Sorry for the delay-Life has a way to mess things.
A small chapter till the last one...

Thank you for reading and reviewing. TOWDNWTBN and Vale: thank you more!

"How are you, Shorty?" Dylan loosened the grip on his phone, forcing himself to relax.

"Not happy, facing such atrocious disrespect first thing in the morning. FYI my height is average and this attitude is not winning you any favors, Mr. Vanilla."

"It's noon in London, Cassandra. I double-checked it this time."

"And what are you doing up at this unholy hour?" A pause followed. "Seven o'clock? I'm appalled."

"We're leaving the hotel. I'll drive JC and then drive some more to take care of some details for Bea."

"How's she coping?"

"It's hard. She flew to Ohio to prepare the house. She wants to have some kind of memorial service when everything's over."

"Will you go?"

"I stay away from places where I'm not wanted."

"And yet you help her. You're a good man, Dylan."

"Keep that in mind, because I have a proposal for you."

"I'm intrigued! What's on your mind?" Her voice lowered and she dragged the syllables of the words out in a playful, mock-wicked manner.

"It's more of a negotiation than a proposal. Anyway—" he struggled. "This sex buddy thing is written on stone? I mean we only meet for sex and that's it?"

"Rules are there for a reason, Dylan." She suddenly sounded reserved. "You have to trust me on this."

"Okay, then I have a proposal. Let's do the buddy thing without the sex." There was silence on the other side of the line and Dylan rushed to get everything out in the open. "I can offer you a place to live—rent free and everything. You need a place to live, to work on your art, if you like—" He knew her cousin was all right but her boyfriend was a world-class jerk. Cassandra's patience was reaching its limits. It was a matter of time before she'd have to find another bullshit job and leave London. "I'll empty the room of the boxes, you know it has a walk-in closet, a bathroom—en-suite bathroom," he offered the right word, feeling like a lousy interior designer trying to make a sale.

"You know that sex is off the table in that case." Cassandra's voice was neutral.

"If those are the rules…"

"I mean it, Dylan. That's not negotiable. No sex. Not now, not in the future if we're living under the same roof. It's the absolute deal breaker." She was adamant.

"Fine, fine, I get it. It'd be more…pleasurable the other way around but if you're to stick to your rules—" He didn't sound flirtatious. He sounded desperate and he knew it. He didn't dare to imagine what Cassandra thought of him at the moment.

"When I asked for a third wish from my jinni, I didn't mean this." She was referring to the first time they met, at Taylor's birthday party. He heard the smile in her words. "You don't have to do this, Dylan." Her voice was serious now.

"This is not your wish, Cassandra. This is mine. I don't know whether I'll be able to do what I'm supposed to do in the next few months without you." Amazingly, he felt no shame in admitting it.

"So it's a matter of a few months?"

"No, the living arrangement is on for as long as you want it to be. We can have a contract or something." He rested his forehead against the wall, seeking inspiration. "JC will need you." The big guns. "You'll live close by, you'll mend things. She'll need you," he repeated gravely, inwardly urging her to speak, say something—anything—that would send the image of JC's face away. He'd left her room to give her some space. In reality, he couldn't face her when she looked at him as if he'd slapped her. Repeatedly. Should he have let it be? Should he have left it to Kepler to tell her? It'd be easier for him but could he trust Kepler to make the safe choice, the sane choice? After all, how sane was a man in love, ever? Was he becoming the cruel, emotionless being Allie had accused him of being? Emotionless might have been a blessing at the moment, but cruel? Perhaps he was cruel after all.

Dylan knew JC had called Cassandra the night Spencer died. Once more, he counted on Cassandra's compassion. God, if only he had minded his business, if he hadn't taken that laptop from Gallagher all those years ago. It was all his fault. Was he making a new mistake now? He raised his head and opened his eyes, looking around, trying to evaluate this new thought, when he heard her voice. Light, warm, smiling. She had a smiling voice if there was such a thing.

"It's a deal then. You have a new housemate."

"Friends, then?" He wanted to be certain.

"Friends, duck."

"Friends," he sighed his relief. If he wanted to have the slightest chance of doing what was expected of him until Kepler was back this was the first step. The first monumental step. He'd take it one step at a time.

"We'll start with a clean slate, then."

He knew what she meant. They'd shared a hell of a kiss, but whenever he closed his eyes these days all he could see was Spencer's ashen face, the marks on his neck, his naked shoulders, the steely shining surface under him in the morgue. After Adam's death, after Kepler's barely surviving Phase I, he thought he'd never have to go through something like that again. Allie's face, Bea's face, they had been identical in their silent blame when he had had to stand before them delivering the news, helpless and powerless. Not guiltless, though.

"A clean slate," he managed.

"When will you be back?" she paused and then he heard the smile in her voice again. "I have preparations to make!"

"You don't seem so distressed by the change in plans."

"Do you need a Band-Aid?"

"A Band-Aid?"

"For that hurt ego of yours. I have a new apartment—"

"Half an apartment."

"—rent free. In a very posh neighborhood. I'll be five minutes away from JC—three if the elevators are fast enough. Even you have your good moments when you're not whining. What did I really lose, after all? Missionary sex, no doubt. I think I'll like you better as a friend, Dylan."
He bent his head, his forehead on the cool wall again. He wished he had something to say. He hoped he wasn't making yet another mistake. He couldn't afford another one. "It would be missionary sex, wouldn't it?" she coaxed a reply from him, teasing him, pretending to have second thoughts, checking on him.

"Probably," he muttered. He knew what she was trying to do. He just couldn't oblige. Not just yet.

"Now, if only my hair didn't look like a bird's nest, I'd be perfectly happy today."

He imagined her checking her strawberry blond hair in the mirror, combing it with her fingers, trying to tame the untamable curls. A lost fight that never failed to bring a smile to his face, especially when she resignedly claimed it earned her a couple of extra inches. Cassandra and her always half-full glass.

He just couldn't smile now. Not yet. His stomach cramped, his head ached, his eyes burned. He wanted to believe there would be a smile somewhere in the future for him. She was his only hope.