"Watch the bucket. Hey, w-watch the—"

Alas, too late. The bucket was knocked over, sending a soapy flood sprawling across the sidewalk. The careless pedestrian (who was the culprit of the spill) jumped backward in startlement. Bernard groaned.

"They never watch the bucket. Why don't people ever watch the bucket?" he added, picking up said unwatched bucket. It was, at least, not completely empty when he set it right side up, but he muttered on. "Now I'm gonna have to clean up this mess, refill the bucket, before I can even start on the windows…"

"I-I am so sorry, sir," came the voice, which was British, and fell halfway between perfectly civil and perfectly absent. "It's entirely my fault, and I do apologize. I'm afraid my brain was... elsewhere."

"Yeah, that's all ri—" Something in the odd phrasing made the voice click at last, and Bernard looked up.

Now, the fact that he recognized the man wasn't a surprise—it was Odyssey, it would've been more of a surprise if he hadn't recognized him. But the real surprise was why he recognized the man: he owed him his business. Or one of them, anyway.

"Wh—oh! Mr. Dent!"

The other man also seemed to recognize him, at least tentatively. "Bernerd?"

"Bernard," he corrected (as he remembered he'd soon have to again).

Recollection seemed then to set in more fully, and Arthur Dent gained that almost ridiculously bright smile he generally gave to the world-at-large. "Bernerd! I thought it was you! It is so wonderful to see you again!" And he began shaking his hand vigorously.

"Uh, yes, it's good to see you again, too, sir." And after he returned the handshake, he immediately slipped out of it. He had to hide his hand behind his back as he stretched it out painfully. Funny. I don't remember him having so tight a grip. Seems to me he'd shake your hand as gingerly as a cat, like he was scared to touch you too hard or something.

"And how's my ex-employee been?" Dent beamed, unaware of his hurting hand.

"Me? Oh, well, I've been doing okay."

"Everything back to normal?"

"Back to..." That's right, we haven't really talked since what happened with Novacom, have we? "Oh, yeah, yeah. Got most of my customers back within a couple of weeks. Now it's business as usual. Or at least, it was before my bucket got knocked over…" And he gestured to the soapy mess sprawled at their feet.

"Oh, yes. Very sorry about that." Dent shuffled back, looking politely defeated. "I'll... I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you, sir."

Bernard thumbed his hat brim in parting, then stepped over to his truck. He had to find a mop for this mess. However, his steps were suddenly matched one for one, and he found someone else smiling by the old truck. "By the way, the latest episode of B-TV you put out? Picked it up—great stuff."

"Oh! Well, uh, thanks, Mr. Dent. Glad you liked it." Though I think that was… oh, a month or so ago.

"Very unlikely subject, though, isn't it?"

"Obedience, you mean?"

"That's right!"

"Mm, no. No, I wouldn't think so." The corners of his mouth twitched up as he reached for the large bucket he needed. "Heh, if babysitting my nieces and nephews has taught me anything, it's that it's important for any kid to learn that early on. Specially Christians, you know."

At this, Dent's smile shrank (though it didn't disappear), and his eyes took on an odd look as they glanced at the ground. "Oh, yes. Especially Christians." He half-laughed. "I'd… I'd nearly forgotten how important that aspect was to you. Vital, really." His voice at the tail end of this grew strangely soft. A second later, he spoke up again. "T-that was the dealbreaker, wasn't it, Bernerd?"

"It's Bernard." But this time, the correction was more of a reflex—there was something strange in the other's tone, and Bernard wasn't completely sure what it meant. He narrowed his eyes. What's going on in there, Dent?

"That was why you came to me after the meeting," Dent continued, bemused, "why you didn't want your show to be made by Novacom." His brow furrowed, and he sounded for a moment completely mystified, lost in the thought of it. "Because you wanted to keep things entirely centered around the Bible and Christian teaching. Even in the face of incredible opportunities. Even to the exclusion or offense of others."

Bernard nodded in agreement, though he wasn't quite sure whether Dent had meant it in a good way or a bad way. "Yeah, that's about the size of it, Mr. Dent. But… why are you thinking about all this now?"

"Now? Because…" Dent's eyes drifted as he seemed to ponder something. When at last they came to look directly at Bernard, a sharp change came over him. He grimaced and backed down, speaking with a quicker and more nervous tone, as if covering up for having said something wrong. "Sorry. Sorry, I must've sounded terribly rude a moment ago. You were perfectly respectful when you approached me about the matter! I didn't mean that—"

"No, no," Bernard interrupted with a sigh, curiosity forgotten, before the other could apologize himself into a stew, "that's all right. No offense taken!" Not that you need to worry about folks taking offense, he added in thought, shaking his head as he hauled down the mop and bucket. I don't think you could offend a fly if you swatted it. "Besides," he continued, "I think I said as much myself, though maybe not in the same words."

"That's right." Dent nodded deeply, and his stretched smile returned. "That's right, I'm sorry, it must've slipped my mind."

Bernard almost rolled his eyes, but kept a straight face. Now, there's another thing—that's, what, the fifth apology so far? I mean, even you aren't usually that polite. Aloud, though, he only sighed, "Nothing to apologize for!"

"Right. Sorry."

Bernard's teeth unintentionally clenched behind a smile. Aaand six.

"But I'm interrupting your cleaning. You go on ahead, Bernerd."

"Bernard, but thanks." And thank goodness. That was getting a little too weird for me. He settled the large bucket on the pavement and began rolling it along. Somebody needs to let this guy have a day off, I think the stress is starting to get to him.

Mop in hand and bucket at the ready, Bernard started work on the sudsy sidewalk. However, his silent audience didn't stay silent long.

"Don't suppose there was any legal trouble with the show after you left? Any problem with the contract, or…"

"Well, since we've been making things the way we always have," he responded, trying hard to keep a growing exasperation out of his voice (and mostly succeeding), "I wouldn't guess so, no!"

"That's great to hear. Oh, sorry, you can carry on with your cleaning."

Seven. "Thank you!"

He began to turn, but glanced back once. Dent was simply standing now, looking at one of the large store windows (which he still hadn't gotten to clean). He seemed as at ease as if he were standing in the Novacom lobby during his break.

It's fine, Bernard tried to tell himself. Nothing to get snippy about. I mean, the man did a very generous thing! Renegotiating my contract like that, letting me have my show back. All he's doing now is checking up on things. Just business. Normally, I oughtta be grateful for that.

He turned back to his work and plopped his mop in the bucket. And I am grateful for that. But grateful's one thing—trying to fit four months of missed talk into one conversation is another. Especially when I'm trying to do my job!

There was a quiet cough behind him, and he looked back, though his hand remained on the mop handle. Dent still stood there, gazing about nonchalantly.

"Was there, uh, anything else, Mr. Dent?"

"Oh, no," Dent laughed in a light tone. "Nothing else. You can continue whenever you like."

"I'd like to, thanks." Bernard turned, took one last glance to make sure he wasn't moving, then started his work once more. But the moment the mop touched the pavement—

"Nice weather we've been having."

"That's it." Bernard stuffed the mop back in the bucket and left it there, wheeling around to fix an eye sternly on Dent. "You mind telling me what you want, Mr. Dent?"

"Want?" he replied in the same casual lightness, then, laughingly, "Why would you think I want anything?"

"Well, it's just you're hanging around me like a bat in a cave! Every time I think you're done chatting, you start with the small talk again and interrupt my work!"

"Oh, well, I'm sor—"

"And for goodness sakes, don't apologize again."

"I'm s—" He checked himself and cleared his throat. "Go on."

"Well…" Bernard let out a breath, trying to keep things level, get back to the point. "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, you've been acting… strange, not like yourself."

"Oh? H-how so?"

"The constant sorrying, for one. That and your—your hanging back with the conversation. Now, normally, you don't have any problem getting to the point, even with your politeness. And that's a compliment! But with the way you're acting now, I just…"

"What?"

"I don't know, I…" Bernard considered his next words carefully. Even he wasn't quite sure what it was. But he thought about all the little tics and differences he'd noticed, trying to pin down the impression they made. "I just get the feeling that," he continued slowly, "that you must have something on your mind… maybe something you wanna talk about… but're just having a hard time saying it."

Dent seemed to tense up just a little, but his unnaturally bright smile stayed put. "Why—why, whatever are you talking about?"

Whether he was right or not, the blatant fakery almost made Bernard lose his temper. He managed to keep ahold of it, though a little leaked into his voice. "Now, look, Mr. Dent, I wouldn't mind standing here and listening to what you've got to say—now, I mean that! But I've gotta work! I've got my job to do, same as you!" The smile seemed to shift a little, but Bernard went on. "I mean, if you have something you needed to talk about, that's perfectly all right with me. But if all you wanna do is make small talk, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to say—"

"Well, YES!" Dent grimaced slightly at his desperate outburst, and his voice when he spoke again was far more subdued. "Yes, there is something."

Though surprised at the suddenness himself, Bernard nearly smirked. Huh, look at that! Finally made it past the smokescreen. "Well, who'd have thought?"

Barely a moment passed. Then, suddenly and rapidly, Dent started excusing again. "But I don't want to bother you. As you said, we both have our jobs to do. Perhaps I should go on to work now, if I've been distracting you—"

"No, no, that's fine," he sighed, "go on and say what you wanna say. Eh, you've already kept me from working, you might as well do it with something you really want to talk about." A moment of silence, then Bernard gestured him on. "Go ahead! Go ahead! I'm listening."

When at last the other found his voice, it was slow and very hesitant. "It's just… well, as you said, there's… something that's been on my mind the past few days, Bernerd."

He pointedly ignored the mispronunciation this time. "Uh-huh?"

"Something I've f-found, and been… trying to decide about."

"What is it?"

A pause on the edge of a precipice. Then, a little speed returned as he backed down with a nervous smile. "I-it may be nothing really. Could be a simple misunderstanding on my part. An odd mental impression, if you know what I mean!" He laughed awkwardly. "You know how these things are."

Hope you're not expecting me to believe that act. Aloud, he only said, "Oh? What things?"

Dent deliberately dodged. "A-and after all, nobody likes a busybody. Especially when it's somebody who, at every possible opportunity, has done his best by his job, by—by the people whom he works with and for! Somebody who's made it his priority to be a team player, and…" Dent shook his head and part of his smile returned. "Well, you can see, somebody like that wouldn't want to break trust, affront that team, by interfering with matters that—that are probably of no concern to begin with!"

Bernard half-frowned. Eh, this is gonna be tricky. I mean, anybody can see the guy loves his job, but if something's going on that could get him fired if he sticks his nose in it… might take a little careful stepping to get him to tell me anything about it.

"Well… what if it's not?"

"Sorry?"

"What if it's not 'of no concern'?"

"I… I don't…" But he trailed off and said nothing more. Bernard continued.

"Now, you've been talking about this… thing, whatever it is, like it's not a real problem. It's just some kind of a mix-up. Raising a ruckus about it would only make you look nosy in front of your people. It's not something important. Everything is really just fine." He took a step forward and affixed an eye on him. "But I don't think you really believe that. Otherwise, it wouldn't be bugging you. And I know that, now; there's not much that can ruffle your feathers."

Dent's eyes dropped, and he looked more serious then than he ever had in any business meeting. It was as much as an outright 'yes'.

Good. At least he's able to admit it to himself that something might be wrong. Now maybe I can get a little closer to how I can actually help the man.

"So why don't you tell me about the other side of the coin, huh? What if—and we can keep it at a 'what if' for now—what if everything's not fine?"

At that, Dent glanced up at him, and his gaze wavered with indecision. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then, something behind his eyes seemed to shift, and he closed them. He took a breath.

"Mr. Walton! Hey, Mr. Walton!"

The cry was so immediately followed by a clang and a splash, they could've preceded it.

Bernard spun around, and he instantly growled and ran frustrated fingers through his hair. "Of all the…" He put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the lake spread anew at the feet of the two boys. "Doggone it, couldn't you have stopped before you ran into my bucket, Alex?" And he stooped to pick it up.

"Oops."

"Is this just Kick-the-Bucket Day, or did I get hit with Murphy's Law, huh?" he muttered under his breath (though not far under). Then he scoffed and rolled his eyes—of all the concepts Eugene had ever spent an hour explaining to him, how come the science version of bad luck was the one that stuck?

"Sorry, Mr. Walton."

"Yeah, he's real sorry, Mr. Walton," added the other boy, aiming an elbow jab at his cousin. "Come on, Alex, let's go."

"No, Cal! All you're gonna do is talk about your dumb theories if we go!"

"When we find out they're true, you're gonna wish we talked about them more."

"No, I won't!"

"You totally will!"

"You're crazy, Cal."

"H-hey, now, cut that out! Both of you!" The boys glanced up at Bernard in unison. "Now, look, kids, if you wanna argue, could you do it someplace else? Or better yet, not at all? We were right in the middle of—"

"We wanted to hear a story!" Alex put in before receiving another elbow.

"You wanted to hear a story."

"Could you not start that again?"

Bernard groaned. Oh, come on, not now! He was that close! "Look, normally, I'd oblige you, but I'm extra busy right now. Why—why don't you ask Whit? He's a whole lot better at that kinda thing than I am."

"Mr. Whittaker's in Connelsville."

"Again," groaned Cal. "How long does it take to build a Whit's End? He already knows what it looks like!"

"Besides," Alex finished, after rolling his eyes at Cal, "Mr. Whittaker might be better at it, but nobody tells a story the way you do!"

Though he was actually slightly honored by the compliment, Bernard wasn't about to give in. He knew a little too much about inches than to let them have one. "Well, listen, now, that's real nice of you to say…"

"So you'll do it?"

"Ah-ah-ah, let me finish! It's nice of you, but I have a lot of things I need to do."

"You can clean the windows while you tell the story."

"Well, yes," he breathed in exasperation, glancing back over his shoulder at Dent, "but Mr. Dent and I were talking about something kind of important, and—"

"No, no," put in Dent, stepping back and restoring the polite smile once more to his face. "That's all right. It can wait until after the story."

Great. Never gonna get him back out of his shell. "Well…"

"Please, Mr. Walton?"

Bernard glanced from the expectant boy's face to Dent, then let out a resigned sigh. "Well, all right. I guess I can tell you one story."

"Yes!" cheered Alex.

"Fine," sighed Cal.

"Just a quick one, though! I'm not gonna talk until I have to go on to my next job and break it off for another time!" He added, muttering under his breath, "Goodness knows, that's happened more times than I can count."

"Just a quick one," Cal nodded, a little too readily. "Got it."

"You boys have anything in mind?"

"Anything that's not about crazy theories!" declared Alex (to a groan from his cousin).

"All right, I'll see what I can come up with." As he grabbed the mop handle again, he spun back and aimed a finger at Dent. "And don't you run off, now. Unless it's gonna make you late for something, I still wanna finish that talk about that… whatever it is you got going on."

"Well, I wouldn't want to be obtru—" he began, but two other voices cut him off (to Bernard's surprise as well as his).

"Oh, that's okay, Mr. Dent!"

"Yeah, you can stay!"

Dent blinked a few rapid times, looking a bit perplexed. "You—you want me to stay? T-that is, well, wouldn't there be a sort of… hmm, gap, perhaps? I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, having a second adult hanging about."

"Huh?" Both boys seemed to have caught his contagious perplexity.

Bernard, however, was evidently immune. He lifted his eyebrows as he started mopping, still keeping an eye on the little conversation. Huh. Guess the guy's not used to kids. Or at least, kids here in Odyssey.

Seemingly, Dent's reservations made no difference to the boys. Cal was the first to pipe up once more. "Oh, um, we don't mind!"

"Are you certain?"

"Sure!"

This time it was Alex that elbowed Cal. "Yes, sir! It's fine with us! And besides," he continued, turning toward Dent out of politeness as he spoke, "with all due respect, sir, have you ever heard one of Mr. Walton's stories?"

"Er, well…" and Dent cleared his throat, "well, I've seen them in a B-TV episode or two…"

Alex grinned a rare grin. "Sir, this isn't B-TV. If you haven't heard a live story, you haven't heard a story, at least when it comes to Mr. Walton. You definitely should stay. In my opinion, sir," he added respectfully.

"Or so you keep telling me…" muttered Cal, but smiled back at Dent anyway and gestured him in.

Dent, to the window-washer, looked absolutely confounded. But he didn't question it further. "Oh, um… a-all right…" And he shifted a little nearer on his feet, still seeming a little uncertain of himself. In point of fact, he did look the least bit out of place; a businessman standing behind two boys, all three awaiting a story.

To Bernard, the whole thing was very amusing, and he chuckled quietly. This oughtta be good. And… He considered the situation before him, surprised at the new light he found it in. And, well, even if I can't help you work out whatever's going on, maybe getting your mind on something a little less heavy'll do for now. 'Sides, and he almost chuckled again at the thought, if I recall, your, uh, story tastes need a little improvement.

"Let me see, let me see, now…" he began in a breath, then muttered as he mopped. "What kind of story can we do today? Not Joseph, that's too long… the Lonely Town?... no, no, that's a Christmas story…"

All at once, as the last of the mess was cleared away by the mop, he hit upon an idea. And, he thought, a good one at that. Ah-ha, now, that might be kinda fun.

"Have you boys ever heard any stories about King Arthur?"

Well, they certainly hadn't heard this one. Few people had. If I had the words to tell it here, you'd be one of them. Knights, dragons, battles and intrigue, the rescue of brave maidens and the defense of a little town against a dangerous enemy, all to sounds of the sword of the heroic Arthur and the squeegee of the storytelling Bernard. The boys were riveted to every word.

Yet, to Bernard's amusement (and even a little satisfaction), his enthralled audience was not made up of two, but three. Dent may have hung back in conversation, but he inched ever closer as he listened to the tale. Unlike the boys, he asked only few questions. But he still spoke up once or twice, head tilted attentively.

"You really do know how to tell a story, don't you?" he marveled at one point.

"Ehh, I do my best."

"I'm starting to have doubts about dropping you from our lineup."

Bernard laughed at that.

But the story went on, interruptions included. Eventually, they came near the most stark and hopeless point in the story (a point that always comes, just before the glorious turning). Yet hopeless it seemed. And certain parties were very vocal about it.

"You've gotta be kidding!" burst out Cal (who'd long since given up hiding his interest). "No way he'd just go out there alone!"

"Well, I'm afraid that's just what he did."

"But even if the dragon didn't kill him," Alex protested as well, shaking his head, "the townspeople would think he was a traitor for trying to kill their 'wise ruler'—they'd probably have him executed!"

"I know!" nodded Bernard. "And Arthur knew that, too."

"And he still did it?"

"He sure did."

"Why?"

Bernard glanced up in surprise at the quiet question (which came from neither boy), and found an earnest fascination and curiosity on the face of the speaker. Dent then continued.

"Why do something that would earn him the censure, t-the condemnation, of everyone around him—in the midst of his attempt to establish his own kingship, no less!—when he wasn't even sure of his victory?"

"Yeah!" the boys echoed.

Bernard's squeegee stopped for a moment as he considered. Hmm. I think I know where that kind of question's coming from. Wish I knew how to answer the real one. But, if he couldn't get at the heart of whatever complications the man was dealing with… well, he'd have to just answer with the truth and leave the rest to God.

Bernard took one glance at Dent, then turned his gaze to the kids, who had at some point taken seats on the weather-warmed pavement. "Well, why did David go out and face Goliath even though he knew none of the Israelites would stand with him?" His squeegee resumed its duties. "Why did Daniel pray even though he knew he'd get thrown in the lions' den for it? You tell me."

"Because… they're the good guys?" put forth Alex, tentatively.

Well, can't say he's got a wrong answer. "Partly, yes."

"But not every, er, good guy is in the position to so stand up," countered Dent. "Arthur certainly isn't. Wasn't."

Bernard gave him a sly stare. Uh-huh. And, uh, which Arthur you talking about?

"Yeah!" Cal agreed in a loud voice, nodding sharply. "Good point, Mr. Dent! I mean, if I was Arthur, I'd just go get all my guys together, and then come fight the dragon! At least that way I'd actually have a shot at winning."

"Yeah, but then the girl would've already gotten eaten," frowned Alex, shoving his cousin.

"That's not Arthur's fault, that's the townspeople's fault for not listening to him!"

"They're under a spell, dummy!"

"Hey, hey, now, none of that!" Bernard intervened before they could derail the story completely. "Kids these days: start a squabble, you never get a thing done. Now, the point is, there wasn't anybody else that could help Arthur. He knew what he was up against, he knew what was at stake, the choice was up to him alone. So he chose to go alone and fight when nobody else would. And why?"

The question hung in the air, and three people seemed to lean forward at once, waiting for the answer to fall. Bernard half-smiled, and leaned forward as well to meet them.

"Because sometimes hard things have to be done, stands have to be taken, in order to do what's right. Sure, you gotta use wisdom, not go around picking fights willy-nilly. But that doesn't mean you don't fight when it comes down to what's right and what's wrong. A-and that's not just for kings, either, you know! It's part of the life God calls us to! That doesn't make it any less hard, but sometimes it's what you've gotta do to save the world."

At that phrase, two grins spread. However, only one pair of eyes lit up, as if something had suddenly clicked, like the flick of a lighter, behind them. But Bernard didn't notice the bonfire beginning to burn.

"Not that the world was at stake for Arthur, of course," he added, tilting his head and turning back to the window. "For him, it was just a town, a handful of people. But more often than not, that's enough, I guess."

So on the story marched. Bernard told of the unexpected heroism of a secret ally, the various surprises that led to the final stroke, and the deliverance of the town and its people from a wicked thrall. The boys cheered at every victory. And, at long last, one window was clean, and one story was told.

"That was awesome!" Alex whooped, leaping to his feet and throwing his arms in the air.

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Walton!" added Cal, similarly eager.

Bernard's eyebrows went up. "Oh, so you did like the story, huh, Cal?"

"Well…" He glanced down, perplexed. "…yeah, I guess I did." Then he pointed, smirking. "I'm blaming you for that!"

Bernard chuckled. "Ehh, well, there's your story, now scoot, I got other things to do."

Both boys chorused a "See you, Mr. Walton!" as they raced off, successfully avoiding the refilled bucket this time.

"Ahh, kids these days. Hmm!" Turning from the cousins, he began to address his other listener. "Sorry about the interruption, Mr. D—"

But Bernard found himself alone with his bucket and squeegee.

"Uh, Mr. Dent?"

He peered around, searching for any trace of the polite, strange little man.

"You still around?"

But, as he soon discovered, he was not. Once the fact was plain, Bernard simply stood there frowning, hands on his hips.

"Well, point me north and call me a compass. Just up and vanished." He shook his head. "Ehh, that's what I get for letting word get out about me telling stories. Wish he'd stuck around, though, told me what had him so worried." His brow furrowed, and his conscience started to nudge him. "Wonder if he got too far… maybe I oughtta—"

There was an increasingly-familiar clang and splash just behind him.

"WATCH THE BUCKET! I oughtta get a sign for that!"

As Bernard wheeled to face another careless pedestrian, his curiosity faded again. Sorry, Dent, all that's gonna have to wait. I got windows to do. Besides, I'm sure it'll work itself out eventually.

That mindset was not to last much longer.

Author's Notes: Well, after literally a year, I finally finished this chapter! Thank you so much to everybody who's had the patience to stick it out with me. As much as I write, you think I'd be better at finishing things.

I will say one thing about this one - I personally headcanon that this, the whole "Dent meeting Bernard at this time/hearing the story" thing, would've happened even outside of the fic. The difference, however, is in just how things go down after, specifically with Bernard. Which you'll see in the next one...

(Well, whenever I get it done you'll see, anyway XD)