Pamela awoke to the obnoxious sound of the grating buzz of the clock radio, and snuck a hand out from under the covers to swat the off button. In the ensuing silence, she could just make out a muted pattering. She pulled the blankets off her head and glanced blearily at the window, to see that rain was falling against it. She threw the covers back and crossed the room to the window, and looked out at the storm clouds overhead. Whoever the hell had said it never rained in Southern California in that old song was clearly a liar. Her thoughts almost immediately turned to the Carlyle's, and their mode of transportation. She knew that there was undoubtedly special protective gear for riding a motorcycle in these conditions, but even so, it could hardly be completely waterproof. She pictured Andrew sitting uncomfortably in sodden clothes for most of the morning till he dried out. She'd be sure to bring some towels with her from home, probably some of her other students would arrive in less than ideal states as well.

She headed for the kitchen to brew some coffee and cut a couple of thick slices of Mr. Carlyle's bread for the toaster. She'd had a BLT for dinner the night before, changing her planned meal of spaghetti, in order to enjoy his gift at its freshest, and then made herself a second, the delicious nutty goodness of the whole grain loaf, somehow not making one sandwich enough.

She was sitting at her desk in the classroom, working on her lesson plan, when, in her peripheral vision, she saw a small hand slide a plastic wrapped muffin onto its corner. She raised her head, not surprised to see Andrew, but sill surprised all the same, she was sure she hadn't heard the roar of the motorcycle, and the boy looked remarkably dry and happy for someone who'd been exposed to the elements.

"From Boone," he said smiling and pulling a piece of paper out of a pocket, putting the recipe beside the small token; he turned to go.

"I didn't hear the bike," Pamela's words stopped him. "How did you get here?"

"Car," he supplied. "Sometimes Boone drives the car."

She pictured him in a chauffeurs' uniform, squiring the wealthy family he undoubtedly worked for around town, it probably gave him certain freedoms when it came to personal use of his employers' automobile. "Thank you," she said, for the muffin.

Andrew nodded happily and headed back to his seat.

The day progressed uneventfully. Pamela was starting to get a handle on the personalities and strengths and weaknesses of her individual students. It helped that the class was relatively small in comparison to the huge classes she'd been faced with in her former city based position. A different state, a different school, a chance to start fresh, it all seemed so exciting, and easier for someone like her with no ties holding her anywhere. Andrew left in the morning for his math class and then in afternoon for English, but she had him for the rest of the day. He had a widely varied knowledge of certain elements of geography and history, and even in three days, she could see that he was quickly going to leave the others behind. It was proving quite amusing for her to discover the somewhat obscure range of topics he did have a grasp on, and the fact that he could speak a smattering of Korean was truly odd. When they'd been talking about early American history he'd put up his hand and explained how to clean a flintlock gun, then in geography he'd challenged her about monsoons. She assumed that his father must have a decidedly eclectic taste in reading or television viewing, and had included the boy in both, though in her wildest imagination she wouldn't have believed that Andrew had read almost everything Boone had as well.

She was watching her students getting their things packed up for the day, when Boone came in the school room door, the scuff marks on his leather jacket blending in to the rest of the jet black colour by virtue of the rain that had soaked the garment though. His hair was strangely dry on top but dripping wet around the bottom, she realized that he had a ball cap gripped in one hand that explained it. Pamela could see the Beatles logo on the front of his t-shirt, as the unzipped jacket gapped open. This one looked as worn as the others she'd seen him in, even at this distance she could tell that there was a small tear at the neck line, his skin showing flesh coloured against the navy of the garment. She had no way of knowing that all the shirts had been gifts from Shannon and there was no way that he was going to stop wearing them or part with them until they literally hung in rags off his shoulders.

Predictably Andrew was waiting just a few feet inside the door for him. Pamela had noticed that the boy always seemed to time his approach to the entrance to coincide pretty much exactly with Boone's appearance; she chalked it up to the man's obviously highly ingrained sense of timing, and Andrews' reliance on it.

As Andrew hugged him, Boone smiled at her in greeting; then crouched to do up the fastenings on Andrews' yellow slicker. Rising and taking the boys' hand, he mouthed the word 'later' at her and left.

She waited a few minutes then went to the window to watch for them. There was a black four-door sedan parked at the curb where he usually left the bike, and they were headed directly for it, hunched against the rain, the ball cap back in place on the mans' head. Boone pulled the passenger door open for Andrew, then went around the front of the car to get in the drivers side. As he drove away, she read the make and model of the car off the trunk. Pamela didn't know that much about cars, but she knew that this one probably cost more than most peoples' houses. Whoever he worked for, they certainly were well off.

She was working at her desk an hour later when she heard the tentative knocking, raising her head at the sound, she smiled at him. "There you are."

"I'm late?" He immediately looked upset and confused.

She looked up at the clock as the second hand jumped from 4:59:59 to 5:00. "No Mr. Carlyle, you're right on time. I'm the one who lost track," Pamela assured him. He looked a little relieved.

He'd changed his clothes, she noted, exchanging the Beatles t-shirt for a soft grey long sleeved sweater, with top stitching, and his worn jeans for a dark wash dressier pair. He'd still worn the leather jacket though; it was clutched in his left hand. She found his effort to clean himself up for his appointment a bit old fashioned and endearing.

She informed him that they were all going to be gathering in the principals' office and led the way there. During the meeting, she wasn't surprised to find out that he had a quick and analytical mind, asking several questions, pointing out a number of factors that the rest of them had over looked and suggesting some changes. He asked again if he'd irreparably harmed Andrew in some way by teaching him so much more than most children his age could grasp, a worried look on his face. He breathed a sigh and seemed to relax a bit as he was reassured by the other three teaching professionals, and he had been my Pamela herself, that on the contrary, what he'd done was to be commended.

After Boone signed off on the authorization papers, Pamela walked him to the front door. The rain had let up while they'd all been closeted away discussing Andrews' schedule, and the sun was now valiantly trying to burn off the straggling remains of the storm clouds. As she smiled up at him saying goodbye, Boone found himself smiling back and admiring her features. He found his chest getting a little tight and his breathing a little laboured as he realized that he was becoming attracted to her. His smile faltered as he fumbled behind himself blindly for the door handle. He fled quickly, mumbling goodbye over his shoulder. Once in the car he crossed his arms over the steering wheel and rested his forehead on them.

His thoughts were an incoherent mess as he sat there, so much going through his head that he couldn't even begin to sift through it, guilt, confusion, desire, shame; they all ricocheted around in his skull. He was shaking slightly, as he raised his head and started the car, knowing that he couldn't sit out in front of the school any longer without drawing unwanted attention.

Pamela watched from inside the door, puzzled by his odd behaviour, then becoming concerned as the car stayed parked for a minute. She was just about to go out and check on him, when he pulled away from the curb.

When he got home Andrew was wheeling Boone's bicycle out of the garage, Andrews' own bike already on its kick-stand on the asphalt. As Boone parked the car, Andrew asked him, silently, if they could go for a ride. It was already past six, but he'd taken the window of time between picking Andrew up, and the meeting, to get dinner ready up to the point where it'd only take about five minutes to put the finishing touches on it, so he figured it wouldn't hurt if they delayed the meal briefly so they could get some bonding time together. It'd also give him an opportunity to get his thoughts more in order.

He'd tried to sort though his conflicting emotions on the drive home, and felt like he was starting to get a handle on the war of Desert Storm sized proportions, that was raging around in his mind. He'd already realized that at the root of most of it, was his sense of commitment to his marriage vows. Though they certainly hadn't stopped Shannon from abandoning him; that didn't mean that he felt comfortable following her lead. And he also felt a certain hesitance in starting anything with someone new, he was so messed up, was it even fair to expect someone to have to deal with his shit? And then there was his past, Christ he wondered, how the hell could anyone be expected to understand any of it? He knew he was getting a little ahead of himself though, it wasn't like he had to explain his whole life story on the first date.

There it was…'date,' the word frightened him, he hadn't been out on a date since before the crash. Still, for the first time in the over two years since Shannon had left, he found himself actually contemplating asking a woman out. He had to give that unaccustomed urge some consideration. He wanted to lead a more normal life, and what was more normal than dating? There was still a lot more thinking he had to do about it first, though, and this was certainly something he wasn't going to discuss at home. The woman was Andrews' teacher, and he had no idea how the boy would react, nor Tom and Heather.

He told his son to hang tight while he went in to change, and was back out in less than five minutes, actually glad at the chance for a bit of exercise.

The next morning Boone was hesitant about sending something for Pamela, given his suddenly conflicted emotions. The baked goods had only been thoughtful gestures before, just Boone's way of thanking her for going the extra mile for Andrew, now, at least to Boone, they were something different. He decided against it and zipped up Andrews' back pack, holding it out for him.

Andrew didn't take it, "You forgot to put something in for Miss Phillips, Boone."

Boone looked at him for a second, then smiled and breathed a small laugh, suddenly he felt like an idiot, only he would read something into an innocent pastry. "You're right, bud I did. What do you think she'd like today?"

Pamela kept the lid firmly closed on her coffee, waiting until Andrew arrived, hoping that he'd have something his dad had sent that she could enjoy with the hot beverage. She wasn't disappointed when he put a cinnamon bun on her desk on his arrival, and placed the inevitable piece of paper beside it. She asked him to wait while she scribbled a note on it and gave it back to him.

When Boone was doing the laundry that night, he was checking through Andrews' pockets before he threw the stuff in the wash, and found the message.

"I'm not allergic to anything, and thanks for the morning snacks." She'd signed it, Pamela.

When Boone suddenly appeared in the class room to pick Andrew up after school on Friday, she was startled; she'd been keeping one ear out for the unmistakeable sound of his arrival, but hadn't heard anything. She went to the window and saw the car, sitting at the curb in the bright sunlight; then approached them.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hi," he tried not to appear awkward, feeling a little like an adolescent who had a crush on his best friends' mother.

"No bike?"

"We're going to Jacks'!" Andrew said excitedly, as if that explained everything. "For the weekend," he added.

She frowned and waited for Boone to clarify, though he really didn't owe her any explanation. "We're going to the city to stay with some friends for the weekend, and we're leaving right from here. It's a little too far for Andrew on the bike, and the car needs service anyway so," he shrugged, "I thought I could kill two birds with one stone." Good one, Carlyle, you actually managed to sound coherent, he congratulated himself.

She smiled, thinking that it was nice of him to do his employer the favour on his own time, though she figured it probably evened out, seeing as he got the use of the car for the long drive into LA. "Well, that sounds like fun." She addressed her comment to Andrew, who nodded with enthusiasm. "Have a good time," she wished Boone.

She really was pretty, he thought. "Yeah, uhm, thanks. Uhm you have a good weekend too." He stammered a bit awkwardly then almost pushed Andrew out the door.

Pamela spoke briefly with another parent before going to the window. They were just getting in the car. She pictured the two of them in the rec room of some small suburban bungalow, or out in the postage sized back yard, the adults having a few beers and playing cards, while the kids ran amok, though she didn't really think that Andrew had it in him to run amok, he was pretty reserved, as was his dad. Still on a visit to some long time friends, which this 'Jack' undoubtedly was, given Andrew obvious excitement, they'd probably let their hair down. The thought led her to a mental image of Boone with long hair, and she zoned out for a bit, the next thing she knew she was alone in the classroom.