So I lied last chapter. I told you all I was off to save the poor characters in the book I'm reading, but I didn't. I literally sat here and wrote this chapter (I'm writing this not four hours after posting the previous chapter, though I won't be posting this for at least another ten hours. After I sleep). It happened so effortlessly. I wish every chapter came as easily.

Chapter 37

Cal's POV

I was on reception duty from 2am til 7am. It was probably the most boring job in the entire company. Nothing ever happened in the lobby during that time except the street runners that head out at about five and return anywhere from half an hour to an hour later. Mostly, I use the time to catch up on my reading. I mean, it wasn't like I had to pay attention to any kind of security footage like the guys on monitors. I just had to be at the desk on the off chance that someone walked through the door. Or wanted to walk through the door, as it were. I'd need to use my fob to let anyone in, since it was after hours. Not that RCM Security – I still hate that name – technically had an afterhours period. Since we were operational twenty four hours a day, but hey, it was my job for the night and that's what I had to do.

I was catching up on the adventures of Clint Barton and Kate Bishop – Hawkeye and Hawkeye – when men started trickling through the stairwell door and out onto the street. The usual suspects were all there. Jameson, Nexo, Ghost, Starzy. Along with some not so usual suspects who apparently needed to change up their routine a little. And then, just at the tail end of the twenty minute gap in which everyone who was leaving the building to run for the sake of running would leave, Stephanie Plum stepped out of the elevator dressed in running shorts and a sports bra with an iPod strapped to her upper arm and crossed to the desk.

"I'm going out," she informed me, adjusting the iPod holder. She looked tired. Like she hadn't slept at all the night before. It was not the kind of look I was used to seeing on her face after spending a night on seven. Even back when Ranger was still alive, but was out of contact on a mission, she emerged from the apartment looking more well-rested than she did now. I started to wonder whether she was better off keeping her separate life now. There was no telling what kind of memories had assaulted her last night, especially when you consider that that apartment is where she did the majority of her grieving. "In case Tank comes looking for me," she added and took a single step away from the desk before turning back to me once more, tapping a small, discreet device clipped to the waistband of her shorts. "And don't worry, I have a panic button just in case."

"Where are you going?" I asked, bewildered. Surely she wasn't actually going out running. Her attire suggested it, but I just couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. This was the woman who would face the wrath of Tank before she would willing move at more than a walking pace.

"For a run," she said, slipping an ear bud into one ear and then the other as she approached the outer door. "I won't be long," she called over her shoulder as she fobbed it open and stepped out onto the street. To my disbelief, she proceeded to stand there and run through a few warm-up stretches before she jogged out of sight.

The moment she was gone, I placed a call up to control.

"Tankman control," the man on duty announced. "Tim speaking."

"Tim," I said, stalling for just a moment as I tried to figure out exactly what I was doing. "I need someone to do a quick coffee and donut run for me."

Tim chuckled. "You know the rules, sir," he said. "No refined sugars on the premises."

"It's not for me," I said. "It's for Stephanie Plum. She stayed on the seventh floor last night and didn't sleep well. I'm sure she could use a pick-me-up."

"You know what, sir," Tim said good naturedly. "I don't care what they others say. You're pretty smart. I'll have Jim duck over to Dunkin Donuts right now. What does the lady prefer?"

I decided to ignore his comment, knowing that he and his brother were as big a stirrer as Lester Santos. "She prefers the Tasty Pastry over on Hamilton," I informed him tersely. "Boston Crèmes and a long black. Make sure it's a large. I have a feeling she's gonna need it."

"Yessir," Tim agreed, and I had the odd feeling that he was mock saluting me down the phone line. I wouldn't put it past the joker.

Half an hour later, when a red faced, sweating Steph came puffing back into the lobby, several tendrils of hair plastered to her neck, there was a to-go cup of hot coffee and a white bakery bag waiting for her on the counter in front of me.

"How was your run?" I asked as she bent at the waist, treating me to a view of more cleavage than I was comfortable with.

She looked up at me without straightening. "I'll let you know when I can breathe again," she panted. "Why do I torture myself like this?"

"I was just about to ask the same question," I replied as she finally stood up straight so I could stop averting my eyes. "I did, however, take the liberty of ordering a coffee and donut delivery for you." I held out the items, holding her gaze for the longest moment as I tried to ascertain if she was alright with what I'd done. It had been a long time and things had always been a bit hit or miss when it came to us doing things without her consent.

Just as I was beginning to panic, thinking I'd gone and dug us back into a hole, and she was going to just turn around and walk away, she smiled and took the packets. "Thanks," she said with a small smile. "I appreciate it." We exchanged a few more pleasantries while she sipped the coffee and then she was off on her way back upstairs, to shower presumably.

Not long after, just as Hawkeye was sighing over his spilt coffee again, Tank appeared beside my desk. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a bottle green v-neck t-shirt. He didn't even have his arm strapped on yet. Clearly wasn't planning on working today, not that I could blame him. Ranger's daughter was due to arrive at Newark Airport at 9am and the whole core team had a weekend pass, barring any dire emergencies. Personally, I thought it was a great idea. The three of them had worked relentlessly for years. I couldn't remember the last time any of them had a break, certainly not in the last twelve months. They needed this time, and hopefully with Julie there, and Steph back in the fold, we could make some headway in the field of restoring some sort of normality. Although Tank did a fantastic job of managing the branch and, the company as a whole, he was never built to sit behind a desk all day, which is what he ended up doing most days.

"So she went for a run?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Half an hour."

"Anything else?"

"She looked tired before she headed out," I said, describing her appearance when she passed my desk the first time. "She obviously didn't sleep well."

"Can you blame her?" he asked. "Yesterday when Bobby, Lester and I arrived on seven for dinner, I don't think she'd even breached the bedroom yet. She's got to be reliving all sorts of pain being back in that apartment."

"We shouldn't try to hold her back when she leaves after this weekend." I suggested, putting into words the thoughts that had been running through my head for the last ten minutes. "Hopefully just by having this weekend, she'll be more inclined to spend time with us, but we can't try to force her to stay here."

Tank stared at me a moment, blinked slowly, then said the most frustrating thing I'd ever heard. "Tim's right. You're smart."

*o*

Hours later, I was awoken from my post-night shift nap by the sound of grown men shouting and groaning and shouting again. There was the sound of raucous laughter and cheering. It was not the usual silence of the residential floor I was used to. Even when a few guys gathered for a bit of a party, or celebration, there was little in the way of noise travelling through the space. Everyone was acutely aware of the fact that there could be up to fifteen men sleeping on the floor at any one given time, and having been on night shift themselves, were respectful of the need to get quality, uninterrupted rest.

I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats over my boxers, before leaving my private apartment and following the noise pollution to the common room, a large space filled with couches, chairs, beanbags and other such luxuries. There was a large flat screen the took up the majority of one wall, and a cabinet off to the side housed a DVD, BluRay, X-Box, Playstation and Wii. It was essentially the place where men came to chill out and hang. And if they could defeat a few dwarves at the same time, then all the better.

Usually, there were no more than six guys in the common room. Today, it was packed. Literally. As I came to the doorway there was only enough room before me to take a single step. Men were standing shoulder to shoulder, no room for anyone else. Curious, I pushed through a few men to see what all the fuss was about. I muscled my way through several layers of men but was thrown off track when something dramatic happened up front and everyone was shouting and throwing their hands up in the air.

"You're being beat by a girl!" someone nearby called.

"You call yourself a champion!" someone else jeered.

"You volunteer as tribute and this is how you represent us?" still another complained.

Apparently there was some kind of competition – of the video game variety, I could only assume – and we were losing. I wasn't surprised. Despite the amount of time many of the men spent playing the consoles that were so generously provided to us, they weren't all that good at it. Lester was probably the best of a bad bunch.

As the crowd settled down, I squeezed through a few more men and finally got a clear picture of what was happening. Sitting cross-legged on large cushions on the floor, holding X-Box controllers out in front of them, like the distance from their bodies helped with accuracy, were Lester Santos and Julie Manoso. On the screen two marvel characters were battling in a one on one combat. And based on the comments I'd just heard, Lester was losing.

On the nearest couch to the front, Bobby, Tank and Steph sat. Bobby was leaning forward yelling pointers and/or abuse at him. Tank was silent and assessing as usual. And Steph. Well, Steph appeared okay, from what I could see of her. She was dressed in faded jeans and blue top, her hair pulled back into the messy ponytail she'd been most known for back in the day. Honestly, it was as if I'd been transported back in time. All I needed was for Ranger to walk in and tell us all to get back to work, and I'd have to believe that I was either a year in the past or I was still lying in bed dreaming.

But as I watched the group at the front, Steph took a deep breath, ran a hand over her face and stood from the couch. She said something to Tank, who nodded slightly, and then she was pushing through the crowd of men much the same way I had just moments ago. Of course the reaction of the men was vastly different. Whereas I had to force my way between them, the guys instinctively shuffled to the side to let her pass without incident. Within moments she was out of the room. I tried shoving back through the throng of male bodies, to see if she was alright, but no one was willing to move even an inch now. It seemed that once you were in, you were in for the long haul. No amount of pressure could open up a passage large enough for me to get through.

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed. Now I really am off to save those characters.