It was the second week of January. The weather was terrible. Snowstorms raged through the days and driving home was a nightmare for Tristan. The number of cars on the road was infuriating. The noise was even worse.

On one particular evening, a tired and frustrated Tristan forgot all about road safety as he sped up on the icy road. He was just two minutes out of the Kerzillion when he slammed his brakes trying to slow down his swiveling Honda. He cursed himself as he rapidly turned the steering wheel trying to avoid crashing into other vehicles. The leftover New Year and Christmas lights didn't help his situation as the world whirled by in a bright, blinding blur. He couldn't decelerate the car fast enough as he crashed into a lamp post.

Thankful for the seat belt, Tristan stumbled out of his car, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The front half of his automobile was destroyed. The hood emitted smoke and much of the windshield was stuck in Tristan's face and hair. Although he didn't hit his head, he could feel blood trickling down his face from the glass shards that scratched him.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he assured a man heading his way.

"You sure?" the guy asked, voice muffled by a scarf.

"I can take you to a hospital," another person offered. Tristan tried to calm his thoughts. He willed his mind to think rationally. He had to move his car off the sidewalk. He had to keep the police away. No hospitals either.

"No, no," Tristan shook his head. He was still trying to formulate a plan when he heard a familiar voice.

"Tristan?"

He turned around; his eyes widened slightly. Why did it have to be her of all people? The one person whose respect he needed. Couldn't it be Alan or Evelyn?

"It's alright, I'll take him home," Dahlia told someone.

"Dahlia, it's alright. I can deal with this."

"What will you do about your car?" she asked him, and even though her tone was soft, he could hear the challenge in her voice. When he took too long to respond, she continued, "That's my car," she points to a red Mercedes-Benz.

"I-" Tristan started before he realized that Dahlia was already conversing with another man. He sighed before going to the trunk of his car. He quickly got his briefcase and then went to Dahlia's car. "Well, this is toasty," he whispered to himself in the warmth of the car. A few minutes later, Dahlia joined him.

"Here," she stated after fumbling in her bag, she was holding a pill, probably a painkiller.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," Tristan didn't like the idea of taking an unknown pill.

She looked at him, her brows slightly furrowed before putting the pill back. Without saying anything else, she started driving.

"What happened to the car?" Tristan asked after a while.

"I asked a truck driver to tow it to Rosemont. You can take it from there later."

"Thank you. This doesn't happen a lot," Tristan felt like he had to explain himself to her. Just to make sure he didn't damage her depiction of him.

"Of course it doesn't," she simply replied.

"What I mean is that I wasn't recklessly driving-"

"I'm not judging you, Tristan. The road's slippery and the visibility is really low right now. Drivers are prone to accidents."

"Of course."

"But you should also know better than to speed in this weather," she looked at him, "Unless you don't?"

"I do know," he felt like a scolded child.

They drove for about 10 minutes before Dahlia parked her car and killed the engine. It was only then that Tristan realized that she took them to her house.

"I can't stay here."

"You have glass sticking out of your face, Tristan, get out of the car."

Tristan didn't want to argue right now. He was a well-trained agent but that didn't stop him from feeling the pain of glass prickling his face. Or from succumbing to the weariness taking over his body after it stops releasing adrenaline. Thus, he followed her to the elevator and into her apartment. She was silent the whole time, her face calm. Tristan couldn't read her. He didn't like that.

"You can leave your coat here and the shoes. Take a seat I'll be right back," she said as soon as they entered. Tristan sat on a sofa as Dahlia went into a room. He heard a soft bark.

"Hey, baby," he heard her say, "Go back to sleep, ok? I have a guest." She came back to the living room a second later with bandages and a disinfectant among other things.

"You just have all this stuff lying around?"

Dahlia let out a little chuckle, "You'd be surprised by how clumsy Gloria is."

Although this answered Tristan's question, it brought up more questions. He was reminded, rather embarrassingly, of his first day in the company. He blushed slightly at the thought. He still wasn't sure of Dahlia and Gloria's relationship; it wasn't his place to ask either.

Dahlia laid out her mini first-aid kit on the coffee table before facing him.

"I can do that myself, Dahlia," Tristan told her when he saw the tweezers in her hand.

She furrowed her brows at him, "I didn't realize you dislike being helped so much."

"That's not it. I just know I can fix this," he gestured to his face, "By myself."

She just looked at him and even though there were myriads of questions swarming her brain, she didn't inquire. "Alright," she finally said, "Go to the bathroom then, the mirror lights are brightest there."

"Thanks."

Dahlia got up and put her coat on again, "I'll go get some food, I don't have any at the moment."

"You don't have to."

"I'm hungry, Tristan," she gave him the slightest scowl, "Go fix yourself up," she added before shutting the door.

"Sheesh," Tristan sighed as he headed to her bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and groaned at how awful his face looked. His hair was extremely disheveled, glass sparkled in it. A gazillion cuts were littered across his face. Dried blood pooled around some of the wounds and even though it was sparse, it was still there. Tristan wondered how Dahlia had looked at him without reacting in the slightest. Was she, for some reason, used to this?

He'd only managed to cautiously rinse his hair and remove the bigger pieces of glass when he heard the creak of the front door. The scent of food wafted to him, making his stomach growl.

"Why's it so cold?" he heard Dahlia mutter. There was a rustle of plastic and the clink of glass before his manager appeared at the doorway.

"Not done yet?"

"Nope," he told her, as he pulled out a small piece of glass, wincing at the sting.

She leaned on the doorframe, looking at him with slight amusement, "Will you let me help now?"

"I've already removed most of the glass-"

"You do realize that by refusing my help you're making this whole situation harder, right? It's not like I'll just go ahead and live my day normally while a man who almost died removes glass from his face in my bathroom."

Tristan was so shocked he couldn't reply. She had a point but he also didn't want to appear helpless. He'd definitely dealt with worse injuries before, he just took his time when treating his wounds. Instead of saying that, he smiled at her, "Alright, just so you can have me out of your house quicker."

She rolled her eyes slightly as she approached him, "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yes, I'm only joking. Lightening the mood."

She chuckled at that as she took the tweezers from him. She steadied his face in her left hand as her other hand went to work removing all the tiny shards of glass. Her eyes were squinted in concentration and Tristan realized that she was holding her breath, probably to stop her hand from shaking.

"You don't have to hold your breath," he pointed out.

"Stop talking," she whispered.

So instead of talking, Tristan watched. He watched her brows as they knit together in focus. He watched her eyes as they glinted in the bright light. Her left eye reminded him of a beach he'd visited once. Blue like the depth of the ocean and brown as rich as the Earth's soil. Tristan didn't know how long he stared at her eyes but by the time he came back to reality, she'd already removed all the glass and was applying the disinfectant.

"You seem to have literally gotten lost in my eyes."

"Well, they're very unique. It's not every day you see heterochromia."

"Thanks."

"Ouch," he hissed as the disinfectant stung his wounds.

"I'd apologize but you did this to yourself."

"Cold, manager."

They both chuckled at that. She made quick work of applying cream and some bandaids. They went to the living room after Dahlia insisted that Tristan should eat. She had set some chicken wraps from popeyes and two glasses of juice on the table.

"I don't have any wine, so I'm hoping you like apple juice."

"That's fine, I don't drink anyway."

They ate in silence before Tristan asked her, "You have a dog? I heard it bark earlier."

"Yeah, Taffy, she's a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Quite old, hearing's mostly gone," she said between bites, "Still a very good girl, though."

"I'm sure she's adorable."

By the time they were done eating, Tristan was so tired he felt like he could sleep through the whole week.

"You're staying here for the night, ok?"

"Dahlia, I'm ok, really. Thank you for everything, but I can't sleep here."

"Where do you live?"

"Southside Condos."

"You're not going there!" she scoffed at him, "It's almost 10 and Southside is at least half an hour away in good weather."

"It's alright, tomorrow's the weekend, I don't have to wake up early."

"Exactly, it's the weekend. Sleep here, find a cab tomorrow."

"Or order a cab now and sleep in my bed."

"You won't find anyone now and I'm definitely not driving you to Southside so no."

"I can find a cab."

"I'm not asking you, Tristan, I'm ordering you."

"And what gives you the right?"

"Well, I'm your superior at work."

"At work."

"Antonov," she folded her arms over her chest as she scowled at him, "I've had a long week, stop being a pain and sleep here."

"Fine, Garcia," he mirrored her actions, "I'll spend the night here."

"Good," she said with finality, "The couch is comfortable."

"The couch will do," Tristan agreed.

She got him a blanket and a pillow. As he fell asleep, Tristan thought about how bad his face would look for the duration of this mission. As soon as he goes back to headquarters, they'll magically fix his face with some brilliant ointment. For now, however, he'd have to live normally and heal like any other person.