the light to his room on. She approached on silent feet and shifted indecisively from foot to foot. If he was just sleeping with the lights on, then she didn't want to wake him up, but she really wanted a hug.

Deciding she would err on the side of caution, she knocked five times very quietly so that if he wasn't awake, he could keep sleeping. The door opened with her knock and when she peaked in, she saw that his room was empty.

"Gallie?"

With no answer, she thought over where Gallie could be. Her best guess was the kitchen, so she started padding through the hallways, trying to find her way in the dark shelves. She felt incredibly anxious, but she didn't know why.

She peeked into a room and froze at the sight of a giant brown and white wolf that seemed to take up the entire room with its orange eyes practically glowing in the light. The second it saw her, it fell to its stomach with high pitched whines. Even flat on its stomach, it was taller than her. She had known wolves grew to be big, but she hadn't realized just how big they could get.

She looked around the bare room and frowned at how bare it looked. Why were they keeping such a large wolf inside of a room?

Oddly enough, she didn't feel fear now that the wolf was turning onto its back and baring its throat. She didn't know why she knew it was a good sign but she figured she'd seen it on Animal Planet.

"Hi," she greeted.

The wolf seemed to take that as a sign that it could approach, though it did so cautiously. She held out her hand and tried not to giggle when its cold nose went from her hand to her cheek.

"I'm Lexi. I'm looking for Gallie. You might know him as Gal-a-had. Do you know where he is?"

He pulled back and padded to the door with an expectant look back towards her.

"Follow you?"

He nodded—as well as a wolf could—and circled back to push her shoulders with his snout and herd her towards the door.

"Okay," she said quietly.

The wolf took the lead again and slipped through the shelves as if he were familiar with the layout of the enormous building. She didn't realize where the wolf was taking her until they were approaching the residential area. The wolf nudged open her door and trotted around to herd her inside.

"But… I wanted to see Gallie. Grandpa wanted me to thank him," she said.

He paused for a moment before gently prodding at her back until she was climbing into bed.

"Okay, if I have to go to bed, could you please stay with me?"

The large wolf settled beside her bed, laying high enough that she could scoot to the edge of the bed and cuddle into his fur.

"G'night," she muttered as she drifted off.

"Lexi, wake up. Wake up!"

The shaking stopped when she cracked open her eyes. She saw that Gallie was kneeling beside the bed where the wolf had been and he was covered in sweat. His eyes were a bright orange and he seemed to be worried.

"Hm?"

"Take this," he insisted while holding up a clear glass container half-full of lilac liquid. "Please. It'll keep you healthy."

"Mm'kay," she relented sleepily as she sat up and took the medicine from him. The first sip tasted like grass and she gagged. "I don't wanna. It's nasty."

"I know, but you have to take all of it," he insisted.

With a grimace, she drank the rest as quickly as she could and was rewarded with water to wash out the taste a second after. She nearly spat out her water in surprise when Gallie fell onto his butt and started laughing. It was a weird laugh that made the hairs on her neck stand up.

"Gallie? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lexi," he promised. He wiped at his cheeks and took a deep breath. "I… I just had to make sure you took the medicine."

She slid off of the bed and approached him hesitantly. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm… A little bit hurt," he reluctantly answered. "But I'll feel better after I get a hug."

She hesitated only a second before throwing herself into his arms and hugging him as tightly as she could. His hand cradled the back of her head as he hugged her close and she could hear his heartbeat going faster than usual. He was sweaty and smelled a little, but he needed a hug to feel better and she had to take a bath after playing with a wolf anyway.

"Oh! Did you see a wolf?"

He loosened his hold to let her sit back and look up at him. "Ah, I'm familiar with that wolf."

"Do you know where he went?"

After a second or two he pointed to himself. "He's right here."

Her eyes widened. "You?"

"Mhm," he hummed with a nod. "I hope you don't mind… the medicine I gave you was to prevent you from turning into a wolf like me."

"Why wouldn't you want me to be a wolf?"

"It's a difficult life and very painful transformation, especially for someone so young," he confessed.

She frowned up at him. "Can I do anything to help you?"

He shook his head and scratched her back gently. "You're doing everything you need to, sweet child. Just taking your medicine is enough for me."

"But…"

He held her face between his large hands and squeezed her cheeks slightly. "I promise that what you're doing is enough. You weren't scared of me and that's really all I could hope for."

"Why would I be scared? You're my Gallie."

Something flickered in his orange eyes and he quickly pulled her into a fierce hug and reclined with her on his chest. "Yes, I am…"

Chapter Text

Returning to adulthood and moving in with a werewolf was… interesting. She had to drink tea three times a day to ensure that she did not contract lycanthropy from such close and constant proximity—twice after the sunrise and once after the sun had set. From her reading, one would become a werewolf if an antidote was not consumed by the sunrise or sunset, depending on when one was exposed.

She'd had a clear memory of Jenkins—sweaty and panicked—urging her to consume a potion while she was still a child. It must have taken an incredible toll on his body and magic to force himself to change before the sun rose and administer the potion. Not wanting to cause him more trouble, she didn't complain about drinking tea and was almost a zealot in her obsession with ensuring she and the rest of the team consumed the wolfsbane potion (though, she liked to think, she was more subtle about it).

The next full moon was that night and Alexis had noticed that Jenkins had spent the past week brewing when he had the time. Obviously, he had made the wolfsbane potion and stored it somewhere in the lab, so she would be nicking a vial to pay a visit. Of course, she would have to wait until he went off to his den and transformed to do anything if she wanted to minimize whatever lecture he would give her.

She had slipped into the lab an hour after she was certain the sun had set and poked around as she was wont to do. Given that she'd taken extensive time to memorize the lab inventory, it shouldn't take her too long to find what she was looking for.

Alexis did have every intention of learning to brew the potion herself, but that wasn't feasible at the moment given her options.

The first option was the most dangerous and ill-advised in that she could practice by herself. Lab safety was something that Jenkins and every book written by well-respected potioneers had emphasized and she would not become a statistic. Should Jenkins catch even a whiff of such irresponsibility, she was certain that she would be lectured for hours and banned from the lab for the foreseeable future. The second was to ask Ms. Cillian for help, but that would out Jenkins as a werewolf and she would never do that to him. The last was to ask him to teach her, but that would tip her own hand as to her intentions. Best to save that until after she'd sat with him during the full moon.

What she suspected was the wolfsbane potion was tucked away in a cupboard that she'd only ever opened a few times since starting her potions training. The color was a gentle lilac—a few shades different from the hair-growth potion that they'd had to use when a chunk of Mr. Stone's hair had been cut off—and it was unlabeled like only a handful of potions in the lab.

Rather than take chances, she went to her potion-testing kit and ripped out one of the few slips of paper that would accurately tell her what she had put on it. They were expensive and in high-demand at hospitals and in potioneering labs, but they were worth Jenkins' weight in gold for good reason.

She put a single drop on the paper and waited one minute for the words to appear in jagged, but clear handwriting.

Wolfsbane—Canis Lupus Lupus — Class C — Type B —Contraction: Magic

She grinned triumphantly and hurriedly returned everything to their proper places.

Her research hadn't steered her too far from his variant of lycanthropy. She had clocked that it was magically contracted when she realized he'd been drugging their tea but she'd pegged him as a canis lupus lupus, class C and type A. He growled way too much in his human form to be type C or D.

Ancestry determined what genus they would turn with whatever species of anthropy (lycanthropy, ailuranthropy, ursanthropy, etc.) they contracted. Anyone with a variant that was multi-racial typically had a form that was a hybrid of whatever animals were native to the land their ancestors were from. The class determined their temperament while transformed with class A the most like their animal counterparts and class D the most like the individual. Classes C and D were typically safe to be around even in their wolf forms so long as the individual wasn't aggressive. The type determined how it effected their human forms with the same alphabetical system as class with type A being most like themselves and D being most like their animal forms.

After double checking her math, she drained the recommended dosage with a sense of giddiness. Weeks of planning and she would finally be able to do something substantial for him.

She wrapped the vial in one of the many cleaning cloths and stuffed it into her pajama pocket to be drained closer to sunrise. "Alright, time to put that practice to the test. Take me to Jenkins."

E̵̳̭̕x̴͚̊͘c̸̩̿͛̂̀̿̈́̅́̅̕i̴̢̛̳̱̙̤͙̲̮̤͕̮̟͔̅̎̇̉͛͌̓̃͋̽̓̎͘t̸̢̬̗̱̘̜̄̓́͐̊͋̊̽̔̿̊͜ę̷̢̖̺̞̱̰̳̔̔͋͜m̶̢̧̛̛̠̣̜̺͉͔̃́͛̽̒̿̕̕ĕ̵̡̧̡̟͉̖̗̗̩̮̮͚͓̏ͅñ̸̨̼̹̭̞̭͚̺̙̟̝̺̝͜ţ̸̧̧̞̺͍̹͇̲̽̓͋̀̋̿͒͘͜͝͝͝J̸̨̥̟̤̲͈̙͇̗̱̄̍͛̑͒͌́͑́̀̇͒̕͘͜͠ọ̶̪̯̯̼̮̫̼̥͖̝͠ỷ̴͓̤̫͈̭̥̺̣̄̓̑̾̔̓͆͜͠ͅF̷̨̡̣͙̰͛̄͊͋̓͆͛ó̶͓̀̏̐̐̾c̴͈͇̟̟̘͍̥̖̈́̌̃͐̈́̎͗͗͘͘̚͝u̶̳̗̓̈s̴͎̳̙̿̅̒̔͆͝ȩ̵͇̩̼͚̮͎̾͗̒͆̉̿̔͂̾͝͠d̵̡͓̯̫͓̦͔̗̠̣͉̠̥̑̚J̵̠̒͊́́̀́͋̀̊͌̅̊͗͝ǫ̴̡̛̰̠̜̹̬̺̬̼̤̇͐̉͑̈̉͠y̸̖̮̤̳͔͉͋̿̓͊̓̈́͌͐̍͛͘͘̚͝Ȅ̶̮̊̏͑̽̒̋̉̀̇̉̐͐͝͠x̶͓͓̖̼͓͈̺̠̙̲͇͛͊͆̊ċ̶͔̰͙̠̯͊̄̾͒̽̂̅ͅi̷͇͇̓̿͂̑̔̔́̍͊͛̆̚̕̚t̴̨̡̛̹̦̮͕͎̪̅͑̎e̴͎͍̖̫͓͉̰̊̀̀̿͐̎̅͒̾̚͠͠m̴̧̡̰̞͈̲̖̟̩̻̥̰̪̯͌̆e̸̛͖̘͗͒͐̉̓̽̉͌̈́͠n̸̡̢̧̡̗̗̭̝̍͐̽̓̈́̈́͌̓͆͘ͅt̵̢͎͓̠̪͙̄͆̄̌̓̿̚͠͝F̵̢̝͎͇̐́͠͝o̴̧̡͙͓͍̠̭̣͍̟̘͂͐̌̀͌̊͜͠ç̸̛̮̠̭̬̠̯͙͔̗͇̩͓̖̒̌̄͊́̊͊͐̄̽͝ͅu̷̖̠̼̓̓s̴͔̹̱̼̯̟̼̩͋̌̔̀͗͜ȩ̸͙̪͇̠͙̣̦̻̅͊͒̔͂͊̆̕͘͝͠ḑ̵̘͕͔͈̟̦̣͓̘͕́̃̐̄͂̅́̚̚͜.̴̢̻̙͔̝̂́͂̿͋̅̐͑͛̆̌͑͂

A strong spark of magic down the hall to her right at the intersection caught her attention and she followed naturally. At every intersection, she would pause and wait until the Library made another spark to follow.

She knew the Annex fairly well after taking entire lunch breaks to explore all the hidden nooks and crannies, but her hazy memory from her second childhood hadn't given her a map of where Jenkins' den was. She could have tried to find it again, but if Jenkins had caught her scent in that den, he would have moved to another room that would probably make him more anxious. No, it was just easier to follow the Library's magic with as little noise as possible. (Her job was to make his life easier, not stress him out.)

When she finally sensed the edges Jenkins' magic, she stopped to gently pat the wall in thanks and took a deep breath inward. She had made her way to his den after sunset to make sure he couldn't yell at her and she'd taken every precaution so that he wouldn't worry while she sat with him. It still did nothing to stop her hands from sweating from her own anxiety at the probability of her invoking her mentor's anger. Still, she'd made up her mind weeks ago to make his life easier and had worked almost nonstop for this moment.

She took a step forward and focused on his magic, of the ghost of p̶̰̯̒͜a̵̡̭̲̻͐̔̏̈́̀̚ỉ̶͖̗͌͆ņ̷̩͕̻̙͛s̷͓̲̽å̷̢̧͚̬͎͆̓̂̚̕d̸̮̦̮̩̽͂̉̀͐͝ń̴͓͎͓̑̔̅́̐ͅͅe̸̩̱̝͋̑͑̈́̑̓s̵̛͈̲̖̀͗̋͝͠s̴͈̹̓̄͐̂̒͘ͅḁ̸̫̇̀g̸͈̒͗̒̕̚͝ỏ̴̦̗͖̊n̷̘̮͎̾̌̐̿̚y̵̡̻̘̺̖͛͑̈́̓͋ that emitted from him. She would take care of that after he accepted she wouldn't leave.

She wiped her hands along the sides of her thighs and then reached for the brass handle, twisting it until she could push it open.

Immediately, she was greeted by a warning growl that was incredibly familiar if a bit louder and deeper. She blatantly ignored it as she kicked her slippers off at the door and stepped into the lightless room. She didn't even have the opportunity to take in anything because, in front of her, was a tawny wolf the size of a horse. His ears were pressed back and his black lips were curled to show off his large, white teeth.

Alexis had researched wolf body language enough to know that Jenkins was just as scared as he was angry about her intrusion and she didn't need magic empathy to know that. Even in seeing a much larger wolf than she'd been expecting, she still had no fear that he would hurt her. (She'd thought the memory from her second childhood made him look big because she was a kid, but that was definitely not the case.)

Instead, she blurted, "Holy shit, you're big."

He prowled forward with his head low, orange eyes unwavering and a snarl that sent chills down her spine. She knew that he wouldn't hurt her, but her body seemed determined to remind her that giant carnivores were not friends.

"Just because my heart's beating fast doesn't mean anything. You don't scare me," she said tightly as she became acutely aware of the aching groan of his bones within her own. In the hopes of alleviating the feeling, she slowly meandered forward with her eyes sweeping the empty room. "Why'd you lock yourself in here? I mean, you don't have blankets or anything in here. Honestly, you're taking minimalism to a whole new—"

Her foot caught on something and she yelped as she fell. When she finally rolled to her butt and looked for the trap, she found herself frowning at the brown loafers that he'd been wearing earlier that day.

"Why're your shoes in the middle of the floor? Shouldn't they be off to the side?"

Jenkins' muzzle pressed against her arm as he sniffed and shifted from her side to her face in quick order.

"I'm okay… and you can't answer until you're human." She pushed herself to her feet only to nearly tumble again when his massive head pushed her towards the door. "Hey! Stop it!" She caught herself and stood up straight with a glare. "If the Library thought that you'd hurt me, it'd've locked the door."

He huffed and returned to pushing her.

She bit back a yelp as she hugged his muzzle to keep her balance, effectively halting his progress. He tried to shake her off, but in this distraction she shifted until she could hug his neck and earned herself a growl that she could feel through her entire body.

"Nonono! I'm staying! I have a second dose in my pocket and I'll take it before sunrise, I promise." Her voice dropped and she let her forehead thump against his white throat. "Just don't make me leave."

The noise that he made was between a huff and a whine that, coupled with the confusion in his magic, was a clear question.

"I can't cure your lycanthropy, but I can make it easier," she whispered with the full knowledge that he could hear her every word. Taking a chance, she released him and stepped back so that she could look into his blazing eyes. "Pack makes it easier… and I'm pack, right? So… it'll hurt less when you transform."

God, she hoped her research wasn't wrong. If her body hurt this much, she could only imagine how much pain he was in.

He stared at her for a long moment before huffing and sitting heavily on his haunches, defeat radiating off of him in every way.

She grinned. "I knew you'd see you were in a losing battle."

He growled as he snatched the sleeve of her robe between his teeth. She stumbled forward as he fell to his side and practically tossed her into his flank. She landed in a daze and had only half a mind to use when she dipped a hand into her pocket to check the vial that was, thankfully, still in tact.

"Um… What?"

He laid his head onto his paws and closed his eyes. When she just stared for several seconds, he cracked open an eye to look at her pointedly.

"Do you… want me to go to sleep?"

Ȁ̸̢̢͓̗̙̠̠̃̀̀n̷͇͌̿̎̾̏͘ņ̴̡̛̻̾́o̶̙͕͇̊ÿ̶̧̛̰̤̺̍͗̒a̴̧̲̥̲̮͒n̸̢̩̭͈̫̤͐̍͛̀̏͐̊͜c̷̩̈͊̏̿̈́́ĕ̷̘͕̻̣̾.̶̞̾ ̶̢͋̊̈́̇̐̚P̴͙̾̂̚l̵̹͚͛́̿e̶͚̯̳̥̝͂̏ǎ̸̚ͅş̷̮̈͒͂̏e̸̢͍͈̦̅̅́͌͒ḓ̵́̆̽̍̊̊͝.̷̞̰̲͎͝ͅͅͅ

"I get plenty of sleep, thank you very much."

Ȁ̸̢̢͓̗̙̠̠̃̀̀n̷͇͌̿̎̾̏͘ņ̴̡̛̻̾́o̶̙͕͇̊ÿ̶̧̛̰̤̺̍͗̒a̴̧̲̥̲̮͒n̸̢̩̭͈̫̤͐̍͛̀̏͐̊͜c̷̩̈͊̏̿̈́́ĕ̷̘͕̻̣̾ and a growl.

"I do! You just don't think I do because you don't need sleep."

It should've been impossible for him to deadpan her with the face of a wolf, but he somehow managed.

"Rude," she hugged as she leaned back into his warm flank.

A̸̢̬̱̐̂͛̑̆m̸̟̞͕͍̤̣̽̀͜ų̸̯̦͖̚ͅş̷̡̤͇̫̦̮͒̾ě̸̯̝̩̇́̚͘m̵̡̮̼̊͌̈͛̏̽ê̷͙̞̌̆ͅn̴̺͓̱̼̣͋̎̂̔͜t̴͍̖̱̓̈́.̵̙̱̘̮̥̠́ͅ

She looked around the room again and wondered at its original purpose. The room was circular with bookshelves built into the walls and a painted ceiling. The only things in the room were a desk and chair shoved off to the side and a mirror a few feet from it facing the door. It wasn't as big as it should've been for a wolf Jenkins' size, but it was likely the biggest room in the entire Annex. It felt… lonely.

"Do you do anything while you're in here? Or do you just lay down and mope?"

He nipped her robe in retaliation.

"Well, if we're just gonna sit here, I can tell you a story so that you don't die of boredom."

Ḛ̸͚̘̰̓̃x̴̘͚͖̭̄͒̈̓̈́͜͝a̸͉͑͆͑́̒̌̕s̴̠̬̬̙̈́͐̉̿͠ṕ̸̤́̚e̷̙͕͋r̸̝͕͍̬̩̅͂a̴̳̝̥̘̭̥̿̑̀̓̚̕ẗ̶̻͎̈́̈̚i̷͚̩͍͚͂́o̸̲͉̗̿n̵̞̳͚̖͓̭̐́͗̅̄.̷̡̺̤̆̚

"Fine! I'll sleep, but don't you dare drag me out," she growled while pointing at his face.

He rolled his eyes (were wolves even capable of that?) in a way that clearly said, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Sassy wolf," she groused as she rested against him.

As she closed her eyes, and curled further into him, she focused entirely on his magic. In her mind's eye it was green with large blotches of an irritated red representing his pain. She'd only managed this in small injuries, but she had the general concept down. What she did, in her mind's eye, was grab those red spots in his magic and pull them into herself, siphoning it so that he was afforded some relief. As she continued this, she felt his body relaxing under her back and she had to keep herself from reacting to the pain that would take hours to bleed from her magic.

Worth it, she thought as she drifted off into a fitful sleep.