After several days and many, many, many questions from Harry about when "Mr. Ayers" would return, Lizzie was relieved to hear Vincent call them into his man-cave with, "Hey, guys, guess who's back?"

"Yayyy!" Harry squealed, bouncing a good foot and a half off the floor while holding on to the back of his grandfather's chair. "Mr. Ninja Turtle!"

"Yup," Lizzie confirmed the identity of the dark figure on the screen. "Mr. Ninja Turtle, back from chopping up demons like veggies."

"The icky veggies," Harry reminded her. "Like carrots and radishes. Bleh."

"Speaking of veggies, Vincent, I'm in the middle of making the stew for tomorrow. Could you go get him?"

"No problem. I've still got the kill switch if he has unexpected company."

"I really don't think you'll need it. He seems like the honest sort."

"Yeah, probably. Can't be too careful, though."

"Can I come, Grandpa?"

"No, you stay here," Lizzie and Vincent said in unison.

Vincent continued, "It's still too dangerous out there, even in the vestibules. That's how Charlie got out, remember?"

"But –"

"No buts. I'll be right back. Hold on to Charlie's collar so he doesn't follow me."

"We really need to make a remote-control flap for that doggy door," she said.

"Later, I'll see what I can do."

Vincent knew the door systems best, so he was back faster than Lizzie could have done it. Harry let Charlie go, and the sturdy little terrier blasted through the doggy door like a rolled-up T-shirt from one of those plastic cannons they use at concerts.

Concerts. That made Lizzie pensive during the few moments it took to pour the stew into the slow-cooker. 'There probably won't be any concerts ever again. At least not in my lifetime.' Yet another thing the demons had taken away.

Roo! Roo! Roo! Charlie insisted until Ayers scooped him up and let him lick the helmet's jawline. The dog's stubby tail wagged so vigorously that it audibly thumped against Ayers's armor. The mercenary ruffled the terrier's coat in the manner of someone who had a lot of experience with domesticated canines.

Lizzie couldn't help but smile as she came out. "They say dogs are a good judge of character."

Ayers's eyes crinkled slightly behind the visor. He liked the implied compliment.

"Did you chop a bunch of demons? Did you?" Harry was bouncing on his toes with his fingers laced together like a prayer.

Yes.

"Like carrots?"

Yes.

"Cool!"

Yes.

"Are they all gone now? Can I go outside?"

No.

"Aww." Harry groaned in disappointment and stopped bouncing. He let his head and hands fall dramatically.

Ayers tapped the top of his left wrist as if he were wearing a watch.

"Huh?"

"I think he's saying it's going to take time, so you'll have to wait a bit," Vincent interpreted.

"Aww." Harry continued to pout.

"He could get started right now," Lizzie told the boy, "but he'd have to leave. So you can either have Mr. Ayers visit, or you can play outside a little bit sooner. Which would you rather have?" She gave Ayers a brief glance, and he nodded that he understood she was trying to teach the boy something.

"I'd ... I think I'd rather have Mr. Ayers visit."

"That's very nice of you, Harry."

Ayers nodded in agreement with her.

"Since you can't play outside, what do you want to do?"

"I wanna play cards with Mr. Ayers!"

The mercenary's eyes crinkled again.

"Help me with the cards while they set up the table and chairs," Vincent instructed.

"Okay!" he chirped brightly, and scampered into the house beside his grandfather.

Lizzie handed the chairs and folding table to Ayers one by one. Vincent had left them on the porch. Had he been hoping the merc would come back just as much as Harry had? Before the war, Vincent had loved talking about guns, ammo and survival gear with his male friends at poker night. Lizzie was more into non-lethal machinery and old books, so Vincent probably missed the conversation.

She gave Ayers a friendly smile, gesturing to his helmet. "You probably don't need protective headgear while you're down here."

"Don't listen to her, Ayers, it's a trap," Vincent declared as he rejoined them with the poker items and glasses of ice water.

"What?" She turned incredulously.

Vincent nodded to Ayers to confirm he meant it. "She threw an apple at me once. Overhand." He tapped the center of his forehead. "Almost got a concussion."

Lizzie clucked her tongue.

"It was a cherry, Vincent. I threw it underhand in your general direction and you happened to walk into it."

"Mmm-hmm," Vincent said. He and Ayers exchanged skeptical looks as the merc removed his helmet.

She crossed her arms. "Now look who's a diva? Can't take one accidental cherry to the head without bringing it up for years afterward."

Vincent pointed at her as he set Ayers's previous winnings in front of him. "Watch out for this one. She was an assassin in a previous life."

Ayers nodded with narrowed eyes.

Lizzie clucked her tongue again.

"Does your shoulder-thingy shoot cherries, Mr. Ayers?" Harry asked.

No.

"What does it shoot?"

Ayers pointed to an ice cube floating in Harry's glass of water.

"It shoots ice?"

Yes.

"Whoa! Cool!"

Yes.

"That is pretty neat," Lizzie agreed. "Is it experimental?" She pictured something like a fire extinguisher's blast.

Ayers rocked his palm in the fifty-fifty gesture. Sort of.

"Your company equips you really well."

Yes.

"Is that because you work alone? No other soldiers around to get injured by the live-fire tests?"

Yes.

"Well, you seem like the right man for the job. You can definitely handle yourself."

He inclined his head in thanks.

"Oh, shoot! I forgot to put the lid on the stew so it doesn't evaporate. Don't start without me."

She dashed into the house.

"Listen, Ayers …" Vincent called the mercenary's attention back to the table as the front door closed behind her. "I know you don't talk much anyway, but thank you for not asking Lizzie what happened to her face. And for not staring."

If there was one thing that could make Vincent dislike someone immediately, it was a negative reaction to how Lizzie's face looked because of the car accident. More than just surgical scars along her jawline, the bones had healed a few millimeters differently than before, giving her face a definite asymmetry. Not enough to be startling while passing her in the street, but enough to get curious looks from strangers when they saw her close-up.

Ayers nodded in a You're welcome gesture.

Vincent figured Ayers didn't like it when people stared at his scars, either, and so he was naturally polite about other people's. Regardless of the reason, it was a point in his favor. This merc had gathered enough points to sit in on poker nights, as far as Vincent was concerned.

Lizzie had a ball wrapped in gold foil when she returned. She lifted it in front of her face and made direct eye contact with Vincent.

"Chocolate orange," she informed him. "To keep you in line." She placed it lightly in front of her betting pile.

"You see what I mean, Ayers? Assassin. Fruit-related."

Sitting down on the top step, Ayers eyed the chocolate orange like it was a live hand grenade.

"Exclusively fruit-related," she snarked at them as she sat. "Harry, don't eat all your little candies. You need them to keep playing, remember?"

"I remember, Lizzie," Harry said around a mouthful of Jolly Rancher. "I won't eat all of 'em."

"Good," his grandfather praised him before adding, "Don't talk with your mouth full. And remember you have to take a big sip of water after each candy so you don't get sick to your stomach."

Harry hummed Mmm-hmm in response.

Ayers removed his gauntlets and arranged his winnings.

"Ante is three strawberry bon-bons," Lizzie announced. "We'll start small this time, no blinds, since Harry's out of the big candies."

Each of them added the required ante to the pot.

Charlie put his front paws on Ayers's thigh and bounced on his hind legs. Before she could tell him what the dog wanted, Ayers had supported Charlie's hindquarters so the terrier could clamber up and lie across the mercenary's lap. Ayers had definitely had dogs before, not just rabbits. Charlie panted happily.

Even with all of them going easy on him, Harry was out of candy in a mere twenty minutes. He would have begun pouting, but Charlie sprang off Ayers's lap and brought the boy his favorite ball. Harry obliged by playing fetch.

He couldn't throw the ball very far, but that didn't matter when the bunker's main chamber was only a sixty-by-sixty-foot space that barely cleared the two-story house's roof. Vincent had spent decades chipping away at the natural cave to widen it, but it had been slow going, doing it in small enough chunks to bring the stone topside without attracting too much attention. Now Vincent spent a lot more time up on the scaffolding, extending the "ceiling" of the cave so it wouldn't feel quite so oppressive.

It bothered Lizzie to think about the years and years Harry would have to spend underground before the surface was safe to live on again.

And that was if they won the war.

She surreptitiously studied Ayers as they played, with Vincent chattering on about survival tips and the merc listening attentively.

Ayers had taken out a flock of twenty-odd Imps without much difficulty at all. 'If others in his company fight like him, even just a few of them, maybe there's a chance. For Colorado, at least.'

Her eyes flicked over to the little boy who hadn't seen daylight in over two months. If humanity lost the war, he'd spend his entire life underground, not just his childhood.

Lizzie had to make a concentrated effort to shake off that depressing thought.

"Okay, listen, Ayers," Lizzie said when Vincent ended a long speech about camping gear. "This is going to sound very silly, but I'd feel dumb if I didn't ask and it turned out to be true."

He raised his brows a bit.

"Is your first name … Rumpelstiltskin?"

No, he informed her with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Don't forget you have to tell us if we get it right."

He nodded in agreement.

"Let's see … I bet it's something really old-fashioned that got you teased at school. Like Ambrose. Ambrose Arthur Ayers, because your mom adored alliteration. And people called you Rose for short."

As this round's dealer, Ayers began to shuffle.

"Rufus," Vincent tried.

"Bert!" Harry piped in from afar.

"Dexter."

"Floyd."

"Grover!"

"Nigel."

"Vincent."

"Cle–"

Lizzie's eyes widened in surprise. Vincent's head rocked back, stunned that not only had Ayers joined their game, but that he'd inserted Vincent's own name into the litany of things people didn't name their kids anymore.

Lizzie clapped a hand over her mouth and nose to disguise how hard she was laughing. "Oh. My. God. Vincent, you're going to need some aloe vera for that burn."

Ayers kept his eyes on the cards he was shuffling, but had one dark eyebrow lifted and was definitely suppressing a smirk.

Vincent stood with pretend indignation. "I'm going to get some more ice for my drink. And for my ego." He stomped off.

Ayers met her eyes as he dealt the cards, and this time he did smirk.

"That was savage," Lizzie whispered in a reprimand contradicted by her grin.

This got a genuine smile out of him. Only for a second or two before he turned his attention back to the cards, but it happened.

Smiling had changed his whole face. He'd gone from his default Grim Reaper expression to something very appealing. She hadn't consciously noticed it before, but behind the scars and the serious exterior, Ayers was attractive.

Lizzie snatched up her cards and suppressed the little flutter in her stomach. She mentally crushed that nameless feeling beneath a ten-ton weight, and when Vincent returned she wasn't laughing anymore.

"I call your bluff," Lizzie told Vincent after the initial round of betting, more harshly than she'd meant to. "Raise two butterscotches."

Ayers called Vincent's bluff as well, and the old man placed a pack of cinnamon gum on top of his bet. "Raise one Big Red. Is something wrong?"

"No," she said curtly. Lizzie put her required gum into the pot and grumbled at Ayers, "Your turn." She adjusted her posture in the folding chair so that he could only see the bad side of her face.

Ayers called the Big Red and raised it by three mini peanut butter cups. He had a slight wrinkle between his brows when he glanced at her.

A few rounds later Lizzie had a terrible hand when the "turn" card came, so she said, "All in," and pushed everything she had toward the center.

Vincent won the entire pot, to which she responded, "Whoops. Guess I'm out," in an unconvincing tone and left the table abruptly. The men were so quiet as she went in the house that it was obvious they were looking at each other in confusion.

'I don't owe them an explanation,' Lizzie told herself the second she started to feel guilty. 'Fuck their curiosity.'

Harry popped in the front door. "Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!"

"Yeah, pumpkin?"

"Charlie's done playing fetch. Will you play checkers with me?"

"Sure thing."

"Can we play outside?"

She felt like her shoes were made of lead. "Uh … no, honey, there's only one table outside and they're using it."

"Aww."

"But we can use the living room table, and you can sit where you can see them, okay?"

"Yay!"

Lizzie made sure that Harry had a good view of his favorite soldier, while she was hidden behind the high back of the sofa. As they played she tapped her fingers on the titanium mesh that ran along her cheekbone under the skin. Titanium was a surprisingly good material for sculpting bone regrowth. She'd had it for quite a few years now, but in times of stress she'd find herself touching it like a worry stone.

Vincent came inside after half an hour had passed.

"Harry, you want to come say goodbye to Mr. Ayers before I walk him out?" He gave Lizzie a questioning look.

She shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it yet.

"Sure!"

When Vincent returned from escorting the mercenary outside, Lizzie was occupying her hands by washing dishes.

Vincent got Harry settled in his room with a pile of picture books and came back to the kitchen.

Lizzie picked at a bowl of stubborn oatmeal residue. "This stuff hardens like rock if you let it sit too long."

Vincent leaned against the counter a few feet away.

"Liz, did Ayers say something to you while I was getting ice?"

"No." She had to consciously be careful with the dishes so she wouldn't smash the delicate china.

"Clearly something happened."

Lizzie didn't reply.

Vincent asked, "You want me to kill him?" in a tone that said it was meant to be a joke but he was open to other interpretations.

Lizzie gave him the amused huff he was looking for. "No thank you, Vincent. It wasn't like that."

"You sure? Because I've got some very painful home defense systems I've been itching to try out."

This time her laugh was real. "I have no doubt that's true." The humor faded quickly as she scrubbed a pan. "No, all he did was smile."

"Uh-huh. What kind? Creepy leering? A haughty sneer? One of those 'Yes, Mr. Bond, I have been expecting you' smiles?"

"No, nothing like that. A regular smile. But it made me realize he's good-looking."

"Ohhh," Vincent said in understanding.

"You know I don't like being around handsome men."

Vincent had been her shoulder to cry on when a secretly-filmed video of her last attempt at dating had ended up on the internet with the title "Good Samaritan Takes Disfigured Woman on Romantic Dinner Cruise !1! (heartwarming)" and got over 100,000 views. The bastard had put ads on it, too.

Lizzie had stopped trying to find companionship after that.

"Hey! I'm handsome!" Vincent protested in mock offense.

"You're also old enough to be my dad."

"I will have you know 67 isn't that old."

"Says the 67-year-old who can do 100 push-ups. You're an anomaly."

"Bah. All you under-40s think you're such hot shit."

"Guilty."

She fell silent for a while.

Finally Vincent said, "Next time he shows up, you want me to tell him to get lost?"

"No. He hasn't actually done anything, and it's not his fault he has a nice smile." And green eyes. And a cleft chin. And …

Lizzie cleared her throat to interrupt that line of thought.

"All right," Vincent conceded. "But if he does anything that bothers you, I've got twenty poison darts with his name on 'em."

She smiled. "Thanks, Vincent. I'll keep that in mind."