Lyall sat down in the chair beside Foxx’s hospital bed. The surgery had been successful and now the man lay prone in bed like a puppet with cut strings. The smell of antiseptic was barely covered up by a cheap floral perfume. It was wafting from a sachet that one of the nurses had hung by the cracked window. If he was allowed, Lyall would covered that disgusting smell with the smell of tobacco, but sadly hospitals had a policy against cigarettes. 

And Foxx had taken a blade to the lung. 

In sleep, the man looked much younger. He almost always looked like he had just sucked on a lemon when awake, so uptight and proper. The soft light from the window reflected on the sharp planes of his face and melted them into something softer. He was all sharp edges; high cheekbones, sharp nose, square jaw. It was nearly impossible to think he could be anything but a blue-blood. 

Lyall snorted lightly. The idiot was an eye-catcher. Even Reeve’s little trainee had started to get blushy around him. He could never do any undercover work. 

Had he done undercover work with the royal guard? 

“You should have waited for me,” Lyall said, knowing the man wouldn’t respond. “What kind of fool doesn’t wait for backup?” 

Foxx was silent and Lyall couldn’t help but fixate on the minute rise and fall of his chest. It was a habit he had gained each time he visited, one that he couldn’t seem to shake. 

“I’m your partner whether either of us likes it or not. At least until you quit.” He ran a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t let you get killed, even if that seems to be your desire. You’re such a damn imbecile if you think I didn’t notice. What sane person willingly makes themself a target in a completely half-baked plan?” 

He leaned back in the chair, letting his head tip backward. He huffed, screwing his eyes shut. “What was your point in coming here? In becoming an officer?” he asked. “Are you trying to climb your way back up to the royal guard? That would make you even more stupid.” 

He leaned forward again, staring at Foxx’s face. He was the opposite of Johannes in every way. The boy had been round-faced with large, starry eyes. He had been an idealist who believed in justice and the goodness of man. His smile was genuine, bright like a sunbeam, and an ever-constant thing as he had found joy in everything. 

Johannes would have liked Foxx, would have found his prim and prissy shield to be just an obstacle to overcome. He had wormed his way past all of Lyall’s guards and would have done the same to Foxx. 

He could imagine it, Johannes barraging Foxx with thousands of questions about his time in the royal guard. He would disarm the man with his smile and endear himself to whatever softness there was in Foxx’s heart. He would make Foxx welcome, and pull him into the inner circle of their department social life by inviting him to team dinners and outings at the bar. 

Johannes would have scolded Lyall for his treatment of the man. 

Lyall let out a sigh, staring down at his hands. He stayed that way until he started to hear Foxx stir in his hospital bed. The man opened his bleary eyes, disoriented and confused. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”