Saturday dawned, it was cold and wet, but Kevin remained sitting on the park bench he'd started his walk from last night. He hadn't been able to relax at all and even worse, it'd taken him a whole 3 minutes to knock out a group of 5 punks who'd tried to mug him.

A dog barking made him look up. It was enough to convince him that he was slowly but surely going insane, because it was HER dog and SHE was there with it, holding a bright orange ball for it to play fetch with.

"Ready? Ready?" she asked, holding it above her head

Banksy crouched on his forepaws watching it with interest, waiting until...She threw it!

It bounced and rolled, by some fluke it hit the metal rail and bounced into the road, naturally Banksy went after it, grabbing it in his jaws and shaking it about as if it were a piece of game meat.

Intent on its rubber ball, the dog didn't hear the lorry coming towards it nor its owner's calling.

"Banksy! Banksy, come here! GET AWAY FROM THE ROAD!"

For second time held still, the lorry's horn sounded and the driver shouted crossly...then Kevin stood in front of her, Banksy in his arms.

"This is yours I believe,"

He put the unharmed dog down on the ground where it dropped the ball, yipped happily then jumped up and tried to lick his face before trotting gently to Theresa's side, who knelt down and hugged her dog tightly, heart thudding madly in her chest.

"You stupid, STUPID animal!" She scolded, voice slightly shaky "Don't you EVER scare me like that again!" She then turned her attention to Kevin and stood up, "And YOU! You're an idiot! AN IDIOT! You could've been hurt!" she punctuated each sentence with a weak, slightly hysterical, slap to his shoulder.

He just stood there stunned. Partly over her hitting him but mostly because no one had ever been concerned about the possibility of him getting hurt before.

"Y-you're dirty..." she said eventually, wiping her face with her coat sleeve, "both of you are,"

Kevin looked down at himself...Well, he couldn't deny that; his shirt and jogging trousers were covered with mud and soaked through where the lorry had gone through a puddle. He'd have to find a laundrette or use the machines at the YMCA, or maybe he could get the IWF to pay up for dry cleaning.

However, fate had other plans for him, because the girl suddenly said: "C-come with me...you can use my shower…and…I'll…I'll run your clothes through the washing machine for you..."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do...least I can do to say thank you...for saving Banksy,"

Banksy barked cheerfully, as if encouraging him to say yes, and wagged his tail but stuck close to Theresa's side as if realising that his owner needed him in her sight and near her right now.

"I...suppose," Kevin conceded eventually, "If it's not too much trouble."

It beat using the communal showers at the YMCA or other places he usually stayed, at least he wouldn't have to share with a dozen others.

"No, i-it's fine...come on..." she clipped the leash to the dog's collar and gave it a small tug, "come on Banksy, home now."

It wasn't a long walk back to her house, after all, they both knew the way there.

The interior surprised Kevin. I was clean but not as clinically as his father's house, the walls were creamy coloured and mostly covered in framed photographs, documenting the lives of the occupants. They liked photos here...His father'd never had anything but painted portraits of long dead ancestors.

Despite himself, Kevin felt a tiny pang of jealousy. Theresa broke him out of his thoughts once more by tapping him on the shoulder.

"Bathroom's upstairs, middle door on the right, you can't miss it, I'm...going to wash Banksy down here in the kitchen...uh...shout if you need something."

She led her dog down the corridor, out of his sight, leaving him alone in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

Well, he wasn't going to get clean standing her staring after her. He hoped the water was hot.

--------------------------------------------

"The heck is wrong with you, girl?" Theresa asked herself aloud, with a shake of her head, "inviting a total stranger into the house to use the shower. He could be anyone. I must be crazy,"

Banksy yipped at her, up to his knees in water in an old tin bath that they used specifically for washing him.

"Don't agree with me!" she said, splashing some more water onto the dog's fur, "Come on, be supportive here...tell me I did the right thing?"

Banksy licked her cheek and wagged his tail a little, flicking water into his owner's hair and onto her face.

"Thank you," she laughed softly, wiping her face, and then started to rub shampoo over her pet…"Crazy. Toys in the attic, I am crazy. Truly gone fishing. They must have taken my marbles away..."

A few minutes after Banksy was washed and the dirty water emptied out into the drain in the garden, the guest...uh...what was his name? Think!...Kevin! It suddenly came back to her; anyway, he called for her.

Of all the things she was expecting to see when she got upstairs, it wasn't to see him looking out from around the doorframe of the bathroom, still in his mask but his hair was wet and... Theresa's eyes widened and a furious blush instantly spread across her face. She could see his bare chest...oh my god...

"There's...no towels in here," he told her.

"I'll...I'll get one for you," and she went to the airing cupboard, just a few steps away down the hall, choosing the biggest one she could find. She didn't look at him as she handed him the large white fluffy towel, cheeks still a bright crimson and her eyes clenched shut, though the image was now burned onto the inside of her eyelids.

"I'm...I'm going downstairs to make some lunch...there's gramp's dressing gown for you in the...the spare room...uh...just...g-give me your clothes and...I'll wash them for you...OK? Bye!"

She all but bolted down the stairs to the kitchen once he'd handed her his clothes. She couldn't go back up there. Not right now.

No way!

Ok, focus: first things first. Put his clothes in the machine...

OK, that done...Make lunch...concentrate on making lunch. What's it going to be? Umm...pasta! Pasta was pretty quick and easy...and salad, there was a bag of mixed lettuce leaves in the fridge. Yeah. Lunch...make lunch...Don't think about who's upstairs.

Damn, why did her (long overdue) "I like boys!" phase have to kick in NOW?!

---------------------------

Well, at least THAT had been more like the reactions he was used to, Kevin mused, though, to be honest, she'd seemed more surprised than anything else.

She was pretty when she blushed...he shook his head violently. No thoughts like that! She was doing him favours in return for rescuing her pet.

NO thoughts about her looking pretty, just thank her for the shower, robe, clothes wash and food and get back to training once it's all over. Forget about her, she's nothing, just a random stranger you've run into a few times in the last few days...

Who...doesn't know that you're famous or who your father is. She has no expectations of you except to be polite and thank her for her hospitality. And got worried because you might've been hurt saving her dog.

She was just being nice! It's the polite thing to do.

She didn't have to invite you here. The POLITE thing to do would've just been to say 'thank you' and walk away. Maybe she likes you?

She doesn't know me! She can't like me!

She must like you on some level. And you must like h-

Enough! He shook his head again, almost giving himself a headache in the process. He dried himself off and, having wrapped the towel firmly around his waist, went in search of the spare room and the promised dressing gown.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Denial much, Kevvy?

Kevin: I do NOT think she's pretty! I'm beyond things like that! And DON'T call me 'Kevvy'

Author: pats his shoulder you just keep telling yourself that and I shall prove you wrong.