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just tea for two and two for tea

[noterrol]

[nascensibility]

[The waiting is excruciating.

Evelyn has never been a particularly patient woman, though she might better prepare herself for the functionality of "going to the mattresses" if she knew anything at all. A whisper, a glimmer, something brief and even fleeting that might tell her where or how Rafe is, but the pressing silence crushes inward steadily, leaving somnolent quiet in its wake.

After the first week the house was assigned a security detail, a steady stream of nonstop visitors and well-wishers with handguns stuffed into their waistcoats and jacket pockets, complacent conversation murmured in Italian. Rarely to her, so much as around her. Even the three boys who rotated shifts during the daytime and came over for meals would treat her with an enforced distance.

Many of them still don't trust her.

The second week passed without event, so Evelyn worked while a small guard followed her through her own home, to the archives, to the library, to the museum. They rarely spoke and when they did, it was to tell each other off-colour jokes. As though she hasn't been speaking Italian to them for months. There is tea, there is monotony, and there is no news.

They are well into the third week when one of the young men informs her that security is expanding, that distant watchers will be required to guide, person to person, dogging her steps. She accepts the news with grace, wrapped up tight in her nightclothes and kimono. From the second story window she sees the messenger skip out across the walk, almost running into the bumper of a dark work vehicle that's just pulled up. The lanky frame stepping out of the driver side is unmistakable - having watched her countryman take on various jobs in the family it almost comes as a relief that he has been assigned guard duty, if only because their conversation tends to come so easily.]

I'll be damned.

[noterrol]

[Harry's been working for Alieri longer than Evelyn's been around. That is to say, Harry's been working for him long enough to deserve to be told some bloody information and not be held at arms length when things go sideways. And yet here he is, looking at week three of whispers and tenuous pay and a lot of sideways glances his way that have more to do with his outsider status than anything. After all this time, why are they still convinced he's going to cut and run? Last time he was in Hell's Kitchen, he broke three fingers and lost a tooth.

Of course, he absolutely would rat every single one of them out given the chance to part with enough money, but this is Italians versus Italians and no one's throwing any his way. So the point is moot.

Flynn is genuinely surprised when he gets word from Rafe himself that he's being put on Evelyn duty. Surprised, because he doesn't trust just anyone with his wife, and also because he's been left out to dry when things've gotten hairy in the past. But, gift horses and mouths and all. Of all the people he's been forced into contact through this bloody job, Evelyn is one of his favorites. She's the only one around who understands how important a good cuppa and how breakfast needs to be substantial—none of this coffee, a cigarette, and airy pastries shite. And, much like he and the Drake brothers, he and Evelyn have an alarming amount of things in common. Sure, she's as posh and crisp as they come, but they both miss home (and for as much grief as it caused him, London still is home). Plus, you know, she's the only bird he ever sees anymore that's worth a anything. Bloody gorgeous, absolutely wasted on Alieri.

So it's no skin off his nose to agree to the assignment. Might as well enjoy himself while everyone else is strung thin with stress and espresso like they usually are. He manages to be (spitefully) chipper the morning he's scheduled to go over. The two dago shits driving with him easily ignore him in favor of talking about him in rapid Italian, like he hasn't learned the bleeding language by now, and he can tell his own ease makes them even more tense. Once they arrive, he hits the brakes hard enough to get them to knock heads, and he's laughing and out before they can scrape the sense together to throw a fist his direction. Giving one last smirk and tip of the hat to the men behind him, Harry strolls to the front door and rings the bell and waits.]

<3

[nascensibility]

[Tightening the sash around her kimono Evelyn takes the time that comprises Harry's short walk to flutter down the stairs for a proper greeting, her patience worn thin of late and her desperation for company palpable. There could be worse associates in and around the house: last week's soldiers emptied the larder without her say-so and it was an infuriating endeavour getting them to stop by the grocer to restock things, so having a familiar face is reassuring.

When she opens the door it is with a bright, cheery smile, the consummate hostess.]

Harry!

[Having been on first name terms for nearly a year Evelyn doesn't think it too inappropriate to visit with him in this way, intent on welcoming him with all her usual ebullience. Evelyn embraces him briefly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and ushering him inside.

The house isn't in a state, but it seems to lack a great deal of the life it had when there was more than one person living in it. Evelyn's work from the museum and the charities is piled on the desk in the study, papers are scattered through the premiere parlour, but the place is otherwise spic-and-span. A sterility she feels down in her marrow.]

I was just about to put the kettle on, [she informs him, letting him shut the door and leading the way down the hall to the kitchen.] Presumably you're the new security detail.

Eyyyyy

[noterrol]

[As he waits, Flynn turns back to a, uh, coworker on the other side of the street and gives him a cheery wave. The man just replies with a rude gesture, and before he can reply Evelyn opens the door. It's a surprise to see her dressed down so, and for a moment he let's himself have a look over. Nothing rude, just....a general appraisal.]

Evie! [He pulls his cap off, twisting it in his hands as he smirks.] You didn't have to dress up on my account.

[He leans down, offering his cheek to Evie so she doesn't have to reach so far. He gives her a peck in kind, and fights a sudden impulse to let his lips linger there on her cheek.]

I suppose so. The word came down that you weren't enjoying the last blokes that came through, and I guess I'm the most entertaining one on the payroll who can aim a gun. [He pauses for a moment in the foyer, taking a look around and noting the sterility.] Least, the only one left around. Heard they ate you out of house and home last week. Bloody shame, I could do it in four days.

[nascensibility]

You're dreadful.

[Evelyn remarks with apparent fondness, giving him a wry smile before she turns into the kitchen. While she isn't a culinary expert - and frankly, would rather not be when surrounded by incredibly particular gourmands - Evelyn has learned enough from Rafe's grandmother to get by, and when the housekeeper drops in she always whips up something more homey. The sort of meal Harry would appreciate, being from the isles.]

The additional room upstairs is set up for you, if it's easier on you to stay over.

[There may or may not be a hint of desperation in her voice; a social butterfly anxious for company and feeling increasingly alone. Lighting the stove with a match before waving it out, she sets the kettle on to boil and turns back to her house guest.

Evelyn gives Harry an apologetic smile, aware that "security" is neither glamourous nor thrilling when compared to the kind of work that Rafe's people normally execute.]

I'm sorry, you may find all this awfully boring.