He wrinkled his nose against the musky odor of damp earth, the oncoming storm, and he leaned back into the metal bench, sighing heavily and swallowing the heat that had pushed its way up his throat. This was the fifteenth redacted assignment that he'd been put on since achieving the title of 'Tooth Fairy,' after working so hard and overcoming the wing discrimination of Fairy. And yet, this was the ninth time they'd pulled him from a job, the main offices cancelling his assignment before he could even reach the residence. It was like a joke to them, letting him get halfway to that dream-like moment of handing over a tooth, a dream that was quickly slipping away, becoming more elusive with every cancelled run, every task set for him. Tracy almost dreaded the assignment slips handed out at the office every morning. If he got one at all, he could almost be sure that it would be cancelled, the slip of paper no more than a scarlet letter reminding him that he didn't belong there. He belonged behind a desk, in their eyes.

Still, his assignments were infrequent and, in the beginning, had sent jolts of excitement like electricity through him. Now, after so many months of being the butt of the joke, after so many months of the others trying to break him, make him want to turn over his title and hole himself up in that office again, he was becoming weary of the job. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to finally be respected, not looked at as if he were one of the disadvantaged. He was supposed to show that that he was just as good as they were.

A steady downpour started, without warning, drenching the parched earth and making the night even darker. There was a steady rhythm of footsteps under the din of the rain, and within seconds a younger woman burst forth from the shroud of water cascading off the roof of the bus stop awing, stumbling into the relative safety of covered stop. She sat heavily down next to him, trying to wring out her clothes, with little success. She was drenched to the bone for the few seconds that she'd been exposed to the elements.

"Well, that was pleasant, wasn't it?" she said bitterly, to no one in particular. He couldn't help but throw a glance her way. The human plane was so dangerous, and it was prudent to know who you ended up alone with. But she was a slight thing, disgruntled and clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline. No doubt she shared his sentiments about her surroundings, as she seemed very reserved, hunched over slightly and turned away from him. She seemed to notice his gaze, distracted and absent as it was, as he'd lost himself in thoughts about earlier that day and forgotten to look away.

It was startling, for her to round on him like she did, up to the elbow in her purse and he was so sure she was going to pull out a bottle of mace. He jumped in his seat and looked away, muttering an apology and hoping she'd leave him be. He didn't want any trouble. He turned his head to the side, facing away from her and pretending to read a public safety poster that had been plastered on the inner wall of the bus stop sanctuary, long since made illegible by graffiti.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice teetering between assertive and fearful. He merely shook his head and muttered more apologies, telling her he hadn't meant anything. "No. Sorry. Do I… know you…? You look awfully familiar."

He looked up, only partially, to meet her gaze and figured that she couldn't possibly know him, even though he knew her. They'd met once, during one of the only assignments he' gotten to carry through: A little boy around the area, Jamie Anderson, who had lost a tooth. He'd had a babysitter that night, and she'd woken up to find Tracy standing in the kitchen at the foot of the staircase, just having come back downstairs from retrieving the tooth.

One handful of Amnesia dust and a click of an All-purpose Magic Generator button later, he was back in Fairyland with the tooth, and she had no recollection of the incident, confused as to why the police dispatch was on the other end of the phone line.

"N-no," he stuttered, fear creeping through him. Why did she remember? "No, sorry. Must be someone else you're thinking about."

She looked on curiously before dismissing the notion, shifting her attention to the bus that roared onto the scene. Both stood and darted, one after the other, through the rain and into the iron safety of the vehicle. She made her way to the back of the empty bus, warm and drying with every second the heat blew from the vents. He took his place at the front and silently watched as the lights blurred by. They flew down the roads at a speed that unsettled him, had him gripping at the edge of his plastic seat with white knuckles, though she seemed unconcerned. A sudden thought struck him and he meandered his way to join her at the back while they were stopped safely at a red light. He sat awkwardly next to her and wrung his hands together. "Sorry. You wouldn't happen to know, uhm… where this bus lets off… do you?"

She looked sideways at him. "You just board busses without knowing where they go?" she asked, skeptical.

"Just… I was more concerned with getting out of the rain, allright? It's been a long day."

She set her purse aside and turned to face him. "This bus goes to the mall, the library, the church, and three different street stops." She paused as she watched him rub at his eyes with the bases of his palms. "Obviously hasn't been a good day." She said, gently, smoothing out the wrinkles in his sleeve.

"More or less," he groaned, letting his hands fall to his lap and stretching his long legs into the aisle.

"Do you live in Mesa?" she asked. He didn't seem like he did, certainly didn't sound like it.

He shook his head, "Just passing through," was his answer.

She seemed to shrink for a moment and then bounce right back. "Why don't you come to the church with me? It's single's ward tonight, but not many people show up anymore. I don't think they'll mind, much. Torrential rain and all." She smiled thinly, hoping to elicit something positive from him, but he just shrugged and accepted her proposal. "If you're up to it, you can tell me what's bothering you." She offered tentatively. "I'm Rae," she added, holding out her hand.

Why was this lady – Rae. Why was Rae so willing to hear his grievances about work? He fidgeted uncomfortably before completing the gesture. "Tracy," he returned, noticing how warm her hands were, though she was still shaking for cold. Her hair hung in curtains framing her face and her glasses were fogged from the steam coming off her person.

She eyes his attire, the vest and tie, the gray workpants and the dress shoes. "Did you just get off work?" she asked.

He sighed. "Suppose you could say that. To be brutally honest I never got on work, but yeah."

Rae leaned towards him, squinting in the dim light, her fingers brushing lightly at something pinned to his lapel. When she moved away, he made quick work of removing the little sliver pin, hoping that she hadn't gotten too good a look at it. He dropped it into his breast pocket until it was safer to wear it.

She frowned slightly and opened her mouth to ask about the pin, but the bus came to a stop, a screeching halt and a roaring release as the doors opened with a hiss. He was rather startled by the sudden violence of the bus, and didn't notice her gathering her damp belongings until she called for him. "I thought you were coming," she said gently, allowing him to shake the surprise of the stop and lift himself to his feet. He trailed faithfully behind her and followed her into the small church. The moment the doors opened and they stood in the warm reception room, he wondered just what he'd gotten himself into. She introduced him to the older woman behind the desk who was keeping tabs on everyone, failing to mention that she'd met him twenty minutes ago at a bus stop, before they continued into the next room. It was spacious and hallow with the exception of a few tables and chairs set up at each. She led them over to one, out of the way of the other small groups. Several others shot them odd glances and Rae merely shook her head at them, urging him to ignore them and continue on.

"So what do you do?" she asked, "Your work."

Tracy stuttered around his words, trying to find the closest approximation to explain to her without saying "I'm a tooth fairy." His hands wrung together in his lap and he suddenly became very regretful of engaging with her on the bus. "I, uhm… not for any par-particular… I collect." He settled for that, not willing to elaborate, instead letting her fill in the blanks with whatever seemed appropriate.

"Like a Tax collector?" she asked.

He nodded in approval. "Something like that."

"Okay," she said, leaning in next to him. "So what's got you down?"

He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head slightly. "I…I work with a lot of people who are different than me… well," he faltered. "Well, I'm the different one, really – not many people like me make in into that department, even fewer onto the field, and… they're just not happy with me, yeah? And they make it Hell, they do. Cancelling every assignment I get before I even have the chance to get out there, and they end up giving it to one of the others! It's just, when I go back with no… with nothing collected… I mean it just makes me look like I'm shoddy at this job, which I'm not!" he argued hotly. "I can be just as good as them, I am just as good as them. Or… I – I would be, but they keep getting in the bloody way!"

She smiled gently. "What makes you so different?"

Tracy took a deep breath and unfolded himself, leaning forward on the table, unsure of how to answer her. "It's a, uhm… a disability," he said, and he could feel the color rising to his face, painting the pallor of his cheeks a soft pink, the fire spreading to the tips of his ears and back of his neck as well, and he was grateful for the low light. The words tasted funny in his mouth and he found himself thoroughly disheartened at them.

"You seem fine to me," she said, taking hold of his hand. His eyes widened slightly at her touch and that he could hear a certain pity in her voice. Pity hurt the most, he'd learned over the years. Oh, that poor boy, the patronizing remarks from his youth, in the years where it became evident that his wings were never going to grow in. The pity he'd received at the academy, from the instructors as he watched his class's graduation from the field with the audience. But the pity he heard in her voice wasn't the same. It wasn't I'm sorry you're different, but instead I'm sorry they treat you different.

That spot between his shoulder blades itched with the compulsion to protect himself, as if he were suddenly exposed and vulnerable. He pressed his back harder against the seat. "That's what I've been trying to tell them, but they just… don't listen. Never do."

"They'll have to someday," she said, her voice soft. "If you earned it."

"But that's the thing! I – I worked so hard to do this, and they're not even giving me a chance." The heat pushed back up his throat and he pushed on. "I just – I was supposed to go home, three, four hours ago, you know, but I just don't want to anymore because I keep going back empty handed and no one but the main team knows why. No one will believe me about it, but why should they, they all think I – I cheated or something, no one wants to believe that I can actually do this, and – and I don't have wings!" It was an exclamation that presented itself far too quickly for him to keep himself in check. He fell silent and glanced sideways at her, waiting for the appropriate response, the strange look and the confusion, but it didn't come. Instead she just pushed the rain-soaked hair from her eyes and seemed deep in thought. He wondered if she'd even heard him, or what she was thinking about. Hopefully it wasn't about what asylum he must have escaped from. Quickly, he looked away, fidgeting with the hem of his vest.

Rae shrugged, quite animatedly, with a huff. It was impossible to ignore, even in his meek state, and the man began to protest, thinking that her small gesture was meant as a familiar dismissal of his feelings, the way he'd just poured his heart out to her, but stopped himself when he saw her look up at him. "I don't either," she said gently. His shoulders drooped when he realized that she didn't understand. For her, not having wings was the norm, but in the society he lived in, it made him less. Of course, she didn't know that, and how could he begin to explain himself to her, to tell her that he was a fairy? Still, with her gentle observation came the reassurance that he wasn't as alone as he felt. Here was this girl, someone he'd met barely and hour ago, and she genuinely cared, she wanted to make him feel better despite not knowing the full scope of his situation. It was such a stark contrast to the blatant mistreatment, the degradation back home, and he found himself smiling despite everything.

There was a stroke of lightning outside and a terrifying crack that made her jump. Reflexively, he grabbed her arm to steady her and she settled down.

The lights died, bathing everyone in the room in darkness, and he could feel her tense under his fingers. There was the collective moan from the group on the other side of the room, but besides that they carried on their conversation, hushed as it was and occasionally drowned out by the crashing thunder. He gave her arm a squeeze and asked her if she was okay.

"All the lanterns were taken out after the last flood. They didn't work anymore and the new ones haven't come in yet and it's just… dark, is all…" she whispered. "Sorry," she said, and forced herself to relax.

He chuckled as another stroke of lightning graced the sky, lighting the entire room in a dazzling, blinding white light for a fraction of a second. "People have good reasons to be afraid of the dark," he said. "You just don't know what's around you. But I don't think you have to worry, you know. Not here, at least."

He could barely see the contour of her face, but she nodded stiffly.

"Are you sure we've never met?" she asked in a hush. She felt silly asking again despite his fervent reassurances, earlier, that they hadn't, but she couldn't shake the feeling. He didn't answer, and she felt the blush rising to her cheeks. For once in her life, she was so grateful for the utter darkness that had swallowed the small church room, so that he couldn't see her shy embarrassment. She was about to apologize for prying when there was a roar of laughter from the other side of the room that startled them both. She felt a hand on her shoulder, his hand, and she was comforted. This flagged some alarm in the back of her mind. For the short time she'd known him, she was oddly comfortable around him; had anyone else touched her so suddenly in the dark, even someone she knew well, she would have been terrified. "A bit jumpy?" he laughed

She began to answer, to let him know she'd felt him jump just as much as she had at the kids' sudden outburst, but another bolt of lightning struck outside the room, bringing with it an immediate crack of thunder that shook the building, rattling the timbers. Rae winced, her heart fluttering at the feeling of the building trembling around her, near what felt like the point of collapse. She clung to his arm, grasping fistfuls of his sleeve. He chuckled lightly, making her cheeks burn with a fresh embarrassment before she felt him shift next to her, moving closer. He removed himself from her vice grip and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in and calming her from the storm outside.

She leaned into him and couldn't explain the sudden calm, the feeling of safety and the inexplicable comfort of being held.

"So," he said. "Maybe I was mistaken earlier. When I said we've never met."

The words registered slowly with her, and it produced the most wonderful, unusual sensation in her chest. She laughed. "So you remember? Maybe you can help a forgetful girl out?" she asked, and he sighed. Her smile dropped when she heard it. It wasn't a pleasant sigh, something that carried the tune of content or even mere amusement. It was a heavy sigh, and it made her heart sink. She twisted around to look up at him – or at the very least, where she thought he was, as she couldn't very well see him – in concern.

"Wish I could, you know. I do. But we've got rules, and all, and just by being here I must be breaking a dozen at once. I really ought to go. I've been gone far too long, and they are expecting me back." He bent his head and placed a kiss at the peak of her cheek. "Thank you, Rae." He said, and she could tell he meant it. She wished he wouldn't go, wished she could do more for this man she'd met in a forgotten dream, who an hour ago was a complete stranger. She felt him fumble with something at his belt. She sat up so that he could take leave, as reluctant as they both were, unbeknownst to the other.

"Knock'em dead, Tracy," she said, and he could tell she meant it. She wanted him to do well, this girl he'd met hardly an hour ago.

"One thing, before I go," he said, and there was a sudden electric tingle to the air, before the lights flickered back to life.

The edgy nervousness of being swathed in darkness disappeared and she turned back to Tracy, a grin spread across her lips that slowly faded in confusion.

He was gone.

The bell rang, and Mrs. Anderson opened the door for Rae, who stood on their step with a backpack slung over her shoulder and a board game under her arm. It was Wednesday, which meant that she was babysitting. Jamie came to greet her, bounding down the stairs with something clutched in his tiny fist. He seemed to forget his news, when he saw her, propelling himself straight into her arms and letting her pick him up before turning back to his mother. "I lost a toof!" he cried happily, words slurred by the numerous gaps in his teeth.

"Another one?" his mother uncurled his fist to see the slightly bloodied tooth in his palm. She shot a knowing look to her babysitter, then back to her son, bending over slightly to lean in. "Well! The Tooth Fairy is especially busy with you, isn't she?"

Rae shifted him a little further up on her hip and moved into the house to allow Mrs. Thompson to leave with a promise of being home soon, and covert thanks for taking care of the tooth in advance.

Rae spent a good portion of the night playing snakes and ladders with Jamie, unashamed to say that she had almost as much fun as he did. He was a sweet kid, and never gave her any trouble, except at bedtime. He never liked going to sleep when Rae babysat, but the promise of the tooth fairy visiting in the night was more than enough to convince him to change and brush and get in bed. She watched him place his lost tooth beneath the pillow, sent him off with a goodnight and sat in the living room, the news on low to provide ambient noise while she worked, alternately trying her hand at a new sketch style and doing her homework, the latter of which she gave up on around midnight. A quick glance at the clock told her that Jamie was more than likely asleep. She fished a dollar out of her purse and made her way up the stairs to his bedroom, treading lightly.

His Buzz Lightyear nightlight provided enough light for her to maneuver the toy cars and transformers – sometimes it was hard to tell those apart, in the dark – that were strewn across his floor. She stooped at the side of his bed, holding her breath as she slid a hand under his pillow, groping for the small tooth. Her fingers did not find it, but brushed something soft, and she frowned, grasping it between her index and middle finger and pulling it out.

The slip of white paper glowed almost fluorescently in the dim light; there was handwriting on the slick paper, but it was light, and she couldn't read it by the night lamp alone. The small silver paperclip shone, though, and the dollar that was attached was what had been soft to the touch, worn but sturdy, and her mouth fell open slightly at the sight. She stood there in utter confusion, knowing, so certain that she hadn't been up there already. There wasn't a question about it, but who had been? Her heart raced in her chest and she stifled her gasp, voice caught in her throat as Jamie stirred ever so slightly. Fear still rippling through her, she slid her own dollar bill beneath his pillow, gentle as she could be with trembling fingers, and took the papers downstairs to get a better look.

It was just a dollar, from the looks of it. Nothing suspicious about that, but the slick white paper, glossy like something that would come out of a cash register as a customer's receipt printed, was what intrigued her. There was neat cursive sprawled across the sheet, horizontally and in perfectly sized print so that the message took up one line, from end to end.

"Knocking'em dead. –Tracy"

A hand flew to her mouth, and she understood.