Feeling restless, Minerva slowly rises to her feet and eases around her father in the small bathroom. She steps into her bedroom and begins wandering aimlessly. Prowling.

He follows.

Leaning against the bathroom door jamb, he silently looks her over. She is listless. He can clearly see the pulse point throbbing in her neck. She's perspiring; yet shivering, and her pupils are dilated as if she were currently in a much darker room.

"Tell me how tae help ye, and Ah will."

She doesn't respond.

He steps across the room and attempts to take her face in his hands.

She flinches and physically recoils from his touch.

"Minerva, can ye hear me, lass?"

Her response is delayed but after several seconds, she nods.

"It's jus me. Yer alright Minerva."

"What?" She shakes her head as if trying to clear her mind. "Da, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Patiently, he repeats, "Ah said, it's jus me. Yer alright."

Realizing why he's trying to reassure her, she flinches again. Touching his hands, she brings them together between hers as she whispers, "I'm sorry. It's not you. I…" She trails off, shaking her head.

"Ye dinnae 'ave tae apologize. It's jus a memory, me girl. Nothing is happenin' tae ye now." When he hears his own words, he self-corrects, "Well, I dinnae ken. Maybe something is happenin' tae ye now, but yer safe. Ah promise."

Minerva wraps her arms around her father. After a long moment, she breathes deeply. "Why did he do this?"

Robert shrugs helplessly. "Ah'm sorry, darlin. Ah dinnae 'ave an answer fir that. Me mind does nae work that way. Ah cannae understand wye any man would treat a woman so badly."

Minerva squints in confusion and when she realizes what he's talking about, she groans aloud. "Not them! Da, something inside them is very…"

She paces in agitation trying to choose her next words. "Broken. Irreparably so. I don't know why. Maybe when they were children, they didn't get enough sunlight, or vitamin D." Her volume begins to climb with each word. "Maybe they didn't get enough love, or enough discipline. Maybe they were abused. I don't know. I don't care!"

"Wye are ye yellin at me?"

"Because you're the only one here to yell at."

He shrugs." Aw right then, go fir it. Jus dinnae hyperventilate. Breathe please… slowly, deeply."

Exasperated, she pushes out a breath of air noisily, and then pulls another back in as she sinks down onto the edge of her mattress.

"That's better. Who were ye talking aboot?"

She scowls. "Dumbledore! Why'd he do this, Da?"

He approaches slowly and sits down close beside her while being careful not to touch her. "I expect, because you were his friend and he loved you. He wanted to give you peace Minerva."

She laughs bitterly. "This doesn't feel like peace… Or love."

"Not now, but it will… Someday."

"Why didn't he tell me he was doing this?"

Robert shrugs. "Probably because he dinnae want it tae always be on yer mind. Whether catching them took six months or five years or…"

"Twenty-seven?"

He nods. "He wanted you to be able to heal… To get over this."

"You men! I know you're trying to help, but this is not something a woman gets over."

"Poor choice of words."

"They held me for three weeks. Even twenty-seven years later, don't think that a week goes by I don't think about it."

Robert nods grimly. "It's right up there with Dougal dyin', or Elphinstone, or yer brother. It's not something ye get over. It's jus something ye…"

"Get through." She finishes dryly. "Problem with that is, I don't have time to dredge all this up again… Not now. I do not have time to fall apart!"

"Then, dinnae dae it! Dinnae give the monsters space in yer heid. Ye dinnae deserve tae be tormented like that, and I'm bloody well sure they're nae worthy."

"He still should've told me. So that it wouldn't come out of nowhere and slap me across the face one day."

At a loss for what to say, Robert grasps on the first thought that pops into his mind. "Maybe he felt guilty."

Minerva scowls again. "For what?"

"Fir askin' ye tae join the Order in the first place."

For the first time since she stepped into her office to find Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting there for her, Minerva looks her father in the eye. "Please tell me that you do not think that was his fault! All he did was ask. I said yes. It was my choice. He did not hold a gun to my head!"

Robert holds his hands palm up in a defensive manner. Chuckling softly, He asks, "Yer the only ane? No ane else is allowed tae be annoyed wit him?"

Minerva huffs, "You can be annoyed with him, just don't blame him! If you need to blame somebody, blame the four wastes of human flesh who did this to me, not Dumbledore!"

Robert smiles at his daughter.

"What!" She demands. "It works for me!"

"Feeling better?"

She rises to her feet with her hands on her hips. "Is that why we're having this ridiculous conversation? Because you're trying to distract me?"

"Ye look better. Ye were scarin' me fir a few minutes t'ere."

"Da!"

"Whut? Ye think Ah ken how tae fix everything? Ah dinnae ken how tae fix this, Minerva. I dinnae have a clue!"

Taking him by the elbow, she pulls him gently to his feet and wraps her arms around him. "I love you, too."

"That's better."

She steps away, reaching for his hand. "Come on."

Robert stays rooted in place. "Where are we goin' noo?"

"To the kitchen."

"The kitchen?"

"You said you were hungry. I'm going to feed you, then I'm going to Kellan's to check on Robbie. After that, I'm going to come back here and go back to work."

Robert presses his lips into a thin line. "And work like a she-cat until you either forget their faces or drop from exhaustion."

Minerva sighs tiredly. "I'll never forget, but don't knock exhaustion. Work is cheaper, healthier, and probably more effective than becoming an alcoholic. It helps."

Robert squints. "Those are yer only options? Work… Or drink yerself to death."

Minerva shrugs. "Not the only two. Just the two that come most readily to mind."

Robert squeezes her hand gently. "Stick with the work."

"That's my plan."

A few minutes later, he is seated on a barstool in her tiny kitchenette sampling the quickly made sandwich she delivers to him before taking her own seat and sipping carefully from a strongly brewed cup of tea that is heavily flavored with ginger.

Glancing her way, he raises an eyebrow. "Minerva, ye need more than jus' tea."

She nods without comment.

He holds out half of his sandwich, offering it to her.

Shaking her head, she closes her eyes to the sight of his lunch and wrestles with her own gag reflex. "It won't stay down, Da. You eat it. It may be a few days before my stomach settles. I wasn't prepared to be hit with this today."

Concerned, he nods his acceptance. "Fir today lass, but yer gonnae starve yerself. Ah dinnae want tae see ye losin' weight again. Not like a'fore."

Minerva sighs indignantly. "I have never tried to starve myself."

"Maybe not but ye lost entirely too much weight back then."

She nods. "Da, that was not entirely due to my emotional state at the time. Some of it was due to the fact that, on top of everything else, they withheld food. They offered only enough to keep me alive. The weight loss began before I escaped. Shortly thereafter, I was coping, not only with my own raw nerves, but also with a horrendous case of morning sickness. Food was simply… revolting."

"Ye come see me next weekend. Ah'll make supper fir ye fir a change."

She starts to nod, then catching herself, she shakes her head. "I'm busy next weekend."

"Ye cannae run this place come 1 September if ye drop dead from neglect. Ye 'ave to look after yerself."

"I know that. I'm not working next weekend. I'm busy. Flitwick's wife cannot attend the All-England this year. I've been asked to go in her place. I've already said I would."

"That dueling competition?" Her father frowns.

"That's right."

"Ye havnae seen enough of that lately?"

A hiss of laughter escapes her, like air abruptly leaking from a punctured tire. "I've seen enough of that to last me a hundred lifetimes."

"Then wye go?"

"Because he's my friend. Because he asked. Because he does this every year. It's tradition for him. He shouldn't have to give it up because of what happened two weeks ago. If he changes his plans because of that..." She pauses to shake her head. "No! If we stop living our lives because people have hurt us, then… They win. That's unacceptable."

"Want me tae come with ye tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not. Assuming any of those men are in custody, I don't want you seeing any of them."

Robert shakes his head sadly. "It's nae yer shame. It's theirs."

Minerva lifts her chin sharply. "I know that. I have never understood why so many people in this world seem to believe that it is more shameful to be a survivor of rape than it is to be a rapist."

"Then let me come with ye."

Shaking her head, Minerva persists. "It's one thing to know it happened. It's another thing to have their faces haunt your dreams. I don't want that for you."

Confused, Robert raises an eyebrow. "Yer tryin' tae protect me? That's a wee bit backward me girl."

She shrugs. "I had no control over what happened… Beyond my initial decision to put myself in harm's way. One thing I can control now is how I choose to contain the poison they wanted to spread. The thought of them still makes me nauseous. It may always make me nauseous. And even after all this time, they may still occasionally keep me awake at night, but their faces don't have to trouble your sleep."

"Ye think not being able tae recognize them on sight has somehow spared me? Name a single time that yer daughter has ever cried herself tae sleep at night that it didnae trouble yer soul."

Minerva tips her head to one side. "Fair point. Still… I'll be less uncomfortable if I handle tomorrow on my own."

Feeling irascible, yet understanding that his acceptance is crucial, Robert grimaces and offers his hand. He waits for her to take it, and when she does, he squeezes it affectionately. "Ye call me if ye change yer mind. Ah'll be there."

"I know you will."

"If yer gonnae eat, at least try tae get some rest. Didnae worry aboot goin' over tae Kellan's. Ah'll drop by and see whut's gone wrong wit Robbie."

"Kellan called me. I want to go."

Robert grins as he declares, "Stubborn as an ox!"

"I want to stop at Logan's after. Take her some dinner."

"Are ye goin' tae tell her."

Minerva breathes deeply. "Not until I know what there is to tell her."

Before Robert can do more than nod, a loud cracking noise signifies the arrival of Benna, the house elf.

Curtseying in respect, the diminutive elf immediately tucks her hands behind her back. "Madame, I am sorry to interrupt. Hello Mr. Reverend, sir. It's very good to see you again. Forgive my intrusion please, but Madame Pomphrey bade me come tell Madame that Miss Misty is finally awake.

Robert raises an eyebrow, but before he has time to form even one question, his daughter is on her feet.

Just before leaving the privacy of her quarters, she declares over her shoulder, "Thank you, Benna." and Robert has only enough time to drain his glass of milk, washing down one last bite of his sandwich as he rushes to keep up with her. Once in her office, she steps around behind her desk and quickly removes a long narrow wooden container from the bottom drawer. After that, she leaves the office and pauses only long enough to magically lock her door.

With purpose in her stride, Minerva silently traverses the ground floor of the castle. In her wake, Robert trails along, listening to the sounds of her rustling cloak and the sharp snap of her high-heeled boots against the stone floor, wondering what the hurry is all about, and knowing that he will find out soon enough.

When she pushes through the entrance to the hospital wing, her father isn't surprised to find rows of empty beds. School is not in session. When she pushes through a second door leading to a private suite, he finds that they are in the company of not only Madame Pomphrey, but three other people he does not recognize; the last of which is a pale-skinned blond girl with dark circles under her eyes who is propped up in her hospital bed courtesy of numerous pillows and, despite her sickly pallor, upon catching sight of Minerva, she smiles radiantly.

"Professor McGonagall!" The blonde girl reaches out for Minerva's hand. "Dad and Rip were just telling me how you got me out from under that pile of stone. Thank you!"

Minerva squeezes the girl's hand. "You're welcome. I'm relieved to have you awake."

"Yeah, Rip says I've been asleep for two weeks. It doesn't feel like two weeks." She yawns. "It feels like ten minutes. I feel like I could go back to sleep and stay that way until tomorrow. You would think after two whole weeks I would be ready to run a marathon."

"There's no need for that. You rest until you get your strength back."

Clayton Rivers clears his throat. "Why did she sleep so long?"

Madame Pomphrey offers, "As I've said before, the charm to induce sleep has different effects on different people. I assure you, there's no need for concern. No damage was done."

Turning to face Misti's father, Minerva admits freely, "I'm afraid Madame Pomphrey is being discreet on my account. It was I who made the decision to induce sleep. I did it to spare Misti any of the discomfort that came from being lifted out of that pile of rubble. I am the transfiguration teacher. That is where my greatest proficiency lies. I am not a healer by trade. When I put her under, I may have used a tad more magic than was necessary. I did not want to risk her waking during extraction."

Madame Pomphrey tries again. "She may be tired for a few days yet, but she will be fine. I expect nothing less than a full recovery… And medical magic is my stock in trade."

Interrupting, Misti declares, "Never mind that. I'll be fine. When do I get to go home?"

"We shall have to wait and see." Madame Pomphrey replies. "Possibly this evening. No later than tomorrow afternoon, I should think."

Excited by the prospect of being anywhere other than a hospital bed, Misti turns to her father. "And when can we go to Chicago?"

"Slow down, Missy. Let's just get you home first. We'll talk about Wrigley Field next week."

Misti's younger brother, Ripley, places a hefty bright orange gift bag on the mattress beside her. "Cordelia and M.J. have already gone home. He sent you a whole box of chocolate frogs. I already opened them. I wanted to know what was in the box, but I didn't nick any. You need all the chocolate you can get. Hurry up and eat them. I want the cards."

Peering into the bag, Misti laughs. "Rip, you're such a snoopy-nose."

Undaunted, Rip shrugs. "Eat them, you'll get better faster."

Purely to indulge him, Misti reaches into the bag, draws one out, and removes the wrapper from a single chocolate frog. She hands over the trading card inside the package, and nibbles halfheartedly.

Rip looks at the trading card and grimaces. "Wendelin the Weird. I've only got about 12 of her."

"There's a whole bag. I'm sure we'll find at least one you don't already have. Have a frog yourself if you like."

"Nah, you have them all. I'll just wait for the cards."

"Maybe you should be the one laying in a hospital bed. What's the matter with you, Rip? You love chocolate."

Minerva eyes the two children knowingly but decides not to rat the boy out. "Perhaps he's just eager to enjoy what's left of his summer holiday."

Grateful not to have the truth revealed, Ripley nods exuberantly. "Yeah, it's summer. I don't want to spend my whole break here, at school, standing around waiting for you to wake up."

Laughing, Misti turns her attention back to Minerva. "What's in the box Professor?"

Stepping near, Minerva lays a long slender box with a glass front across the girl's lap. "I'm sorry to say you were right about your wand being damaged beyond repair. It was not completely snapped. Only partially. I managed to mend it so that it would at least look presentable, but I'm afraid it's no longer safe for spellwork. I've placed it inside this shadow box so that you might at least display it as a piece of treasured memorabilia."

Tears glisten in the corners of Misti's eyes. She cradles the box as if it were a priceless gift. "Thank you, Professor."

Minerva pats her shoulder. "I will leave you to visit with your family. Take care of yourself. Enjoy your summer. I will see you and your brother in September if you intend to return to Hogwarts."

Both children nod emphatically as Minerva turns to their father, seeking his assurance.

Clayton Rivers shrugs. "They are both determined to come back here. If recent events haven't traumatized them beyond the point of wanting to return, who am I to deny them."

"Thank you, Mr. Rivers. I wish the three of you a safe journey home." She shakes his hand, but as she moves to step away, Clayton Rivers pulls her into an unexpected embrace.

"No ma'am. Thank you. Had you not acted as quickly as you did, I might not have either of my children."

She pats Clayton Rivers awkwardly on his shoulder and gently pushes herself free, addressing both of his children. "I will see you both come fall and I expect that you will both be on your best behavior. No more sneaking in or out of this castle."

Misti and Ripley concur respectively with, "Yes ma'am." and, "No ma'am."

Minerva presses her lips together tightly to keep from smiling as their father assures, "They'll be here, and they will behave like angels."

On her way to the door, she motions for her father to follow, and says quietly, "Poppy, a word if I may?"

Madame Pomphrey assures both her patient, and the girl's family, "I'll be back momentarily."

Minerva doesn't speak until the doors of the private wing close behind them and she is more than halfway to the exit. "How's the death eater?"

"Still in isolation. Still petrified. Sprout is hopeful that we will have mandrakes to stew as early as this coming Wednesday."

Minerva nods. "Whenever it is ready, you are not to administer the draft, unless there's an apprehension squat standing by, waiting for his revival. I want him taken into custody as soon as he is physically capable of movement."

The Hogwarts matron nods her understanding. "Of course."

After apparating onto her nephew's intentionally secluded back porch, Minerva stands with her back to the porch railing for several seconds waiting for her already contentious stomach to settle. After the second needed to collect herself, she crosses the narrow porch, raps quietly on the door, and lets herself in, doubting that she will hear any response to her knock over the sound of her grand-nephew's wailing.

Standing in his kitchen, with his son on his hip, Kellan pleads, "Robbie, please son…"

Catching sight of her before his father does, a red-faced Robbie reaches out to Minerva with both of his small hands. "Au Min."

Leaving the back door open, Minerva crosses the room and scoops the boy into her arms as Kellan mutters in relief, "Thank you, God!"

He closes the back door as she looks the boy over.

"What's all the fuss about?" She asks, talking to the child, but it's his father who answers, "Ah 'ave no Scooby-Doo."

She smiles at the toddler and searches the pockets of her dress in search of a clean handkerchief to wipe his runny nose. "Da doesn't have a clue. Can you give me one, lad?"

The dark-haired boy continues to cry but struggles to push her handkerchief away from his face and looks at her with mild interest. "Sue-bee-Doo?"

"Of course, that would be the one thing you would pick up on. You need a bath."

Kellan groans. "I gave him a bath two hours ago. I swear. He has to be the dirtiest child God ever made. I got him out of the tub, I dried him off, and before I could get him out of the bathroom, he was dirty again."

Minerva smirks. "Don't swear… and he's not the dirtiest child God ever made. You were. Apparently, he's just intent on claiming the second-place honor for himself."

Kellan raises an eyebrow. "I was?"

Minerva presses her lips to the baby's forehead before nodding. "I had this same conversation with your father about 21 years ago. Only, instead of 'before I can get him out of the bathroom.' It was 'before I can get him dressed again.' Robb said dirt found you. You were a magnet for it. And… Your son is running a fever."

Kellan frowns, telling the boy, "Lad, whut's the big idea? Ye cannae get sick. Mam wilnae be back until tomorrow night."

Robbie looks around, searching. "Mam?"

"Kellan, It's not a question of his getting sick. He already is. He's holding his right ear. I'll bet it's bothering him again. Where are his ear drops? He probably has an infection."

Kellan's sighs and reaches for the diaper bag on the kitchen table. "Ah hope she put them in here." Searching the pockets, he complains, "Ah dinnae ken wye she insists on doin' it this way, cannae ye just…" He gestures as if he's waving a wand. "fix it."

Minerva studies her nephew with intensity. "Kellan, Mitzi insists on doing it this way, because your son is part muggle, and because if his body never learns to fight off any kind of minor infection, he won't have a chance of dealing with a life-threatening one. This is a common ailment for a child his age. As long as he's not in serious danger, you should treat the problem, and allow his body to do its own natural healing. It will be better for him in the long run … and I'm a schoolteacher, not a healer."

"I don't see any ear drops. I see Children's Tylenol, but no ear drops.

Sighing in resignation, Minerva pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, sits down, props the fussy toddler in her lap and takes the diaper bag from his father. As she searches through pockets, she asks, "Where is Mitzi?"

"Girl's weekend."

"Well, if you two are going to continue to live in separate houses, then Robbie needs you to get better at this. This is not the only time in his life that he's going to feel poorly. You need a well-stocked first aid kit, complete with Children's Tylenol, ear drops, and anything else Robbie needs on a regular basis here at your place. So that, if Mitzi forgets to pack something, it's not an issue."

She pulls a bottle with a medicine dropper in the cap from the bottom of a pocket crammed full of bibs and diapers. As Minerva attempts to read the directions on the back of the small bottle, Robbie reaches for the bottle with one hand, and her glasses with the other.

Gently removing both items from his chubby fists, she declares patiently, "If you want me to make you feel better, young man, I need these. I can't read the tiny print on the back of this bottle without my spectacles."

Robbie looks at her curiously and sniffles. "Read?"

"That's correct. I need to read the directions." Purely to distract him, she offers him a rubber toy dragon from his bag before she returns her glasses to the bridge of her nose, and her attention to the vial of medicine.

Robbie promptly crams half of the squeaking toy into his mouth and uses it to massage his tender gums.

After reading the instructions carefully, Minerva picks up the small baby bottle in the center of the kitchen table and passes it to her nephew. "Rinse this and get him some fresh juice."

Kellan's steps toward the refrigerator. "He likes milk better."

"Get him some juice and water it down a bit. He shouldn't have milk with a fever; and I need a cotton ball."

Kellan leaves the room momentarily and returns with a bag of cotton balls. He tosses them onto the kitchen table, and then takes his son's bottle to the kitchen sink.

Losing interest in both the adults and his toy, Robbie spits his dragon out and sends it shooting to the floor, before eagerly exchanging it for the crystal pendant wrapped in gold filigree on the long chain around his aunt's neck.

Minerva almost chuckles aloud when the boy immediately spits the crystal back out again and offers her a disgruntled look, dissatisfied with the trinket's less than comforting texture. "Not what you thought it would be, lad?"

"He puts aw things in his mouth. I dinnae ken wye." Kellan steps near, and his son automatically reaches for the bottle containing diluted apple juice.

Minerva intercedes, taking the bottle and holding it out away from the grasping boy long enough to add a dose of Children's Tylenol to the mixture before securing the cap again, shaking it thoroughly, and handing it over. "That's not unusual - not for his age. Babies taste the world."

As soon as Robbie's mind is on his bottle, she tips the baby boy's head to one side and spurts a few drops of antibiotics into his ear.

Kellan watches Minerva pull a cotton ball into halves and gently press one of them into his son's small ear before tilting the boy's head in the opposite direction and repeating the process with the left ear just for good measure.

"Mitzi is better at this stuff than me." He acknowledges quietly.

"Well, you have two options. Either you get better at it yourself, or you work things out with your wife. Robbie needs both of you. And truthfully, whether you fix things with Mitzi or not, being a better parent never hurts."

Kellan nods as he runs his fingers through his hair before admitting hesitantly, "I want her to come back."

"Why?" Minerva raises an eyebrow.

Kellan scowls.

Minerva prompts, "Because you miss Robbie's mother, or because you miss your wife?"

"Same difference."

"No, it's not. At least, not to a woman."

Kellan fights hard, resisting the urge to groan aloud. "Okay, explain it tae me."

"Do you want Mitzi back here just because she's Robbie's primary caregiver, and she makes things easier for you in that department, or do you want her back here because you are lonely without her."

"Why does it matter? Isn't it enough just to know that I want her to come back?"

"No, probably not. If you only want her back because you miss your chief cook and bottle washer, that's probably not good enough. Whatever has gone wrong between the two of you… Well, it takes two to make a relationship, and it takes two to break one. Figure out why you want her back, and what it's going to take to make that happen. Then, act accordingly."

"She says I don't listen."

Minerva rises to her feet. As she hands the baby over, she kisses her grown nephew on the cheek and says plainly, "Well, then maybe you should start."

As she steps toward the back door, she points at Robbie. "Give him another bath. The Tylenol will make him sleepy. Do that again every four hours with the eardrops and the Tylenol until his fever breaks. If his fever gets worse, or if it's not gone in 24 hours, take him to see his pediatrician."

Kellan squints. "Yer leavin?"

"I am."

"But, I…dinnae ken how tae dae this."

"Well, he's already 13 months old. Don't you think it's time you figured it out?"

"Aunt Minerva!"

She smiles. "Do what I told you to. Robbie will be fine – and so will you."

Hand on the doorknob, she apperates, vanishing on the spot, and leaves her nephew staring into the blue eyes of his cantankerous son.

Logan pulls the quilt on her king size bed over her head, wishing she could refuse to get up. It's no use though. The gnawing hunger in her belly has finally overridden her need for sleep. Stubbornly, she lets another two minutes slip passed by before groaning and tossing the bed linens aside. When both feet are on the floor, she looks down at herself. Bra, girl boxers, and thick fluffy socks. At least she managed to get undressed before collapsing into near unconsciousness. Pressing an index finger into the corner of one eye, she rubs away the crusty residue of sleep as she shuffles into the bathroom.

Minutes later, she's on the verge of winding her way down the loft staircase and stepping into her postage stamp-sized living room when her empathic subconscious taps out morse code, letting her know that she's not alone. With no need to peer over the railing to find out precisely who is below, she ducks back into her bedroom, and snags an oversized pajama top from the bench at the end of the bed. Shrugging into it, she reverses direction. Halfway down the floating staircase and she realizes that her empathic ability has been heavily influenced by the aroma of fish grilling.

Across her living room in less than half dozen steps, and she pauses at the bar that separates her galley-style kitchen from the rest of the downstairs living space. Yawning as she looks at her unexpected guest's back, she announces her presence with, "You are the only person alive who will go to the trouble to break into my house, just to fix my dinner."

Minerva shrugs as she turns salmon on the kitchen grill. "What trouble? I just walked right through the cat flap in the side door. No breaking required, only entering." Glancing over her shoulder at Logan, she continues, "This fish needs another 20 minutes. You still look tired."

"I am. I had a milkshake on my way home. Once I was here, I barely got my clothes off before I passed out, but the need for food has finally trumped the need for sleep."

Reaching into the fruit basket on her kitchen counter, Minerva tosses a banana Logan's way. "Go have a shower. You have time."

Twenty-two minutes later, Logan slides onto one of her two barstools and nearly moans aloud at the sight of a plate filled with grilled salmon, yellow rice, and a medley of sautéed vegetables including green beans, mixed with diced onions, mushrooms and firm grape tomatoes. She wastes no time hastily dropping a linen napkin into her lap, before picking up knife and fork and digging in.

Quietly, Minerva delivers her own plate and two glasses of milk to the bar before taking her seat. She waits for Logan to help herself to another three bites before asking, "Good?"

Chuckling behind her own napkin, it takes a long moment before Logan replies with, "I promise, I do know how to feed myself."

"Of course, you do. I simply knew you would be sleeping… And that food would be the most effective way to rouse you."

"Something up?"

"Nothing I'm ready to talk about yet. I just wanted to see you. How are things at work?"

Logan groans. "Minna, why are people so stupid?"

"Oh my... Bad day?"

Logan helps herself to a bite of salmon and talks behind her napkin. "I assisted today while Dr. McGivallrie took a 45-caliber bullet out of a nine-year-old's thigh. Her parents thought it would be a good idea to hang a loaded gun on a nail behind the family's china hutch.

Minerva presses her lips together grimly.

"Like nobody in the world has ever heard of a gun safe, or of properly educating children to respect firearms."

"Will the girl recover?"

Logan nods just as grimly. "An inch to the right and she would be dead. And her clueless parents stood in the hospital waiting room screaming obscenities at each other over whose fault it was."

"They are both responsible, but it hardly does any good to tell them that after their child has been brought to the emergency room with a bullet hole in her leg."

"I know… But I really, really wanted to."

Minerva both nods, and shrugs, helping herself to a forkful of vegetables. "I don't think it's possible to be a member of our family and not have a little salt on your tongue. Back to work tomorrow?"

"No. I'm off. I'm going shoe shopping in London with Vivienne. I'm leaving my pager home."

"Shoe shopping, sans the pager? You are in need of a break."

"I'm in need of a new pair of trainers. I've just about walked holes in the current pair. Plus, Viv wants to go in for a massage. There's a coffee shop next door to the spa. I might linger over an espresso while she's getting pummeled." Logan uses her fork to pick slices of mushroom out of her green beans and eat them before she adds, "Or, have my hair washed, and then go get the espresso."

After a bite of rice, Minerva declares, "Now, there's a way to relax."

"I know. Right? I don't like massages." Logan shakes her head in revulsion. "I don't want total strangers touching me, and if I let someone do it anyway, their touch is either too heavy, or not heavy enough… But washing my hair… Different story."

"It's the touch of warm water. Getting clean, without having to put yourself in a vulnerable position, plus the added bonus of not having to wash all that hair yourself."

"Vivienne thinks I'm strange. Like I've got some kind of a hang-up."

"Because you don't enjoy being touched by strangers, or because you like having your hair washed?"

"Both, I guess. Last time we did this, I let her push me into a shoulder massage and got up from the table feeling more tense than I did before it began. Then, she laughed at me when I went into the salon for a wash and set… but declined a haircut."

"Don't let yourself be pushed into anything that makes you uncomfortable… ever. If she pokes fun at you again tomorrow just tell her it's my fault."

"Your fault?"

Minerva nods. "Habits you probably picked up on by watching me."

Logan raises an eyebrow behind her glass of milk. "Not liking handsy strangers, or the hair washing?"

"Both."

"Even if they are things I learned from watching you, that hardly makes it your fault."

Minerva chuckles dryly as she gets up from her barstool in response to the ringing of the oven timer. Pausing long enough to wrap the piece of fish still on her plate in foil, she quickly rinses her plate and drops it into the dishwasher before continuing on her way to the oven. "Just this once, be like everybody else. Take the easy way out… blame your mother for your neurotic tendencies."

Logan spears a bite of tomato with her fork as she rolls her eyes. "Do you know how many people do that?"

Minerva dons a single mitt before opening the oven door. "Most of the adults in this world. If it's not their mother, then it's their father, or whoever has the most profound influence on their life."

Knowing without having to ask who the foil wrapped leftovers are for, Logan says, "Tell Wordsworth I said hello, and rub his belly for me."

Minerva nods without comment.

Catching one of her favorite scents coming from the open oven door, Logan sits up straight on her barstool, trying to peer around Minerva, "Do I smell spice rolls?"

Minerva pulls the baking tray from the oven and closes the door before turning and putting them on display.

Logan smiles in anticipation. "The ones with the orange glaze?"

"Do you eat any other kind?"

"Only when forced."

"You can have one for dessert. Then go back to bed. You have dark circles under your eyes. Share the rest with Vivienne tomorrow. They'll go nicely with the espresso."

"You're leaving already?"

"As soon as these are cool enough to put the glaze on. You need sleep."

"And you don't? You look like you've been through the wringer today."

"I've had better days… But I've also had worse."

"What happened?"

Minerva shakes her head. "We're not going to talk about that tonight. You're going back to bed."

"Translation… You haven't figured out what you want to share yet."

"That's correct. Go blow dry your hair. Don't go back to bed with a wet head."

Knowing it would be an exercise in utter futility to argue, Logan offers, "At least let me clean my own kitchen. You cooked."

"I've got this. It won't take me ten minutes. It's going to take you 45 to dry your hair. And it's almost 7:00 PM."

Logan's eyes widen slightly as she glances at the watch on her wrist, "No, it's not."

"Yes. It is."

"I slept for almost seven hours, but I fill like I slept for 10 minutes."

"Back in bed before nine, please."

Logan laughs drolly. "Yes ma'am. I'll be in the upstairs bathroom with the hairdryer.

When she returns to the kitchen 47 minutes later with shiny dry hair, she finds the room cleaner than it was when she arrived home from work earlier in the day. Minerva is gone, and fragrant spice rolls lightly topped with a sweet orange glaze are waiting for her inside a covered Rubbermaid container. Resting on top of the lid, she finds four 20-pound notes tucked neatly between the folds of an old grocery receipt. The brief message penned across the back of the receipt reads simply, "For the new shoes."

After tearing a sheet of paper towel from the roll next to the sink, Logan helps herself to one spice roll plus the second glass of milk that is already poured and waiting for her. Because it's still cold, she knows she hasn't been alone in the tiny townhouse for long.

Opening the appropriate lower cabinet door, she pulls out the retractable shelf they sit on, but isn't surprised to find that the trash bags in her two small trash cans are empty. The trash has already been taken out.

Sighing happily, she picks up her dessert from the counter. Before she leaves the room, she quickly glances at both the front and the side door, to make certain that both are still locked. Both the deadbolts are engaged, indicating that Minerva could only have left the same way she entered.

Still smiling, Logan shakes her head. The soft white glow of exterior lighting behind nearly sheer curtain panels tells her that Minerva also made the rounds for her before she left. Battening down the hatches and making sure that both porch lights were left burning to deter any would-be burglars in the night. Since all her curtains are drawn tight, Logan also knows with absolute certainty that each of the window locks have been carefully inspected, checked for their worthiness.

With nothing left to do, she turns out the single light left burning in the kitchen and returns to bed where she props herself up against pillows long enough to slowly pull apart the layers of the sticky spice roll and savor each individual bite. When that's done, and the last drop of milk is gone from her glass, she assumes her feline form and slinks toward the center of her bed where she curls into a tight ball. Purring softly, she closes her eyes and sleep reclaims her without delay.