Author's Note: Well, this took me a bit longer to write than I thought it would, but I got stuck halfway through on a bit of a sticky personality point. Luckily I worked through it with a bit of help. And here's the chapter, longer than I intended, but with not as much in it as I'd hope. Oh well, that means more chapters down the road.

Author's thanks at end.


Sure, murder is messy, and we'd probably have to pay for damage to the room, but you know what they say about desperate times. No matter how crude, murder is rather effective.

And just what has driven me to murder? My lips curl sourly as I ponder that answer; that grimace must have coincided with some witticism from the peanut gallery because my companions laugh. They get a sardonic grin in return – as if I know what they're talking about – but my thoughts rebelliously stick to their guns. Ha-ha, guns. No, that's much too crude for my darling wife.

She's going to drive me completely insane with her silent staring.

Maybe I should have an award printed up for her. Something about managing to accomplish what even torture couldn't.

It started this morning. I didn't expect a "good morning" after last night's discussion, but Liz has always been obliging when its come to falling for a verbal baiting. I can usually count on getting at least a growl out of her. But she didn't respond in any way to my attempts to get her to speak. I'd almost believed that perhaps I really was alone and totally delusional in my belief that I could feel someone watching me. But when I dropped my towel to get dressed, the feeling had vanished, leaving me confident that Liz was in the room with me. The minx. And not only was I reassured of her presence, but her reaction sparked a suspicion in my devious little heart; it's not just my physical proximity that intimidates her. It's me. She's not keeping her distance from me because she's afraid that I might hurt her. She's keeping her distance because she's all too aware of me. In the best possible way.

I played to that.

Letting her think that her ruse had worked – she caught on quickly to the concept of silence as camouflage – I took my time getting dressed. No matter how proud I was of her for attempting to outmaneuver me, no matter how amused, I wasn't going to let her win so easily. It wasn't as if I'm ashamed of nudity after all, and I thought that perhaps the sight of my healing bullet wounds would win me some sympathy. Who knew. Women could be like that. And Liz certainly deserved to be as uncomfortable as I could make her. It was her idea to start the game after all.

But even the sight of the naked body that used to drive her mad with lust – okay, I admit to a bit of exaggeration there – didn't pry a single sound from her throat. So I tried another tack. I started to ignore her. I got ready for my day as if I hadn't a care in the world – because I'm always up for a good game of cat and mouse – taking my time to do things the hard way. I'm pretty sure that I managed to chase her around the room in my quest; once or twice I felt a slight breeze as if she'd stepped out of my way at the last moment. But she never spoke. And she didn't touch me. For some reason that irritated me, so I quit the small bedroom…

…only to feel her follow after me. Apparently she was brave enough to play games with me, but not brave enough to face my colleagues without me. I was tempted to make some sort of comment about hiding behind skirts, but I held my tongue. If she wanted to talk, she could break the silence between us.

The common room was empty. Great, I thought as I hesitated. Everyone was still sleeping off the night before. I was on the verge of making several very unpleasant wake-up calls when a door opened.

"Shep! Mrs. Shep! Fancy seeing you two about so early." Roberts' voice was full of innuendo. "We were taking bets on when you'd emerge from your love nest."

I heard Liz grinding her teeth. She must have been very close behind me for me to hear that. I didn't overlook – or underlook for that matter – the fact that she overcame her dislike of me in the face of strangers; the old tenderness started to rise. I didn't bother fighting it, but I didn't act on it either. Or at least, I didn't let anyone see me act on it.

"Not even I can go all night without food, Robbo. Why don't I smell any coffee?"

He laughed. "Coffee wasn't part of my detail. I got the donuts. Weaver was in charge of coffee. If the lush ever wakes up."

"Isn't that like the pot calling the kettle black?" I stroll over to the table and take a seat. Liz follows again, although her footsteps sound reluctant. I roll my head back on my neck when she doesn't take a seat. "Lizzie, sit your ass down." I can just imagine the seething look in her eyes, the tight line of her lips, the flush of anger on her cheeks, the way her nostrils are undoubtedly flaring… She really is one of those women who are sexy when they're furious. "You're making your dear husband feel like a brute."

The statement she makes when she takes a seat a chair or two down from me is that there's a reason I feel that way.

Roberts laughs, but doesn't say anything other than, "What'll it be?"

"Maple bar. And Lizzie will have a cinnamon roll – no raisins – if you thought to get any." Undaunted, I stand and move over a seat so that I'm next to my wife. She jumps up and I hear her move around the table. There's the sound of liquid pouring. I listen, then get up and follow. "Lizzie…" A paper cup of something cool is thrust into my hand; slender fingers brush against mine, and then she's gone. Oh how I'd love to be able to roll my eyes.

"Hey, Roberts. Lemme borrow your Stetson. I should be the Mad Hatter to Lizzie's unparalleled March Hare." The next time I try to take a seat next to her, she doesn't run. She would have liked to, I felt that, but she didn't.

Who am I to argue with progress?

That was the last progress of the morning though. As more and more of my hangover-suffering companions emerged, Liz left the table. I wanted to commend her courage for not abandoning the room altogether – the feeling of her eyes on me continued without a break, giving proof to her continued presence – but she obviously didn't want anything to do with me for the moment. Perhaps she had reverted to her formerly prudish self in the company of people she obviously didn't approve of. Perhaps she wanted space. Perhaps she just wanted to get away from me, but wasn't brave enough to let me out of her sight.

While I cared about her reasons for not retreating into our room at one point in time, the impulse passed a few hours ago. Now I simply want her to stop. She's actually starting to unnerve me, and that in turn is leading into more and more outrageous behavior.

She probably thinks I've gone off the deep end. Not that I don't have cause of course, but the thought of her thinking that raises my hackles. So we agreed that I'm not the man she married. That doesn't give her leave to think I'm as mad as the March Hare I labeled her.

I have to do something.

Murder really is rather permanent. Pity.

Oh well, it's more fun to use subtler methods.


With a sly grin, Sands started tapping his fingers against the table. Liz was good at being stoic and aloof…but only because she hadn't really been tested. And Sands was tired of her wraith-like behavior. Not only was it annoying him, but she'd drawn the attention of his colleagues. And they were starting to snicker. So therefore it was in his – and therefore her – best interest to make Liz stop. And he knew just how he was going to do it.

But being blind did have its disadvantages, one of which was that as long as she stayed quiet, Sands really had no clue as to where she was. He could ask, but that would put her on alert. His plan wouldn't be nearly as effective if she knew he was on the prowl. If he had any confidence that she would obey, he would simply call her over. But Lizzie was stubborn; despite the fact that she'd unobtrusively helped him several times that morning, she seemed to be as wary of him as a chicken was a fox.

Poultry analogies aside, her goose was about to be cooked. Preferably over an open flame.

His random table-tapping evolved into a form of "pig Latin/Morse code" that he and Roberts had used to play around with back in the academy. Hopefully the cowboy hadn't forgotten about it.

/Covert ops?\ came Roberts' reply to Sands' insulting salutation.

/Very. Seen my wife?\

/Couldn't help. She'd a looker.\

/Stop panting, horndog. Where is she?\

There was a taunting silence, then Roberts replied. /No poaching. Got it. She's in the northwest corner of the room.\

As if that helped. Without knowing what direction he currently faced, compass points held little meaning for him. /Anyone nearby?\

/Besides the potted plant your lovely bride is using for cover, there's Riley and McKennon. They talked Williams into an impromptu poker game. And they're quickly robbing him –\

/Blind?\ It amused Sands that even his brash associate couldn't use the word in his presence.

/Something like that. Why's the missus on the warpath?\

/She's not. Just irritated. But she'll likely be on the warpath soon enough. Wish me luck.\

/Off to beard the lion?\

/Off to screw with the lioness.\

Sands rose as Roberts tapped out his parting shot. /If you fail, I won't waste a second taking her mind off you with hot monkey loving.\

There wasn't much to say to that except to laugh uproariously. Liz wasn't the "monkey loving" type.

He prowled around the room, taking the time to talk with the others he came across, and to flirt with a young agent named Biaselli who'd come in with Riley. The gaze on his back became even more intense when he did so; Sands smirked. Liz might not want him, but apparently she didn't want anyone else to have him either.

The smirk disappeared when he pondered just what she'd say if she knew about Ajedrez.

Sands left Biaselli and stood near the poker game for a bit, listening to the action. His back was to Lizzie's hiding place. The only reason he knew she wouldn't bolt was that he was too close to allow her an easy escape.

Liz noticed.

She'd watched him as he'd made a circuit of the room. For some reason it'd made her uneasy. He seemed to simply be stretching his legs, but Liz was well aware that he rarely did anything for simple purposes. And his stride gave him away; he made more use of his hips – as if tauntingly reminding her of where her legs had spent so many nights – when he was up to something.

That he stopped a mere foot from her corner only made her all the more suspicious.

Sands quickly grew bored with his pretense now that he was so close to his goal. "Williams. I'd fold if I were you. McKennon is cheating." Then he took a calculated step backwards – although he didn't fear a reprisal since Doug McKennon had cheating down to such an art form that he only did it to see if anyone could catch him at it – and ran into Liz. He heard her gasp – he must have stepped on her toe – as he turned and caught her arms. Her body froze under his hands.

For a moment he wondered at her reaction. Surely she didn't think he was going to smack her around. A shifting of his left hand revealed the reason for her reaction; the heel of his hand was lightly brushing against the side of her breast. Sands had to fight the predatory grin that naturally came to his face.

Liz swallowed hard as she tried to ease away from her suddenly dangerous husband. It'd be a lie to say that his post-shower…display…hadn't gotten to her that morning. But despite the dry mouth and the – among other areas of her body – throat-tightening awareness that his unabashed nudity had caused, Liz had never let the purpose behind it fade from her mind. It had simply been another game, another play for power in their struggle. And she knew that this was more of the same…

…even though she wished it weren't.

For a split second she wanted him to express sincere desire for her company, not this undercurrent of mocking humor that was in his touch.

"Hello, wife." He moved closer to her, backing her further into the corner. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

No. She'd simply been watching him; the need to know if their marriage could be salvaged was strong. And she'd wanted to act while the honesty of the night before was still fresh between them.

When she didn't answer, Sands ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "Lizzie," he said in a soft sing-song voice. "You've been watching me all day. I can only assume that you want something from me." His left hand stayed on her shoulder while his right started to gently stroke her face. "Do you desire something?" he whispered into her ear.

Liz shivered as he all but read her mind. "Don't."

Sands grinned. "Why not?"

When she turned her head away from the tantalizing heat of his breath on her unprotected skin, Sands brushed his lips against hers.

Liz froze.

Sands froze.

Their lips were separated by no more than a quarter of an inch. Close enough for each to feel the heat of the other.

If Liz hadn't panicked and tried to push him away, Sands probably would have backed off on his own. He was more than capable of recognizing a dangerous situation. But her attempt to put distance between them stirred up irrational anger in his gut. Why can't she just be near me? Before he was aware of what he was doing, Sands had Liz's lips – along with the rest of her body – crushed against his.

His kiss trapped her soft whimper.

His anger turned into a hard fist of lust, and that lust made him aware of how tense Liz was. She obviously was not enjoying herself. His need whispered that he could change that.

"Lizzie." Sands' fingers combed through her short hair, stroked her temples, roved over the soft skin of her neck. His sinuses burned with tears he was unable to shed. All because she wouldn't kiss him back.

Desperate, his lips gentled, pleading with hers to soften. To part. To play with his. When they did, he pressed his advantage, forcing his knee between her legs so he could get closer still. His body had missed hers, longed for hers, conjured sweetly dark dreams of hers during long, sticky-hot, lonely nights. Every other part of him had managed to push her out. But his body remembered and responded to the one that belonged solely to it.

"Lizzie." His fevered kisses moved to the hollow behind her ear as his hands gently tilted her head back. Her own hands were bunched in his shirt. She was trembling. The minute vibrations were sweeter than her skin –

"Sheldon, no." His hold was too tight. Too hot. His body was too hard. And hers was softening too quickly. She couldn't let this happen, not when he might leave her still. Not when he might still think that what she really wanted was him out of her life for good. No matter how right it felt now – and it felt so right that she'd rather die than leave his arms – this was a mistake and would hurt her in the end.

"Yes, beautiful." She'd trembled all throughout the night they'd first made love, half in terror and half in passion, neither of which she'd known how to express. All he could think was she was now trembling from the effort it took to hide her passion.

It was unacceptable.

As his mouth moved back to hers and his tongue thrust past her lips, his hand drifted down to come to rest on her breast. It was heavy, fitting so perfectly into his palm. Surely her passion couldn't be far behind –

Sands was totally unprepared for Lizzie's particular brand of passion. Her fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him back. When she bolted past him, her momentum knocked him down. As he sat on his sore ass and worked his equally sore jaw, Sands listened to Liz's retreating footsteps and wondered what the hell he'd done wrong.


My hands tremble as I lock the door behind me. I don't know what just happened, but I don't think it was what Sheldon intended. If only I could think.

I slide down the wall until I can sit and rest my spinning head on my knees. Yes, the kiss was good – or perhaps after five years it was not so good, just overwhelming – but it shouldn't have turned my head like that. It was just that he was so…

Passionate? Needy? Once I would have believed that. Simply because it's happened on occasion. I know I'm not the type of woman who drives men insane with lust, but Sheldon used to make me feel as if I were.

Good lord. I can still feel his kiss. I can still taste him on my lips.

I drag myself into the bathroom. Ignoring the tousled and well-kissed woman in the mirror, I scrub his kisses from me. At least the wash cloth is abrasive enough to replace the phantom impression Sheldon left behind. It'd not nearly enough to ease my short-term memory.

In a huff I throw down the cloth and go throw myself on the bed. A nap is in order to ease my mind. Or at least I hope it'll restore my equilibrium. I don't know what I'll do if it doesn't.

xxx xxx xxx

"That's it, Lizzie." Sheldon's voice is soft and rough in my ear. His arms are tight around me. I feel safe. When his lips brush against my neck, I melt back against him.

"Shel," I murmur happily. "Stop distracting me. I thought you wanted me to proofread this for you."

"You can do it later. Come to bed." His hands start chafing my arms.

"You have to turn this in tomorrow," I demure, despite the pleasant heat he's causing. What I'd really like to do is give in to him. But he's such a procrastinator. He needs to get over that while I can still clean up after him.

"Just for a bit, beautiful. Come with me."

Sheldon tugs me from my seat and I let him, but not without protest. "You just got back from work. Aren't you tired?"

"Too tired for you? Never." He pulls me against him, eyes sparking with mischief. His body shows me that he's not quite ready for bed. Or at least that he's not ready to go to sleep. "Smile for me, beautiful."

I give him an innocent smile. He growls and pulls me closer. He bends me back over his arm and kisses me soundly. When he raises his head I feel the smile he wanted spreading across my lips.

Everything shifts and I'm lying in bed with Sheldon hovering over me. I feel happy, satisfied, and tired. Not to mention idiotically pleased with myself.

"You unman me," he breathes. I laugh outright and accuse him of sneaking peeks at my romance novels. He doesn't deny it. He only whispers, "You're gorgeous, Lizzie."

"You're just saying that." I feel my cheeks flush. "But when you look at me like that, I believe it."

This time he laughs. "You should. Because I mean it. You make me lose all control."

"I don't know. I thought you were taking your time." I grin impishly at him.

"Is that right, sweetness?" His grin is pure masculine evil. "Your wish is my command. I'll make you gorgeous all night if that's what you want."

Of course it's what I want. I wish we could. "Sorry, Shel. I'd love to –"

"I'd love to."

I have to push him away before he can steal my wits again. "Classes and work tomorrow, and I still need to finish proofreading that paper of yours so you make the corrections during your lunch break."

"It's not my fault…"

xxx xxx xxx

I wake with a smile on my face. I often do after dreaming of my absent husband. My eyes stay closed to keep the dream from slipping away too quickly. The memory of better times always lightens the demands of yet another day of loneliness. But as I wake fully, the smile disappears. Memories are likely all I'll ever have. It's becoming more and more unlikely that he'll ever come back home…

A burst of laughter filters into the dim bedroom. That grating sounds is all I need to come back to my surroundings…and my senses. And my only too present husband. Just thinking about him makes my lips tingle in the most annoying fashion. And that makes me angry like I wasn't angry before.

How…how dare he do that to me? How dare he embarrass me in front of all those people? I know that he'd never take a straight line when a crooked one is available, but for just once couldn't he have just told me what he wanted from me without manipulating every one of my emotions? Why is he being so cruel?

Before I can think better of it or before I can talk myself out of it, I march to the door and wrench it open. That…that insensitive lout deserves a taste of his own medicine.


Halfway down the hall, common sense broke in. It was an unwelcome interruption, but Liz was realistic enough to believe that there was little she could do that would actually embarrass her husband. The man was unflappable. Not to mention quick on the draw. He'd realize what she was trying to do, and would laugh in her face. And the realization that Sands had…mauled her…just to get her to leave him alone had bruised her pride enough for one day. She didn't really want to give him cause to try again, mainly because he'd always been too persuasive for her own good.

She had to get out of here before she had an aneurism.

As she reached the common room, Liz paused to look around. Husband and Co. were all gathered around the table, silent except for a single man who was talking softly but quickly.

Sands heard her pause in the hallway. Half his mind had been on her since her display of how to properly use a left hook. Partly because her engagement ring had left a throbbing scrape on his jaw. Partly because he'd never seen her resort to violence before. Lizzie was…had been…a gentle thing.

It irritated him that he couldn't focus.

When Liz's footsteps resumed, Sands listened carefully even though he ought to be paying attention to McIntyre. He needed to hear this information on Price and his lapdog, Masden. Very few people gathered here were willing to even consider that he could do his part in the upcoming operation. After all, he thought with burning gall as he listened to Lizzie circumnavigate the room, I'm blind. How could he possible be of any use? Despite the fact that he knew Price better than anyone here. In his first years with the Company, he'd reported to Price himself.

About the only thing he hadn't told Liz the night before was how deeply Price's betrayal had cut.

If anyone was going to bring Price down, it was going to be him. To do that, he was going to have to prove himself to his doubters, and that meant keeping Lizzie on something of a short leash.

She didn't think he had any use either.

Rather than dwell on that sobering point, he elbowed Riley who was to his left and said in a perfectly audible voice, "Will someone ask my wife where she's going?"

There was silence for a moment – half the agents had been so focused on McIntyre that they hadn't noticed Liz's emergence – before Liz spoke.

"Is it against the law now to take walks? Although I'm not sure that anyone here has the right to gainsay me."

Translation: who cares if you're my husband? You and your friends are outlaws, and I'm not going to let you tell me what to do.

Oh, she was mad. Odd. She didn't usually stay mad for long.

Sands let his head fall back. This certainly wasn't helping his cause. Nothing had been said yet, but sooner or later someone was going to raise an objection to his presence. Especially if he was too weak to keep his wife under control. She was hurting his image.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie." He shook his head. "Why so defensive?" Sands could picture the surprise on her face. The distrust. "Just wait a bit and I'll –"

"No offense," she interrupted tightly, "but it's you I need a break from."

There was soft laughter. Sands bet that he deserved it from some people, but the thought of other people laughing at him got under his skin. Yes, he was an arrogant bastard, and he could understand why other agents might want to see him be taken down another notch… But not because of Lizzie. That was inexcusable on her part.

Sands elbowed Riley again.

Riley elbowed him back – rather forcibly – but spoke up just as he'd wanted her to. After all, she understood Sands' predicament. She and Roberts had been the other two members of Price's young wonder trio. Damn, talk about arrogant men…

"Biaselli, go with Mrs. Sands. We'd all feel more comfortable if she had some company. Besides, you don't need to know all this stuff. You're not going to be involved in the hit."

"Yes, mother." With a roll of her eyes, the group's youngest agent got up from the table and fetched her coat. Technically she was only a trainee, but she'd been painted with the same brush as the rest. If only they'd let her do something useful.

"Let's go," she muttered to Liz.

They left quietly. Liz glanced behind her briefly; Sands was scowling for some reason. Good. I'm glad he's unhappy. Now that she had the added insult of being accompanied by the woman her husband had been flirting with, she was even less in charity with him.

She resisted the urge to slam the door.

Sands felt a surge of relief when he heard the door shut.


"Com'on, lets go for a walk."

I resist the urge to shrug Roberts' hand off my shoulder. I'm really not in the mood to be touched, but I am vaguely restless, so I agree to a walk. A walk and a smoke. And I intend to recollect Lizzie. She's been gone too long and I'm starting to get prickles between my shoulder blades. I know I'm paranoid, but that's never a good thing.

There's a mass exodus from the room. Roberts, Riley and I hang back until trying to get out the door won't resemble cattle crowding into a corral. I'm all for beef, but not for resembling it.

"No wonder half those agents didn't manage to get their tails out of hot water."

"You're sounding catty, Riley. It suits you."

"Shut up, Roberts. It wouldn't kill anyone here to take the stairs once in awhile."

By this, I assume that there's quite a crowd in front of the elevator. An ancient, creaking, disaster-in-waiting by all accounts. Even the management had bestirred itself to post a notice asking that no more than five people take the elevator at a time. Or so I've been told.

"Let's beat the crush," I say lazily. I'm not sure where the stairwell is, but I grab my companions' attention simply by stopping. It's a bit annoying; these two aren't subtle in their attempts to support my presence. I'm tempted to jerk out my gun just to prove myself, but that would cause more trouble than is worth my time.

By the time we get to the lobby, I've rethought that idea. The echoes in the stairwell seem to have taken up residence between my ears. I can only hope that it's not a permanent arrangement. The ringing sound is particularly annoying since it's blocking out the noise of a commotion across the lobby.

"Shit." Fingers dig into my arm. I grimace and pry them out.

"Damn, Riley. I'm not a pincushion –" The commotion gets louder, loud enough for me to determine that the angry parties are headed in my direction, and that at least one of those parties happens to be my wife. "Shit."

A body made entirely out of hard, protruding angles – as impossible as that is – slammed into me. I reach out reflexively as I stumble back. The faint perfume that reaches my nose tells me that I've got an armful of Lizzie, but it's not nearly as pleasant as it was earlier.

"Sands!" That pissed voice belongs to Vince DeLeon, one of the biggest wastes of flesh I've ever had the pleasure to meet. He also has the unusual talent of making every word that comes out of his mouth sound like a curse. Needless to say, he's made his stance on the necessity of my presence made very clear more than once.

"What the hell did you do, Lizzie?" I whisper as I straighten up from where we crashed into the wall.

"Nothing," she hisses at me as I wrap my left arm tightly around her waist.

I'm inclined to believe that. DeLeon is a jackass. For all I know, he's pissed merely because she had the nerve to venture outside the hotel's doors. Then she jerks that comforting thought away from me.

"All I did was use the phone."

Shit!

Without another word to the eager audience, I jerk Lizzie around and pull her to the elevator. Everyone's sense of self-preservation keeps them from climbing on the elevator with us. Liz is silent on the ride up to our floor. Also out of self-preservation. Or at least I hope she has at least that much sense.

The few people in the common room demonstrate amazing perceptiveness and disappear with and fleetness of foot.

Ignoring them, I tow Liz into our room. Now that we're lacking an audience, she's starting to struggle. My rising anger is more than enough to keep her from getting away. I've got hold of her wrist; she's not brave enough to really try to get away. At the moment I could easily break it, and she must be able to sense enough of my anger to keep from pushing me that far.

Flinging her into our room, I slam the door and lock it behind me. I can hear her panting; I can almost taste her matching anger. She's upset about being manhandled? Too bad. The little –

She slaps me hard across the face. Before I can stop myself, my arm shoots out and I clip her on what feels like the cheekbone. It's hard to tell with the heel of my hand, but since she doesn't yelp in pain, I assume I missed her nose.

Then it strikes me that I've just responded to my wife's assault with a move that could kill a man if I had my sight.

And that scares the hell out of me.

"Damnit, Lizzie! Keep your kung-fu to yourself! Don't go attacking your only ally here."

"If you're an ally, I'd rather be on my own!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"What the hell do you think it means?"

"I'm not the one making phone calls!"

"All I did was call the house! Someone has to reassure the kids that my corpse isn't resting at the bottom of a lake."

The house? She called the house? While it'd be incredibly cathartic, hysterical laughter probably isn't appropriate at the moment. "Damn, Lizzie. I think the peroxide has sunk a little too deep."

"I only started bleaching my hair because you liked it!"

That's not a point I'm willing to argue.

"Lizzie," I say very patiently. "If your phone line wasn't tapped the moment the Agency realized I had stopped over at your house, then they're not worth diddly-squat." She's silent. Apparently I've taken the wind out of her sails.

Damn. DeLeon isn't going to let me forget this any time soon.


Author's Thanks: my many thanks to…Winged Seraph (the "sweep me off my feet line" was appreciated by a lot of people. I'm glad it went over so well. I thought it was amusing, but that doesn't always mean a whole lot.); Dawnie-7 (Sands is great when he's being a complete ass. Thus, my liberal spreading of sarcasm through this fic. Flashbacks are great, but conflict drives a story.); Lynx (Cheap sarcasm – especially from Sands – can be effective if used wisely. I try to restrain myself from the cheap stuff. I'm glad you find my plots to be intricate and detailed, but usually they just kinda evolve without much help from me. Which is good because when I try to sit down and write a plot, it seems awfully contrived. Although I suppose that could be one definition of "plot." ); normal human being (I just want to say that all the physical violence is dedicated to you and your need to see Liz acting irrationally. :P And there's more fight to come. I know it's cruel to end mid-fight, but if I didn't, this was going to go on for another five pages.); quick29 (don't worry about reviewing the moment a chapter is posted. It'll be around for awhile before I get to posting another, and when reviews come a few weeks after I've posted, it helps me stay motivated.); misc (I updated soon, or at least as soon as I could. One of these days I won't have 3+ fics going at once and I'll be able to update more regularly.); Cayenne Pepper Powder (I updated this in February? Wow. That was awhile ago. I really need to finish a fic. I'm very glad you find that Sands is staying in character. That's what I was struggling so much with for the past few days. I couldn't find the right way to motivate him. But like I said earlier, I think I've managed.); Spoofmaster (lol. Short reviews are just as appreciated as longer ones. Don't worry about having nothing to say.); Del64 (discovering new fics is one of life's pleasures. I'm just glad that you stumbled across mine.)