Someone shook his shoulder.
"Jack."
"Hmm?"
"It's almost five."
"Hmmh. What? Shit." Fletcher straightened up, bleary-eyed and squinting. He'd fallen asleep in the chair again, and his whole body told him as much. His back was killing him. His hair was a mess again. He needed a bath in the way one does when one has worn the same clothes for a full day and night. He blinked over at Theo — and Theo's companion. "Fuck. Right. The dog."
Slowly, with the cricked neck and stiff steps of an old man, he made his way to the bed. Along the way, he retrieved his half-eaten pasty from where it had fallen to the floor. "Aya," he rasped, holding the bribe out for her to sniff. "You're done. Come on." And she did, finally and reluctantly, but not without giving Theo's broken hand one final inspection and parting kiss, as if to say, 'I'll be back.'
Fletcher was fortunate to have found such good men. While Ash helped him lead Aya out through the servant's entrance, Niles, who had just begun to get ready for his own shift, agreed to keep watch for the Baron and Baroness and distract them if necessary. But that need never came, and finally, with the ordeal over, Fletch returned to Theo's room. He slipped back through the door with an appreciative pat on Niles' shoulder.
"Right," he grunted. As he'd done countless times now, he measured out the medicine and sat on the bed. He peered at Theo with one weary, bloodshot eye. "Easy way or hard way?" he asked.
