Author's note, this is the second to last chapter.

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Tim is watching the target from a distant rooftop. Specifically Tim is watching the Target through a high powered scope attached to an equally high powered rifle from a discreet distance. The wind is fierce at this height. If Alice was here, her long hair would be whipped every which way. Her lighter would never stay lit long enough to combust the cigarette she would inevitably want to smoke. If she was here.

On the ground Slade is negotiating with the target. This doesn't necessarily have to end in violence. Just in case though, Tim is hunkered down, eye to the scope.

The target is an alien. There are too many of those on Earth today. This particular alien had gotten upset when an American company began to market some of their technology. Very upset. The American company was wealthy, wealthy enough to earn Slade's time and attention.

Tim really didn't want it to go badly. From this vantage he could really only offer Slade limited support. Slade trusted him implicitly. It wasn't many people who were allowed watch Slade conducting negotiations from the business end of a rifle scope.

Of course it goes south. Relax, aim, squeeze. The rifle doesn't even kick; Apokolips technology. Cost more then this job would earn them. Worth every penny. Pop, Pop, Pop, three of the aliens are down, three remain. Slade has his sword drawn, Tim would love to just watch, but he has work to do. Drawing his jump cord, he flies across the rooftops in time to land next to Slade and parry a blow. The leader is still alive. They need the leader alive. Death could mean intergalactic conflict.

Tim likes this part best. He feels most alive, most like the boy he used to be. He wishes most that Alice was here during fights. To see him. To be proud of him. Some voice in the back of his head says that Alice was always proud of him, but she never got to see him like this. Fierce. Controlled. She only ever saw him in scraps and tussles. Not at his peak.

The injuries he sustains are minimal. They heal quickly; he doesn't even pay them heed.

When the alien's bodyguards are gone, he is more open to negotiations. Slade handles it from here. Slade takes care of all the customer relations; that's not Tim's job.

Later they return to a rented house in the suburbs. It's an old house, large, one of several properties Tim maintains in this city. Tim manages their property. That's his job.

He likes being a home owner. Fifty weeks out of the year, he's not even here. But when he is, he takes great joy in mowing the lawn. He likes tinkering with the water pressure valve to the shower or ordering tiles for the bathroom he'll seldom ever see. Every kitchen in every property he owns is arranged roughly the same for convenience, with the same high end Teflon pans he prefers, the same kitchen gadgets in the same drawers, the same spices stocked. If you count the apartments and condos he may have over thirty total. Some of them he hasn't seen since he signed the deal and ordered the drapes.

Perk of the job, more money then you reasonably could spend in a life time. It's convenient too. He hates hotels.

The house has all the amenities of home, and to a degree, all the properties he maintains are interchangeably home to him. To them. He usually travels with Slade, more or less.

Despite his attempts to add a 'homey' quality, every house he owns remains aseptic. Still better then a hotel. Alice would hate it; she never minded the squat houses or dingy apartments they rented, as long as they had character. The less claim she had to her dwelling, the more freedom she felt to abandon it. She didn't need to find a home, she was always home.

In the kitchen laid out exactly like it should, Tim prepares their meal. Stir fry with tofu and vegetables. Slade will disapprove, but he'll also get over it. If he wanted something else, he could damn well make his own meal.

Tim knew well enough to know that there was something seriously dysfunctional about his social habits, or lack there of. Slade was the only human he had regular contact with any more. Sure his fists made regular contact with others, but that didn't really count.

After dinner he has time to pursue his own hobbies. He cleans his gun, refills the ammo pouch on his armor for next time. Examines the armor from the days fight to make sure it did not suffer any damage, reads the news online, does some background work for potential future assignments.

On the lowers corner of his netbook, a pop up alerts him to activity on one of his custom RSS feed programs. Visa card ending in 5567 was used in the amount of 45.88 at the Dickey Bub in Stanley, ND. Alice's debit card. He shouldn't follow her like this. Firstly, he knows she would hate his surveillance, secondly, he hates seeing proof that she has changed. The Alice he loved would never have had a debit card. He has this perfect image of how she was, in St. Louis, where he loved her most. The idea that she might not be that wild eyed girl anymore was saddening. Many times he has resisted the urge to see her; he doesn't want to know the girl who paid for 45.88 worth of goods and services at a store named Dickey Bub in rural North Dakota.

The next day he flies to California by himself. The job was simple; it only required one of them.

He stayed two nights in his condo overlooking downtown Los Angelos. After the assignment was dead, he flew to meet Slade in Budapest. He did not own property around Budapest, Slade had obtained very luxurious hotel dwellings for them. It wasn't the same. Budapest was an espionage gig. He doesn't like these cloak and dagger maneuvers as much. He feels guilty for it, but the simple assassinations are always his favorite job. Slade smiles at him as he explains Tim's role. A bicycle taxi would be needed. It was almost enough to make Tim smile back.

The emotion he feels when he realizes Budapest is going to actually be a challenge is almost relief. There was a crew of meta humans. In his old days he would have classified them as villains, although it's entirely possibly they classify themselves as heroes. Or maybe they don't use those signifiers anymore; he's out of touch with the community. He should have brought the Apokolitian rifle. For a few minutes there existed a very real possibility that this crew could defeat him and Slade. Maybe even kill them, these 'heroes' today are not as particular as Tim thinks they ought to be. To face uncertain odds, was invigorating.

Tim and Slade win, of course, they always win, but someday Tim knows they won't. And it only takes once. That's the part he likes best, the uncertainty. He knows he's going to live forever, unless of course he dies violently first.

When they leave Budapest they don't have any particular work lined up. They go to New York. His favorite home, the one he sees most often is in New York.

From his bed he reads the news online. The daily flow of politics, economics and violence are trailing across his screen when he sees a pop up on the RSS reader; 145.09 at a veterinary hospital. In his head he can picture her quite clearly. Somehow he knows it's a cat, a stray rescue. He wonders what she named it, or if she named it at all.

The next day he buys a ticket to Minot, North Dakota, the only town near her with a big enough airport.