Finally, more "Strength and A Thousand Faces"!! (Thalia gets pelted with rotten vegetables for her slow updates,
and can't escape because she can't run yet).

Sorry for the infrequent and slow updates, people, I know, I suck...I've just had too much to do, and moreover, I
find Lita hard to write about...(looks up meekly) forgiveness, please?

For those who reviewed, big thanks to all of you. I REALLY appreciate it!

As always disclaimers apply.

Oh, and the mention of the 9/11 casualty is fictional, of course. This should be obvious, but I'm saying this to make
sure that y'all know. I just wanted to incorporate the situation of Lita's 'rents perishing in a plane-related accident.

Onwards...

* * *

Lita, as soon as she had shut her door behind her, made a beeline to her beaten but comfy blue couch. She had
picked it up, used, and in dire need of new upholstery, a few years back. And instead of getting it professionally
reupholstered with plush or leather or silk, Mina had come up with an idea that would be much more suitable and
homey-seeming in her little haven. The girls had all agreed enthusiastically, and had donated Lita all of their worn,
old blue jeans, overalls, denim shorts, jackets, etc. And together, they had reupholstered the sofa themselves, and
now, it was covered in patches of blue denim of various shades and and shapes, worn soft but durable, and the
strange couch fit very well with the rest of her house. Plopping down on the couch, she kicked off her shoes and
picked up a laptop that was sitting on her coffee table. Opening it up, she started to type.

~ ~ ~

'Patterns..patterns...patterns...' Recognizing patterns was one of Nicholas Steller's hobbies, and something that he,
as a mathematician and astronomer, was extremely good at. Elegant, long fingers slowly flipped through a stack of
reports and his face turned thoughtful as he scanned them for vital information...patterns...

All of the sudden, his fingers paused in their descent across a printed page. 'William Rhodes...Warner Milton...Wayne
Richardson...Wyatt Forrest...Winston Tate...Jonathan Wyndham...Bryan Westingarde...Conrad Wharton...Emmanuel
Webb...Jeremy Wasserman...' All of Wilson Wiley's numerous aliases included a W as an initial. 'Well, that narrows it
down a bit more. Good. Let's see if there's any more patterns...'

By 2:00 AM, Nicholas Steller was smiling triumphantly. He had, through an enormous, formidable amount of analytical
deduction, narrowed when and where Wiseman would next strike to one upcoming seminar, with a calculated rate of
accuracy of 95%. He glanced at his watch. Hmm, it would probably be too late to call Lita, unfortunately. Even the
his fellow agents, none of them were ever up at such an hour unless strictly necessary. And to call someone at this
hour would only have negative reactions. Zack would have simply hung up on him, James would have launched into
an irate diatribe, and Kevin would have listened to whatever he had to say, but give him dirty looks all week. Lita...
he wondered if she would still be up. 'Probably not.' he thought. And he had no intention of losing the green-eyed
beauty's good graces so soon in their acquaintance. Shrugging to himself, he went to his computer, intending to
type an email to her about his findings instead.

However, as soon as Nick opened up his email account, he was surprised to find a new email for him, sent a scant
five minutes ago, from "Lita Woods" (woodnymph@lune.com). A dark brown eyebrow arched upward over a sapphire
eye as he opened up the email.

"Good evening Nick! It's late, so I doubt you're still up. Anyway, I have been doing some investigating on our case,
and I think that his next strike will be at the 'Outer Space: Possible Homes for the Future?' seminar held at Cornell
University from the 9th through the 12th of February, and he will be the speaker under the name of Gordon Wilkins.
Do you agree, or do you have a different idea? Well, you're probably not going to get this email til tomorrow, but I
just wanted to send it to you anyway (I'm the only one I know who's ever up at this hour voluntarily, the others
would be making vampire jokes had they not known that garlic is one of my favorite seasonings...ha!). Oh, and I had
a lovely time tonight with you. I guess I'll see you tomorrow or something. ~Sincerely yours, Lita"

Nick's hands shifted from the computer keyboard to the phone, and quickly, he dialed her number.

~ ~ ~

Lita was sitting in her living room on the comfy blue couch, sipping a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and
chocolate shavings when, surprise, surprise, the phone rang. 'Who in the world besides me is up at this hour?' She
wondered as she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Lita, this is Nick. Is it too late to call? I just got your e-mail." His voice was as smooth and warm as the cocoa
in her cup, sweetly caressing her ear.

"Oh! Hi, Nick! It's quite all right, I just don't generally expect anyone else to be up at this hour. What are you up to?
Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

"Well, as I said, I got your email, and I just wanted to let you know that I had come to the same conclusion as you
about where Wiseman is going to strike next. Actually," Nick chuckled, "I was just going to send YOU an email about
it, when I got your email. I thought you would likely be in bed at this hour."

Lita laughed softly, a resonant, rich but soft and mellow sound that reminded Nick of the small wooden xylophones
that they'd played in elementary school music classes. "Funny how that worked out, eh?"

"Yeah, very funny. So, now that we're fairly sure where to be, we should go about getting plane tickets." Nick said
casually. Silence. "Lita? Are you there?"

"No, let's not get plane tickets." Lita said flatly. Nick frowned.

"Why ever not?"

"I just...I avoid plane travel in general. I can take the occasional helicopter, but planes...no." Lita's voice had faded
from vibrant to toneless in seconds.

"Is there something the matter with planes, Lita?" Nick's voice was concerned, not condescending. Lita took a deep
breath, before continuing.

"My grandfather was in the air force for the World War II. He got bombed out of the air by the Axis. My mother grew
up never knowing her father. My parents...they were taking a pleasure trip to New York last autumn...they....they
were in the World Trade Center when...when...." Lita turned her face sharply away from the telephone receiver so
that Nick wouldn't hear the incriminating choking noise she made as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Ever so
slowly, she whispered, "It was their 30th anniversary..."

Nick was quiet for a few long moments, before he said softly. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Lita. The sky must lose
its beauty for you, then."

Lita gave a rather pathetic chuckle, "Yeah, well, my family doesn't seem to have a great deal of luck when it comes
to planes. So, please, let's not talk about plane tickets right now."

Nick assented, "I'll get train tickets, then. We'll work it out."

Lita smiled a bit to herself. "Thanks, Nick. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Have a good night."

"You too, Lita. Good night." He answered. She bid him farewell, and hung up. Nick glanced at the clock. It was now
nearing three o'clock in the morning. Satisfied with the day's work, Nick wrapped everything up, and headed to bed.
The last image he had before falling asleep was a pair of deep emerald eyes, fringed with feathery copper eyelashes.
'Sweet dreams, my fair wood nymph.' He chuckled a bit at his own sentimentality as sleep claimed him.

* * *

Okay, that's done with! What do you think? Review, please!!

More coming...soon, hopefully. Yeah. *Thalia grins inanely*

Follow the arrow~_^
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