In the morning, Loki's rose was still a rose.

The sunlight, filtered through Venetian blinds, brought out the flower's strange iridescence, deepest crimson that shifted to magenta and indigo as Darcy spun the beer glass slowly on the nightstand.

Still a touch paranoid, she scooped her glasses from the nightstand, put them on and looked across the room at the oak dresser. Darcy Lewis, long chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, stared back at her from the dresser's mirror. Pushing back the bedcovers, she gave herself a quick once over, seeing two arms, two legs, and all the usual human anatomy. Her room was as she remembered it, yesterday's clothes half-in, half-out of the laundry hamper, a small pile of mail on her desk, iPod still missing from its spot on the dresser.

As she left for the bathroom, she paused and gave the rose a stern look. "Behave."

Her bruises were shifting to the psychedelic phase, hideous reddish purple had softened to shades of lighter purple, brown and yellow, but her hip no longer felt like it was one sad ligament from popping out of joint. Her knee had an ugly scab, the kind a ten-year-old boy would proudly show to everyone in his time zone, but the swelling had gone down. And when she returned to her room, the rose still sat obediently on the nightstand.

As she and the gang left for work, the day continued to feel hopeful. Once again, no dead bodies on the porch. The morning sky held the promise, or, this being the desert, the false hope, of rain. Clouds, dark pastel purple and blue, edged with fluorescent pink by the rising sun, covered the sky in a patchy mass. A desert cottontail rabbit grazed on a patch of grass that had survived the summer heat shaded by the airplane cabin. After Loki helped her down the stairs, she gave the guys in the black SUV a wave and surprisingly both waved back.

Jane and Thor rode in silence, but the tension between them had dissipated. Loki pulled a magazine from beneath his clothing, one of her Esquires, and started to flip through the pages.

"What else does an exiled god carry in his armor besides a library?" asked Darcy. "My iPod?"

"Your iPod?" He met her eyes, expression completely baffled, the consummate innocent. "Have you lost it again?"

"Yeah. To a sticky-fingered god."

"Thor?" With a tilt of his head, he blinked wide-eyed, confused. "But he has Jane's iPad."

"Uh-huh, and why don't you steal her stuff?" Because you like Jane? " Her iPad has music that you'd actually enjoy, sophisticated stuff: jazz, classical, opera. A guy like you should be all about opera. Fat ladies in Viking helmets."

Thor turned his head and asked Darcy, "Fat ladies? Viking helmets?"

"She means Wagner, the Ring Cycle," explained Loki. "And I find opera overblown and melodramatic. Dialogue is meant to be spoken, not sung."

"I want my iPod back. If you don't return it by this evening, I'll, I'll-" She licked her lips, and scowled at his condescending smirk. I'll what? Hold my breath till I turn blue?  "I'll do this all the way to work." She pointed extended her index and middle fingers together and poked him in the shoulder, again and again.

"Don't touch me," he grumbled.

Jane gave Thor a quick imploring look. "We can't leave them by the side of the road, right? Because of the spell that binds you two?"

Thor shook his head sadly, then he brightened. "Perhaps they could ride with the guards." He pointed backwards with a thumb.

"Poke, poke, poke," said Darcy.

"Enough." Loki grabbed her hand. "There's a remote possibility I may be able to locate your missing property."

"Behold the power of 'childish,'" she said smugly.

***

At work, the entourage of assault rifle-toting guards that accompanied them into the building and down to the Fish Bowl were as surly as ever, but the guard on the floor, Mike, was cheerful. Well, cheerful for a SHIELD guard, meaning he nodded politely at Jane, Darcy and Thor, and didn't glower at Loki. Mike was subbing for Max who had called in sick. Darcy felt a touch of relief at Max's absence, since arriving at work, tucked against Loki's side, his arm around her, felt even more intimate than being carried.

Certain that karma was totally in her camp, Darcy decided to take care of a loose end. After a few emails and time spent online looking up contracts, she hit Save and Print.

The Fish Bowl was quieter today, Thor done with his Angry Birds obsession and blessedly silent. The god of thunder didn't come with a mute button, but his recent invitation to join the Avengers/SHIELD fantasy football league had done the trick. He'd spent the morning hunched over the iPad, messaging Tony Stark and Clint Barton, and studying players' statistics with a studiousness that was almost Loki-esque.

Loki and Jane sat on the opposite side of the table, in dueling scientist mode, arguing about something on several printed graphs. His green eyes sparkled with intensity, face animated by the discussion, and Darcy winced at the now too-familiar spike of jealousy. She glanced at her hand, expecting it to be green as The Hulk.

"I need your signature, El Jefe," she said, plopping the papers down on top of the graphs.

Jane blinked, startled. "Wh-what is this?"

"A rental contract."

Pushing a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear, Jane started to page through the document. "Tony Stark...property..." A broad smile split her face. "We're charging him rent for his junk."

"Uh-huh." Darcy smiled back. "I cleared it with Pepper this morning. She said, 'Write up a contract, and I'll have you a check by next week.' I found a template online and modified it."

"And do you charge SHIELD rent for Thor's and my upkeep?" asked Loki.

"He drew the line on rent, but I get compensated for groceries and 'miscellaneous expenses.'"

"You do?" Thor had paused in his study of quarterbacks and defensive linemen. "Clint complains that Fury is," he paused, blue eyes going blank as he searched his memory, "'So cheap, he wouldn't pay for his mother's hip replacement.'"

The first time Darcy put in a reimbursement request for groceries, it came back rejected the next day. She immediately sent it back, this time routed through Fury's office. Then she proceeded to call, email, and drop by the office several times a day, asking for the request's status. When Fury blocked her email, she started spamming him through multiple accounts. After about a week, he sent the request back with a note: "From now on, please submit your reimbursement requests to accounting where they will be approved immediately." Sean, who'd already processed some of her requests on the sly (new iPod, expensed out as "portable storage device"), cheerfully complied.

"Tell Clint to send me his receipts for bows and arrows and stuff. I'll have Sean write it off as 'Loki attitude adjusters.'" The subject of her barb had gone back to the graphs and ignored her. Darcy grinned, certain nothing could ruin her great day.

***

At two in the afternoon, the door chimed and Nick Fury walked into the lab, and all Darcy's good karma evaporated faster than rain in the desert.

Just before Fury arrived, Darcy had been working, fingers tappa-tapping as she imported the latest dataset. Thor sat at the end of the work table, trying to explain football to Loki, also at the table, a chair between himself and Thor. "It's like a battle," said Thor, "made up of tiny skirmishes, broken by short truces, the victor being the one who gains the most territory."

Loki's jaw moved, his shoulders rose with a deep breath, and Darcy sighed, expecting him to call his brother a horse's ass. Instead, showing unusual restraint, Loki picked up a pen and went back to making notes about the graphs spread on the table before him.

Jane, meanwhile, worked at her computer, writing up her latest findings, head bobbing with whatever she listened to on Internet radio.

Fury was alone, but he was giving off enough vibes for twelve angry men. Sweeping the room with his one-eyed glare, he marched over and sat across from Loki, who watched him with the usual disinterest. Turning to Darcy, he said, "We need to talk," and beckon her over with a jerk of his head.

"It's not me, it's you," quipped Darcy, pushing herself to her feet.

Jane stood, removing her earbuds, obviously confused. "What's going on?"

Fury didn't answer her; instead he pointed at the seat next to Loki, and said to Darcy, "Sit."

"Woof," replied Darcy, easing herself into the chair. Fury, still ignoring Jane and Thor, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and studied Darcy and Loki as though he were a high school principal and they were two teens who'd been caught having sex under the stadium bleachers. As unfazed as ever, Loki spun a pen between his fingers so fast it made a whirring sound.

Loki and the SHIELD director, both swathed in black leather, stared at each other across the table and Darcy thought, This must be what a Harley Davidson bikers' convention smells like. Refusing to be intimidated, she sat up straight in her chair, her mouth a hard line.

"That's magic," growled Fury, regarding the spinning pen. "That's a no-no."

"Actually," replied Loki, "It's simple dexterity." With a twist of his wrist, he stopped the pen's movement and then set it on the table.

"Is there a problem?" asked Thor, mildly, although his expression suggested he was annoyed by Fury's behavior. His recent lessons in humility aside, he was still a prince of Asgard and not accustomed to being treated like a background prop.

"Max Padilla is dead."

Jane made a little gasp and Darcy said, "No. I mean, he was fine...yesterday."

"How?" asked Thor, his blue eyes narrow with suspicion.

"Guess," said Fury, fierce gaze moving from Loki to Darcy.

At this, Loki rolled his eyes. "Obviously, the guard met the same frigid end as his comrade. If your game is to pretend to lay the blame with me, do it. But leave the girl out of this. You know she's no killer and the guard was her friend."

Darcy lifted an eyebrow and eyed Loki. Her mind, though reeling with the shock of Max's death, still realized that this was the most she'd ever seen Loki speak to anyone who wasn't her or Jane.

"What I know is that Max stopped by my office yesterday, concerned about your relationship with Ms. Lewis."

Remembering her conversation with Max, Darcy's stomach clenched, and stupid tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She stared at the table, and with her finger, traced the waves made by the data.

"Relationship?" Loki asked, his tone bored.

Thor stood, his attention on Fury. "I can assure you, Loki's done naught to besmirch Darcy's honor."

A little snicker escaped Darcy's mouth, pushing through her grief, driven by Thor's words. "Dude. 'Honor?' Really?" Though the details escaped her in the light of day, she was pretty sure she'd had a naughty dream about Loki last night, so her subconscious's honor was already in tatters.

"Max said Darcy's bruises were your doing," stated Fury, still not acknowledging the indignant god of thunder who loomed above him.

"No," said Darcy.

"Really?" Fury unfolded his arms and leaned forward, pointing at the finger-shaped bruises on Darcy's left arm. "So who did that? Your cat?"

"I did," admitted Loki. "Had I meant her harm, she'd sport more than a few faint marks. I'm unaccustomed to dealing with mortals in a friendly manner. It was a miscalculation." He turned his gaze on Darcy. "It won't happen again."

Biting her lower lip, she glanced at Fury and back at Loki. Did he mean "no touching, ever?" because that would suck. "I'm not fragile," she said. "Just don't be so grabby."

"You're implying that because Max came to you with his concerns, that Loki killed him?" said Jane, who now stood at Thor's side.

"It's an interesting coincidence," observed Fury. "A lot like this." He reached into his black leather jacket. With a crinkle of plastic, he set an item on the table before them. "That was found with Max's body."

Poker wasn't Darcy's game, and her wide-eyed, jaw agape reaction confirmed this fact. Loki, of course, tilted his head, eyes on the thing briefly before favoring Fury with an expression so guileless, that Darcy expected a golden halo to pop up over his head.

The thing on the table was a rose, darkest red, the suggestion of iridescence obvious despite the plastic surrounding it.

"Look familiar?" Fury's expression was almost smug.

Under the table, she felt a sudden pressure against the side of her foot. Loki's boot, pressing on her running shoe; signaling her to do, what? "It's a rose," she said. Did Loki want her to lie?

Fury nodded. "Uh-huh. And?"

"It's red?" she tried, still not sure what Loki wanted her to do.

A muscle in Fury's jaw twitched under chocolate brown skin and he stared at her. Darcy returned his stare, knowing full well she would be the one to break. Silence wasn't her strong suit.

"Loki gave you a rose last night."

Loki's foot still hard against hers, she said nothing. Just when she thought she'd explode, Fury rolled his eye upward and said, "Look, I know he gave you a rose just like this one. I know Thor confirmed it was from Asgard, one of his mother's."

At this Loki nodded to Jane, who shook her head, exasperated. "I knew it!" she said angrily.

Darcy smiled at Fury's forced admission. The electronic bugs in the trailer had been there long before the arrival of Thor and Loki. Darcy found the first one under the coffee table during a rare bout of housecleaning. When Jane showed it to Fury, he claimed ignorance and had a team sweep the house of additional devices. Two weeks later, Jane found another in a kitchen cabinet. After that, Erik discovered one under the kitchen sink. Each time, Fury denied any SHIELD involvement. Nowadays, whenever anyone found a bug, they dumped it in the garbage disposal, hoping whoever listened got an earful of crunching noise. To Jane, the bugs were just another sign that she still wasn't fully accepted, that no matter what she did, SHIELD didn't respect or trust her.

"That's not my rose," stated Darcy.

"Yeah," said Fury. "How do you know?"

"Um, technically, that's not even one of Frigga's roses. It's too perfect." The plastic crackled as she lifted it by the stem. "Frigga's roses have three petals that stick out. This one doesn't. But you know that."

"But it sure as shit isn't a normal rose," replied Fury. "So where did it come from?"

Loki reached for the rose, his hand brushing hers. She released it, but then put her hand lightly over his, her fingers reaching just an inch beyond his fingertips, touching the stem. "Ow! That's worse than the porch," she said. With her other hand, she rubbed her tingling fingers, licking her lips at the hint of cinnamon.

"So what are we dealing with here?" asked Fury, his dark gaze going between both Loki and her.

"I don't know," said Loki, the familiar expressionless mask on his face.

"As your girl here said a couple night's ago, 'You're all about magic.'"

Darcy opened her mouth, but Loki cut her off. "She's no one's girl but her own, and you know full well that my memories are impaired." Darcy noticed he said memories, but not magic.

"So you say."

"So you've heard via the listening devices that intrude on Darcy and Jane's privacy."

"I'm not letting you play house without keeping an eye and several ears on you."

"The house was bugged before he moved in," muttered Jane, bitterly.

Fury darted a quick look at Jane, but returned his focus to Loki. "If you didn't do it, tell me who did."

"I don't know." A furrow started to grow between his dark brows, and Darcy could see a bright flare of anger in his emerald eyes.

"I don't believe you."

"I'm crushed," sneered Loki.

"What you're going to be," said Fury, "is in a holding cell, comfy cozy with your beloved brother."

"But you don't think he did it," protested Darcy.

"It doesn't matter what I think." Leaning back, Fury heaved a sigh and stared at the ceiling. "Word is going to get out, how these men died. And when it does--"

"Then perhaps one of your people might stumble, by pure chance, certainly not intellect, upon a way to kill me," said Loki. "That would eliminate your problem once and for all, would it not?"

"I'd wear a pretty red dress to your funeral and dance on your grave," replied Fury. "But the real killer would still be on the loose. Besides, if someone comes after you, there could be collateral damage." He defined the term by looking at Darcy and Jane.

"They will have to come through me," said Thor, confidently.

"Yeah, and what happens if you're not around, when you've got Avengers business?" Fury pointed at Darcy. "Or when she heads off on her own to Santa Fe or Albuquerque?"

"Where was the man's body found?" asked Loki, through a clenched jaw.

"At home. His landlord stopped by to fix the swamp cooler; found Max in the living room, that rose on his chest. The landlord called 911. We got the body back from the local coroner, cooked up the usual bullshit stories, but that won't stop folks from talking. A man frozen like a popsicle, no sign of forced entry, nothing stolen. It's what urban legends are much of."

Darcy shuddered at the image. Max was a New Mexico native, born and raised in Farmington. He lived off-base, in the same tiny apartment complex where Andy had lived because it made it easier to have friends and family over for a visit.

"Whoever killed Max and Andy left some kind of magical signature all over that rose, right?" Fury asked Loki.

Loki nodded, expression cold, the lines of his face extra angular. "As I told Darcy, it's familiar, but I can't remember why...or what."

Fury nodded, though there was a measure of disbelief in his eyes. Rising, he picked up the rose, and returned it to the folds of his black leather jacket. "I'd suggest you find a way to jog your memory, and quick," he said to Loki, earning a withering glare that would make a weaker man wet his underoos. Nick Fury, however, merely took a hold of his lapels and gave them a snap, straightening the jacket.

Darcy sniffed, detecting a sudden scent of cinnamon, a charred, pissed-off version of the spice. Loki was staring at Fury with an expression that was one maniacal cackle away from enraged supervillain. The SHIELD director wasn't on Darcy's top ten list of favorite people, but she didn't want to see Loki rip him limb for limb. She shifted her foot, and stomped on Loki's boot. Chill out!

"In other words," she said to Fury, "you're clueless."

But Fury kept his attention on Loki, feet wide apart, posture practically vibrating with challenge, daring him to try something. And obviously, after six months of good behavior, Loki had a shit-ton of pent-up frustration to spare. Even without her foot touching his, she could feel the sizzle of energy emanating from his body.

"Loki," said Thor.

Darcy met Thor's eyes, seeing both desperation and grim determination. Turning to Loki, she said, "Hey, Mad Science, you're smarter than this." With a slight hesitation, where she wondered if his vow not to hurt her mattered when he was about to melt down like Fukushima, she reached for his hand.

Skin to skin, power roared up her arm, hot and boiling, it surged into her body, consumed her, and surrounded her in suffocating heat. It was simultaneously like sticking a finger in a light socket and being stuck in an oven with burning apple pie. She felt herself falling sideways away from him, until stopped by big hands on her shoulders.

"Darcy," said Thor's voice in her ear. "Are you well?"

"Th-that, that was a rush," she answered weakly, panting from the heat that was already dissipating.

Loki stared at her, eyes wide, startled. He blinked away the emotion and muttered, "Foolish girl." Eyes narrowed, he glowered at Fury, but most of the tension had fled his body.

Darcy straightened and patted Thor's hand on her shoulder. Because sass was the only refuge after everything that just happened, she lifted her eyebrows and studied Fury. "If you two are done dick fencing, maybe you should go solve a murder."

To her surprise, Fury grinned and shook his head. Without another word, he turned and left the lab.

Darcy slumped in her seat, letting out a loud sigh. "We really need to find you a hobby." She nudged Loki with an elbow.

Loki gave her a quick glance, looking briefly sheepish.

"You sure you're all right, Darcy?" ask Jane. Darcy started to answer yes, but her eyes strayed to the spot where the rose had been, a tiny tremor moving through her body.

Max was gone. Former Special Forces, he'd seen action in Iraq and Afghanistan and returned home without a scratch, at least not physically. Like a lot of veterans, he carried his scars on the inside. He'd been to hell and back and survived only be killed by some freak with magic in his living room.

Darcy raked her fingers through her hair. She knew that Max's concern for her wasn't entirely brotherly, that he was circling the idea of asking her out. She might have said yes.

"I'm okay." Clenching her fists, she did what she always did, pushing the bad into a forgotten corner of her brain with a mental broom. Except this time, a few tears were shoved out in the process.

Jane gave her an awkward hug. "No, you're not. We're going home early."

***

Darcy's glasses dug into the bridge of her nose, driven by the force of thunking her forehead against the SUV's window. She took them off and slumped against the door, eyes closed, hoping the movement of the vehicle would lull her into blissful oblivion.

Unfortunately, over the course of the morning, the sun had won the battle with the clouds and was shining triumphantly through the windows, hot on her face and blazing orange behind her eyelids.

Leaning back into the seat, she tugged at the seatbelt, loosening it and letting it snap back. Snap, snap, snap. The seat belt mechanism squeaked every time she pulled.

"If you cease that irritating noise, I promise you'll have your precious iPod as soon as we get home," said Loki. He was reading a thick paperback. Without her glasses, she couldn't see the title, but it looked brand new.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but stopped playing with the seatbelt.

A couple minutes later, she said, "Jane, Mad Science. With your science and his mojo, could you two make a magic detector?"

Loki kept reading, but Jane glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Did you say 'magic detector?'"

"A magic detector. Like a metal detector, but not as big, or obvious."

"I don't know." She shot Loki a glance in the mirror. "Could we?" Before he could answer, she asked, "Why?"

"Because whoever killed Andy and Max," a hard lump tightened her throat and she took a breath, "must have left traces of magic all over the apartment complex. Maybe other places too. With the right gadget, maybe I could track down the murderer."

"You?" said Jane. "Why you?"

"Because Mad Science won't go anywhere except work." And even if he did, his refusal to wear regular clothing would make him a high-profile sidekick. In jeans and a T-shirt, he might be mistaken for a young man going through a Goth phase. In Asgard clothing, even with shorter hair, he was the sneering d-wad who destroyed Manhattan. "Which means Thor can't go anywhere either, and you won't leave the boys home alone." She forced a brave smile. "So it's up to Darcy to save the day."

Because that's what I do, Darcy thought. When Jane came undone after the arrival of Thor and Loki, and rapid exit of Erik, it was Darcy who made sure all the utility bills got paid. When the household needed groceries or supplies, Darcy made the trek to Santa Fe, usually alone. She didn't mind making the trip. It gave her an excuse to visit college friends, but nevertheless, she'd turned into their de facto quartermaster.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Darcy," said Thor. "It could be dangerous. Nick Fury was right. You could be targeted."

"Right," replied Darcy, "Fury, the guy whose only plan is 'Blame Loki.'" She pulled and snapped the seatbelt again, getting Loki's attention. "So could you do it? A magic detector that would pick up the killer's magical signature?"

"Possibly," he said slowly.

"I don't think you should encourage her, brother," chided Thor.

"I'm not your brother," he replied, distractedly, his mind apparently already at work on the problem. Darcy smiled, though this small triumph didn't ease the pain in her heart.

***

She thought she was okay until they reached to top stair and her gaze turned to the spot where Andy had been. Except in her mind's eye, she saw Max's face. Her knees turned to Jello, and Loki's grip on her shoulders tightened.

"I'm going to my room," she announced once they were inside and he stayed at her side, arm over her shoulders. He started to help her towards the bed, but she wiggled free. "I'm good, thanks."

She met his eyes. A rush of resentment burned in her belly and she looked away, focusing on the cheerful paintings of sunflowers over her bed. Andy and Max's deaths were his fault. He was a killer too. If he hadn't attacked New York, there wouldn't be some psycho out there gunning for revenge. She set her glasses and purse on the desk and rubbed her eyes.

No, that wasn't right. Not exactly. Whatever Loki had done, however horrible, none of it justified the killer's actions.

When she looked at him again, he was staring at some point on the floor, eyes distant. Harmless? Dangerous? Did he feel remorse? Taking a step back, her head reeled and she swayed, unbalanced.

"You're in shock. You need rest." His hands were on her upper arms; she stared bleary-eyed at his chest, at the overlapping layers of leather and cloth and wondered how the hell he got dressed in the morning. Magic, probably.

It started as a strangled hiccup, then another, and then an outright sob. No. No crying!  Except she wasn't good at taking orders, not even from herself. At the third sob, she tried to turn away, but he pulled her to him, and she gave up and slumped against his chest. He smelled good, leather and vaguely cinnamon-y and male, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, fingernails digging into leather at his back. Holding her breath, she made one last valiant attempt not to cry, which would have worked perfectly if she didn't need to breathe. When her body's demand for oxygen won, two sobs snuck in with a breath and then she couldn't stop.

She cried for Max and Andy, but she suspect that other hurts, old pains, slipped free as well. All the times when she'd been invisible, for every time her opinions were brushed aside because they came from Darcy, for every time her flippant armor worked a little too well. He stroked his hand over her head, running his fingers down the length of her hair, and she cried because kindness from Loki of all people left her feeling raw and vulnerable.

A male voice said something, and through a haze of tears she saw Thor, a fuzzy golden mass in the doorway. Loki didn't answer, but a second later, the door slammed in his brother's face. It would have been darkly funny, if she wasn't also embarrassed to be caught blubbering, leaving a wet, snotty mess on Loki's fancy Asgard clothes.

Eventually, mild mortification started to replace misery and with a few hiccuping breaths, she got herself under control. She didn't resist when he moved her to the bed and sat her down, although she eyed the closed door and hoped he wouldn't try to take advantage of the situation. Mostly because she'd totally let him, but in the depths of her grief-addled mind, she knew that would be filed under Some of the Stupider Things Darcy's Done.

Instead, he bent down and started to untie her left shoe. She'd never seen anything on him that didn't involve buckles or straps, but after just a few seconds, his long fingers easily worked the laces. Sunlight from the window hit his hair, and it gleamed blue black like a raven's wings. He still needed a decent haircut. Watching him crouched at her feet, she felt more confused than ever, sensing a shifting undercurrent. Something had changed between them, though she didn't know what.

"Isn't untying shoelaces beneath your station, or something, Prince of Asgard?"

"It plumbs the depths of 'beneath,'" he said, moving on to her other foot. "But I imagine my station, what remains of it, can bear the disgrace of a tangle with a few laces."

When he was done, he stood, one hand briefly on her knee and stared down at her. "The rest, " he panned a look over her, expression disinterested but still pausing on her breasts, "you can manage."

"Yeah, because 'honor,'" she said with snort, glancing at the closed door.

"Maybe," he said, turning to the window and shutting the blinds with a casual wave of fingers, "It's my honor that's been damaged."

"Yeah," Darcy said, "I'll make a man of you yet." The comment might have worked better if heat didn't instantly rise to her face. She flopped over sideways and buried her blush in a pillow. A few seconds later, the door clicked open and shut and he was gone.

Exhausted, she fell asleep almost immediately.