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Three weeks of inactivity, of watching Dante leave every morning for work, of getting updates on their cases over dinner but not participating in them was driving Rick nuts. He could return to the office after four weeks, but would be off active duty for at least three more. At least after three weeks, he had the energy to get out of bed, get dressed, and move to the living room to watch movies on his phone, rather than staying in bed all day. He was quickly going stir crazy.
I really need to get Dante a TV.
He was on his fifth episode of CHiPs when Dante’s call interrupted.
“I hate to do this to you, but I really need my partner.” Dante’s voice was low, as if trying not to be overheard. “You wouldn’t possibly be feeling well enough to stand around a crime scene?”
Rick sat up straighter. Dante had barely let him move without supervision since he’d gotten out of the hospital. If he was calling for help, it had to be serious. “How bad?”
“I think I may be about to be arrested.”
“What did you do?” Fear spiked down Rick's spine. Dante had repeatedly stated he would make sure no one messed with his partners again. Surely he hadn’t done something too severe.
“Threatened the wrong people. There was another murder last night, and given the circumstances, they can’t fail to suspect me. Please come as soon as you can. You’re my alibi.” Dante hung up without waiting for a response. A text with his location followed immediately.
Rick pulled on a jacket to hide the fact that he was wearing a sweatshirt, and drove to the address immediately. The place was cordoned off like every one of their crime scenes, and officers and gawkers buzzed around the perimeter.
WHERE ARE YOU? He texted before he even climbed out of the car. He was already tired and achy. He was definitely going to regret this later.
I’M ON MY WAY OUT.
The address in question was a fancy bakery with pink and white striped awnings over the plate glass windows and a giant illuminated cupcake for a sign that said “Takes the Cake Bakery” in flourishing script. Dante did indeed come out the door, a secret service agent in front and behind him, his head held high, and his face pale and grim. His face lit up when he saw Rick.
“Ah, my friend. Elayna was understandably unreasonable. I felt it best to surrender myself to the agents rather than to provoke her further.”
Rick nodded to the familiar agents and fell into place beside Dante, trying not to breathe too heavily as he tried to keep up with the briskly walking trio. It was a testament to how much they trusted Dante that they allowed him to surrender without cuffs. Though Rick supposed cuffs would be pretty useless to a guy who could melt them with a touch. “You’ll have to start from the beginning. I don’t even know who Elayna is.”
“Queen of the elves and the owner of that bakery there.”
“Elves. Got it.” Rick’s aching side and shortness of breath were making it difficult for him to concentrate. He did remember Dante’s suggestion on the phone that he had threatened the wrong people. “Why would you threaten the elves?”
Dante raised an eyebrow and nodded over to Rick’s wounded side.
“Oh. Ah.” Rick frowned. So this was about him.
“Elayna came in this morning to find the young lady who assists her had been murdered.” Dante lowered his voice and anger flickered in his golden eyes. “It is quite horrible, Rick. Burns such as I would make. I do not fault them for suspecting me.”
They’d reached the squad car and the agents were motioning for Dante to get in the back. Rick placed his right hand on the car leaned heavily against it to catch his breath.
“How can I help?”
“You can tell them that I no longer had a motive once I heard your testimony that your attackers were definitely not elves. You can tell them what time I was at the house this morning.” Dante ducked into the car and looked up at him. “The murder happened between five and six this morning.”
Rick snorted. Dante was up and primping that whole time. Rick had been restless and still unused to the noises of a roommate and had looked at the clock several times. “I can do that.”
“You can come with me to face the Mythic Council, as I will have to answer to them as well. As queen of the elves, Elayna is a member and loudly demanded a tribunal.” Dante looked at Rick’s side again worriedly. “I am sorry. You should still be home resting.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Ponch and Jon are going to miss me.” Rick rubbed his side. As long as he took it easy, he should be fine.
Dante appeared confused.
“It’s just a TV show, Dante. I’ve been sitting around for three weeks. A few hours out with you won’t kill me.”
“Hmm.” Dante was clearly skeptical.
“You have no choice. See you at the office.” Rick closed the car door and stepped back for it to pull out. There was no way he was leaving his partner out to dry because of what amounted to a really bad cut.
After a couple hours of interviews and an official recorded statement, Dante was free to go, but was relieved of his duties pending the Mythic Tribunal. Charles was sympathetic, but clear: innocent or not, his ability to work as the investigative liaison between mythics and humans was severely compromised as long as the mythics believed he was guilty.
“So we’re on to the tribunal?” Rick asked through gritted teeth, trying to sound like it was no big deal.
Dante was clearly not fooled.
"We're off to get you in bed." His partner took him by his elbow and laid a guiding hand on his back. "The Mythic Council never meets before dusk, and you have been on your feet far longer than I am comfortable with already."
Rick didn’t protest, or flinch at Dante’s touch. He was too sore and tired to do either. Or to object when Dante held out his gloved hand to take the keys to Rick’s Jeep.
He slept most of the drive home, then yielded without complaint to Dante tucking him into bed.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" Dante offered him a water bottle and a fistful of prescription medication.
"I'm fine, Dante, really." Rick took the pills and water and knocked them back quickly. "I just did too much. I can’t just keep sitting around here."
Dante hummed softly. "Once you are cleared for physical activity, I will help you spar to get back to full strength. Until then, six weeks is just a blink in the grand scheme of time."
"Maybe to an immortal like you. To the rest of us, it feels like an eternity," Rick grumbled as he scooted down under the blankets.
"No, six weeks of inactivity feels like an eternity no matter who you are, especially when someone important to you is facing danger without you." Dante tucked the blankets around Rick's shoulders with a soft chuckle. "I broke my leg a year and a half ago and Wes persuaded me that shooting myself over a broken leg was a bit bombastic. I spent three months in a cast, and countless weeks of making every day leg day after that before I was functioning at full capacity. It did indeed feel like an eternity, but I got there, and you will too. If there is anything I can do to speed your recovery, I will do it gladly."
"Short of facing a mythic tribunal alone." Rick yawned.
"I am deeply sorry your baptism by fire continues even as you should be recovering. If there were any other way, I would take it." Dante flipped off the light switch. "We will discuss it later. I will wake you in time for you to shower, dress, and eat before we go."
"Yeah, just remember that I don’t take two hours in the bathroom." Rick called after his partner as he closed the door.
"Yes, well, perhaps some of us take more pride in our appearance, no?"
Rick fell asleep with the vague discomfort of knowing he'd just been insulted by the vainest man he knew.
He woke to a knock at the door and the rich smell of homemade chicken soup.
"An old Florentine recipe, better than any drug modern medicine can prescribe." Dante set a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a thick slice of buttered bread in Rick's lap.
"I've got a knife wound, not the flu." Still, the soup smelled better than the canned stuff he'd been making himself while Dante was at work. "Tell me, how is it you speak fluent Italian and know an old Florentine recipe if you're originally from France?"
"I did not say 'originally', only that I spent much of my life there, which is true." Dante sat halfway on the arched footboard and gestured to the engraving on the wall. "Since the day phoenixes were created to foreshadow THE Resurrection, my kind had lived for millennia in the woods outside Milan. After I was cursed, I wandered in the villages finding no place for myself, being neither phoenix nor truly man. A man you know as Leonardo de Vinci found me and recognized my talent for opposing the darker forces of nature. I served him and his patrons until his death in France where I continued as agent of the French Crown until the French Revolution drove me to your shores.”
"Wait, did you meet George Washington?" Rick stopped shoveling soup and gestured at Dante with his spoon.
"I have served every one of your presidents." Dante shook his head. "Americans. You all think history started in 1776."
"The important stuff did." Rick snorted. He set the empty bowl aside. "I need a shower, and I'll be ready to go. You might want to put on something that looks less like an advertisement for an embroidery shop before we go. They might take you more seriously."
Dante gave him a withering look as he straightened the blazer made of deep red jacquard with gold flames embroidered on the satin lapels. "I'll have you know –"
"I don't care. And they won't either." Rick raised a hand to stop Dante's protest. "These are grave accusations, and you need to dress accordingly. Do you even own a basic black suit?”
Dante’s offended look was all the answer he got.
“What do you wear to testify in court?” Rick sighed. Probably nothing in Dante’s whole closet could be classified as “basic.” “Surely in half a millennium of service you’ve had to do that.”
“I have a suit for that, yes.” Sobriety reached Dante’s eyes. “If you think it’s necessary.”
“You’re on trial here, Dante, whether you like it or not. And dressing like a blasted macaroni isn’t going to win you any points.”
“Ah, when good suits were easier to find.”
“Just get changed.” Rick rolled his eyes and pointed to the door.