AN: I couldn't leave you wondering why Zoe took off at the end of Landslide now could I? Obsessed I am with these two, they practically set my TV on fire when I watch them.

Chapter 1:

He was at a park, standing by a copse of trees waiting, watching, observing. Every day, rain or shine, she was there, running at a pretty good clip by his calculation, a nine or ten minute mile, occasionally, an eight minute mile. Every day, five miles a day, neither rain nor sleet nor snow could stop her. What was she running from? Who was she running from? Him? Them? What?

He was there skulking around like a stalker for one reason and one reason only: to find out exactly what was going on in her mind. She was different, somehow. When he woke up alone in the penthouse, he couldn't say he was surprised to find she was gone. He was just curious as to why she felt that she had to leave without saying goodbye. The subsequent times he had tried to get a hold of her, she was rather cryptic and non-committal. If he were the insecure sort, he would think she was avoiding him, that all she had wanted from him was that one night, but he knew, he just knew that it hadn't been that way with her. She wasn't the type to have reckless, meaningless one night stands. Especially not with someone she would potentially work with from time to time.

Her footfalls reached a steady staccato as she rounded the corner of the trail around the park. Wearing her usual attire of running tights, long sleeved top, her ipod hooked up to her right arm, her baseball cap shielding her face along with her sunglasses, she is unrecognizable as the unflappable Zoe Morgan, Crisis Manager to the powerful. Her stride lengthened as she increased her speed. What are you running away from little girl? John couldn't help but think.

Mile One: *Pathetic*

Her Gramin Foreunner told her she was running a nine and a half minute mile. It wasn't fast enough damn it. She needed to be better, faster, smarter, than everyone else. Her clients depended on her. She never thought she needed anyone, no one but herself. She made a life for herself, by herself. She needed no one. Pick up the pace Zoe. She lengthened her stride some more, increasing her pace, moderating her breathing. Zoe Morgan was not pathetic. She was strong, independent, a fighter. She needed to face whatever this was with John. Whatever the outcome, she would be a better person for it, of that she was sure.

Mile 2: *John and …*

John and who? John and Zoe? She never thought she would be an "and". She strived to be just Zoe Morgan. She wasn't an "and", not a "plus one", not a part of a pair. It was a weakness she couldn't allow. She never kept anything personal, anything anyone could construe as important because she wouldn't let anyone take what was rightfully hers. The enemy couldn't hurt you if you weren't part of an "and". Wistfully, she thought, John and . . . A once in a lifetime thought crossed her mind. Take that chance Zoe.

Mile 3: *Death*

Protective and dangerous given his chosen profession, he would probably die an early death. Hell, she might too. She had come close last year when Vartanen Pharmaceuticals decided that her services were no longer necessary and that she could be dispensed with. But she wasn't lying when she told Connie Wyler that she wouldn't be around if it weren't for John. She would certainly be six feet under, with no one at her funeral, if John hadn't saved her ass. Did she need that complication in her life? To be the one left behind? Was it fair to ask someone to be the one left behind? Everyone dies at some point; why not take advantage of the opportunity to live a little. The thought of death shouldn't prevent one from living. Don't be afraid to live life to the fullest.

Mile 4: *Equals*

They were equals in terms of control; they similarly bent the rules to protect those that needed protection. They were fixers in the same sense. They fixed people's problems, they didn't fix people. Damaged in their own ways, separately and collectively, why couldn't they fix themselves? They both had a soft spot for animals, especially a particular Malinois named Bear. They were petrified of the humdrum life offered by places like Far Rockaway, yet each secretly yearned for a normal life. Being fixers didn't allow them to have relationships, no spouses or children. Were they destined to grow old alone? They both preferred to be in the periphery of the real world. As if joining the real world wasn't an option for either one of them. Were they equals? Yes, they were equals. Peas in a pod; similar yet different.

Mile 5: *Options*

What were her options? What did she want? Did she deserve to want something, anything, anyone? She was well beyond the age of dreaming of fairy tales and happy ever after. She gave up on that foolish notion long ago. But since that night . . . could she . . . would she . . . should she . . . want something with someone? True, she wasn't young anymore. The extent of the relationships she's had, have been on the professional level, never on a personal level and never anything of substance. The truth was, she never wanted to, never found someone even worth spending that time with until he came and saved her ass. So should she . . . could she . . . would she? Yes damnit. She owed it to herself to see where this, whatever this was, could lead.

*Recovery*

Slowing the cadence of her run, Zoe Morgan reached a decision. Five, four, three, two, one. Slowing to a walk, moderating her breathing, she bent over at the waist, resting her hands on her knees, fighting to catch her breath. She deserved this once in a lifetime shot at something of substance. She was a strong, independent woman. Damn the fear of the "plus one" and damn the fear of death, they were equals, mentally, physically, and emotionally. They had options. She was worth it. He was worth it. Together, they deserved a chance.

Still bent over, her breathing finally regulated, she looked down to see a pair of black dress shoes and a bottle of water being handed to her. She took the offering and nodded her thanks. With un-lady-like gulps, she drank without taking her eyes off of his. A silent and mutual understanding was made with nary a word spoken. It was like that with them.

"Ready to talk?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

He handed her another key-card. "It's not for the penthouse suite, but it will do."

She took the key-card and nodded. "I have a late client meeting tonight."

"I'll wait for you," he replied with a smile that ran the gamut of emotions either one of them had yet to define.