A/N: Yes, yes, I KNOW that I have to finish Family, but I'm completely stuck. In the interim, I thought I'd loosen up my keyboard with this. Takes place in Season 5, a few weeks after "A Spirited Christmas". The touch of supernatural teased my curiosity.

Chapter One

Tuesday

That particular Tuesday morning, nothing was amiss. Tony made breakfast for the kids, juice and coffee for Angela and headed out to his morning class. Angela and Mona drove themselves to the train station and took the train into Manhattan, ready to tackle a busy day at the office. The kids trudged unwillingly to their separate schools; Sam to high school and Jonathan to his new Junior High. All was as it always was and everything ran smoothly, the expected exits and entrances observed and obeyed.

The day itself plodded on in a predictable fashion, not unlike the tiny gears inside a well-made Swiss watch. The members of the Bower/Micelli clan went about their routines, strong habits nudging out a deeper awareness of their surroundings. It is the way people function when they do the same thing day in and day out. Mona made her midday escape from the office, leaving her daughter to man the phones in addition to the heavy workload she already had. This happened on a regular basis and was not worth a raised eyebrow or special mention.

At about five o'clock in the afternoon, Angela phoned home to tell Tony that she'd be late for dinner and to please not wait for her. He gave her the usual admonishment before hanging up the phone and serving dinner to the kids and the truant Mona. Tony made a snide remark to Mona about ditching Angela at the office. Mona's standard comeback was a joke at poor workhorse Angela's expense and a quip about her own need for freedom. The kids rolled their eyes and wolfed down their dinners before complaining about homework. Some sentences were spewed out verbatim and could have been cut and pasted from previous evenings. These players in their little sitcomish slice of life performed their roles commendably, unoriginally, and with complete unawareness.

At nine o'clock that evening, Tony expected Angela to return home at any moment. He sat on the sofa, his head reflexively inclined toward the front door, waiting for the sound of her key in the lock. Silence. At about half past nine, he put down his textbook and peered out the front window to check for her arrival. She'd be arriving in a cab, since Mona had borrowed her daughter's Jaguar to return from the train station. From the window, Tony spied only the shrubbery, empty lawn and driveway. He sat back down on the sofa, his left leg bouncing up and down to the anxious rhythm of his nerves. By ten o'clock, he could no longer read his textbook. The kids had turned in for the night and Tony was stifling fatigue along with worry. He phoned The Bower Agency but the answering machine was already switched on for the night.

Tony's concern was slowly turning to worry. When Angela had phoned earlier to say she'd be late for dinner, she hadn't mentioned staying out this late and besides it was a weeknight. The leg bouncing gave way to floor treading, which then evolved into 'caged-lion-like-pacing', from the front door to the kitchen door and back. Then back into the kitchen to check the back window for her arrival, then over to the front window. By twenty to midnight, Tony was in full-blown panic mode.

He saw the beam of headlights shining through the window before hearing the unfamiliar car's quiet engine. Tony threw open the front door in welcome and stepped onto the porch to greet Angela. He peered more closely at the arriving taxi and took a step back when a strange man exited on one side and stepped around to the other. He opened the door and proffered his hand to the passenger inside. Tony squinted in the darkness. A woman's long, shapely legs emerged first, then her hand reaching out to the man's. The rest of her followed, slowly. Angela. The street light illuminated her bright hair, then hit her full in the face. She winced.

"Angela?" Tony asked. So many questions remained unasked in that one word.

"Sorry I'm late," she said to him. She turned to her companion and smiled. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Duro."

"Paolo," the man corrected. He released her hand and gave her a short bow.

"Yes, of course, Paolo." Angela teetered on her high heels and returned his bow, prompting Tony to wonder who the hell was this guy that Angela was bowing down to him.

The question caught in his throat, but before Tony could pose it, Paolo had returned to his cab. It flickered its headlights and slowly rolled down the driveway. Tony gaped after the car, then turned around to gape at Angela's retreating back. He followed her into the house.

"Angela, who was that guy?" he blurted out.

She kicked off her shoes and headed into the kitchen. He followed her. "Tony, that was Paolo Duro. The Paolo Duro!" she said as though her answer was self-explanatory.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" he asked. He poured her a glass of water and grabbed her saved supper out of the fridge.

"Oh, I'm not hungry. Paolo invited me to dinner."

Tony paused mid-step between the fridge and the microwave. "He took you out?"

"Yes! Tony, this is so exciting. You won't believe how it all happened." She spun on her toes and almost slipped across the linoleum. "Tony, I just landed him tonight!"

"What!?" Sparks of outrage shot out of his nostrils. Fortunately these were invisible. The thought of Angela landing any man made him want to tear said man from stem to stern.

"I landed the Paolo Duro account. This is really going to put my agency on the map, internationally. I can't believe my luck. And all because Mother skipped out of work early today," she said, unaware that Tony wasn't following her.

"Huh?"

"If Mother hadn't left work early, I wouldn't have had to look for a cab outside the train station. It was so busy and I couldn't find one. Then he appeared."

"Paolo."

"Yes. He offered me a ride in his cab. I recognized him, of course."

"You're gonna have to fill me in. Excuse my ignorance, but I have no idea who this Paolo Duro is."

"Tony, he's the owner of Duro Maio. You know, bathing suits, beach cover ups, sunscreens and accessories. That huge company from Brazil. They've been trying to make inroads in the American market for quite some time now, but their daring designs haven't exactly resonated with prudish Americans. Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?"

"I introduced myself to him in the taxi—told him all about The Bower Agency. His disappointing foray into the American market has been all over Business News; the ad agencies have been hounding him. And to think, I ended up in his cab today! Must be fate, Tony. It must be."

"What, and he agreed to use your agency? Just like that, after a cab ride? What about all the other agencies?" he pressed.

"Not just a cab ride. He showed me his American offices, then invited me to La Fleur for an impromptu business dinner. Paolo couldn't get enough of my ideas. As for the other agencies, he found them all cookie-cutter and impersonal. He liked my ideas, Tony. I… I never thought I'd get an international campaign so soon. I just can't believe it. You know what this means, don't you?"

Tony shook his head, so she continued in a whirlwind of excitement, babbling about international markets, making Duro Maio a household name in the U.S. and how The Bower Agency would be taking on new challenges and expanding its horizons. Tony tuned out when she began spewing statistics and monetary forecasts. He was humbled by the glow on her face, and the successful future she envisioned for her agency. He was happy but also sad and didn't know why.

"That's great, Angela. That's really terrific." Tony forced a smile and patted Angela's shoulder to bring her back to earth.

"It really is. You know, Tony, you shouldn't have waited up. Don't you have an early class tomorrow? It's late."

"Yeah, it's late alright. I'm gonna head up to bed then. Good night," he said. He stopped in the doorway, before exiting the kitchen and turned to look at her one last time. He admired the slope of her elegant neck and the unconsciously feminine movements when she stretched and ran her hands through her hair. She shed her blazer and with it, her professional ad exec persona. She looked up at him in surprise.

"What is it, Tony? Did you forget something?" she asked him in her 'at home' voice. He preferred hearing her like this, her speech a few notes higher and lighter than her working voice. While he appreciated the confidence in the latter, it also intimidated him. The higher, sweeter tones she used at home appealed to the protector in him, and right now he was feeling particularly protective of her.

"No, uh, I just wanted to wish you good night. And, um, congratulations on your new account. You did good, Ang." His lips raised in a half smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Good night, Tony. Again." Angela picked up her blazer and switched off the kitchen light. She hummed a soft tune to herself and smiled. Paolo Duro was a charming and savvy businessman. She'd never had a client from Brazil before. His mannerisms were so different than what she was accustomed to. This was a change, a big one and Angela was going to ensure that it be successful.

Tony closed his bedroom door and heard Angela's close a few moments later. She was at home and safe for now. But his spirit was perturbed nonetheless. He'd had this same strange feeling of cosmic confusion over Christmas a few weeks back when the family had visited Mona's brother, Archie. He'd felt like a puppet, or a character in a play, being fed his lines. And now … well now Tony felt his entire world make a dizzying sharp turn, rejecting its previous trajectory. He fell into a shallow, troubled sleep, Paolo Duro's steely eyes shining menacingly in his dreams. Images flashed before his eyes: tie-dyed T-shirts, Angela punching a stand-up comedian, then even more nonsensical, a sensual picture of Mona donning the cover of a magazine, himself singing with Frank Sinatra, Jonathan kissing a tall girl, and Samantha being drunk. The images whirled in his twilight, teasing him with their near existence. Tony reached out to grab the one of Angela punching a man. He intuitively knew that this was his fault. He put out his hands and the images dissolved. They would never exist now. For the arrival of Paolo Duro in Angela Bower's life had just taken them all off course.