Content Warning: This chapter contains scenes of sexual harassment. Nothing explicit of course, hence the "T" rating of this story. Just a heads-up to my lovely readers who may be triggered by such. Feel free to jump about a third of the way down the page if you wish to avoid.

As I step out of the restaurant, the bright sunlight almost blinds me. It feels a lot hotter here, with heat reflecting off the concrete buildings all around us, than it did down by the Chattahoochee River.

I squint at the pavement, my eyes unused to the light, and stumble towards the Yukon. I'm not paying any attention to anyone or anything around me, so when I hear a voice beside me, I jerk in surprise.

"Hey, Beautiful."

I freeze, one hand on the door of the Yukon. Glancing around, I notice two men standing at the bus stop right next to the restaurant. They're leering at me in a way that makes my stomach flip over.

"What's the matter, Gorgeous? Too good to talk to us?"

It's the taller one that speaks. He's shirtless and has a scruffy beard, a bandanna tied around his forehead, and a can of beer in one hand.

His shorter companion, a man with baggy clothing and a pointed goatee that gives him a fox-like appearance, sniggers at that wisecrack.

Go away. Don't say anything else.

With my hand on the door handle of the SUV, I hesitate. Should I get my purse? Or run back into the restaurant?

I've just about made up my mind to open the door and look for my bag, when the shorter one calls out, "Hey, come over here. We like pretty girls."

"Yeah, don't be stuck-up," the taller one slurs.

Open your mouth. Tell them to leave you alone, and turn and walk back into the restaurant. Do it.

My mind is telling me what to do, but my body refuses to cooperate... staring, frozen, at my reflection in the Yukon's window.

"Hey, what's the matter with you? You just gonna stand there?"

"Maybe she's deaf," the smaller one says, and both men laugh raucously.

Forget the bag, I'm going back into the restaurant.

I manage to turn around, and then squeak in surprise; I haven't realized that the men have come up behind me. The taller one is only a few feet from me, and even from this distance I can smell the reek of alcohol on his breath.

Stop. Go away. Leave me alone.

"Do you know what I'd like to do to a pretty girl like you?"

I don't want to hear it. My hands come up of their own volition and cover my ears, as if that's going to shut out the sound of their voices.

"You scared of us or something?" Fox Face asks.

Scruffy Beard leans even closer, and I cringe away from him, staring at the ground, noticing his dirty sneakers with laces missing.

Run! Scream! Kick him! Do something!

My body refuses to listen. I look frantically up and down the sidewalk, but there's not a person in sight that could offer help. My hands flutter nervously.

"Hey, she's not deaf," Scruffy Beard laughs suddenly, catching the movement. "She's just a dumb r..."

That word. That hateful, horrible word. The one that the kids on the playground used to scream at me sometimes as I was walking home, or whisper viciously when I had a meltdown in class.

My brain shuts down, and I stare blankly, glassy-eyed, in front of me. But inside my mind I'm sobbing, Jason! Grant! Steve! Tango! Anyone!

"Pretty hair," Scruffy Beard comments casually, reaching out a skinny arm as if to touch it.

"Leave her alone."

All three of us jolt in surprise. I never even heard the restaurant door open, and it appears the other two didn't either. Scruffy Beard drops his can of beer and swears. Fox Face starts to edge away.

I glance up at Steve in shock. His arms are hanging loosely by his sides, but his chin is up, his jaw set, and his eyes narrowed. Steve is a big guy... nearly twice the weight of Fox Face. Nobody with any sense would mess with him.

But Scruffy Beard has had a few too many cans of beer, and he doesn't appear to have much sense left to his name.

My hands are fluttering in earnest now, and I'm starting to rock anxiously. Scruffy Beard gives me a look of disgust before turning to Steve. "Come to rescue your little girlfriend?" he croons.

Steve's eyes darken with visible anger, but he continues to look at Scruffy Beard evenly. "I said, leave her alone."

Behind him, Fox Face is backing away with his hands raised. And matching him stride for stride is Tango, with his hands balled up into fists and his eyebrows lowered. "Man, if I ever see you again..." Tango snarls, leaving his threat hanging. There's no hint of his general good nature now.

"Don't want no trouble," Fox Face whines. I had no idea Tango could look so... so scary.

Scruffy Beard, however, isn't quite ready to take a hint. He's treading on thin ice, but doesn't seem to realize it. "What's wrong?" he taunts Steve now. "Don't like me talking to your little ginger freak?"

I don't even have time to blink. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Scruffy Beard slams into the side of the Yukon with a resounding thud, propelled there by one very angry Tech Manager. I yelp and stumble away from the van.

I've never seen Steve this furious before. As ridiculous as it is, only one coherent thought races through my mind. Oh my gosh... if Steve beats this guy up... if he really hurts him... Steve could go to jail. And it'll be all my fault.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. The restaurant door is open and TAPS members are spilling out left right and center. "What's going on here?" Grant barks.

Kris is running at me. "Summer! Are you okay? What happened?"

I get a glimpse of Jason, his face looking like a thundercloud, advancing on Steve and Scruffy Beard.

For a split second I freeze, unable to comprehend what's happening, and deaf to everything except the screaming inside my head.

Go. Get away. Go. Now!

My legs are moving before the words have a chance to sink in, and I bolt.

"Summer!" A chorus of alarmed shouts rings out behind me.

I don't even hear the quiet voice that says, "I'll go bring her back."

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. All my attention is focused inwards.

My sneakers slap the pavement with jarring force, sending shock waves up through my knees and hips. I'm aware that my lungs are gasping for air, my chest heaving. A painful kink is developing in my side. Still I hurtle forward.

The world around me flashes past in a mosaic of still images. The sound of a car horn comes to me, sounding faint and far away. An empty glass bottle lying on the sidewalk winks at me in a shower of sparkles. A woman's pink sundress flashes past in my peripheral vision.

I can't think. I can't see. I can't breathe. I don't even remember what I'm running from; I just keep running.

Eventually, my body slows of its own accord, physically unable to continue at the speed I've been going. I stagger to a stop.

Somehow, my hand is resting against a brick wall. I shut my eyes tightly and gulp oxygen so fast I almost choke. Black spots dance in front of my eyes, and I'm afraid that I'm going to throw up... or faint.

When I finally straighten up, I realize that I have no idea where I am.

I look around me, wonderingly, like someone who's been dropped on a foreign planet with no warning.

I'm on the corner of a quiet intersection, surround by tired-looking brick buildings. A few cars pause for a red light, their drivers peering at me curiously before they continue with their daily commute. The sun angles down through a gap between buildings and warms the red bricks beneath my hand.

I stare down at my feet. There's a crack in the concrete here, with a few blades of grass poking up through it. A beetle scurries, not paying much attention to the world around it. A dime lies close to the wall. Normally, I would pick it up... but right now my brain and my body seem to be disconnected from each other.

I'm not sure how long I stand, staring vacantly at the ground, before I notice a pair of white sneakers to my left. My gaze travels slowly upwards... past crew socks and baggy black cargo shorts, to a hand with the thumb hooked into a pocket. A wrist with a wide leather bracelet and several beaded ones.

Dustin.

I slowly raise my eyes to his face, but he's not even looking at me. Instead, he's leaning casually against the brick wall a few feet from me, calmly observing the passing traffic as though he has nothing more pressing to do.

I'm not planning on sitting down, but my legs naturally seem to fold under me. I sit down cross-legged on the dirty sidewalk, and lean my head against the brick wall behind me, uncaring. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dustin adopting a similar position.

My flickering gaze catches a single dandelion, pushing up through the concrete next to the metal post of a street light. I watch as it sways a little in the breeze, like a little old woman in a green dress and yellow bonnet, curtsying from left to right.

Dustin is humming, I realize. I strain my ears to listen. It's an Elvis song, of course... something about not being able to help falling in love. I close my eyes and let the tendrils of the song weave through my exhausted brain.

Dustin's voice, so quiet I can barely hear him, is grounding me; like a kite string keeping me tethered to the ground, so I don't get blown away. A few seconds pass before I notice that I'm rocking rhythmically, keeping time with the music.

We sit there for what feels like a long time. Dustin seems content to keep me company, not talking or suggesting that we go back or pressing me with questions. Although I can't put my thoughts into words, I'm incredibly grateful that he's here.

I come to attention a few minutes later, realizing that Dustin is saying something. His voice is still low and relaxed.

"I was thinking about that movie you like, Lilo and Stitch," he begins without preamble, just as if we've been in the middle of a deep discussion. I don't respond, but tilt my head to one side to show that I'm listening.

"Do you remember when Lilo reads Stitch the story about the Ugly Duckling? And Stitch takes the storybook and wanders out in the woods with it, and he says, 'I'm lost'?"

I nod slowly. That was one of the saddest parts of the movie.

"It's easy to feel lost sometimes, isn't it?" Dustin doesn't seem to care that I'm unable to respond. He's speaking slowly, thoughtfully, considering his words before he says them. "Sometimes you feel like you've crash-landed on another planet, that doesn't really belong to you. And it can be hard to understand where you fit."

My eyes widen. That's exactly how I feel, a lot of the time.

Dustin is silent for another minute or two, before he speaks up again. "That's why you got your tattoo, isn't it?"

I slowly turn my hand palm up and look at the neat black script across my wrist. Ohana.

"It's a good reminder that you're not alone," Dustin continues, as if he's reading my mind. "Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind. Family is something you take with you, wherever you go. You have family in New Brunswick, on your 'home planet', so to speak. But you also have your TAPS family here, on your 'new planet'. Lilo was Stitch's Ohana even before he realized it. He felt lost, but he didn't yet realize she had already adopted him as part of her family."

I somehow know where Dustin is going with this, but I listen just the same.

"The minute you joined TAPS, you were part of the TAPS family," Dustin says. "There's not a person on this team that doesn't care about you, Summer. You're safe with us." He looks at me for the first time, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, kind blue eyes searching my face. "Do you believe that?"

I think about that for a few seconds before I nod slowly. I do feel safe with TAPS. After all, Steve and Tango flew to my defense. I know Jason and Grant would have done the same if they had been the ones to see me needing help. Amy, and even Kris, in spite of her teasing, would probably scratch anyone's eyes out who looked at me cross-ways.

One corner of my mouth turns up in a faint smile at that thought.

"They're probably very worried about you right now," Dustin says gently.

I frown at that. I don't want anyone to worry about me.

Dustin's voice is soft, coaxing, as he asks, "Do you think we should let them know that you're okay?"

I like the way he says we instead of you. I think that's why he does it... to let me know I'm not in this alone.

I nod once more, and Dustin climbs to his feet and extends a hand to me. I stare at it for several seconds, before slowly reaching out and placing my hand in his.

But once Dustin pulls me to my feet, the panicky thoughts crash in again. Jason and Grant will be furious with me for just taking off. What if they kick me off the team? What if they yell?

Dustin must see the fear in my eyes, because he stands still and waits patiently, not pressing me to do anything just yet. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

My eyes fly to meet his, and then drop again. I shake my head. I... I want to! But I can't! It won't come out!

"Summer." Dustin's voice is calm and non-judgmental. "Are you non-verbal right now?"

I nod frantically.

"Okay. Take it easy. Is there a reason why you don't want to join the rest of the team?"

I nod, but my hands are fluttering and my breathing is speeding up.

"Calm. Calm," Dustin soothes, as though he's a yoga instructor. "Deep breath. Are you worried about those two guys? Because I can promise you, they're long gone."

I shake my head. That thought hasn't even crossed my mind. I'm sure they've fled the scene with their tails between their legs by now, if the look on Scruffy Beard's face when Steve threw him against the Yukon is anything to go by.

"Oh. I have an idea." Dustin fishes his cell phone from his pocket and turns it on. "Are you able to type?"

I raise my eyebrows, frown, and lift one shoulder in a shrug. I'm not sure... maybe.

Dustin hands me the phone, and I hesitantly type, J and G will be mad.

I hand the phone to Dustin, who reads the single line of text. "They won't be," he assures me immediately. "In fact, I'll call them right now."

He quickly brings up Jason's number. I back away and lean against the brick wall again. Dustin is speaking in a low voice, too low for me to catch anything other than a word here and there.

"Okay," he says finally, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "They understand, Summer. They just want to make sure you're okay. It will be fine. I promise."

I nod once more, and allow Dustin to lead me back towards the restaurant.

As we walk, I'm amazed at how much ground I was able to cover. I have no memory of this journey at all, just a blank blur with only bits and pieces visible.

Finally, we round a corner. I can see the Yukon, still parked on the side of the road. The doors are open, but the team is milling around aimlessly, like ants.

"Summer? Summer!" Kris and Amy both make a dash for me, and I freeze before looking up in surprise as Dustin steps in front of me, shielding me with his body.

"She's non-verbal right now," he reminds the team gently but firmly. "She's had a bad scare, she needs space and time to process it."

Thank you, Dustin. Thank you so much. For a moment, I'm angry that the words aren't there when I need them. I can only hope that he knows what I can't verbally express right now.

I trail behind Dustin, walking so closely that I almost step on his heels when he stops beside the SUV. I'm wringing my hands nervously as Jason approaches me. Please don't yell please don't yell please don't yell.

"Are you okay?" That's the quietest I've ever heard Jason speak. I nod.

"You gave us quite the scare," he continues and I cringe and shuffle awkwardly. Jason studies me for a moment, and then sighs. "We're glad you're all right," he says simply.

"Summer." It's Grant's turn to speak up. "I am so... I wish..." his voice trails off, and I peek up at him. It's not like Grant to be lost for words. "That should never have happened," he continues finally. "I'm... I'm infuriated that that happened to you, on our watch."

I shake my head slowly. How like Grant to take responsibility for something like this. It's not your fault, Grant... you didn't know this would happen. The words stick in my throat.

Kris stands next to me, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. "We were so scared for you." Her voice comes out in a breathy whisper. "Can I... is it okay if I hug you?"

I tilt my head and consider that for a moment, and then nod. She hugs me, and I stiffen involuntarily. I don't want to, but I do, and I hate myself for it. Slowly, woodenly, I lift my arms and return the hug.

Thank you, Kris. Just for being you.

I don't realize I'm shaking until Kris pulls back a little and looks at me in concern. "Summer? What's wrong?"

I shake my head in bewilderment. I don't know. I don't know what's happening to me.

I cling tighter to Kris, shivers racking my body until my teeth chatter. Amy wraps her arms around me from behind, and she and Kris hold me while I shudder from my head to my feet.

"It's shock," I hear Grant murmur behind me.

Finally, my shivers start to abate. "Want to sit down?" Kris asks, and I nod as she guides me to the Yukon. I slowly climb up and perch on the middle seat of the SUV, my legs dangling out the doorway, and try to compose myself.

Tango retrieves a bottle of water from somewhere, and I glance up at him gratefully and take a sip. My hands are still trembling, but at least I'm not shaking all over anymore. Putting the cap back on the bottle, I give the team a wan smile. I'm okay. I will be okay.

Jason is watching, his arms crossed in a characteristic "Jason" pose. Finally he grunts. "Okay folks... what say we get out of here?"

I nod adamantly, and a few team members chuckle, sounding relieved.

"Well, if Summer wants to go, then we'd better go," Grant teases gently, very gently. I give him another tiny smile.

It seems that all of us are eager to leave. Jason and Grant take their usual positions in the front, while Kris and Amy crawl into the very back with Dustin. I end up in the middle seat with Tango and Steve on either side of me.

"You okay, Summer? Have enough room back there?" Jason looks at me in the rear view mirror as he prepares to pull into traffic.

I bob my head. Normally I would feel slightly awkward about being sandwiched between the two men, but right now there's a feeling of comfort in the two broad shoulders pressed up against mine.

I let out a faint sigh, and Steve twists his head to look at me. "Feeling better now, Summer?" he inquires.

I bob my head once more, wishing that my voice would cooperate so I could thank him and Tango for coming to my rescue.

Tango pokes me gently with his elbow. "We've got your back," he says quietly, and I poke him in return. I know you do, Tango.

He grins suddenly. "Man, when Steve threw that dude against the vehicle... I thought we were gonna see bloodshed next."

Steve looks slightly embarrassed. "I wouldn't have hurt him... much," he mutters.

Tango is undeterred. "Did you see the look on the other guy's face when I came at him?" he brags. "They'll know better than to mess with us again."

Steve is silent for a long moment, staring out his window. "As long as Summer's okay," he says finally. "That's all that matters." There's a tone of finality in his voice that says he doesn't want to discuss the subject further.

Without quite knowing that I'm going to, I reach for Steve's hand and give it a quick squeeze before reaching for Tango's hand and doing the same. Thank you... both of you.

"You're welcome, Summer," Steve says softly, as if he's heard every word.

Author's Note: I will openly admit that this was one of the most difficult chapters to write. For me, being autistic and writing an openly autistic character also means chronicling the unique struggles and challenges that we face; in this case, what professionals tend to call "eloping" as well as going non-verbal. My goal is not only to write an interesting story, but also to give people a bit of a behind-the-scenes look, if you will, into the mind of an autistic. Feedback is greatly appreciated, as always.