Another two days passed, with reports written and case files closed. Crime was on the low side, mainly due to the sudden change in weather. Many had been surprised, despite weather forecasts and thunderstorm warnings. Heavy rain soaked the city, had people flee into their homes or stay at work longer than they normally did. No sane criminal was out and about. B&Es didn't happen, no attacks or murders were called in, and the only traffic problems were with people trying to drive in these conditions anyway.

Lizzie Needham had taken those two days to get everything wrapped up and ready for the prosecution, then had added a few more hours to wrap up other cases and send files on their way.

Her desk and email folder had never looked this clean.

Empty.

Like the desk opposite her own.

Dylan hadn't shown up around the precinct even for a quick hello.

She missed him.

Jasmin had given her a day off, actually kicking her into taking that time and maybe do something else than work.

So she did.

With just a little fuss and complaining.

She went to see her consultant/partner at his town house, battling the freezing cold and still constant drizzle. At least it wasn't coming down in sheets anymore.

Lizzie had been to the old, red brickstone building a few times before, always amazed how cozy and warm it was, how homely. The high ceilings, the predominant old style interior with the faded, used look to the door frames, doors and floor, it all helped to make her feel like she had always been part of their lives. The kitchen and living room had just enough of both men to show their lives. Hundreds of books and academic knick-knacks mixed with sports memorabilia, trophies and assorted souvenirs. There were modern furniture pieces as well as what looked like antiques from all over the world.

Dylan welcomed her inside, offered her coffee, and Lizzie gratefully took it. She settled down on the well-worn, old leather couch, enjoying the very feeling of this old house. Her eyes roamed over the stylish decorations, none implemented by a professional decorator. This was all them. This was life, not a magazine photo or to impress visitors.

"Where's Andy?" she asked as she sipped at the black liquid.

"The gym." He gave her a quirky little smile. "He claims he needed to work off some of the sitting he has been doing recently."

She nodded and ate two cookie that had come with the coffee. Really, really good cookies that Dylan claimed Andy had made. She would have to compliment him on his baking skills.

Lizzie let her eyes travel around the room, then met Dylan's mildly curious expression. She held the dark eyes.

"You were more than just a case agent."

Dylan didn't look surprised at all at her abrupt statement.

"Which you already knew."

"Yes, you told me you were paramilitary." She tilted her head a little. "Undercover work, behind the lines, leading covert operations, hush-hush. But there's more. You and Rucco connected in a way, you saw something in him, and he saw something in you, and it wasn't just a shared background because of the CIA or the military."

Dylan met her eyes without hesitation, but he looked a little more wary. Where there was always a predominant twinkle of amusement, there was now… nothing. No tension, no tell-tale narrowing of the eyes. Just this neutral look, the blank slate.

She had seen it on occasion, the human replaced by something else, something careful, something apprehensive, and weirdly calculating. This other side came out in sudden bursts when the sophisticated Professor Dylan Reinhart became what he had been before: the operative. And… more.

It weren't the mysterious texts he sometimes got from the guy in the shadows, who worked miracles when it came to information retrieval. She tried to live with it, found it frustratingly hard most of the time, and it went against every cop instinct she had, but she powered through. With the occasional argument on the side.

They closed cases.

They got their perps.

All that aside, Lizzie had started to suspect there was something more to him, something the CIA hadn't trained him to be but something he had been before that. Something people among the police force whispered about and speculated on when it came to the specialized units among any kind of enforcement agency or the military.

For the past two days, writing her report, listening to the confession of Neill Rucco, and running Dylan's words to him through her head again and again, she had come to a conclusion.

A chilling revelation that would explain so much.

"You are… one of the supernaturally skilled?"

Dylan's fingers played with the glasses in his hands, a contemplative expression on his otherwise too neutral features.

"Not supernatural, no. The definition of supernatural is relating to an order of existence beyond the visible, observable universe. The supernatural is departing from what is usual or normal, especially so as to appear to transcend the laws of nature. Ghosts, angels, devils, demons…" His half-smile didn't reflect any humor. "I have neither wings nor horns. I'm also very much corporeal, don't turn into a lupine creature at full moon, or drink anyone's blood."

Lizzie felt something neatly slide into place at the words, the puzzle that was her partner gaining a few new pieces she could put together. As much as the professor struck her as a Q-like character, more of an analyst than a case agent, she had seen him in action too many times to ignore the skilled marksman, someone experienced at close combat. The detective had never investigated too deeply into what exactly Agent Reinhart had been, what he had done, but she knew he wasn't a light-weight.

Quite the opposite.

She had called him a tough guy once, throughout their early partnership, and she had only half-joked. By now she had learned more.

"You're a… preternatural."

He inclined his head. "Exceeding what is natural or regular."

Holy shit! shot through her head, followed by more colorful expletives, none leaving her lips.

Lizzie leaned back, expelling a breath. "Whoa," she finally managed.

Dylan shrugged, looking almost a little uncomfortable at having garnered this kind of attention. She didn't fall for it anymore.

"Multi-aspect?"

"You could say that."

"Beautiful mind meets James Bond?"

He chuckled. "I'm hardly Double-Oh movie material."

She snorted, eyes narrowing. If she was right, Dylan Reinhart could easily match the fictitious character. He just liked to hide.

At least he didn't lie to her. Well, he had never truly lied with words, simply not told her stuff or not really answered her questions. It had been maddening, still was, especially since she still didn't know who the mysterious contact was who always dug up the information Dylan used. A part of her wanted to know. Another part shied away from that knowledge.

"If you prefer to call me an Off or Aberrant, be my guest. Officially I'm a preternatural, though 'cursed' has a nice ring to it."

"I'd prefer calling you Dylan," the detective told him with a smile.

It was mirrored and his shoulders relaxed a little.

Preternaturals, as the name suggested, were a little more than human. 'Suspended between the mundane and the miraculous', as it was usually called. They had enhanced aspects that set them apart from the regular Joe. Like their senses, tactility or agility, or their minds. In some, those enhanced senses or abilities blended together. Their abilities were presumed to have a scientific explanation that just hadn't been discovered yet.

She remembered her academy instructors, those who were also scanning possible candidates for different career opportunities, other than the police force. Many preters were drawn into law enforcement and military services. She knew from her academy days that multi-aspect preters normally ended up as special forces.

She knew of two Academy class mates who hadn't finished the first year with the rest of them. Back then she hadn't given it much thought. Later she had heard rumors about them ending up in a different agency.

Lizzie studied her partner. It fit. By god, it fit! She knew he was much more than he let on, but he had yet to display any kind of supernatural abilities. Dylan met her thoughtful expression with a widening smile that bordered to an annoying smirk.

"You are trying to guess," he told her, sounding both amused and a little bit patronizing.

"Which is only natural, seeing what you told me."

"So guess."

It was an invitation as good as any.

She leaned back, taking in the other, her mind flashing through their cases, their time outside a case, seeing him at his work, at her work, with Andy, or just interacting with people.

"Since your phonographic memory doesn't count…," she raised an eyebrow and Dylan nodded, "I'd say at least eye-sight and hearing."

"Why?" he wanted to know, openly curious. It was a prompt from the professor to a student to explain their theory.

"Enhanced sight and hearing are the most common preternatural senses out there. Perfect for military operations and law enforcement."

"So they say."

Lizzie smiled. "Yes, so they say."

"And I would have to agree. So, yes, sight and hearing, as is common."

She frowned a little at the way he said it, how he said, his almost careful wording. "But like in so many things, you're not common," the detective concluded. "You already more or less told me that you not only have the brawn but also the brains. Lots of that."

Dylan chuckled. "The concept of a preternatural refers to a physical ability that exceeds the bounds of what is scientifically proven to be possible. There is never anything common in that definition, no matter the abilities."

"You're particularly you today," she commented.

"I aim to be myself every day."

She gestured at him. "Like that. Snarky know-it-all, using big words, lecturing."

Dylan leaned back in his chair, expression expectant. His boldly striped tie was immaculate as ever, his white shirt with the thin, silver lines both a little bit at odds and still fitting with his powder-blue, checkered vest. The dark green suit was just the tweed wrapping of it all.

Still, he made it work.

Classy. Sophisticated.

Lizzie had never met anyone whose fashion sense was as wild as it was fitting the personality. He wore the suits like an armor and she had rarely seen him without at least the vest on. The ensembles weren't cheap, had top shelf names, but they were… loudly different from what she considered acceptable street wear.

"So, not the common version," she went on. "More than two supernatural senses?"

He shrugged, lips twisting briefly in a half-smirk. "Not supernatural."

Lizzie waved it off. "Preternatural. Three? Four?"

He didn't give her a positive or negative reaction.

"Five?"

That got her a wordless 'got it' gesture.

Five.

She started to feel a little light-headed. Lizzie barely dared to ask the next question. "With the addition of an enhanced physical endurance?"

Another shrug.

The detective was silent for a long time, studying her friend and partner, trying to associate the image of the man with the knowledge she had gained throughout the last hour. It clashed. Like his clothes. And it worked in harmony. Almost like his clothes.

What had Andy once said? No one was like Dylan.

So true.

"Should I call you Superman?" she teased.

"Hardly. I'm not invulnerable. I also can't fly."

She chuckled. "If anyone could, it would be you."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, misplaced as it is. Would that make you Lois Lane?"

She groaned. "I'm not a reporter for starters."

His smirk had her grimace in return.

"How can you just switch it all off?" Lizzie got back to her line of questions, so many still piling up inside her head.

Dylan raised a shoulder. "I left the CIA."

"And you what? Shut it all down?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"I don't need to be… my old self anymore. It's,,, an aspect of me, an ability, that I trained and can use or decide not to. I decide not to."

She expelled a breath. "So you left your old life, started anew, and…" She snapped her fingers. "Voila?"

"Well, not as easily as that, but the switch analogy is fitting. It's just more like a dial, I can set it to zero. I've done it all my life."

"Because you don't need it."

"Exactly."

"Except your brain. You can't shut that off."

He looked like a proud teacher who had finally taught a dense student a new trick. Sometimes she wanted to smack him over the head for it.

So his mind was the other half of his preternatural side, the half that was always on, that immersed itself into a case and went into hyperdrive from one second to the next. It consumed him, he would obsess over it, and there was no off-switch.

"Must be hard," she murmured.

"It can be."

Those three words said a lot.

"And you left all of that, your career, your calling, because you met Andy."

He nodded. "Yes."

"The CIA just gave you a handshake, a medal and let you?"

Dylan chuckled. "In a way, though there was no medal. I get a nice little paycheck every month. Early retirement. And I never liked authority. I think they were more than happy to get rid of me."

The way he said it, the way his expression shuttered a little, Lizzie knew she wouldn't get anything about the true circumstances and possible deal out of him. Dylan still had some of his old contacts, if not all, and he had used them for their cases.

"Still you got back into the game. With me. You love working cases. You love the challenge."

"That I do. It is… kind of irresistible."

"It's your nature."

He smiled. "Andy said something like that not too long ago. I told him I do need to do this kind of work. My nature. My calling, my father once said. It's hard to go against nature."

Yes, she knew. And she recalled all those little bursts of excitement, the driven way he worked sometimes, how absorbed he became, how involved.

tbc,,,