Page 64 of Hercules

The sound was muffled, but the strains of the Dirty Dancing hallmark song were persistently recognizable.

Lois jerked upright, still enchanted even as shock sunk its claws into her too. “Hell has wireless towers? Honestly?”

He couldn’t help chuckling. “Not your usual RPG wasteland, eh?”

Her comeback couldn't have been more perfect, vibrating his breastbone as she dipped back in and nestled a cheek atop his heart. “Well, the telemarketers will have to wait. I’ve got much better things to concentrate on.”

“Oh, come on,” he murmured into her hair. “Somebody has to have your number other than Wesley and his wonderful offer for life insurance at a steal.”

“Of course,” she supplied. “But if it’s someone from the downtown writing workshop, they’re probably calling with a scene-by-scene movie review of something, which’ll be detailed in a monolith text instead. And it’s definitely not Roan, because—”

His incensed startle had them both straightening again. “Who the hell is Roan?”

She patted the spot she’d just been snuggling. “Natasha’s security lead. Easy, buddy.”

Her soothing drawl gave him enough time to dial back on the prehistoric posturing—while whomever decided she was their favorite speed dial setting proved they weren’t about to give up. The Dirty Dancing bop began its blare all over again, a little more annoying even from twenty steps away.

“You’re that sure it’s not Roan?” Though he kept the tone to a tease, an arched brow of demand couldn’t be helped. But his clever compromise went unnoticed. She was already too busy with a deep dive into confusion, if he rightly interpreted her new frown.

“He’s with Nat,” she snapped, punctuating with a huff. “He always is. And right now, Nat’s on a plane to…” Her head swung around, guiding her sharp gaze around the whole room. “Oh, wait. Unless…she’s already there? What time is it? How long was I out for?”

Herc jolted again, forced to focus on the implication of her information rather than her question. His instinct blared, damnably loud and clear, that they were quickly going to have bigger concerns on their situational platter.

“Already where?” Though he issued it with more chill than the demand about Roan, the edges woke up Lois’s gaze. He didn’t take them back. His disquiet was justified. Natasha Korra’s flakeout on the charity event wasn’t the root cause of all their chaos, but it had dragged Lois into more danger than she deserved. He wanted—and deserved—to know what destination was so important for the starlet to vanish for a whole evening.

Though at this point, it almost felt like days.

And there was a more invalid theory than every Illuminati rumor combined.

If it had been the better part of a week, no way would he still be ordering himself to savor every moment he still had with this female—or anticipating what would come in the next. What remarkable new thing he’d learn about her. Most of all, wondering how he’d even come by the knowledge. Would he see it in a new shade of gold in the depths of her big eyes? Feel it through the exhilarating honesty of her tears? Or perhaps through some other surprise he hadn’t considered yet. She had so many surprises.

So many beautiful things…

“Tokyo.”

Like now, when he noticed all the nuance of how she said that word. Like a person who’d once called the city home. Who still thought of it with reverence. Who turned it into something that reminded him of spring breezes through cherry blossom trees, laughter beneath bright city lights, and so much more.

A lot of beautiful things…

“That’s where she went,” she explained, clearly mistaking his poetic thoughts for confusion. “Natasha. She flew out for a rendezvous…with…Reks.”

She spoke the last of it in halting but obvious horror, like a TV detective with a fresh slice of evidence. And damn it, Herc already felt like her grizzled old captain with the whole pie snapped for his socials.

He only wished they could consider her news so easily. Just microwave the popcorn and settle in for the rest of the episode.

“Oh God,” she blurted. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” She swallowed with trembling emphasis as her stare flared wider. “Do you think Nat’s in serious danger? She has no idea…about what Reks really is. I’ll carry a hundred watermelons to the dance party if I’m wrong, Herc. She talks about that asshole like he hung the moon. If he hurts her—”

“Easy, wildcat.” It was exactly that for him to borrow her admonishment, considering it was layered atop her wickedly creative tribute to Baby Houseman and then a gorgeously bold bristle in favor of her cunning employer. “You were only down for a couple of hours. So unless Natasha booked a private rocket or supersonic whatever—”

“She went commercial.” Her interjection was thick with relief. “It was last-minute. I think she even grumbled something about going business instead of first class. You see? That’s how big the stars in her eyes still are.”

“Which might be the key insurance for her safety. At least for now.”

“For now? How? Why?” The woman popped up on her knees, giving her a few inches of temporary height advantage over him. Her real edge was in the determined dig of her nails to the outer corners of his nape. Ouch. Her parents had picked a good namesake for her, after all. “What do you mean by that? Herc?”

He slid his own grip down, securing hands at the crooks of her elbows and deciding the best place to start that response—

When Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes broke into the air again, crooning even more annoyingly about having the time of their lives.