Page 110 of The Pansy Paradox
Pansy digs around in the container on the coffee table. “If we can’t use the balm, there’s always this.” She pulls out an opaque tub of what looks like goo. The second she cracks the lid, the aroma strikes them all, hard.
Henry jerks back. The scent is so strong, it infiltrates the ephemeral space where Ophelia hovers.
Oh, that is foul, like Vicks VapoRub on steroids.
“I know,” Pansy says, though it’s unclear whether she’s addressing Henry, Ophelia, or both of them. “Two of the main ingredients are tea tree oil and eucalyptus. It reeks, and you’re going to reek for days. But trust me, it works.”
“It’s not that,” Henry says. “It … my father … he would use this. He started mentoring me quite young, and I remember this from the aftermath of those sessions. He always said a good friend taught him how to make it. It smells like…”
Love.
Henry drifts off, blinks, and comes back to himself. “My childhood. It’s one of those smells I’ll always associate with my childhood. When things settle down, I don’t suppose you’d teach me how to make it.”
Does Henry see that smile, feel the full force of its weight and warmth? How Pansy practically glows?
“Sure, but I warn you, it’s an afternoon in the kitchen.”
“Really?” Henry raises an eyebrow. “And you claim not to cook.”
She proffers the tub. “Have you smelled this?”
Henry laughs, and Pansy’s smile grows even wider.
“When you’re better, and when things are better, I’ll show you how.” She dips her fingers into the goopy mess. “But now, Agent Darnelle? Would you like to do the honors, or should I?”
Something flickers in Henry’s expression, the slightest of hesitations, a bit of warring between the better and lesser angels of his nature. Pansy sits there, expression placid, unaware of the conundrum she’s put Henry in. Ophelia hovers closer, watching the thoughts behind his eyes, a tally of pros and cons.
“Would you?” he says at last.
Yes! Her brother manages to surprise and yet never disappoint.
“I’m not certain I can see the full extent of the wound,” he adds.
Fairly flimsy excuse, brother mine.
But Pansy doesn’t seem to mind, not in the least. And, in fairness, she is better at this task and with the sticky goo in general. The first layer goes on thick, and the wound absorbs it so thoroughly that no trace of it is left. She applies layer after layer, and in due course, the thick coating forms a seal on his chest. Even so, the goo gets everywhere. On Henry, obviously, straying to his biceps and neck. But on Pansy, too, including, somehow, the tip of her nose.
Henry lets out an exhale, one full of relief and recuperation. “That is amazing. I can feel it working. I think it’s better than the balm in some ways.”
“In some ways,” Pansy echoes. “Just wait until you try to shower it off.”
“Still, why isn’t something like this part of our standard issue?” Henry frowns, full of contemplation. “When things are settled, I’m going to bring that up with R&D.”
“It’s just a home remedy.”
“And those should never be dismissed out of hand. Our ancestors managed to do this job all without an Enclave, electronics, or an R&D department.”
Oh, look, the schoolmaster is back. Henry must be feeling better. But he studies Pansy with a tender expression in his eyes, a smile that starts slow but eventually pops both dimples.
“I don’t suppose you’d allow me to return the favor, Agent Little?”
It’s not so much the words but the tone that brings Ophelia up short. Henry’s voice is full of seductive promise. Before Ophelia can pull herself from this vision and flee to Seattle, Pansy offers him the tub of goo.
He scoops a bit on his fingers and then, with the utmost care, paints Pansy’s throat with long, languid strokes. Ophelia averts her eyes, hoping something else will capture her attention.
Really, there are some things a sister should not see.
“Better?” Henry asks.
