Unaccustomed to sleeping past sunrise, Tyler only dozed lightly for another half hour or so before deciding that swapping his warm bed, and warmer bedmate, for a cold room was probably the best way to go. He slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans from where they lay on the floor, shuddering at the chill. A muffled sound from behind him made him think Angie might have awakened too, but when he turned back for a look she'd all but disappeared beneath the layers of covers in the middle of the big bed.

After restarting the fire he set about his usual morning routine: grabbed a shower (more reason to wash up than usual this morning, he laughed to himself) and a shave, then came back out to make coffee. Coffee first, always. Any thoughts of food would come later. As he'd stood shaving before the mirror he'd noticed a couple of red marks on his left shoulder… Christ, had he really let her do that? Not that he was exercising a whole lot of restraint himself, but he was at least grateful he wouldn't be marching back into camp sporting a hickey in plain sight… he'd definitely have to kill Donovan if he saw something like that. He decided to have to have a word with Angie about it... no marks. Marks were bad for a man in his line of work, and that was the reason he had no tattoos, had had a small birthmark removed years ago, and had managed to avoid getting scarred. Except for that one scar on his face, that nobody could do much about, he was very much an unmarked man, and liked it that way. Of course what Angie had left him with was different, definitely temporary, but still… shit, he was 43 years old and had spent half his life as a professional hardass. Hickeys were for zit-faced teenagers with more hormones than brains.

When the coffee was ready Tyler poured a mug for himself and set it on the table, then went to a tall cupboard set in the wall at the far end of the room. It wasn't immediately visible to the casual observer, though it wasn't purposely hidden either. Just sort of blended in, like everything else. Opening the door revealed shelf upon shelf of books, many of them old hard-covers, most of them classics. Field manuals and weapons guides could be found on the bottom shelf, having been shoved there to be forgotten on the previous occasions he'd arrived burnt out and sick of his life. He selected a volume from the top shelf and sat down at the table, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. Company took a bit of getting used to up here, but Angie didn't take up much space in any sense of the word. He'd been right, she seemed to fit in just fine. Taking a swill of coffee he opened the book and, though it was far from the first time he'd read this one, he quickly became absorbed.


Coffee? COFFEE. Even through the layers of sheets and blankets and quilts Angie could smell coffee. She poked her face out from under, and also realized the room was warm. She was alone in bed, though it was such a big bed it took a few seconds of rooting around to be sure. She caught a glimpse of Tyler… Ham… his back to her, bent over something at the table. God, how late was it? In spite of everything she felt embarrassed to be seen as a slacker by Ham Tyler. No clothing lay nearby that she could see at first… shit, who knows where her stuff had ended up after he'd "unwrapped" her last night. She spied Tyler's discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and grabbed for it. Feeling a little stupid (considering how well they'd gotten to know every inch of each other) she nonetheless would feel stupider prancing around like a wood nymph, which she certainly did not resemble on her best day. She pulled on the shirt and was dismayed to find its owner was so slender she couldn't button it all the way, it was just too tight.

Oh yay, there's my panties on the floor. She pulled those on, and thus imperfectly dressed Angie ventured quietly out of bed and padded barefoot to where Tyler was sitting. He was wearing another of those cotton band-collar shirts like the one she had on, and the way his head was bent forward exposed that spot that she'd always found to be irresistible on any man she'd ever known: that place where the neck curved just behind and below the ear (left or right, she didn't much care), right at the edge of the hairline... she found it especially irresistible on men who kept their hair trimmed close in back.

Tyler jumped at Angie's light kiss, though not because he didn't hear her coming. He'd heard every step. But the way her hair fell down around the back of his neck… that switched on a neural pathway that shot straight to his balls.

"Ow!" Angie yelped and jumped back, holding her nose. "I should know better than to sneak up on a professional; when people say you're dangerous they are not kidding."

"Hey, not my fault this time. C'mere," he stood and examined her nose with exaggerated professionalism. "Let's see," he pinched it gently between two fingers, "feels straight to me. Can you breathe okay?"

He was still holding on. Angie rolled her eyes. "Ib you led go mebbee."

He released her nose and sat to return to his reading. "Coffee's ready, I left a mug for you on the counter." The soft swish of Angie's hair against the back of his neck as she leaned over his shoulder again made Tyler shiver for a second, but he managed not to jerk upright again.

"Gee, sorry I disturbed your concentration." She peered at the book on the table to see what he'd been reading.

"Don't ever apologize for doing something that feels that good," he admonished sternly. He picked up the book and showed it to her.

"Jack London… why am I not surprised?" She took the book, Martin Eden, from him and read the back cover. "Hey, I've read this one. I was inspired to look for it after hearing the name in a Tom Waits song."

He blinked at her. "I just like the story."

"Where did it come from, you didn't bring any books." She was off and inspecting the woodwork of the walls for hiding places.

"Wrong wall," he instructed, "look over there, I didn't shut the door tight."

When she pulled the cupboard door open Angie was aghast. "Oh my god, look at all of these," she traced the spines, exclaiming over some of the titles. Mostly fiction, but some history too.

"Jesus, this explains a lot. Can't say I'm surprised though."

"By what," Tyler asked dryly, "the fact that I can read big words? "

"Ha, ha. Oh look," she'd spotted the "professional" stuff on the bottom shelf, and after inspecting it more closely announced, "Hey you told the truth. Not a single copy of Soldier of Fortune. Though I'm wondering how this might come in handy up here," she held up a copy of Adaptive Uses of C4 Explosives. Though I'm wondering how this might come in handy up here," she held up a copy of Adaptive Uses of C4 Explosives.

"Sometimes I have trouble opening jars," he deadpanned.

"Ah. Silly me, I just run 'em under hot water." Tyler was looking at her that funny way again. "What?"

"Just noticing how my shirt looks on you," he mused. She braced herself for the old "it looks better on you baby" cliché, but should have known better. "Looks like an overstuffed sausage casing. Better put on something of your own before you ruin it, I had these made special."

"Christ..." she grumbled and pounded away to pick her bag up off the floor and pull other clothes out of it. "Custom van, custom weapons, custom shirts, holy shit Tyler, who knew you guys were such snobs?"

He appeared behind her and reached his hands around front, "Careful, you'll tear those hand-sewn buttonholes..."

It wasn't until she shoved his hands away and whipped around ready to rage that she saw the sly smile on his face.

"Tyler you are a total pain in the ass sometimes."

"Don't tell Gooder that, or he'll think we have something in common." He finished unbuttoning the shirt and ran an index finger from the base of Angie's throat to her belly button and back up again, stopping to tap her chin lightly. "Go on, get dressed. I got plans after breakfast." He went to get eggs and bread from the fridge and set a frying pan on the stove. "You okay with over easy?"

"Sure."

"Thought so... you seemed fine with it last night," he laughed wickedly as he got breakfast ready.

Angie refused to give Tyler the satisfaction of a retort as she went to shower and dress, then sat down at the table to dig into what turned out to be some impressive morning cuisine. Veggie frittata, toast, and perfect coffee, damn this man could cook better than most she'd known- "over easy" was obviously a gratuitous straight-line.

She looked at Tyler a little hesitantly. "So, what exactly did you have planned after breakfast? Outdoorsy type stuff, right?" Angie gulped. "You're not thinking it's time for me to learn to hunt, are you? Because I'm not sure I'm ready to graduate from rocks to Bambi."

"Nah I just figured we could murder some fish," he laughed, "There's a stream not far from here... nice trout... what?"

Angie was shaking her head and smiling. "I never figured you for a boy scout."

"Boy scouts don't learn how to bite the heads off," he offered darkly, leaving Angie to hold back a queasy urp as he put the dishes in the sink.

"Look, do you mind if I say I'd rather do something else?"

He stood over her with a grin. "What could be better than biting the heads off of live trout?"

"Tyler, you are a sick bastard." His grin got wider, gotcha it said. "No, I meant that as long as I'm here in a refuge from hell, there's something I'd like to do a whole lot more than tramping through the woods. Something I may not get a chance to do again for a long, long time."

She'd picked up the book again, the one he'd been reading earlier, and when she stood and looked him in the eye again the longing that was written all over her face wiped the smile off of his.

"Can I just read today? Please?" She looked from the book in her hand, to the others on the shelf, and struggled for a way to explain. "See, it's been so long, since I could just sit down and wallow in somebody else's words, play with their ideas, with nothing else to think about other than what was right there in front of my eyes. It didn't get around much with all of the other crap going on, but books became dangerous, like they always do when there's anybody occupying anyone else. They weren't confiscated, nope, the Visitors are too smart for that. But I knew from the library that they were being watched. What was read, who was reading it, it's nothing new. Like the Cultural Revolution in China, they said you had to be guided and re-educated from your lost ways or whatever bullshit they were spewing to make most people believe it was reasonable. My friends thought because I wasn't meeting them in the dark rooms and alleys and planning raids with them that I was a coward and just didn't care. Okay, so maybe I was a coward and too scared to think I could be some kind of freedom fighter. What I knew was words, so what I did was get into the database and change the names around. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what kind of books the Visitors considered 'dangerous' so I just took the names on those and turned 'em in to gibberish. I made up names, I took them from literature." Suddenly she laughed and looked Tyler in the eye, "You have no idea how many dangerous books Elmer Fudd checked out!" He wasn't smiling.

"That took guts." He meant it. How many people were there out there who figured they didn't do squat just because they didn't blow something up or shoot someone down? It had taken him a long time to figure that one out himself; occasionally he still had a hard time remembering it. "They would've caught on sooner or later."

She ignored his assurance. It wasn't what she needed anyway, not right now. She gestured with the book. "This was always my refuge from hell, since I was a kid. It should be easier to get to than yours, shouldn't it? But I just now figured out it might need someplace like this to really work now that hell is everywhere." She saw he was looking at her, into her, with that studious expression again, trying to figure her out without asking. "Sorry, I'm talking crazy again."

"Crazy's the new language," he reminded her quietly, then leaned forward to kiss the side of her head. "You go ahead and enjoy the old one. I'll go play boy scout." He headed off to rummage in the shed for the fishing gear he knew Reno had put there.

"If you bite their heads off I will never kiss you again," Angie warned him and went to rummage for a book... any book.

"I'll brush my teeth after every one," he promised with that sardonic smile, which suddenly morphed to something very serious when he paused by the door. "Angie?"

She looked up from the book she'd selected, a volume of short stories by Twain. As he seldom used her "real name" she wondered what was wrong.

"You're no coward. You ever start to wonder, let me know and I'll tell you again." He was out the door before she could reply.

Angie settled into the armchair by the fire feeling a little bit like the guy in that Twilight Zone story, the one who could get so lost in books that when he finally stuck his head outside his bank vault he found the whole world was gone.

"Got it ass backward this time," she muttered to herself. But the truth was that, with one clear exception, she wouldn't mind at all if she opened the door to find the rest of the world was gone.