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Dorothy paused for a playful response, and listened for the sound of footsteps to approach. But she was greeted with silence.

She couldn't remember the exact time she'd left work, but thought with a smile that maybe Ben had taken her up on the offer to meet her in the bedroom later. If he hadn't heard her, he was likely asleep, and Dorothy thought of how sweet it would be to wake him with a kiss.

A small table stood near the door and she left her purse and the key upon it, and slipped out of her shoes. Running quick hands to smooth her hair and dress, she then quickly moved quietly in the direction of the bedroom.

She expected a squeek of complaint from the door -as would happen when she was in her New York home - but this door swung open silently, revealing the laid out figure of Ben dimly outlined by the moonlight through the tall window. Dorothy smiled tenderly again, watching his breathing raise his chest up and down, and then approached the bedside.

As she drew to sit upon the mattress at his side, her eyes began to adjust to the lack of lighting, observing that Ben was a body of swollen bumps and bruises. It took her mind a moment to catch up with what she was seeing, and once it did her eyes widened with horror and confusion. Dorothy reached to gently wake Ben, but drew her hand away as she didn't know where to touch him without hurting him.

"Ben?" She spoke quietly at first, but then her fear twisted her stomach and she spoke louder, "Ben? Ben, wake up."

It took Ben a while to surface from the oddly deep depths of his uneasy sleep. When he did awake, he did not feel refreshed; it was as if he'd never slept at all, and only felt more tired at the variety of pain and aches that assaulted him from all parts of his body.

Opening one pale eye (the other was completely swelled shut now), he looked out into the darkness of the bedroom and just made out of the slender form of who he immediately knew to be Dorothy. She was sitting on the bed beside him and he gingerly propped himself up onto his elbows to see her better.

"Hm-? Oh, hey sheba," he said, blearily, through the muggy haze that seemed to be clouding his thoughts. He became dimly aware that she was watching him with concern and realised how he must look.

"T-This? I had to go fetch some-" He paused as a rib protested painfully about his position and he edged back to lean against the pillows instead. "Some- notes I'd left at Mrs W's. I got mugged on the way back."

Just before he felt asleep, he'd decided he wasn't going to tell Dorothy about what had actually happened to him, at least not until he'd figured out what he was going to do about it all. He rather die than let her get hurt, but to leave here without her... And to leave her in the hands of the kind of people who'd done this to him...?

Dorothy stared down at Ben, incredulous. With her eyes now fully adjusted to the dimly lit room, Dorothy could make out every swell, bump, and scrape upon Ben's face and body. Her heart swelled with worry, and her instincts to care for him kicked in full. She just wasn't sure what she could do.

"Mugged?" Dorothy echoed with a slightly panicked voice. Walking home alone in the late hours of night suddenly seemed a very bad idea, "I can't believe it, Ben. You poor thing. You look awful! Is anything broken?"

Dorothy lifted her hand to gently sweep his mussed hair from his face, careful not to irritate his wounds any further. She had been looking forward to an easy night spent in one another's arms, and now Dorothy wasn't sure that he was even able to use his arms. It was evident that he'd taken time to clean himself up, including removing his shirt. But past that, he seemed to have opted for laying down. She wondered if he'd even eaten.

And while she wasn't trying to be harsh in her assessment that he looked 'awful', Dorothy didn't know what else to say. He could only open one of his eyes to look at her. While she looked down at him, she was struck by how worried she was. Her heart was racing. Mugging was a common enough thing, but it hadn't ever happened to someone she was close to. And with Ben so newly reinstated in her life, it was doubly painful.

She couldn't imagine what she'd do if the attackers had done more than beat him up. She couldn't, especially now, imagine losing him. Not much time had passed, a day maybe, but from the first time she'd seen him in the Lagniappe she knew that her heart would never forget Ben Goldberg.

"Did you call the police? This is terrible. Surely they'd be able to do something. If you haven't called, I'll go down to the station first thing in the morning. And what about the hospital? Should we go to the hospital? Can I get you something?" Worried questions and comments spilled from her lips, "I'll skip work again tomorrow...or better yet, I'll quit. Yes, I'll quit!"

Dorothy surprised herself with the notion, but continued slwoly, "Then I can stay here to take care of you, and once you're well enough we can...we can go back home. OK?"

Ben smiled falteringly as she brushed the hair back from his forehead, trying not to make his split lip worse.

"Thanks, sheba," he said, at her description of him as looking 'awful'. He didn't doubt it. He wondered how he was going to make it into the newsroom tomorrow. Perhaps he could write from the apartment. "A rib or two, maybe. But I don't think it's anything serious."

He was aware of the worry in her expression and was pained by it. He didn't want to worry her. Sure, this was probably the worst kicking he'd recieved... well, ever. But it could have been far worse. Despite the throbbing ache that rose up from every minute injury and the sharp protests from his rib cage and abdomen whenever he moved; despite the fact he felt like shit, he could as easily be feeling nothing at all. He was glad he was able to be here and see her.

But as she hastily continued with a torrent of things he should do or she would do, he suddenly remembered those razor-sharp words that had been carefully annunciated in his ear before he was dropped to the ground and his stomach swooped in fear. What was he going to do?

"The police? What- Oh, no; I didn't even seen his face," said Ben hastily. "And I'm fine, honestly. A- A good forty winks is all I need and-" He stopped as he realised what she had just said. She'd go home with him. She didn't want to wait any longer. In any other situation, it would have been worth getting beaten to a pulp just to hear her say that. But now...

"But- Are you sure? I don't think you should quit, sheba. I was kinda starting to like this city, living in a ritzy place like this with you... Why don't we stay here for a bit longer. I'm in the middle of a story, too, and..." He trailed off, knowing she'd know he was attempting to feed her a line.

Dorothy was prepared to use force to keep Ben from sitting up in bed and throwing his arms around her, as it likely would have worsened his injuries. She was equally prepared for any other form of response that her latest statement might receive such as silent disbelief, a slew of questions, or a detailed list of the things they'd need to do before they left New Orleans. She was ready, because as soon as she'd stated that she could quit and leave, she felt with great certainty that it was true.

What Dorothy didn't prepare herself for was lackluster protests and half-assed excuses as to why leaving for New York wasn't the choicest idea. Had she not know better, she would have been wounded by his lack of interest in the idea. And had she been hurt, she likely would have hurled a few insults his way and stormed out of the bedroom. But Dorothy was sharp.

"Oh, of course. Your story." Dorothy replied calmly, each word laced with sarcasm. "I forgot. And yes, it is very glorious here. Much more ritzy than anything to be found in New York. In fact, I don't think we should ever return. Please forgive me for so selfishly agreeing to everything that you came here in search of."

She wasn't angry, but would quickly be if Ben didn't explain himself. For what reason would he not want to leave New Orleans? And why was he suggesting that she stay and work at the Lagniappe, when not only did it prevent her from leaving, but also kept her working under Michael Rivarde. The very man who'd kissed her without invitation, and had taken Ben's note from her. Was Ben suddenly comfortable having Dorothy remain in such a situation?

Without waiting for answers Dorothy stood from Ben's side of the bed, and moved to take a pillow from the other side, "I'll be on the couch. Feel free to shout if you need anything."

Ben's expression fell further as she replied with calm sarcasm that made him feel even worse than he already did. He tried to tell himself that he needed to endure the icy and defensive hurt that was evident on her delicate features in order to keep her safe. But he wasn't sure about that, either. Even if he did take the next train back to Grand Central, leaving Dorothy in New Orleans (which in itself would be unbearable), would she be safe? The shark-like Michael Rivarde did not spell safe in Ben's eyes.

He caught her wrist as she moved to coldly take a pillow from the bed.

"Alright, alright," he said, giving in. "I'm sorry, Dorothy. You know I-"

He breathed in slowly. His ribs protested painfully.

"Listen, sheba; I didn't exactly get mugged... In that, I definitely got a pounding but the guy didn't glaum anything..." He looked up from where he'd lowered his eyes to his hands and met her gaze. "He just set on me in the alleyway down the side of the guesthouse; didn't even take a break from introducing his knuckledusters to my face to ask me for my wallet. Afterwards he said- He said that if I didn't get out of town, leaving you behind, then you'd be in for the same treatment. And that he knew where we were staying..."

That last bit was the clincher. He knew where they were. But Ben was beginning to wonder if this had been the truth. No one but Evie and her contact knew where they were and, with what Ben had heard that morning, he was fairly sure she wasn't working for Rivarde. And Rivarde seemed to be the most obvious origin for the threats his assailant had muttered calmly into his ear whilst he was sprawled out on the pavement earlier in the evening.

"And your face is too much of an orchid to have this done to it," he said lamely, gesturing to his own bruised features as he tried to make light of it and failed miserably. There were a few moments of silence.

"You can't get hurt, Dorothy," he burst out, suddenly. "But I don't know what to do..."

It was evident to Dorothy that she'd caused more pain to the already bruised and beaten man lying on the bed. And as he sucked in a labored breath, an ounce of guilt leaked into Dorothy's heart and her eyes softened. Slightly. Perhaps she had reacted selfishly, and was too quick to anger. But she was still wary, and admittedly hurt, of Ben's neglect to accept her offer to pack up and head home. None the less, she sat primly on the edge of the bed while he conceded to tell her the truth.

Her posture remained rigid throughout his explanations, but a new tension took to her muscles as getting mugged turned into getting accosted by someone who threatened to do worse. And not only to Ben, but to herself. He concluded with admitting that he didn't know what to do, and Dorothy couldn't hold this against him. How was one supposed to prepare for such an ultimatum?

This was not the type of truth that she had been anticipating, and a knot twisted in her stomach as the silence grew after Ben's last words. Where her own response should have been, stood emptiness. Dorothy felt nothing and stared blankly at the wall, waiting for the gears of her mind to begin turning and for the whirlwind of emotions that would surely follow. The seconds ticked by.

Dorothy stood up, patted Ben's hand absently, and began readying herself for sleep. She alternated between bedroom and bathroom, not caring to neatly fold her clothes as she immodestly shed them and stepped into a nightgown, not caring when she left her hairbrush upon the vanity or dirty washcloth draped over the washbasin. And slowly, her movements thawed her frozen mind, warming her thoughts to questions of what to do, where to go, and most importantly who wanted them hurt. A face flashed across her mind, the very face belonging to a man who didn't fear ripping a note from her hand or kissing her without permission. A man who ignored her need for personal space and claimed it as his own. Could it be? Dorothy was used to Shin, a kindly yet feisty old man, who did everything to protect his employees. Had Dorothy naively assumed that Michael would be the same?

A certain anger warmed the blood in her veins as her bare feet padded back into the bedroom. She wasn't the sort of woman that took well to orders or being 'claimed'. But neither was she blind to danger, and so with her anger mixed a growing fear.

"Here. I brought you some water." Dorothy set a glass upon the nightstand at Ben's side of the bed, and moved to climb into the vacant space next to him. Instead of laying down, she folded her legs beneath her and finally regarded him with an attempt at a response. Again, her heart ached as she looked at his battered form and she gingerly touched his face where the bruising seemed least angry.

"I don't know what to do either. I can only assume that whomever did this to you will let their threat sink in, so at the best we have a few days to figure things out." Dorothy sighed and bit her lip before continuing, "I have a feeling that I know who is behind this, and I think I'm to blame for what happened to you."

Storming out of Michael's house, skipping work, leaving a note meant to anger him...Dorothy began to feel more and more responsible. She began to reconsider taking care of Ben. It would only put him in more danger. Dorothy reached for his hand and held it lightly between her own, "Maybe it would be best for you to find a doctor and get yourself home to New York. I can follow along when the dust settles around here. And to think, all I wanted to do is come home to kiss you." Her throat tightened. "Now I can hardly touch you. I'm so sorry, Ben."

Ben watched in discomfort as Dorothy silently digested his words and then, without saying anything or replying to him, went about getting herself ready for bed. In another situation, at another time, Ben might have enjoyed the view or felt pleased that she was at ease enough with him to pad between the bedroom and the bathroom in various states of undress without feeling self-conscious. But now, under these circumstances, he hardly noticed, instead only following her absent expression as she moved from room to room.

"Sorry, sheba?" he said, squeezing her hand with his own. "It's hardly your fault, is it? And don't worry, I don't need a doctor; I've had worse than this before. " Actually, he hadn't, but Dorothy didn't need to know that. "I'm not going back to New York without you."

That much was true. He wasn't leaving her here, couldn't live with himself if he left her in the clutches of whoever was behind the incident around the back of Mrs Winston's guest-house. But what if his presence only ensured that worse things still might happen to her?

Through the dull ache in his ribs (and everywhere else), he tried to think rationally.

"I don't think this mac could possibly know we're here," he said, after a fashion. "I think he must have been bluffing. I'll get Evie to find us another place, or... We can make a break for it. Sneak out early tomorrow morning and get the sleeper back up to New York."

Unless they had a people watching the passenger lists.

"Or- We can take a couple of different buses back up North, or hitch-hike..." He moved his fingers, with their raw knuckles, over the back of her hand lightly as his thoughts changed direction.

"You think this Rivarde is behind it?" he said, suddenly.

Despite what he said Dorothy didn't feel any less responsible for what had happened to Ben. And she felt only slightly comforted at his assumption; perhaps the attacker wasn't truly aware of where they were staying. It seemed probable, when she thought about it. Else why wouldn't they have bombarded the apartment itself?

The greatest comfort in his words was his promise not to leave without her - despite the damage she helped to cause. Dorothy tried to sift through the options that had been verbalized. There were likely many ways that they could hitch a way out of the city, but would going back to New York be the safest option? Michael, Anthony, and Otto all knew where she had come from. Would they go so far as to track her down in New York city?

"Yes. I do think so." Dorothy sighed in response to Ben's last question. Her gaze fell to where his fingers comforted her trembling hand. " Though, I can't be sure. I honestly can't imagine anyone else wanting to hurt you on my account. I don't know anyone else."

With a deeper understanding that gave her chills, Dorothy considered her interactions with and reactions of Michael Rivarde. Cool and calculated, yet always pulsing with something more powerful and frightening beneath the surface. And if someone were to provoke him to break his composure? Apparently she had somehow become that person.

"Do we assume that it is him? I have the feeling that he's much more... dangerous than I assumed. I just don't understand -" Dorothy cut herself off at the swell of emotion. She felt a cocktail of hopelessness and panic, and took a deep breath.

She'd have never guessed that her new boss would find her of interest. Or that this interest would turn into something so viciously ugly. Dorothy suddenly felt immensely tired. "We can't just up and leave. It won't work. And... and I can't leave Cora."

"Oh yeah, Cora," said Ben, resignedly, as he leaned back against the bed frame. What had they got themselves into? Years of living New York, reporting on the gangs and he'd always managed to stay (relatively) out of trouble. A week in New Orleans and he was already having to contend with muggings and death-threats. All because of Michael Rivarde.

His thoughts drifted back to the day he'd first seen Dorothy since he'd travelled south, in the depths of the Lagniappe, and he remembered the cool, predatory way Rivarde's eyes had followed her as she walked past Ben and out onto the stage, remembered the way he'd tensed as Dorothy had exchanged words with Ben and how he'd fixed those dark shark-like eyes onto him, as if he'd been about to say something. Yeah, he seemed as if he would be more than capable of ordering the knuckle sandwich Ben had been served just a couple of hours before. Capable of more than that, too.

"Let's sleep on it, sheba," he said, finally. Sleep, proper sleep and the chance to forget the dilemma they were facing seemed like an attractive prospect. And to be honest, Ben didn't know what else to do right now... "What d'ya say?"

He gingerly (grimacing at every movement that tugged at a bruise or jarred his ribs) shuffled down to lie fully on his good side so he could face Dorothy. It had occurred to him that, in another situation (one where Ben did not look like he'd been used as a punch-bag), they might be continuing what they'd started before Ben had left for the meeting with Evie's contact. Damn.

"And after that... We'll figure something out, huh?" he said, pressing his split lips to her hand then looking back up at her.

At Ben's suggestion that they sleep on it, Dorothy felt her wariness more acutely. A good bout of rest would do the both of them good; Ben in his state of brokenness, and Dorothy under stress following a long evening of work. A kiss upon her hand softened her troubled features.

"Of course we will." Dorothy stated. Though she wasn't as certain as she sounded.

She made sure that her bedmate was as comfortable as his injuries would allow before Dorothy herself slipped beneath the sheets. Following his lead, she lie facing Ben and stared into a familiar blue that comforted her like a silent lullaby. Seconds and minutes wove together, and in between the closing of her heavy lids she gazed into this comfort until she was carried into slumber.

---

Eventually the dark blanket of night was pierced with the early morning rays of sun, and New Orleans slowly awoke. Across the city Cora pressed her eyes against the sound of Otto calling from the floor below, Anthony Rivarde slipped away from the nameless dame sleeping between his sheets, and a lounge singer stirred in the bed that she shared with a New York city journalist. A new day.

Dorothy awoke to the same thing she'd fallen asleep to, and despite his discoloration and bruises, Dorothy couldn't help but smile. Her heart swelled a bit with something she wouldn't dare confirm as love, and at the same time it broke for his condition. This man had done so much, traveled so far, and had endured so many hardships on her account...and Dorothy felt very much like a modern day version of one of her favorite fairy tales - albeit a less glamorous damsel. Trade a prince-charming for a writer-charming, and a ball gown for a flapper dress and it was close enough.

"Ben." She whispered, not really wanting to wake him. Dorothy leaned forward carefully and pressed the most gentle of kisses upon his lips, and lay back down. Let him sleep, he surely needed it. The world and all the problems it boasted could wait.

Though Dorothy had taken care to press only the lightest of kisses to Ben's lips, he was a light sleeper, lighter still in his current state, and he stirred from his uneasy slumber at her touch.

Overnight, the swelling around his eye had almost completely gone down, leaving an angry black bruise in its place. Ben, of course, could not see this and was grateful to have regained the ability to open that eye again. The bruises down the side of his jaw had matured to a faint purple and those around his ribs on one side were an angry red-black. He stretched (grimacing as various parts of his body protested) and turned his pale gaze towards the woman next to him.

Next to him. He'd woken up next to Dorothy. Despite the fact that events leading up to the event hadn't been of the conventional kind, Ben could imagine anything he'd prefer. He longed for seclusion; let Michael Rivarde bring an army of mobsters down the street to besiege them inside; he'd hardly mind, as long as he could remain here with her... In this room, which seemed to exclude any other care Ben had about the outside world beyond its walls.

Temporarily forgetting the matters that had presented themselves with such force around the back of Mrs W's guesthouse, Ben leaned over to return her kiss, his cracked lips tugging upwards into a smile at her warmth and her smell.

"Hey there, sheba, how'd you sleep?" he said, tilting his head to kiss the bare skin of her shoulder next to the strap of her nightdress.

Memories of their passionate kiss the day before spread from her shoulder and outward through her body at the sensation of Ben's lips against her skin. Dorothy smiled, and considered his question. Overall it had been a peaceful night's sleep, but she vaguely remembered pieces of dreams that were draped in shadows and saturated with trepidation.

"I slept well." She chose to respond. "And how about you? Ready for something to eat?"

Perhaps due to a childhood founded on a farm, Dorothy nearly always awoke ready for a meal. She smirked, remembering that Ben's choice would likely be a cup of coffee, and sat up in bed. Now, cloaked not by the darkness of night nor the carelessness of anger, Dorothy suddenly felt conspicuous in her thin night gown and unkept hair. Was it something she would have to grow to get used to, she wondered? She hoped so.

Quickly she slid out of the bed and with equally quick motions, gathered the things that she would need to ready herself for the day. Clothing over an arm, toiletries stuffed on top, she moved to exit the bedroom and head for the bathroom.

"I'll just need a quick washing up. And then perhaps we could step out for a light breakfast and some coffee. Unless..." Dorothy frowned, instantly feeling the weight of the burdens they carried. Their problems seemed unescapable, even within the quiet walls of their temporary fortress. "Unless you think it would be best not to be seen together."

Ben gingerly sat up in bed, watching with the content curiosity of someone experiencing a pleasant novelty as she gathered her clothing up in a bundle and set off for the bathroom. Then she paused and with a brief question brought down the walls that had previously shielded the two of them from the goings-on of the previous day.

He shook his head. "Probably not..." he admitted reluctantly. Everything was suddenly immensely frustrating. Would he never have her without some obstacle getting in their way? First misunderstanding, then Wallenstein, now this... "How about I make you a coffee in the kitchen instead? I know it's no substitute, sheba, but I make a damn fine coffee, if I do say so myself," he added, joking to lighten the obvious weight that had slumped about Dorothy's narrow shoulders, as well as his own.

He pulled the covers off himself, making a face at the bruising at his ribs, and pulled on his shirt.

"Then- Then I'll head down to the newsroom and see if I can get Evie to find us another place, huh? Unless you've got any bright ideas floating about that keen head of yours..."

Truth be told, Ben could not think of a long-term alternative. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place and the only way he could think to escape would be to make a run for it before they had a chance to be crushed. But was the risk too great...?

Dorothy was sorry to see the shadow cross Ben's face as she asked her question. Perhaps she should have let illusion be victorious, allowing the serenity of the flat and the tenderness of waking up next to one another comfort them in ignorant bliss for as long as the day would allow.

"Sure. Coffee sounds swell. One step at a time, right?" Dorothy offered the most convincing smile that she could, under the circumstances, and then exited to take a shower where under steams of hot water she pondered Ben's temporary solution.

Finding another place would likely prove easy enough, though Dorothy wasn't sure she liked the idea of getting a third part involved. Trustworthy or not, this Evie could find herself in a vulnerable position if anyone was to see Dorothy or Ben keeping company with her. Who knew what eyes and ears Michael had around the creole city?

And third party aside, what kind of life was moving from place to place just to keep a criminal on his toes? Dorothy felt a shiver run down her spine as the words it's only a matter of time crossed her mind. They couldn't run and hide forever. These were children's games they were playing after all. And holeing up in apartments and flats across the city didn't bring them any closer to solving their problems.

So, did Dorothy have any bright ideas floating around her keen head? Well, keen as they might be, none of the prospects seemed bright. But one idea did stand out amongst the rest. One that might, at the very least, save their lives from future bruising...or worse.

"I'm going to go back to Otto's place and patch things up with him and Cora." Dorothy stated as she walked into the kitchen. If she didn't say it firmly - as though she'd already made up her mind, when in truth Ben could convince her otherwise quite easily - then she wouldn't have said it at all. She tucked her damp hair behind both ears before conitnuing, "For now, anyway. Then you can find a new place to stay. It will be more safe, I think."