GOOD MORNING! (or afternoon, or evening, depending on when you are reading this... but right now it's morning for me... at least for another 58 minutes.) Work has started back properly for the year now, so my writing time during the week has diminished significantly, however, I am attempting to make up for it with extended writing sessions on the weekends in order to keep up with my posting schedule. Fingers crossed it works...

Chapter 50

"I thought Stitch put you on stress leave for a week," Harry said by way of greeting as I entered the tech lab. He wore a pair of safety goggles under the brim of his red spotted bucket hat. Behind the goggles, his brow was furrowed, stormy grey eyes shining with concern.

"He did." I confirmed, grabbing a second pair of goggles from the clearly labelled drawer, and putting them on as I slid onto a stool across from him. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but I thought I should take the safety precaution just in case. It's hard to forget the first time I came down here, when he'd freshly destroyed the camera in the corner.

"It's only been three days," he pointed out, carefully putting down the tools he was using, scrutinising me closely. "What are you doing here?"

Pulling a small container from the pouch pocket of my "Not Today" sweatshirt, I slid it onto the counter, careful to leave a buffer zone between it and the equipment Harry had been using. "I baked cookies this morning," I said with a shrug. "It's my first time baking without supervision and I wanted a second opinion on them.

All this was true. I'd baked cookies this morning, and after sampling one and noting that something about the flavour was off, I'd decided I needed a second opinion. But the bigger truth was that I was bored and lonely up in my apartment. Everyone knew I wasn't good at staying put, or following directions, and while I wasn't necessarily told to stay in my apartment for the week, I didn't really have much else to do.

To be honest, I didn't know what to do with myself in Boston. I usually spent my day off tidying my apartment and grocery shopping. I'd now spent two whole days bumming around my apartment and I was starting to go stir crazy. I had no friends up here to go visit. There was no burning desire to go shopping. And all the tourist attractions I'd found in my online search while the cookies were in the oven were historical site or learning based. No, thank you.

Harry kept his gaze on me as he removed one of his gloves and retrieved a cookie from the container. He maintained eye contact as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly. I could tell the moment the odd taste registered. He tried to school his expression, to hide his reaction, but I saw it. Harry didn't have the blankest blank face in the company, and I had lots of practice with some of the best in the business. His eye twitched, lips puckered for a fraction of a second before he was calm once more, expressionless mask in place.

"Interesting," he said, covering up a slight gag with a cough.

"Terrible," I corrected, unable to help the laugh that bubbled up. "I should have warned you."

He nodded emphatically. "You really should have," he agreed. "What is in these?"

I shrugged. "That's the thing," I said. "I followed the recipe to the letter. I don't know what went wrong."

Narrowing his eyes, he replaced the cookie in the container and slipped his glove back on, picking up the tools and continuing to work. "If you already knew they were bad, why did you need to get a second opinion?"

"I was bored," I confessed. "I needed to get out of the apartment." And away from the live feed of Rex having the time of his life going up and down that wretched elevator Tank, Bobby and Lester had constructed for him. I still maintained that it was a death trap, but I couldn't deny that Rex seemed to enjoy it.

"Why don't you go out and do some sightseeing?" he suggested, pressing a his tool to the circuit board in front of him and emitting a sizzling sound.

"I'm not really in the mood to look at a bunch of historical monuments," I told him, cradling my chin in my hand as I leaned an elbow on the counter. "It reminds me too much of school. And I was never good at school."

"You could always fly back to Trenton for a couple of days?"

Shaking my head, I fiddled with one of the tools that had drifted to my side of the table. "My first psych appointment is tomorrow," I told him. "It's not worth it."

He seemed to think about that for a few moments, removing the goggles and scratching his head under the bucket hat. It made him look like he was in high school. If I didn't look below his neck I could almost believe he was seventeen, on a field trip. "What would you do if you had this much free time back in Trenton?" he asked.

"I'd probably go to the shore."

"The beach?" I nodded, and he shucked his gloves, pulling out his phone, typing something in. He set it down on the bench, and started tidying the bits and pieces of the project he'd been working on, gathering a few piles and unplugging the tools. "What's your favourite part of going to the beach?"

"Watching the waves." I didn't even have to think about it. There was something so mesmerising about the way the waves rolled and crashed. Sitting on the sand, safe from it's reaches, made me feel like I was invincible. Like nothing could touch me.

Harry was packing his equipment away into the drawers that lined the room, now. I hadn't realised he'd moved from the counter until he asked, "You don't like swimming, or sunbaking?"

I chuckled. "First of all, I've never had a decent tan in my life," I told him. "I don't tan. I burn, I blister, I peel, and I'm straight back to this lovely shade of alabaster."

"It is a nice colour," he pointed out, gesturing with a handful of wires. "It contrasts nicely with your dark hair."

I didn't know what to say to that. I'd never been particularly fond of my complexion, or my hair. The latter and I were constantly at odds with each other. As if it sensed that I was having ill thoughts about it, a lock of hair flopped into my face. I don't even know where it came from, because the rest of my hair was secured in the pony tail. Tucking it back behind my ear, I watched as Harry moved from drawer to drawer, putting things away in their proper place. He seemed so calm in his surroundings. It reminded me of the way he and Reese had moved around their shared kitchen when I'd visited after Stitch told me I needed to get help.

His phone buzzed on the counter, and he returned to check it, typing out a quick reply. Tucking it back into his pocket, he finished packing away the equipment, and turned to face me. "Go get your purse," he said. "I'll meet you in the garage in five minutes."

*o*

"Where are we going?" I asked. We'd been on the road for twenty minutes, stopping only briefly at Harry's house for him to change into jeans and a red t-shirt, and grab a bag. He'd been tight lipped about our destination the entire time, and I was starting to worry. I was pretty sure he was supposed to be at work right now. And I was pretty sure the texting that had happened prior to his announcement that I should get my purse had been him requesting the afternoon off.

"You'll see," he assured me, repeating the same line he'd used every other time I'd asked. It was frustrating. And more than a little concerning. If this had been any number of other men from the Boston office, I would have been on the phone trying to get someone to come rescue me. It wasn't that I thought the Musketeers had ill intentions toward me – I'd overheard enough of the conversation between Harry and Jaws in the diner bathroom to know how far that was from the truth – I just didn't know most of them well enough to blindly trust them when they wanted to take me to a mystery location. I'd spent so many hours with Harry that it was becoming difficult to recall what it was like before he was in my life.

"At the very least," I said, trying a new tactic. "Can you tell me how much longer?"

He shook his head, smiling in a self-satisfied way. "Patience," he murmured. "I know it's not your strong suit, but you should give it a go." A groan escaped me, prompting Harry to chuckle. "You were the kind of kid that was up at the buttcrack of dawn, feeling all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning, weren't you?"

"If Santa still came, I'd still be like that."

We were quiet for a few minutes then, me watching the unfamiliar world go by, him concentrating on driving and thinking about God only knows what. Probably how good he was at keeping secrets. Just when I thought he might have managed to slip into his equivalent of a driving zone, he spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that had grown between us.

"So tell me about nine year old Stephanie," he requested. "What on earth possessed her to jump off the roof?"

I gave a snort, but couldn't find it within myself to feel embarrassed. He'd bared his soul to me last week, revealing just how insecure he'd been as a child, and by extension, just how much he still relied on coping mechanisms he'd developed during those years. It must have taken a lot of courage to reveal that to me. The least I could do was share with him one of my own misadventures. It's not like it was some big secret. Ask anyone in the Burg and they could recount the events of that fateful afternoon. Even people who hadn't been born yet knew my tale.

"Nine year old Stephanie was convinced she could fly," I informed him. "I'd read a bunch of Superman comics and decided there was really nothing to it. If some guy in glasses could do, surely I could, too. I'd tried launching myself off various platforms throughout the house and yard, as well as in the school playground, but nothing had given me enough air time for the powers I knew I had inside me to emerge and take control before gravity pulled me back to the ground."

"Gravity is a harsh mistress," Harry agreed.

I nodded. "Anyway," I continued, feeling I owed him the whole story. "That day, my sister, Valerie, had told me in no uncertain terms that I could not fly. She went all out with science and logic, but I didn't agree with her. I knew that if I just put my mind to it and got enough height, that could soar through the air and away from my mother's persistent nagging. So, I tied a sheet around my neck as a cape, climbed up on the garage roof, and jumped." A smile curved my lips upwards as I remembered the feel of the wind whipping in my face. "The fall lasted, maybe, two seconds," I estimated, unsure of how long it takes to fall from that height, because to me it had lasted a whole lifetime. Then it was over. "But it was the best two seconds of my life."

Harry was grinning as he stopped for a light. "That's what she said," he said, throwing a glance my way.

"Very funny," I quipped. "Anyway, I guess I've spent the rest of my life having my wings systematically clipped by the Burg. I'm not sure I can fly anymore."

The light turned green, but Harry was still staring at me, a furrow between his brows. I pointed to the light, prompting him to move the car forward. "To quote the forever young Peter Pan," he said. "All it takes is faith and trust."

I hadn't really pegged him for a Disney fan. Picturing grown men watching animated films about princesses wasn't something I did often. Unless I needed to cheer myself up, in which case I pictured Tank in a big, pink, poufy dress singing along to the movie with all his heart. It had never happened in real life, but some days I got the feeling that if I suggested it at just the right moment, he might be up for it. It couldn't be that much of a stretch, right? I mean, Bobby's favourite Disney movie was Beauty and the Beast. He'd cried during that movie. Surely Tank and Lester had a weakness for a certain Disney movie as well.

"Well, if you ever find some pixie dust," I said, reminding him of the vital ingredient he'd forgotten, "Let me know and I'll be the first to try it out."

He murmured that he would keep that in mind, steered the SUV around the next corner and I could have wept my gratitude as I spotted the unmistakeable signs of a beach at the end of the street. Sand. Ocean. People in board shorts and bikinis even though it was still pretty cold out.

A sudden warmth spread through my chest and travelled down my limbs, chasing away the melancholy that had settled over me in the last few days. "Harry," I whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly, just in case it was a mirage. "I-"

"You're welcome," he said gruffly, driving slowly down the street as he searched for a place to park.

"You didn't have to do this," I said sternly, even as my toes itched to feel the sand between them.

"If I had to do this, it wouldn't be as enjoyable," Harry observed. "As soon as something is an obligation, the fun is drained from the situation, no matter the company or entertainment." He avoided looking my way as he pulled into a space right by the path that lead down to the sand.

"What did Hawk say when you asked to leave work early?" I asked quietly.

"Have fun at the beach," Harry replied easily. Too easily. And he wasn't looking at me. We'd already parked, but he was staring straight ahead at the car in front of us. There was an odd expression on his face that I couldn't quite read, but I certainly didn't like it. If this man was sacrificing his job for me…

"No, he didn't," I stated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face him. "What did he actually say?"

His nose scrunched for a second, and I thought he was going to deflect again, change the subject, or get out of the car, but he didn't. Instead, he sighed, shook his head, and looked down at his hands where they had dropped to his lap. "Hawk has a thing for Reese," he informed me quietly. "He agreed to let me have the afternoon off in exchange for some information."

"What kind of information?" I could kind of see how Hawk and Reese might work together, but I could also see how Reese might devour him alive. She was strong-willed and opinionated, and while both of those words could also be used to describe Hawk, I had a feeling he was more of a gentleman than he let on most of the time.

"When Reese would be home," Harry said finally turning his eyes on me. "What time it might be convenient to call. The usual."

"The usual?"

Harry shook his head again, but smiled. "Hawk is not the first Rangeman to express an interest in my sister."

That was interesting. How much interaction did Reese have with the guys to warrant that much attention? "Does Reese ever reciprocate this interest?" I asked.

Harry laughed, a short sharp sound. "Let's just say I've endured my fair share of morning-afters," he said.


I hope your Friday goes well and you have a stress free weekend.

Go out there and slay your own dragons.