I should be grading. I really, REALLY should. Grades are due tomorrow, I have 20 essays left to read (groan!), and it's getting late in my area of the world (yep, I teach. English, at that...hence the absolute, almost OCD-like NEED to make sure I have proper grammar/spelling in this story). Instead, I'm editing/pounding out this latest chapter. My boss will not thank me for this tomorrow; nor will I after spending a late night reading junior-high level written essays...oh, and doing the math that is needed to compute the grades for my darling punks. Have I talked anyone out of being a teacher? No? I hope not...it rocks...best job ever. At least, I keep telling myself that...(is it June yet??)

Allyson sifted through the mail at her mailbox. Bills, junk, a letter from Hugh's lawyer. She stifled a groan, and ripped it open as she climbed the stairs. Sure enough…it was another plea for contact. Over her dead body. Well, that had almost been arranged, but she wasn't about to let him have another chance.

Opening the door to her apartment, she took comfort in the solid, large size of Clyde, who had been waiting at the entrance. She smiled, and squatted down to receive his welcome – a rather sloppy doggie kiss.

"You're a good mate, buddy," she whispered. "Thanks for being here and guarding this place." She had purposefully had Clyde trained; he appeared to have more love than smarts in his brain, but he really one incredibly smart guard dog. Although she wasn't afraid anymore, one could not be too careful, and having Clyde around always gave her a feeling of safety. Plus, his heart really was bigger than his brain, so although he was able to protect her, he was just a big comfort as well.

"Run?" she asked and then laughed out loud at his wriggling response and yelp. He thundered to the door, pulled the leash off the hook, and sat down expectantly. His tail wagged furiously as he waited, and his look to her spoke volumes… "Are you ready YET? Don't tease…"

"Five minutes," she promised and then laughed again. As if he can tell time…

As she ran, the medallion worked its way out of her shirt and began to swing in time with her steps.

The box was nondescript. Just her name and address, no return posted. Brown paper packaging, tape.

She carried it inside and opened the wrapping. A white box, inside was a letter:

"Allyson,

St. Nicholas is the patron saint of thieves. Since I'm not a thief, I don't need it. But, when I saw it the other day, I thought of you…and that discussion about Retrieval Specialist versus thief.

I'm not giving it to you to make you think of me. Or, to make you remember me. I meant what I said when I asked you to forget me. But, you are stronger than you think. This horrific time has touched your life, left scars on your body. DO NOT let them be left on your soul. If this necklace gives you any comfort, then let it.

Live your life. Dream your dreams; they're beautiful and amazing because they come from you. Because you're beautiful and amazing.

I won't forget you."

No name, not that she needed one.

She held the small medallion in her hand and closed her eyes. She had acted as though that kiss she gave him was one of gratitude, but it was so much more than that. She had felt it to her toes, and when she closed her eyes at night, she swore she could hear his voice telling her not to be afraid; that she was safe.

"Allyson, what's that?" Hugh's voice interrupted her reverie.

"Oh, nothing," she hedged, smiling at him and leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Really, what is it?" He reached for it, but she turned quickly, dodging the outreached hand.

She quickly stuffed Eliot's note in her back pocket. "Just a necklace," she answered. "Nothing special." Lying through her teeth was easier than she thought.

"Did you just get it?" Hugh continued, never one to let something go.

"Yeah, it just came in the mail. Let me put this away, and then we can go to dinner." She turned to smile at him, and caught a look she had never seen before. It unsettled her; she had never seen that kind of anger in him. He quickly veiled it, but she was a bit skeptical.

"Can I see it? Where'd it come from?" He stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

She held the box out to him. "It's nothing, really. Just a necklace that was my mother's."

"I thought you already inherited all her jewelry," he commented as he opened the box. "It's not very pretty, is it?"

"It's Saint Nicholas; it's not supposed to be pretty," she commented. Then, spinning the tale a bit more, and easily at that, she added, "My aunt had it in her jewelry box; she just found it and sent it to me."

"That was too easy," she thought to herself. "When did I become such a good liar?"

"But, your mom wasn't Catholic." Hugh frowned. "How come she had this?"

"I don't know." She stared him in the eyes. "You know what? I'm hungry. Let's go." She took the box back from him, pulled the necklace out and put it on.

"You're going to wear it?" he asked, incredulously.

"I miss her," was all she answered, although in her head she had changed the word to "him."