Chapter One: Failure to Deploy
The orange trees refused to blossom
Unless we bloomed first.
When we met
They wept tangerines.
Can't you tell?
The earth has waited its whole life for us
-Rupi Kaur
Brandenburg, Germany - 1942
Wind whipped at his face, tossing him end over end, and almost froze his fingers in the air. He scrabbled over his harness, kicking his feet and trying to turn himself in the dark as the lights above and below mixed until he could not tell the stars in the sky from the glow of houses. Fear rose, choking him as his eyes watered in the whistle of the wind and the frigid blow, but he tramped it down as his fingers finally closed over the cord.
He yanked but nothing happened. Fear dominated him again as he tumbled and twisted through the air, filling his ears with the deafening rush of his accelerated descent. His hand ripped at the cord again but it broke off in his fist. With the ground approaching faster and faster, the darkness of whatever mystery waited for him spelling his impending doom, his other hand found the backup cord and wrenched it free.
Billowing material trailed behind him and the sharp jerk at his shoulders pulled him sideways with a gust of wind. His parachute, whipping and waving in the remaining space, caught just enough air to drag him through the tops of the trees. With branches licking and snapping at his face and hands, digging scratches over him while his chute desperately tried to slow his descent, he flailed against the tug of gravity and the wrench of his parachute against his body. But when the parachute caught enough wind to pull him free of the hold of the trees, the parachute wrapped around a steeple and snapped his body against the stonework.
His right side hit the wall diagonally, and he tried to stop the force with his bent leg to absorb the impact. An effort that proved foolish as a crack and a crunch near his knee sent jagged spasms of pain through his body. Pain that only ebbed when the echoes of it in his leg were overmatched by the velocity of his head whacking the side of the stone.
The force of the motion cut off any cries of pain or agony as his vision blurred and he struggled just to maintain consciousness. Something he lost for a moment to leave his body dangling from the straps strangling over his chest and under his armpits. But the blackness in fainting turned into the darkness of the night when a sudden jerk of his parachute, matched by a tearing sound of the material above him, yanked him back to consciousness.
Dangling there, the stuttering of his body moving back toward the ground as his parachute shredded above him, forced him to fight his body's pleas for surrender. His hands struggled to find the knife at his thigh, despite his right leg throbbing and pulsing to match the beat of blood in his head. He blinked, fighting one darkness for another, and dragged the blade of his knife across the straps on his chest. The tangled bindings of the parachute proved stubborn but he managed to free himself as the parachute finally gave way above him. It fluttered off in two pieces and he hit the ground hard.
Hard enough to jar his leg and finally allow him to let out a cry of pain. His fingers shook against his trouser leg as he held at his leg. Even in the dark, his fingers felt over the damage to his leg and the moment had him fainting again. But as he fell back his leg straightened and the pain of it brought him back to consciousness. A consciousness he forced himself to use as he rolled to try and get to his feet.
His feet, however, could not hold him. Especially as his leg bent under him at the mere thought of taking his weight and he tumbled sideways. With a groan, he pulled himself to his left knee and dragged his other leg behind him as he used his elbows to try and crawl slowly back toward the building that gave him his throbbing injuries.
But he could make it no further than a few feet before he collapsed onto his face in the soil. He huffed and tried to breathe as the sound of footsteps came toward him. His fingers clutched at the knife in his hand… Only because the specialized handle allowed his pointer finger to curl through a ring near the handle. It knocked against his knuckles as he tried to hold it tighter in his hand as a thrusting weapon.
Despite the fear of those approaching him, and his attempts to push himself to his feet, his strength failed him. He collapsed to the ground as the voices gathered closer. Close enough that he could make out the details in the voices.
"Is he dead?" One voice whispered, the German syllables ringing like vaguely familiar strangers in his head. "If he's dead then we could simply bury him and-"
He groaned, swallowing to respond in German as the voices gasped out in shock and surprise at the sound. "I'm not dead."
"You're English?" The first voice, a woman's, asserted.
"Irish." John let out another moan, "I'm Irish, not English."
"All the same." Another voice, still in German but with a peculiar accent to it, shushed the rest of the possible arguments. "We need to get him inside."
"Mother Superior, with the officers of the Reich just up at the monastery we're-"
"Continuing to do the Lord's work and helping His children." The peculiar voice spoke again, "Now, both of you grab an arm and you two manage his legs. Sister Bernadine and I'll get his torso."
"What about the parachute?"
"Send Wilhelm for it. Have him rip it down and store it in the rectory. We'll use it for cloth to get rid of it."
"What of the garden?" A new voice, with an edge of snide to her comment, entered the conversation. "He's all but ruined our work."
"We'll have Josef rake the garden in the morning and we'll work it over again." Hands held over him and then lifted on the count of three, "Now, carefully Sisters, we don't want to drop him."
"Or truly have to bury him in the garden."
"Sister Mary!"
They huffed and shuffled him over the dark ground. He almost thought about fighting back, trying to free himself, but there was nothing he could do but relax into the sisters' grip as they entered the building. Chill, damp air shot toward his face as they managed the doors and then the uneven, rocking sensations of stairs that took them deeper into the damp. His eyes blinked but his vision, hazy in the half light and spotting darkness, caught nothing and would not have the skill to repeat his journey if he attempted to suggest it. Especially since the pain radiating through his body threatened every moment of consciousness he fought to hold.
All the women sighed when his body finally lay on a smoother, flatter, softer surface. The woman, with the peculiar German, urged the others away before bidding one to stay. The same one who seemed determine to mention the inconvenience of his existence, if his ears were anything to go by when he recognized the sound of her voice. Although the shadow of delirium threatened even his memory.
With a flick, a match illuminated the faces of a blonde, shorter woman and a taller woman with dark hair and severe cheekbones in the nightwear of dedicated nuns. They eyed him a moment before both managed to shift him onto his back on what he could now determine was a bed. The exhaustion in his body left him prone to whatever they had planned, if they planned anything, but he could view them fully in the low light.
"Now that we've an English-"
"Irish." He clarified as the woman with the cheekbones only raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever you are, you're wearing an English officer's uniform and very obviously not from the Wehrmacht." She held the candle and came toward him as if to inspect a prize or a trapped animal. "A decorated office at that."
She shook her head "That'll have you sent to a camp for sure. They'll not want to waste a British soldier."
"I'm Irish." He insisted but she only shook her head at him.
"Again, it won't matter what you are if your uniform says you're British." She turned to the other woman. "If we give him over then they'll give him the medical attention he'll need and take him as a prisoner."
"He's a spy, Sister." The shorter woman shook her head, "We can't hand a British officer over to the soldiers. They'll kill him the moment they have him."
"We don't know that they'll kill him, Mother Superior. They might-"
"He came in by parachute, Sister Mary. That means the soldiers will shoot him the moment they have their hands on him." The other woman, the one with the peculiar German the other woman had called 'Mother Superior', shook her head. "And if we give him over to the Reich they'll shoot him in the head here and bury him in our garden to save time and energy."
"We can't keep him, Mother Superior. We've got to think of the children upstairs. The other sisters…" Sister Mary gestured toward the ceiling above them and even he titled his head as if the trio could see through the stone toward those above them. "We've even got Wilhelm and Josef to think about."
"I know what our-"
"Do you think they'll look kindly on them if they know we've got a British officer in our basement?" Sister Mary sighed, "Or that they'll allow us to stand if they discover this?"
"Then we'll just have to ensure that they don't discover him."
"Mother Superior we can't-"
"We can." Mother Superior crossed herself and then folded her arms over her chest as she shook her head. "We can't let them have him Sister Mary. It's against our vows to refuse aid to those who need it."
"Even at the threats of losing our lives?"
"We're sworn to give everything to God, Sister Mary." Mother Superior stood as tall as she could, despite being shorter than Sister Mary. "Even our lives."
"But not the lives of those who live here with us who haven't sworn as such." Sister Mary shook her head, "We can't keep him."
"We can't cast him out."
Sister Mary shivered, "It'll be our heads if they catch us."
"No, it won't."
"Mother Superior-"
"It'll be my head, if they catch us." Mother Superior turned to the woman, "Sister Mary, I want you to tell the other sisters that he'll be leaving tomorrow."
"Tell them because it's the truth or because you want them to believe it's the truth?"
"I want you to tell them that because I trust the Sisters to keep a secret." Mother Superior turned to the man, stepping to his bedside. "Do you speak German? Fluently?"
"I can manage."
"'Course you can." She paused, "Father or mother?"
"Father. My mother was Irish."
"Was?"
He sighed, "They're both dead now."
"My sympathies."
He shrugged, "It was some time ago."
"All the same." She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Where, in the Fatherland, did your father call home?"
"Hamburg."
"You're a bit far south to be visiting relatives."
He snorted, "I'm not here for family."
"I could've guessed." She managed a small smile. "All the same, do you have family here in Germany?"
"No." He shook his head. "My father left this life without any family and I've not come to find any to replace those I lost."
"Then you are here as a spy."
"I'm here to complete my mission."
"And what is your mission mister…"
"Captain."
"Captain?"
"Captain." He tried to move and then spoke through clenched teeth as new pain ran jaggedly through him. "I'm Captain John Bates of the Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare under Minister Churchill. My serial number is-"
"I don't need your memorized information as this is not an interrogation." Mother Superior waved a hand. "Save that for the agents of the Reich… Should they catch you."
"Will they catch me?"
She ignored the question and continued. "What are you doing here, Captain?"
"My job."
"And that is?" He kept his mouth shut. "Honestly, if I wanted to give you to the SS-"
"It's my mission and an SOE mission is covert and-"
"And I can't help you if I don't know why you're here." Mother Superior pinched at the bridge of her nose. "You're putting all of us in danger by being here."
"I know."
"Then why are we putting our lives on the line to save you, Captain?"
He swallowed, "Because… Because I'm here to establish locations for future drop sites, assemble my radio to get them the coordinates, and make my way to the exfiltration point once it's safe."
"Future drop sites?"
"For others like me to come and… complete their missions."
"There'll be more like you?"
"That is the idea."
"Ah." Mother Superior nodded, "To stop the war, I assume."
"It's worth stopping."
"I don't disagree." Mother Superior turned to Sister Mary. "Sister, I do believe our guest'll be staying with us until his leg heals."
Sister Mary gaped at her, "You're letting a spy stay here?"
"I'm letting an injured man stay here, Sister." She turned to Sister Mary, "Should you disagree with me, I'd suggest you tell me now and not bring the SS to our door later. I would hate to be surprised by a visit."
"You think I would work with such men?"
"I don't know. People do the impossible in difficult situations." Mother Superior stared down the taller woman, "What will you do?"
"Not that." Sister Mary stood straighter. "I'm no such person."
"Good. Then…" Mother Superior hissed at the sight of John's leg. "I think we need to call on our doctor to fix this leg and so we can get Captain Bates on his way."
"It'll be my pleasure." Sister Mary nodded at Captain Bates. "Welcome to our Abbey, Captain. I hope you're not here too long."
"Likewise, Sister Mary." Captain Bates let his head fall back onto the bed and released a fraction of the tension in his body, "Likewise."
Downton, England - Present Day
He locked up, tugging the gate to make sure it was secure. Rain from earlier eased to the occasional drizzle and inconvenient drop but the chill it brought remained. He burrowed into his jacket with an involuntary shiver and shoved his hands deep into his pockets as a matter of habit. As his fingers tangled in the keys there he heard a muttered curse and stopped.
Turning on his heel, wincing as the motion in the gravel caught his knee to twinge, he squinted into the dimness beyond the yellow-orange lights staggered along the road. His fingers slipped on his keys as he brought his hand from his pocket and he only caught them on reflex as he moved away from the gate. Squinting again, his boots crunching on the grave louder than he wanted with unknown persons in the distancel, he caught the faint glow of a phone light shining into the popped bonnet of a car. Another curse followed and he cleared his throat to call out to the shadow bent toward the engine.
"Need help?" A scrape, a thud, another curse, and the blinding glare of a white phone light had him raising his hand with a grimace to block his vision. He blinked to try and clear his eyes of the dancing dark spots and lowered his head to avoid the light as it fell. After a moment he let his hand drop to make out the vague outline of a small woman standing in front of him. "I promise I'm just offering help."
"Sorry." The light moved to balance precariously on the side of the bonnet as the woman shrugged and pointed toward the phone. "You startled me."
"I was trying not to but, as they say, best intentions." He pointed toward the engine. "Do you need help with that."
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On if the offer still stands after I nearly blinded you."
He snorted a chuckle, "The offer for help still stands."
"Then the next relevant question is," She shifted to pick up her phone and shine the light into the bonnet's interior again. "Do you know anything about car engines?"
"Nope." He shrugged. "But I've got a phone and a company I know that can give you a tow if you're up for one of those."
"Not quite yet." She bent down and he finally noticed an open toolbox at the fender. "But if you're trusty with a wrench and you've got a steady hand then I could use your help. And maybe your longer arms while I give the elbow grease."
"I'll give what I can."
"Can you hold a light steady?"
"It was all my Dad let me do when he worked on cars so I'm pretty good with that part of this operation." He stuffed his keys into the pocket of his trousers as he moved to grab the phone to adjust the angle of the light. "Point me where you need me and I'll follow your lead."
"Excellent." She guided his movements, handing him a wrench when something stuck or the position favored his over hers. Eventually, with two sets of hands and the steady beam of light, the engine coughed and kicked back to life.
"That was impressive." He handed her back the phone as she closed the bonnet and moved around toward the driver's side door. "I've never actually seen someone fix their own car before."
"It's something we mostly hire out nowadays isn't it." She sighed, rubbing her hand over the roof. "But this one I built from scratch so I'm a bit protective of him."
"Him?"
"Yeah. My car." She jerked her thumb toward it, "Phil."
"Phil?"
"Yeah, Phil." She frowned, "Like Agent Phil Coulson? Of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Sorry, I'm not following the reference."
"That's a shame." She looked him up and down. "Thanks again for your help. I…"
"What?"
She snorted a laugh, shaking her head as she went to the boot, popping it to remove a bag. "I just realized, I introduced my car before I introduced myself or even asked for you for your name."
"It's true." He mused a moment and accepted the wet wipe she handed him before closing the bag back in the boot. "John Bates."
"Anna Smith." She finished wiping off her hands and then extended one to him. "I thought I shouldn't shake your hand until mine weren't covered in engine grease."
"Very polite."
"It's a nice recovery, especially after I told you my car's name before mine." She shuddered, "My mother would die of shame."
"Stickler for politeness?"
"For decorum." Anna sighed and then frowned, checking her phone. "Not to be rude, given you've just helped me put Phil back together, but what are you doing wandering the road at three in the morning?"
"Waiting to help lovely ladies out of trouble."
"Seriously?"
"No, I wish. I was just closing up." He jerked his thumb behind him and she leaned to see the gate. "Favor to a friend. I'm watching his pub while he's seeing to his mother out of town for a bit."
"That's kind."
"It's a job and, since I'm between contracts at the moment, I had the time and energy to spare doing a good deed."
"Contracts?"
"I work construction. My company does a lot of remodels and builds for some of the older, historical houses around here. We specialize in old fashion remodeling and restoration." He scratched at the back of his head. "But since there's a backorder on supplies at the moment I'm a bit stalled."
"I'm sorry." She bit at her lip, "But I guess you do what you can when you can."
"You do." He nodded, "Well, Ms. Smith, it was a pleasure to help where I could on Phil's repairs. I hope he gets you home safely."
"Me too or I'll be stranded when I'm already late."
"How late?"
Anna cringed, "About six hours."
"Six hours late?" John spluttered a moment, "For what?"
"You'll…" Anna stopped herself before ducking into her car and turning off the engine. "No point running petrol when I'm not going anywhere."
"No?"
"No." Anna sighed and leaned against her car. "I'm six hours late for a little… I'd call it a family affair but it's more like the family my family wants to make their family, if you get my meaning."
"I think so." John frowned, "It sounds a bit like some kind of merger."
"In families like mine, things like this are mergers." Anna pointed toward the gate. "I intended to stop off at the pub there about three hours ago but then I was delayed by something else in London and when Phil started sputtering I went slower and then-"
"You intended to stop off here?"
"Sure."
John laughed, "Why?"
"It's on the register for dives in the area and since my 'intended' isn't big on eating places that don't have a chance at a Michelin rating, it was going to be a bit of a last hurrah, Bucket List, kind of thing." Anna shrugged, "Best intentions… as you said."
"Well…" John rubbed the back of his neck, pursing his lips a moment before giving a definitive nod. "I can't promise much for my culinary skills but the I think I could make sure you at least get to see the dive you missed."
"You're serious?"
"Why not?"
Anna cocked her head at him, "Can you afford to feed random strangers at three in the morning at your friend's pub?"
"I helped you fix your car so we're not strangers." John found the right keys and opened the gate, stepping inside and waiting as Anna retrieved some of her things from Phil before joining him. "And given I'm about one-fourth of the stake holder in this place I'll take it out of my cut of the month."
"You said you were watching over it for a friend."
"I am but that doesn't mean I didn't help lend him some of the startup money for a place like this." John opened the backdoor, turning off the security before winding them into the kitchen. "Grab a stool."
"This is far too generous."
"Not if you're Christian." John bent, digging around in the fridge for a few things before rooting around in the pantry for the rest of it. Turning on lights as he went, soon the back kitchen caught the light from the white bulbs and glowed off the dark wood interior. "As a Christian, it's my duty to help the man on the side of the road. Or the woman, in this case, and that's what I'm doing."
"So that makes you the Good Samaritan?"
"My mother would roll in her grave if I were less." John set up his station and hurried to work, "I hope you don't think it's too early for breakfast."
"I could eat just about anything right now so I'm flexible."
"No allergies or fad diets or other restrictions?"
"Much as my mother would wish it for the second and third, no to all." Anna leaned onto the counter as John began working. "You cook too?"
"I'm function over fashion but I can make a mean breakfast."
"Most important meal of the day."
"Favorite meal of the day for me." John paused, eye-measuring batter. "Which… Kind of makes me want to ask something."
"Kind of?"
"Well…" He shuffled before cracking eggs into a pan and pouring the batter into another. "I'd hate to be presumptuous."
"You're making me breakfast. I think we're at a stage where you can ask me questions." Anna sat up a little straighter. "Shoot."
"What's a woman like you doing six hours late to a family merger? Driving a car she built herself, no less." John shrugged, "Car construction's not really a hobby."
"For girls?"
"For anyone." John checked the eggs, managing them and the pancakes at the same time. "Anyone I knew who built a car either had no money to buy it themselves, they were trying to forge a bond with their father, or they ended up working in a mechanics shop. Of those three options, I'd say it might be number two but definitively not one or three."
"Fair." Anna sighed and shrugged. "But it did start as a way to bond with my father. He was a mechanic who happened to operate very large and very expensive cars. Luxury cars, in fact."
"Like Rolls Royce and old Aston Martins?"
"And the Jaguar and some of the older, historical cars."
"That's a way to make a living."
"It was and he enjoyed it, so there's the dream for everyone right?" Anna shifted on her stool. "But he let me watch him build and refurbish the cars. Then, later, he taught me how to build a car from the inside out so I could have one for myself."
"That's a lot of pressure."
"Responsibility was his game." Anna let a little smile play over her face, "He always said you had to care for a car the way you cared for pets. Treat them well and they'll treat you well until their last breath… Or last drop of petrol I guess."
"Sounds about right." John flipped a pancake, "And he sounds like a smart man."
"I always thought so."
John paused, sliding finished pancakes onto a plate. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thanks." She shrugged, "It was twenty years ago."
"Doesn't mean it hurts any less." John matched her shrug as he buttered the pancakes and slid the plate to her. "Just differently."
"True." Anna bit at her lip, smiling when John matched her pancakes with eggs. "Are you eating too?"
"Might as well." John started up another batch, "So your family makes luxury cars?"
"Technically we own and operate the companies that make them but my father worked on the line floor. His crews loved him and they like me so it's… It's good there." Anna played her fork between her fingers. "It got me into my job now, which my mother despises, but since neither she nor my stepfather will allow me to run the company until I get married there's really nothing for me to do."
"What, you've got no business acumen?"
"I've got plenty of business acumen." Anna winked at him, "It's how I started my own business and ran it successfully enough to pay my own way."
"Cracked your trust fund to do it?"
"Didn't need to." Anna gave a self-satisfied smirk before it dropped into a roll of her eyes. "Not that my mother would let me even if I wanted to."
"Did you have a number of generous friends or did you get a loan?"
"Neither." Anna adjusted herself on the stool. "I started the business with the money I received from the state in a settlement."
John blinked at her, "I feel like I have so many more questions after those answers."
"Better ask quick before your omelet burns."
John worked fast, rescuing his early breakfast before turning off the all the burners. "Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it." Anna took a forkful of her food, "What's your question?"
"Questions, plural."
"How many do you have?"
"Is there a limit?"
Anna eyed him a moment before shrugging, "You've got until I finish eating."
"Okay," John swallowed, "First question, what business do you run?"
"A tattoo parlor." Anna laughed at John's expression. "What? Don't I look the type to run that kind of shady business?"
"You're missing about two sleeves and some neck art."
"Am I?" Anna affected a scoff, "Judging on looks are we?"
"I…" John coughed, laughing to cover nerves. "I'm judging off something a friend of mine told me when we were in the Army."
"Oh?" Anna paused, "What was that?"
"Never to trust a tattoo artist without a tattoo." John shrugged, "We were abroad and a mate of ours wanted a cheap one and we were trying to talk him out of hepatitis or some other thing he'd probably get."
"Smart. However," Anna took another forkful, "Who says I don't have a tattoo?"
John swallowed again, "Do you?"
"Of course." Anna smiled at him, "But I'll not answer where."
"Fair." John took a breath, "My next question was about the money from the state."
"Oh." Anna shook her head as her face fell, "That's a little less fun to answer."
"You don't have to-"
"It's fine."
"Is it?" John waited as Anna's face contorted and adjusted before she finally nodded.
"It is now. Or, if not in total, then in part. And, one day, it will be total and completely fine." Anna took a breath, "When I was at Uni I… I was raped. And I didn't tell anyone about it because I didn't know how to process the whole thing. But he… He kept hanging around me and we had a rather public row when I told him to back the hell off. He kept pressing and so I shoved him. A lot of people saw it and they also saw when he fell back and immediately dropped dead."
"What?"
"Yeah. Some heart condition or other but I was arrested and his family made a big thing of it. And it got bad because his father was part of the Ambassadorial staff from the Turkish Embassy so the stink forced the Home Office to do something and…" Anna shrugged, "Bureaucracy and it's stupidity meant that they had to make a show of doing something even if nothing could be done. So they arrested me, tossed me into jail, and made a huge show of putting me on trial."
"I vaguely remember that in the papers."
"The whole thing was a farce. Especially when the State lost in a big way." Anna gave a derisive snort, "They were caught between a rock and a hard place and so it served them to make a show for Turkey, who accepted the act as penance and justice, and then try to quietly tuck me away with 'time served'."
"But that's not how it ended?"
"Nope." Anna gave a satisfied smile. "My best friend had a lawyer who took the State to task for what they did to me. He sued for me and won me a massive settlement for damages, defamation, and injury."
"And you used that you used to start a tattoo parlor?"
"Yep." Anna shrugged, "It gave me a chance to do some good."
"How so?"
"Tattoo artists are basically undocumented therapists and since I was doing jackshit with a graphic design degree I thought I could put all that knowledge to work doing something meaningful." Anna took another forkful, "Plus, it let me hire my former cellmate when she had trouble get work after her stint for larceny."
"You hired a former thief?"
"Why not?"
"Aren't you afraid she'd steal from you?"
"She might." Anna offered a one-shoulder shrug. "But even if she does, she's got a delicate hand and the smoothest flow I've ever seen. I can risk petty cash for that skill."
"You watch her work?"
"I enjoy watching art in motion."
"Then not because you're afraid she'll-"
"Take from the till if I don't?" Anna laughed and shook her head, "She's good."
"Wouldn't you have to say that since you hired her?"
"Not necessarily but that's not why I say she's good."
John frowned, "Then what makes you say she's good?"
"Because I thought she was good enough to give me my tattoos."
"She did?"
"Yep." Anna sighed, "It's a great gig we've got, Baxter and me."
"Wait," John held up a hand, "Your ex-cellmate's name is Baxter?"
"Yeah."
"And she's a tattoo artist?"
Anna frowned, "Yeah. Why?"
John pulled out his phone and flipped to the music app before holding it up for Anna to see. "This Baxter? Phyllis Baxter of The Jailbirds?"
"You listen to her music?"
"Only after she played it while she…" John paused. "Yeah, I listen to it."
"Wait," Anna narrowed her eyes, "Has she done a tattoo for you?"
John nodded, "She did all three of mine."
"Three?"
"Yeah."
Anna pursed her lips, looking over John from head to toe. "Where?"
"Not telling." John put a finger to his lips. "It's a secret."
"How secret?"
"Secret enough that I'd offer it as a 'you show me yours, I'll show you mine'." John pursed his lips, "Would you tell me where you've got your tattoos?"
"I don't think we know each other well enough for that yet."
"Then we'll both just have to wait and wonder."
"I guess we will." Anna let her eyes wander over him and John swallowed and shifted under gaze. "I guess I don't know you well enough to strip search you for them."
"I guess you don't."
"That's a shame but fair is fair." Anna finished and pushed back from the counter, "Well, looks like I'm done with the delicious meal you provided."
"I'm not out of questions."
"But we are out of time." Anna sighed, "Much as I wish otherwise, it's probably best I get back on the road before I get reported missing."
"Yeah, that would suck." John cleaned up, Anna helping put the ingredients away, and they closed up again. They walked together back toward Anna's car and John extended his hand to her. "It was a pleasure to meet you Ms. Smith."
"And you, Mr. Bates." Anna's hand tightened on his a moment. "It was even nicer getting to know you."
"I think I got to know you better than you got to know me."
"Oh dear." Anna slipped her fingers from his, shivering. "However will we fix that?"
"I could offer you dinner."
"I'd like that." Anna held out her hand but John just started at it. "What?"
"We just shook hands."
"I'm not waiting to shake your hand again, I'm waiting for your phone."
"What for?"
"So I can give you my number."
John wondered if he'd ever moved faster as he unlocked his phone and handed it over. She tapped quickly before giving it back as her phone dinged. He smiled at the contact information before stowing his phone. "Now I've got your number."
"And I've got yours." Anna nodded at him, "But let me call you. I've got an idea for the next time I see you and I don't want to spoil the surprise."
"Now you've got me nervous."
"Don't be." Anna pivoted a moment. "Do you need a ride?"
"Why'd you ask?"
"I don't see another car."
"I don't have a car." John moved into the shadow of the gate before he wheeled a motorcycle over to where Anna stood. "I like this better."
"Cheeky bugger."
"What?"
"You didn't tell me you ride."
"It never came up." John shrugged, "We only really had reason to talk about your car."
"And you didn't think I'd find it interesting that you ride?"
"Why would I think that?"
"Because of what I told you." Anna scoffed when John's face remained confused, "I run a tattoo parlor and served a bit of time in prison. What kind of stereotype would I be if I didn't like motorcycles too?"
John laughed, "Maybe so, but I would've looked the idiot if I assumed anything."
"You got me there." Anna sighed and dug for her keys. "The double-edged sword of the dread stereotype."
"If you're a stereotype then I guess we both are."
"Are we?" Anna took her turn to frown as John swung his leg over the motorcycle.
"Of course." John winked at her, "You're not the only one with tattoos who's served time in a state penitentiary."
"You served time?"
"I did." John sighed, "A story for another time I think."
"Maybe next time?"
"Maybe." John kicked to start, "I'll see you, Anna."
"See you, John."
