John picked another dart off his desk and threw it across the room to strike the board. He fiddled with another, adjusting his legs on the desk, and tossed the next one at the board. It sailed across the room and Robert barely avoided it as he ducked coming through the door. The dart skidded across the floor and John noted the disapproving scowl from the red headed woman in the corridor outside his door. She picked it up, holding it in one hand as her other supported her elbow and she jutted a hip.

"Shut the door Robert, before Gwen decides to let me have it for spending another hour cooped up in here."

"Like six thousand straight." Robert took the chair on the other side of the desk and pointed over his shoulder at the couch and the chairs. "Shouldn't we be over there?"

John frowned, "Why?"

"Didn't you call me to talk about your…" Robert closed his eyes, groaning. "Gwen called me, didn't she?"

"How should I know?" John stretched his arms over his head, remaining in the tipped-back position in his chair to keep his feet on his desk.

"She's your assistant."

"And notice I've no clients. When there aren't any clients then we've no reason to speak."

"That's rather churlish of you." Robert shifted in his seat, "When did you become such a prick?"

"Somewhere in the six-thousand hours I've spent in this office." John waved his arms wide, "Don't you like it?"

"I thought you retiring from this and going into teaching or something more relaxing than listening to rich people moan about how their parents never loved them." Robert pushed back from the desk, walking the room with his hands in his pockets as John kept still in his chair. "Unless you're addicted to the money."

"It's more that I'm addicted to the space." John let his feet drop off the desk, hitting the floor and pushing his chair back toward the large windows facing the city below them. "And there's something toxically satisfying about having to try and dissect how those with everything can still find something to complain about."

"You do realize you're one of those." Robert tapped his knuckles on the desk, still pacing around the room. "You're trapped in this space because you think you're life's so difficult."

"Please don't tell me you're about to tell me how my life is actually some great adventure and I'm missing it." John tapped a hand to his chest, standing to shove his hands into his pockets and stare down at the city. "I'm too old to hear it."

"Horseshit."

John turned on his heel, "Excuse me?"

"I said 'horseshit' and you know it." Robert thrust a hand toward the window. "There's a whole city done there living life no matter their difficulties and you're here, complaining in you lovely office, that life holds no meaning for you anymore."

"Don't try and make me feel guilty for anything by comparing me."

"Why not?" Robert waited, shrugging when John just turned back to the windows. "It's not like you're struggling to eat or get a roof over your head or even to get people to sit on your couch and buy your services."

"And you think it's selfish of me to wallow in my misery?"

"I think you're being a berk for dwelling on it."

"Tell me," John pointed a finger at Robert, turning to face him, "What would you've done if you only saw Cora once in your entire life and then never again? What would you do?"

"I'd scour the world looking for her." Robert made a show of looking around, "Appears to me that you just decided to toss in the towel the minute she failed to call you."

"I didn't throw in the towel." John waved a hand toward his computer, hitting the side of the screen by accident and hissing as he grabbed it to massage the area. "I searched everywhere I could for as long as I could before I had to accept that was it."

"Still sounds like quitting to me."

"Then you can get stuffed." John shook his head, "I'm not having this conversation with you. It doesn't matter anymore."

"See, if you really felt that way you wouldn't be sulking in here." Robert sighed, "Cora and I want you at our wedding anniversary tonight. I know you'll try and say no, like you have for the last two years, but I'd really like it if you'd come."

"Why? I'll just make myself and everyone else miserable."

"If you could manage to pull your head out of your ass long enough to do something kind for someone else then maybe you'd find it in yourself to not be such a self-pitying dick." Robert threw something on the desk but John barely glanced over at it. "Just a thought to chew on, if you're busy chewing yourself out."

He walked to the door wrenching it open and pausing to give John one last look. "You know, I thought when you got your divorce you'd be a happier person. You were free of her and she was gone. But now… you're the same person you were with her but now you can't blame it on her."

John waited and then called out, "You're wrong."

"What?" Robert stopped in the doorway, turning back to John.

"It's not been six thousand hours." John walked back to his desk, taking his seat, "It's been eighteen-thousand-forty-eight."

Robert shook his head, "And I was wrong too. You're worse now than you were with Vera."

The door snapped shut behind him and John turned to the small packet Robert tossed on the desk. Opening it, John leaned back in his chair and frowned at the contents. Flicking through the contents he set it back on the desk but could not take his eyes from it.

After a moment John hit the intercom on his desk. "Gwen, schedule Robert and Cora's wedding anniversary on my calendar for eight this evening. And move Mrs. Shackleton to tomorrow morning like she wanted originally. I'm taking the rest of the afternoon."

He grabbed his things, leaving a confused Gwen still holding the dart on her desk, and flipped to the back of the packet. The lift gave him enough time to study the address and he tucked the packet into his pocket before entering the address into his car's navigation system. It purred to life and he noted the directions before merging into traffic.

The drive itself was nothing at all and John parked in a space close to the building. Getting out he noted the crowd of children staring at his car and waved them over. At first none of them moved but John waved them over more emphatically and one of the children took tentative steps toward him.

Pulling a tenner from his pocket, John held it out him. "For every hour you watch this. And the same to any of your friends who want to help."

The kid frown and snorted, "You know I'd get more to tell someone your car is here and then have them jack it?"

"Maybe. But then I'd have your face and the lojack on my car would alert the police. They'd find your friends, take whatever else they've stolen, and you'd not get anything." John shrugged, "This sounds like a good deal to me."

The kid took the note, "And what about my other friends?"

"The ones who could jack my car?" John turned back to his car and then shrugged, "I guess you could tell them that if they leave it alone, trusting you to watch it, then they'll get to service it anytime I need a tune up. I need good mechanics and anyone who could take this thing apart and put it back together deserves my business."

He dug out a card and handed it to the kid, "In case they're interested."

Walking across the street he opened the door and immediately dodged out of the way of a family of four trying to get through. John pressed himself to the wall and narrowly ducked someone carrying a roll of carpet over their head before he found a makeshift desk. Three people, all holding clipboards, stood next to a woman at a monitor almost as old as the man nurse hurrying to take notes, and whispered back and forth as their pencils and pens scratched notes. He leaned over and thumped his fist on the monitor, catching sight of John to right himself.

"Can I help you?"

"I think it's more what I can do to help you." John reached into his coat and withdrew the packet. "Friend dropped this off and I got the feeling he thought there was something I could do to help."

The man took the packet and then jerked his head toward the door. "Your car'll get jacked if you drive it around here."

"I've got that covered." John put his hands in his pockets, smiling at the women staring at him. "Trick I learned when I was their age. Make it someone's job to protect the car and offer them more by protecting it than giving it up."

"Grow up in a bad part of town did you?" The man tucked the packet away and John shrugged.

"You could say that."

"What, they make you drink milk from a bag at your primary school?" The man snorted and John held his gaze.

"The IRA fought the Army in the streets of my house and I lost my father in a hotel bombing."

The man ducked his head and the older woman at the computer stood up, glaring at the man. "Please ignore Thomas, he's just trying to assert dominance."

"I'll assume you're the one to speak to then?" John faced her.

"Most days. Doctor Elsie Hughes, I run this clinic."

John took her hand, "John Bates. I'm here for psychiatric and therapeutic aid."

"You won't find many willing to take that in this neighborhood."

"Then we don't call it that." John put his hand back in his pocket. "I remember the mentality and, if you don't mind, I'd like to give it a try."

"Give what a try?" Thomas ventured, scoffing, "Giving them all a tenner too?"

"No, making it so it's not like seeing a shrink." John gestured to the people waiting behind him. "These are proud people who've got real problems to worry about. Feeding their children or figuring out how to pay their rent. They want someone to help them solve real problems and that takes a perspective I don't think you've got."

"You don't think I don't know what it's like to suffer?" Thomas pursed his lips and John shook his head.

"Not like them. They need someone who understands them." John stopped himself, "That's why I'm here."

"Well," Dr. Hughes pulled John's attention back to her. "Then I've got a few people you could start with."

She pulled John's sleeve, directing him to the window. "You get those kids to start going to school and you'll do more than I ever could."

John narrowed his eyes at the kids and then smiled, "I think I can manage that."

It took less than a week for John to gather his own gang of loyal children. 'The Batesies' collected one another for school and sent him a text every morning with their group gathered outside their building and a teacher in the background. In the afternoons they met for the sports drills John put them through in the empty lot near the clinic before either doing their work together or meetings with John one-on-one to discuss their home lives.

Soon it was a regular to him as breathing and life around the clinic was the only life he led. This was his real life, sleeves rolled up and jacket tossed to the side as he pitched the ball or helped correct a position, or listened carefully to a whispered voice begging for help in whatever way they knew how. This was where he lived, not in his office. Not anymore.

One afternoon, John pulled into painted lovingly his spot with purposefully misspelled letters as 'John' with a backwards 'J' and 'Bates' with a money sign for the 'S' and a tipped over 'B'. He shook his head, popping the boot to dig out the materials for that evening, and jumped slightly when someone tapped his shoulder. Turning in a struggle, John almost lost the items in his grip but Robert saved them.

"Thanks mate." John managed, getting the bats and boots and kits under control. "Almost lost it all there."

"Yes you did." Robert pointed to the other things still in the boot. "Need help?"

"I wouldn't mind a few extra hands. The kids don't get out of school for another ten minutes and then it'll be a race to see who's here first. It's football and cricket night."

"You're teaching them cricket?"

"They liked basketball and since I refuse to teach them volleyball when the chance someone skins a strip from their chin is high on the pavement." John paused, "What brings you here Robert?"

"I own this clinic." He pointed toward it. "Or, I should say, Cora owns the clinic and I'm here to check on it."

"Cora owns the clinic?" John set the bats carefully against the fence.

"It was her 'call to Jesus', as they say in America, She wanted to do something with our money that would give to the community and she had an acquaintance trying to get one off the ground. Three months later we've renovated the building and I'm out a few hundred thousand pounds." Robert shrugged, "But it does something for the community and Dr. Hughes says they've had a lot of success here."

"I don't know about that but the kids seem alright." John arranged the kits and then tested a few of the balls before tucking the spares into his pockets. "I do get the feeling you're not just here to check on the clinic."

"Dr. Hughes mentioned a psychiatrist stopped by and that he'd been a permanent fixture here six days a week and some Sundays."

"The clinic's closed on Sundays." John grabbed a bat, bouncing the ball off it and trying to keep it from hitting the ground.

"But you're here."

"The kids are here and it gives them something to do." John refused to meet Robert's eyes, making himself finish setting up the afternoon's equipment.

"Gwen said you've been happier around the office too. Taking more appointments and having more success with your patients."

"They're working through their problems."

"Can't I just give you a compliment?" Robert finally blurted out in an exasperated rush. "I'm trying to say you've changed."

"You mean I'm not a self-absorbed asshole anymore?"

"I believe I used the word 'prick' but the meaning's roughly the same I think." Robert shrugged, "I thought you'd donate a day a week here, not move in."

"I haven't moved in."

"John, you've been spending your own money trying to repair things around there. You're paying for their games and equipment and the meals they take the homeless." Robert sighed, "Are you alright?"

"I've never been better."

"See," Robert wagged a finger, "I get the feeling you've just buried yourself in something to try and forget what happened."

"Is there no way to win with you?" John caught the ball, putting the bat back. "One minute you're talking about how I can't get my head out of my ass and the next you're saying I'm spending too much time here. Which is it because I'm confused?"

"I think it's noble what you're doing here but you're still not balancing John, that's what worries me."

"I'm feeling better than I ever have and I'm making a real difference here." John turned toward the fence as the children raced one another for it. "Don't ruin this for me. I'm finding myself again. Let me do it my own way."

"Just," Robert grabbed his arm, "Are you still drinking?"

"No," John flicked a chip at Robert, "Two years next week."

"What about the meds?"

"All gone." John shrugged, stepping away from Robert and toward the children, "I'm a new man, Robert. Whatever me you knew, he's gone and I'm what's left."

But as John turned toward the children a thought zipped across his mind, what exactly was there left? Who was the man standing before these children wearing his clothes and speaking with his voice? Was he the same person? Or was it another mask he decided to wear as he tried to forget the woman who stripped all masks away?

Over the course of the next month they started earning rewards for their good grades and their performance until John rallied them for another set of afternoon excursions. They took two days a week to volunteer delivering meals to the homeless in the area or helping with odd jobs for those about while John funded the materials. And as the community around them blossomed, so did the students.

Six months into his hours of service, far more interesting than his day job collecting checks from the spoiled and the selfish that sat on his couch on a normal basis, John thought he glimpsed a small blonde woman leaving one of the buildings. He tapped a boy on the shoulder and pointed at her.

"See her?"

"The dance teacher?"

John startled, "The who?"

"She teaches dance in the city. Moved here awhile back and gives dance lessons to some of the kids around here."

"Do you take them?"

The boy made a face, "No!"

"Right." John patted his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

He sprinted after her, weaving through the buildings, and almost caught her at the corner. But as John reached out someone hit in him in the back and he stumbled. Barely catching himself on the pavement, John watched the small woman move across the street without a second glance.

John struggled to stand as hands roughly grabbed his jacket and hauled him back. He hit the wall, the air rushing from his lungs so quickly he coughed and heaved to breathe normally, and held his hands up as the man crunched his hands into the lapels of John's jacket. "What you want here? Think you can flash your money about or make us jealous of your jacket did you?"

Without the breath to respond all John could do was gasp and try to shake his head. The man tightened his grip and John slid along the wall, knocking his head on a sharp edge "What if I teach you a lesson about this neighborhood eh? Think you'll learn to stay away then will you?"

"I-"

"Hey!" Both men turned to witness the gaggle of children large enough to crowd them into the wall. "Let him go."

"Scram kid, if you know what's good for you." The man flicked out a switchblade but the leader drew himself to his full height.

"We're not afraid of you or your boss."

"You should be." The man hissed, brandishing the blade.

"We'll tell him the same thing we're telling you now." The leader stepped forward, bringing his bat to bear as the other children held theirs or their makeshift weapons scrounged from building materials or sport equipment. "Let Mr. Bates go and we'll not take these to your head. He's our boss and we say let him go."

The man snorted and turned to Bates, "Seems you've got a little posse going haven't you."

"They're good kids." John managed, freeing himself from the man's slackened grip. "And they mean what they say."

"Right," The man tucked his blade away, pointing at the leader. "You better what yourself of Mr. Carlisle'll come for you in the night."

"Then tell him to get stuffed with you Green." The boy spit and the group around him did the same. "Mr. Bates is under our protection."

"As you wish." Green mocked a deep bow and then sulked off into an alley, vanishing from view.

John turned to the leader, frowning. "That was dangerous."

"No more than Green getting all handsy on you." The boy dropped the bat. "He's got this place wired for Carlisle."

"Does he now?" John brushed at his jacket. "What for?"

"Gets what he wants from the poor." Someone else said, "Kids and teens to carry his drugs and then the desperate kids to sell them."

"Do any of you?" All the heads shook, "Good. And if I hear that any of you decided to get that idea in their heads I'll knock them together. Is that understood?"

"Yes Boss!" They all shouted and John waved them back toward the lot.

As he looked back he thought he saw the woman on the far corner stare at him but he blinked and she was gone.

She haunted his thoughts all that evening and even wandered at the edges of his dreams until John woke himself up three times thinking he was about to approach a blonde woman on the street and have her turn to be her. But each time the person was the man, Green, waving a knife in his face. On the fourth round John forwent sleep and forced himself to the kitchen.

His fingers brushed the same place on the counter where she left the card. The card he kept in his wallet but not had smashed and flattened to the point her writing was no more than indentations in the thicker paper. The edges crimped and one ear folded over but it stayed close to his heart… the last vestige of proof she existed at all.

The office was still empty and quiet when John pushed in that morning. He flicked on lights and managed all three coffee machines in the break room before taking to his own office. Even Gwen's desk was empty he was there so early but John did not mind. Silence soothed him as he tried to forget the dreams of almost reaching her just to have it vanish like smoke.

Shaking himself, John set to writing a few notes and finishing a report or two when Gwen bustled into the room. She traded him a bottle of water and another coffee for his reports before speaking. "Someone's here for you."

"Who?"

"Woman in need of a preliminary consultation." Gwen shrugged, leaving the office as John prepared another page on a notepad.

"How can I help-" The words died in his throat as Anna, looking smaller than he remembered her in the shadow of the large, frosted glass door.

"Hello John. Long time no see."