Authors' Note : For those who were wondering, our other pen names are under our favourite authors. We're not narcissistic, it just seemed to be the fastest way to link everything together. Also, we forgot to add the soundtrack to the last chapter. It was Fly, by Jars of Clay. Enjoy the chapter.



Patience

Sound track: Stuck in A Moment



The well-dressed young man glanced at his watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes, and sighed. He paced the well-appointed airport lounge, impatience evident in his every move.



Finally, after his fourth circuit of the room, he collapsed in one of the chairs left for just this purpose. Wealth had its advantages, after all.

Another such advantage took this opportunity to enter the room. The man stared at the airline attendant. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, in response to his look, "There's still no word of the flight." Smiling encouragingly, she added, "Perhaps they were delayed in New York. There's always some new mechanical failure popping up at JFK. If you would like to leave, and perhaps order dinner, there may be news when you return."



The man shook his head, and the attendant sighed inwardly. "Perhaps you would a diversion while you are here?" Her provincial accent became slightly more noticeable, colouring her English words. "I am certain we could have food brought to you; perhaps a magazine, or something else...?" She trailed off helplessly, as the man made no move to answer.



Finally, he replied, his voice quiet: " I desire nothing, as I said before, except notification when the plane arrives."



His steely tone made the stewardess shiver, despite herself. //Rich businessman//, she reminded herself. //Do not antagonize him, do what he requires, and then get on with your work.// Summoning a bright smile, she replied, "Very well, sir. I will check for updates on the flight for you." When he did not answer, she moved uncertainly towards the door. "I'll just go then." Pushing the door open, she turned and almost fled from his presence.



Once she was gone, the man sighed once more. He stood up and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, across the rented room, a suite for rich clients who wanted to avoid the common crowds of the airport. Or perhaps for those who wished to avoid prying eyes. He ran his hands through short brown hair, and almost growled in frustration. He hated this inactivity, this sitting around doing *nothing*, while relying on the minions of others to bring him information.



No, the young man did not take inactivity well. This suite was to him a gilded cage, preventing him from taking action. He was feeling particularly murderous when his pager went off with a jarring beep in the otherwise silent room. His hand shot towards his jacket pocket, pulling the small black device into view.



A stark message scrolled across the glowing screen. The man felt the blood drain from his face:



We've got a problem. Come to Dublin. Now.



He swore and made a move for the door, just as the unfortunate attendant was re-entering.



"I'm sorry, sir, there's still been no-oh! My apologies, sir, I did not realize-"



The young man stepped deftly around the stammering woman, heading for the door. With his long strides, the attendant was forced to turn a complete one-eighty and run after him. "Sir? Is everything all right? Can I-"



He turned then, so suddenly that the poor attendant stopped in her tracks. "When's the next flight to Dublin?" he asked, his tone abrupt.



Whatever the woman was expecting, this wasn't it. "I'm not certain, sir. I can find out for you."



"Yes." His tone suggested that any argument would be foolish. "I need to be out on the next flight. It's extremely important." An unreadable emotion flickered briefly in his eyes, and his voice softened. "Please."



Wordless, the stewardess nodded, and headed down the hall, her heels clicking on the marble floor.



The man strode after her, feeling his anticipation rise. Finally, a bit of action. Seeing as it was Dublin calling him in chances were that it wasn't going to be *positive* action, but at least he would be doing *something*.



After all, he had waited most of his life for this day. He couldn't wait much longer.