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The knocking at the front door is gentle at first, but becomes more insistent in the following minutes. Ethan hopes that, whoever it is, they’ll take the hint and leave when no one comes, but alas, his patience is thin and the knocking persists, so he rolls out of bed to answer the door.
When he actually gets there the rapping has stopped, but he doesn’t trust to hope that the person on the other side has left. Sure enough, when he opens it wide and squints out into the early morning light, there’s a man standing there, hat in hand. His soft voice is startling, at odds with his dark eyes.
“Is Miss Ives available?”
… All right, then? Ethan doesn’t know this person, but that’s no reason to be rude. Certainly the fact that he’s asking for Vanessa is no reason not to speak to him, but it’s hard for Ethan not to slam the door in this new man’s craggy face. He shakes his head. “Va- Miss Ives is otherwise occupied, I’m afraid.”
The other man - the stranger - furrows his brow. “That’s rather odd. You’re sure she’s not available?”
Hand-hat must have noticed the irritated, thunderous expression spreading itself across Ethan’s face, because he backtracks quickly. “I am so sorry for my rudeness; really, I do apologize, sometimes I forget how I must come across to strangers. My name is Dr. Sweet, I’m a zoologist, I work with preserved animals. I don’t know why I’m surprised that you’re American, but I am. Unexpected. And your name is? ”
“Ethan.”
A zoologist-taxidermist? What a job. Dr. Sweet continues, “I merely came by to tell Miss Ives that the tiger Sir Malcolm acquired is finished, as she’s been overseeing the project for him. He’s a magnificent specimen and I hate to see him go.”
Ethan is still on edge. “You came by to tell her this at… six-thirty in the morning?”
The stranger - Dr. Sweet (what a name) - chuckles. “I know it must seem abysmally early, but this is my only opportunity to see her, since her availability conflicts with mine. That’s why I asked if you were sure she was around. She’s a busy woman, Miss Ives, and I would hate to have to inconvenience her.”
Ethan’s small, rueful smile stretches itself slowly across his mouth. “It was a long day for all of us,” he replies. And a long night too, he amends silently, thinking of how Vanessa is only a staircase away, deliciously naked and exhausted and content in their bed. Ethan had hoped that, if he took his “sweet” time getting dressed and making his way downstairs, this outsider would leave, but no, no such luck.
“Nothing bad, I hope? She’s not ill?” The look on the doctor’s face is one of genuine concern. Ah. Everything is starting to fall into place.
“No, nothing like that. She was tired last night and needs her rest. She’ll be back to her normal routine soon.”
“She did seem rather wan the last I saw her. Like you said, she’s not ill, just tired? She’s become a friend of mine and I worry for her.“
It’s all Ethan can do to hold in a smirk. “Trust me, she’s fine. Just worn out, that’s all. Look, I hate to be rude, but it is very early and all of us here have a long day ahead. I’ll tell Miss Ives that you stopped by?”
If Dr. Sweet (Jesus Christ, that name) is disgruntled by Ethan’s abrupt termination of their conversation, he doesn’t show it, just picks himself up and says, “That would be wonderful, thank you. We can arrange the transportation of the tiger to here, or wherever Sir Malcolm would like it, at a later time. Again, thank you, Ethan,” before turning on his heel and leaving as abruptly as he came.
The morning sun is slightly brighter, shining into his eyes. Ethan blinks once, twice, as the zoologist’s frame shrinks in the distance. It’s too early for this. He shuts the door, locks it, and trudges his way back upstairs.
The windows of their (well, it’s officially the guest room, which is unofficially his room, and Vanessa’s all but left her haunted bed for his - so it’s technically theirs) room face north and south, and in the mornings it stays relatively dark. Vanessa’s thin white shoulders, the bare expanse of her back, gleam in the dimness of the room. Despite the hazy light, he can still see the mark he made last night from the doorway, laying stark against the nape of her neck. He grins, unable to help the surge of pride that comes from seeing her so pleasantly, so sweetly disheveled because of him, so he lingers in the threshold for a moment, just savoring the view.
He kicks off his shoes and slides back into bed - the likelihood that he’ll fall asleep again is slim, but he’s going to try and rest anyway. He rolls onto his side and traces each of Vanessa’s vertebra with his eyes, then his fingertips. She wakes blearily at that, and reaches around with one haphazard hand only to feel his woolen shirt, instead of bare skin.
“Why are you dressed?” Her voice is still thick with sleep, and Ethan thinks it might be the most charming thing he’s ever heard.
“I think I met your beau, Van. Sweet, I think it was? He came calling just now.”
Vanessa rolls over to her other side. “Right, about the tiger. It should be done soon. That’s why you’re dressed so early?”
“That would be why, miss. Your friend is an early riser.”
“Take it off.” She yawns, rolls back over yet again.
Well, hell, if she wants him naked, he’s more than happy to oblige her.
He gets out of bed so he doesn’t jostle her, strips faster than he’s ever done in his life, and then crawls back under the covers. The spot he just vacated is still warm, and Ethan can feel the cool morning air dancing over what little skin he has exposed. He rubs slow circles into her hip, before pulling her back into his embrace.
“Happy now? Are we even?”
“Beyond ecstatic. I think it only fair that if I’m still undressed, you should be too.” The last sentence is more mumbled into her pillow, rather than spoken. He’s maybe three inches away from her and barely heard it.
“Your man over at the zoo says the tiger is finished, actually. A taxidermist, of all people?” He’s teasing, of course.
“An excellent zoologist, but a mediocre taxidermist. Didn’t even know the trick about mirrors, didn’t give a name to a single one of his creations, poor things.” She yawns again. “They’ll never come to life now. And he is not my beau, good sir.”
Ethan snorts. “Whatever you say, Miss Ives. I’m sure he can’t be that terrible of a taxidermist.”
“I saw his work and I could have done better. His stitching was uneven and it bothered me.” Ah, Vanessa, always the perfectionist. She flips back over and stares at him, sleepily. “I take taxidermy very seriously.”
He stares back, completely solemn. “I’ve noticed,” he says, before breaking into a grin and kissing her, softly. Vanessa smiles too.
And then she rolls over again. He takes his shot and lurches, securing his arm around her waist. Ethan overdoes it a little, though, what he meant to be a gentle embrace is actually more of a death grip. But it can’t be helped - neither of them want a repeat of the time she accidentally smacked him in the face while switching sides.
“Trying to suffocate me?” While still sleepy and mellow, the rasp in her voice isn’t quite as thick.
“Trying to avoid getting hit in the face, more like. And I’m not suffocating you, I’m trying to keep you still so we can both get a little more sleep.”
“By suffocating me.”
“I am trying to keep you from flopping around like a fish out of water.”
“Excuse you, I do not flop, I roll. Perhaps a bit spasmodically, I admit, but I do not flop.”
“… Vanessa, you flop. You are a flopper.”
“A difference of semantics.”
“Yes, semantically, you flop! Not roll, flop!” God, she’s infuriating. In a good way, but still. Jesus.
“I do nothing of the sort.”
He can’t even choke out a reply before he realizes how she’s shaking in his arms, trying to suppress her grin and keep her laughter silent. He looks at her, pretends to be more annoyed than he actually is.
“I hope it was worth it,” he says, completely deadpan. She’s still giggling.
“Oh, absolutely, I love a good verbal spar this early in the morning; it’s my favorite thing to do to start the day. Do you want to continue? Was our debate a bit of a flop?”
He’s astounded by this hithertofore unseen level of sass. He knew Vanessa had it in her, just… her delivery is excellent, and it makes their back-and-forth twice as hilarious.
But he can’t let her win. “You better watch it.”
“Oh? Afraid?”
“No, but you should be. We should probably stop talking before one of us says something stupid.”
Vanessa manages to somehow squirm around in his clutches, and her eyes are gleaming. “Make me,” she says, and that is it.
“Wrong thing to say,” he growls, before he rolls - not flops - on top of her, and they scream and wear each other out well into the afternoon, until both of them are exhaustedly, thoroughly, equally silent.
(It’s a win-win.)