Page 30 of Due South

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December 22nd

Lucy

My eyes areblurry with exhaustion. So blurry I can’t even see the numbers on the clock to tell what time it is. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my whole life.

I blink to clear the sleep coating my eyes, and after a few seconds it works well enough that I can see the red numbers glaring back at me, almost accusingly. Three forty-five. Three forty-five in the morning, and if I want to finish this up for when India needs it, I’m going to have to be back here at seven. That’s not even enough time to bother going home.

India went home after the party to work. From the way she and Cris were making googly eyes at each other, she’ll probably get laid first. And I can’t begrudge her, especially after I got fucked in a bathroom. Since she’s at home and won’t be back until later this morning, I could grab a couple of hours on the couch in her office. That would mean more sleep, but it would also mean not leaving the fluorescent-lit office. I got out for the party, but I slept here the night before last, and today is shaping up to be the same. At least I brought a change of clothes with me.

Stress has made my muscles so tight they’ve gotten sore, even though I’ve barely moved from this desk in the past four hours, and the tiredness is so overwhelming I might cry. But I’ll do it. I’ll finish this project, we’ll keep this contract, and India will be…if not happy, relieved. How is she even managing to shoulder this responsibility on her own? Though I suppose she’s not because Cris has got her back and he’ll take care of her the best way he knows how.

But he can’t help with the actual work. He must be smart like whoa if he can keep up with India, but writing political comics isn’t the same as being able to put something like this together. Only Evans and I can help her with this.

That dizzying pride swirls in my head along with the exhaustion and I have to plunk my head on my desk to keep from falling out of my chair. Eating. That would also be a good idea. And drinking something that isn’t coffee.

I’m this close to sleep when I’m roused by someone clearing their throat. When I lift my head, so heavy I feel as though it might fall off, it’s to see Evans in front of me looking as frazzled as I feel. He’s still in the shirt and tie he put on for the holiday party, but it doesn’t look fresh anymore. I guess banging in the bathroom and then hunching over his desk for the past four hours like I’ve been doing will do that to a person’s outfit.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

And then we laugh, because there’s nothing else for it.

He digs a toe into the carpet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I finished up the section on projected income. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”

“About to fall over dead. Other than that, good.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at me, not showing his teeth, probably because it would take too much energy to move his mouth that much.

I brace my hands on my desk to push myself into an approximation of upright. “I was going to grab a couple of hours of sleep on India’s couch and then, you know, lather, rinse, repeat.”

He nods thoughtfully, and I wonder if he’s thinking about whether or not there’d be enough room for two. I’m so tired it’s not going to take me long to fall asleep, but I can’t deny that the idea of Evans holding me while I do is far more appealing than clutching one of the decorative pillows instead. Not that I could ask for that. Actually sleeping together is definitely crossing the boundaries of what we’ve agreed to, and besides I hate asking for things. Even from Evans, who hands me things like gifts, acting as if I shouldn’t need to ask, as though he should’ve thought of it, because it’s my birthday and Christmas all wrapped into one.

“It’s not a bad couch,” he says, and I remember finding him in there on more than one occasion before he got his own office. He’d looked so adorably sleep-rumpled and crazy-haired, and it hadn’t helped that he’d apologized profusely, as though he’d somehow violated the rules of basic human decency by subjecting me to him in an undershirt, his lower half covered by the pretty but scratchy blanket that usually graces the back of India’s sofa. I’d wondered briefly what might be under that blanket because it hadn’t been pants—they’d been draped neatly over the back of one of the nearby chairs. And now I know—boxer briefs. Most likely black. Maybe a dark grey or navy. And they’d match his suit because that’s how Evans does.

“For a couch,” I agree.

“Then I’ll let you get some rest. Unless—”

“Unless what?”

His brows draw together, making a line in between them. “Unless you want to come with me?”

My heart that’s been beating oh-so-sluggishly suddenly pulses to life, sending blood and maybe some other things coursing through me. Does he mean to his apartment? Does he live close by? I’d wager on a modest but comfortable place, much like Evans himself. I’d probably feel very much at home there. “To your place?”

He shakes his head, his cheeks reddening, and the quick, reflexive flick of his head tells me no, that was absolutely not what he was thinking. Because obviously. If sleeping together on a couch at the office isn’t allowed, no way in hell would crashing in his apartment be either. Embarrassment at how ballsy that was starts to creep over me. Another reason not to ask for things. Because when you get turned down, it feels so very awful.

“Not to my place, no. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to—” His mouth snaps shut. What was he about to say? But he shakes his head again, slower this time, as though maybe he’s trying to dismiss his own embarrassment, and when he looks at me again, his expression is intent and a little mischievous. “Will you let me surprise you, Luce?”

Surprise me? When’s the last time anyone ever went to the trouble of surprising me?

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” He nods, decisive, and smiles, this time showing his teeth. “Can you make a pot of coffee while I grab some stuff from my office?”

“Of course.” If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s make coffee. And I still haven’t taught him how to use the machine. We’ve been getting…distracted.

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