Topper had curled onto the couch between George and 23, her head on George's stomach, her feet across 23's legs. They had started watching a cartoon network avatar marathon. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so safe.

Jack entered the room bouncing an envelope between his fingers. he held it out over the couch where Topper could see.

"What's this?" she asked, swinging her feet around and sitting up.

"From your sister," he said, "Dropped it off downstairs yesterday."

There was no name on the sealed envelope.

"How'd you know it was her?" Topper asked as she carefully unsealed the fold. It was a card sized red envelope, like an invitation.

"Smell," he said.

Topper sniffed it. There was heavy smell of incense and verbena. It almost made her head spin.

"Wow," she mouthed silently as she slid the card out.

"Did you keep in touch, you two?"

"Yes, we did," Topper's voice was detached as she read the letter. She looked up at Jack, a frown on her face.

Jack looked at her and said with parental finality, "Stay here for a week, then you can get back to work."

Topper stayed on the couch with George for the rest of the morning blissfully eating captain crunch and drinking chocolate milk. Twenty Three and Harry left halfway through the marathon, presumably to DC. Harry winked at her as he walked out saying, "Glad to have you back, kid. I told 'im you'd be fine."

Twenty Three, rather uncharacteristic of his stoic nature, kissed her on the cheek. He pulled her off the couch with one hand and hugged her. He looked into her eyes and said, "Be careful."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Doing what? I'm minding the shop all week."

He looked at the letter tucked into her waist band.

"Just be careful," and they headed out the door.

"What was that about?" George asked as she sat back down.

"Dunno," she said, pulling the blanket up over her lap. "23 out grew me a while ago, I don't know what he's thinking anymore."

"Now what's THAT suppose to mean?"

Topper shrugged. "I used to know him real well, we used to be close. He grew up, I didn't. I just think he outgrew me. I mean look at him, he looks good." She stared at the door where he had been. "He looks great."

"So? You look great too."

Topper laughed. "I mean he looks real put together. He's totally cool with who he is and what he does. And he has been for a while. It took me a real long time to be ok with that. Too long."

"But you're ok wth it now."

"Most days, "she looked at him, "You too, you've been good with you as long as I've known you."

He smiled, "Most days."

"All right, kids," Jack murmured as he wandered into the room, "Get yer coats, I'm taking you two to lunch."

When Jack did lunch, he did it in style. They took the suburban down to the yacht club, tipped the valet and dressed more like they belonged at the construction site, took a primo table overlooking the harbor.

"Fancy," Topper smiled, "Is this for me?"

"Can't a guy do somethin' nice?"

George pulled out Topper's chair and then took a seat. "So why am I here?" he asked.

"Right place, right time."

They ordered as a ship made a wide loop out on the water.

"So, whadda ya wanna do now that yer home, Tops?"

"Bathe regularly," she said into her soup.

"No seriously," George laughed.

"Well, go see Mel, I guess."

Jack raised a bushy eyebrow. "You said you two talked?"

"Emailed mostly," she mumbled through a piece of bread. "Actually," she swallowed, "we only ever email."

"Hmph, I see you haven't learned restaurant manners overseas."

Topper stopped chewing and took a sudden mental inventory of her current position. She was slightly hunched over, her elbows on the table, a fork in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. She looked, in her own head, as if she might take the waiter's arm off if her came for the plates too soon. She glanced sideways at George who was stiffing a laugh.

Straitening, she swallowed, laid her fork down and lifted the napkin daintily between her fingertips. Laying it gracefully on her lap, she folded her hands in front of her.

"Sorry," she smiled.

"I thought you weren't eating much," Jack grinned.

"Oh, good food, I'm all about good food," she resumed easting at a less frantic pace. "What about you? Where are you two going?"

George looked at Jack. as curious as Topper. Jack looked at both of them, his face set in a resigned grimace.

"We're going to Milwaukee, by way of Tampa."

"That's a hell of a round about," George pointed out.

"Well one leads to the other, trust me."

"Ok, how?"

"We're helping Scott with a 'recovery' project," he mumbled.

"Gatsby?"

"Yes."

George smiled, "Well ok then."

"You don't even know what you're going for," Topper scolded.

"I trust Gatsby," he said easily, "Don't you?"

Topper paused. She realized Jack was eyeing her intently.

"Yeah," she said honestly, if not a little slowly. "I'd just like to know what he was getting me into. If I where you," she added quickly."

"Well good," Jack said, going back to his plate, "'cause you'll be joining us at the end of the week."

Topper choked on her drink.

"I thought you wanted me to rest," she finally managed.

"I do," Jack sipped his drink, enjoying it fully, "so you can come to Milwaukee."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

"I got my reasons."

And that ended the discussion.

Lunch was long, lasting well into dinner. They talked about what everyone had done while she was away, George and Jack steering away from any of the negatives. She'd kept abreast of the news at home, but she wanted to hear it all again, embellished and with full detail. So much of the time felt unreal, disconnected and melted into someone else's story. When they did finally leave, George parted for the subway, squeezing Topper in one last bear hug.

"See you in a week, Kiddo," he said, and disappeared down the street to the tunnel.

Topper shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and sighed.

"Where to now, Jack?" she asked, looking up at the snow that was finally falling.

"Home, I guess," he said. "I got some prep to do."

"Right," she said heading toward the valet stand.

The remainder of her first full day home was spent rearranging the contents of her room. She kept the window open as she moved stacks of old notebooks, unpacked new ones and threw out all the clothes she had worn for months. At about 11:30, Jack knocked on the door.

"You descent?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she pulled her head out from under the bed where she had made room for a box of old camera equipment and old digital voice recorders.

"You moved a lot of stuff," he observed.

"It didn't look like you had changed anything," she flopped onto the bed.

Jack coughed a little, "Not since you left."

Topper smiled.

"I'm leaving to get George," he changed the subject, "No need to call, unless its an emergency," he added quickly, "but I don't know where exactly we'll be."

"I'll be fine Jack."

"The shop can really mind itself," he went on, "So don't worry too much about it." He tossed an envelope in front of her. "Here's bus tickets and travel money for Milwaukee. You leave Sunday."

"Bus?" she looked at the tickets.

"Low profile," he said, "Moonbridge'd be too risky."

She nodded and put the envelope into her backpack.

"So," he started, "Relax this week."

"I'll be fine, Jack," she tried to reassure him, "Really."

He looked at her, as if he wasn't really sure she would, put his hands in his pockets and finally nodded. "Of course you will. I'll see you Sunday."

The door clicked shut and Topper sat alone on the bed for a long time. She listened to his footfalls down the hall. He paused at the door, the shut it softly. when she was sure he was gone, wouldn't come back for a forgotten anything, she pulled out the red envelope that had been tucked into her pocket all day. she sniffed it, turned it over in her hand and unfolded the flap. A tidy card that read on the front: Welcome Home. She opened it.

Dear Brandy,
I am so happy you are home safe. I need to see you, I'd like to see you, as soon as you are settled in. leave word at the Windham Tea House, I'm there most afternoons.
Truly,
Melany

Topper rolled the card over in her fingers. Of course she wanted to see Mel. They'd sent emails back and forth. Mel had been in Europe for a while, working. Topper had sent her some pictures. she didn't want to worry her, so the less said the better.

"Dear Brandy," Topper reread. Mel was the only person alive who called her Brandy.

She rolled over and dug her cell phone out of the bags at the other end of the bed.

"Hello?" How late are tea houses open, anyway? "I'm trying to find Melany Wickford, is she around? Well can you tell her Top...uhm, Brandy called? I'll be at the Liberty Cafe all say tomorrow. she can reach me there. Great. Thanks."