Heather unlocked her bike from the post in front of the sheriff's office. Major Beck smiled as she began to sweet-talk 'Ruby'. It was, he thought charitably, an unattractive piece of machinery, but it worked. More than worked: in typical Heather fashion, she'd fiddled with it, even adding a small generator on the rear tire. She'd said it was originally intended to power a light bar on the bike, but she'd modified it to recharge batteries.

"Aww, Ruby, you were fine this morning."

"Trouble?"

"The tire's flat – I'm pretty sure the rubber has worn out. I do have another one at the house, though."

She began to rummage through her purse for her flashlight. Beck shifted, uneasy at the prospect of Heather walking home alone in the dark. He'd never been crazy about her biking home alone in the dark, but at least on the bike she had speed in her favor. He took out his flashlight and moved to walk with her. She turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He knew her real query, but purposely misread it.

"What? It's brighter than yours."

She rolled her eyes.

"So let's trade."

He suppressed a grin. She did have an independent streak.

"I need it tonight too. Tactical reasons."

"So you're going to follow your flashlight to my house and then all the way to base camp just so I can have an extra 4 feet of visibility on my way home?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it does sounds a little ridiculous. But," he said, rising to her challenge with a serious tone and mischievous face, "you also need to consider that mine is made of steel and yours is small and plastic. If you happen to come across an attacker, mine is a better club."

"Is that one of the aforemention 'tactical reasons'? You intend to club someone over the head tonight?"

"Well, Lieutenant Johnson does have a tendency to mouth off. I like to keep it handy."

"It's really no big deal."

"So I might as well come along."

Heather saw his expression and recognized that there was no winning this one. Men! She thought ruefully.

"Tell me, were you always this… chivalrous… or is this beaten into you in army training?"

"Well, they did hit us over the head with the 'an officer and a gentleman' line. Though I'm sure my mother would like to take some credit for it." He grinned in the dark, sensing surrender. She sighed.

"All right, you can take me home. On one condition."

"What would that be?"

"Stop grinning like that."

"Like what?"

He put on his best innocent look. Heather responded with her best teacher voice.

"Don't play innocent with me. It won't work."

"Awww."

"So do we have a deal?"

"I suppose. You are no fun."

"Right up here." She said, pointing. As they reached the gate, Beck opened it with exaggerated flourish. Heather gave an exasperated sigh as he walked her to the front door. She was an adult, for pity's sake. He smiled. He wouldn't usually do this, but it was fun to play this 'gentleman' bit out to tease Heather. Which, he admitted, wasn't very gentlemanly of him.

"No grinning!"

"That was a smile, not a grin." His smile broadened into a grin. "This is a grin."

"Will you stop that? Geez."

She opened her door, doing her best to ignore him. That was when he flung her to the side and barged into her doorway.

What the hell? Then she heard sounds of a struggle inside. She grabbed her father's old wrench from the umbrella stand and hefted it, stepping inside cautiously. She found one body on the floor already and saw Edward struggling with a second man; Edward was pinned to the floor, holding a knife away from his throat. She stepped over the first man and swung the wrench as hard as she could.

Edward heard Heather come into the house. Run, Heather, run! But instead she came into his view and swung a large wrench. Next thing he knew, his opponent was off him and he tasted blood. He spat, trying to get rid of the salty taste. He sat up and looked at the second man, who'd jumped him from behind. A piece of paper had fallen out of his pocket; it had an amount of money on it, and this address. Hijo de Puta. Why are they – his question was interrupted by a loud thud as Heather dropped the wrench to the floor. She looked ill, staring at her hands, which were flecked with blood. She swayed, and he scrambled to catch her as she passed out.

He carried her unconscious form into the living room, propping her up on the couch. He should clean her up a bit before she woke up, otherwise she might pass out again. For that matter, he should clean himself up too; he'd been closer to the impact and he was sure he looked gruesome.

Heather woke to the feel of a warm, damp cloth on her hands. She opened her eyes to find Major Beck sitting next to her, wiping her hands with a washcloth. She couldn't figure out why at first.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a bounty on your head?" He was upset.

Oh. Right. She sat up.

"I didn't think they would still be after me, since you pulled out of New Bern."

"They?"

"Constantino. He did that because I was helping you fight him. But, like I said, since you pulled out of New Bern, I figured he'd dropped it."

"You should know better. This is Constantino we're talking about."

"But - "

"Heather, they were going to kill you! Por qué diablos –" he lapsed into Spanish, but caught himself. "- why the hell didn't you tell me!"

She blinked, taken aback. He'd never actually yelled at her before – and she'd never, ever heard him curse. In Spanish, no less. He was really upset with her. She looked at him, not really sure what to say.

Edward saw her blink in surprise. Good. Maybe he'd gotten through to her about how serious this was. She was smart but she had a tendency to not think of herself, even when it was important. He sighed in exasperation as he brought the washcloth to her face.

"Hold still."

She watched him as he cleaned her face like he would a child's. She saw the worry in his eyes, only half-sensing the gentle strokes of the washcloth. Her mind was reeling, trying to make sense of events.

Constantino had put a bounty on her head. And Edward had saved her life.

Looking back, Heather didn't know what possessed her to do what she did next. Perhaps it was the concern in his eyes. Maybe it was the proximity of his face. Or she could just have been dazed and lightheaded from the shock of it all.

Whatever the reason, she kissed him. He froze in place, hand in midair. She pulled back, looking away.

"I'm sorry – I shouldn't have – I –"

He stared at her in shock, watching her cheeks turn red as she stared out the window, hiding behind a veil of hair. She was embarrassed, but he didn't know why. It hadn't been inappropriate - he wasn't offended, just surprised.

"Heather."

When she didn't respond, he reached over and gently turned her face back to him, lifting her chin so he could look her in the eyes.

"Heather," He said, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "It's okay."

That was when the floorboards by the door creaked. Edward drew his gun and motioned for her to hide.

"Heather! You ok?"

It was Bill's voice. Edward lowered his gun slightly, but kept it at the ready.

"She's fine."

"Major? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. We're okay." He rounded the corner to find Bill and Jimmy. All holstered their guns once they confirmed the identity of the others. Bill and Jimmy stepped around the bodies, trying to avoid tracking the mess into the living room. Jimmy looked faintly ill at the sight of gray matter on the floor.

"What happened?" Bill asked. "Mrs. Grant called us, told us something looked wrong." He surveyed the scene. "Looks like she was right."

Beck simply handed him the paper he'd found with the bounty amount and her address on it.

"Damn."

"It's a good thing you were here to take care of these guys."

"I almost didn't. Heather got the second one." Heather shuddered in memory. She still couldn't believe that she'd done something like that. Jimmy apparently shared her disbelief, though Bill seemed impressed.

"Sir?" Another voice came from the doorway.

"Hello, lieutenant. You got here quick."

"Heard the report on the police radio."

Shortly thereafter, Heather's house was very busy with soldiers processing the scene. She stayed on the couch, just staring at it all. Staring at Beck. The man she'd just kissed.

One of the soldiers noticed the direction of her disbelieving gaze and his face showed sympathy. He could hardly blame her for staring at a friend she'd just seen transform into a killer.

"Never seen him like that before, huh?"

"Uh-uh."

The soldier didn't seem to notice that they'd had two entirely different conversations.

Beck looked at his watch. It had been late when they'd left the office; now it was really late. He looked over on the couch. Heather was asleep. Poor thing. She'd had a rough night. He went over to her and gently shook her shoulder.

"Heather. Heather, wake up."

"Mmmm?"

"Heather, if you'll get your things I can take you to base camp. It's safe there."

"Base camp?" she asked sleepily.

"Yeah. I'll even put you in the VIP tent."

"All right…"

Beck was answering a question from a lieutenant Greeves when he heard Heather scream. He raced to the sound, finding Heather in the bathroom frozen in place. He took her in his arms and spun her as he hustled her away from the perceived threat, nearly tripping over her dropped duffel bag as his men pulled their weapons. When there was no more noise, he looked over his shoulder and found what must be Heather's beloved Tom Cat, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, under the sink. His friendliness had undoubtedly gotten him killed.

"Dios, Heather. I'm so sorry." Her only response was a moaning sob, muffled slightly by his body armor. His kept her in his arms as he guided her back into the living room to keep her from seeing the broken body again. He gestured at one of his men to take care of the cat, and Capt. Dunne to finish packing the overnight bag. Capt. Dunne was efficient, and Beck steered Heather out the door before anything else could happen.

As they pulled into base camp, Beck woke Heather. She'd quickly cried herself to exhaustion on the ride over, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"C'mon, we're here."

"Mmm? OK."

He helped her out of the vehicle and steered her towards the right tent. She was practically still asleep, feet moving automatically beneath her.

"Cot's over – nevermind. You found it."

Collapsed on it, more like. He went to retrieve her bag. When he returned, she was already out. She hadn't even taken off her shoes. Well, he could at least do that much. After placing her sneakers under the cot, he pulled the sheet over her shoulders. He found himself watching her sleep. She looked so exhausted. And beautiful, despite the pain. He reached out, fingers brushing her cheek. He surprised himself with a yawn. He'd best get to bed too; it was 2330.