The fourth floor was silent. Aaronson, alone, had been left there by Aram with orders to locate the intruder. So far he had come up empty, and had formed the opinion that his quarry was long gone. How, he had no idea, but somehow the man had managed to get out of the building without being seen. Undoubtedly another reporter, a man with nothing better to do than stand around watching buildings burn and people die.

Aaronson pushed open the door to the ladies room and looked inside. A flash of red sleeve was the first and last thing he saw in there. Ralph took him out in record time. Suited at last, Ralph stepped over the unconscious body of the guard and ran to the still-open window he'd come back in through. Three steps and a leap and he was gone, and so was most of the window. Oh well, another one for the expense account. Ralph copped a mid-air U-turn and came back in toward the second floor windows, at almost twice his normal cruising speed.

00o00

Pam stood with her back against the wall. She had a vague memory of seeing this somewhere before, probably in an old Errol Flynn movie. Rahim stood before her with the gun. If she'd been a member of the Foreign Legion he probably would have offered her a cigarette. "Listen," Pam said, her voice remarkably calm under the circumstances, "can't we talk about this?"

"Our demands have not been met," Rahim replied. "There is no more time for talk. The time is for action."

"Look, the line's probably busy, that's all. I bet they're trying to call you right now."

"Be proud. You are dying in the name of all that your capitalist government holds dear."

"I always kind of hoped for old age." Stall, baby, stall!

Rahim aimed. Bill, standing nearby with Aram who had followed his leader into the room, could almost hear the wheels turning in her head trying to come up with a plan. One look at his face and Pam knew he couldn't help her. She closed her eyes.

Bill made the only move he could, a last-ditch effort to disarm Aram. The terrorist had little trouble defending himself. As he knocked Bill to the floor, Ralph came crashing through the closed window in a shower of glass and twisted metal tracks.

Ralph landed smack on top of Rahim and wrenched the pistol from his hand, then lifted the man easily to toss him the length of the office. Rahim hit the far wall hard enough to crack the sheetrock, sending the wall clock crashing to the floor. Sliding down to make an untidy heap on the floor, he moved once, then slumped back.

With Aram distracted, Bill had more success with his second try at disarming the man. With only one good arm, he came down hard on Aram's gun hand to make him drop this weapon, then managed a well-placed punch until Ralph could step in and finish the job.

Pam had grabbed Rahim's gun when it came flying from his hand, and she moved quickly to cover the terrorist while Ralph helped Bill with Aram. Once Bill had armed himself with Aram's gun, he moved quickly to relieve Pam of the one she held squarely on Rahim. "Try it, geek!" she yelled.

Bill reached out to relieve her of the gun very gingerly. "Um, Counselor, how about…" He reached out and pointed the gun away from himself before prying it from her hands. "Right, that's better." Rahim opened his eyes and looked up. Bill smiled insincerely, and leveled the gun at him. "Now." Bill sounded almost pleasant. "You were saying?" He ignored his arm which had begun to throb now that the first shock was over. He needed to savor this moment and nothing was going to get in the way.

Ralph and Pam met in an embrace in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry, honey," Ralph murmured, hugging her as tightly as he dared while wearing the suit; he was always afraid he might hurt her accidentally. "I would've been here sooner if I could. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Pam nodded.

"Are you sure?" Ralph pressed. He didn't think her knees were supporting her as much as he was.

"I'm okay, but Bill's hurt."

Ralph glanced over at Bill, who seemed to be managing quite well in spite of his bloody shoulder. The agent grinned. "What are you talkin' about?" he asked. "Never been better. Our boy here is the one who's gonna be hurting."

"You wouldn't believe what I've been through," Ralph told Pam.

"It's what I was trying to tell you before, kid," Bill continued. "I got some notes on the ol' response time for ya."

"I take it back; he sounds just fine," Pam amended her earlier statement.

From down the hall they heard a commotion, reminding them that there were more terrorists to take care of. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, may I direct your attention to matters at hand?" Bill was on a roll.

Ralph pushed Pam behind him and faced the doorway. Bill moved behind the door to get the jump on the intruders, still armed with Rahim's gun. The door opened and two terrorists burst into the room, only to stop and stare at Ralph who stood in the middle of the room in Technicolor. After a moment they took in the sprawled figures of Rahim and Aram, automatically stepping forward to help their associates. Behind them, Bill slammed the door and leveled the gun at them.

"Okay, freeze it right there!"

The men were so stunned by the turn of events that they made no protest when Ralph relieved them of their weapons. "Who are you?" one of them managed to ask.

"A mild-mannered reporter," Ralph replied dryly.

"What's the matter? Dontcha read the comics?" Bill grinned, on top again and loving it. "Seems like it would be about your speed."

The terrorists taken care of, Ralph walked over to Bill and snapped the handcuffs he wore as if they were made of eggshells. "Thanks, kid, gotta admit that was kinda humiliating."

Ralph had gotten a good look at his friend's arm. "I think we'd better get you to a hospital."

"What?" Bill shook his head. "Nah. I been waiting hours for this, Ralph." He flexed his muscles to get the kinks out and nearly dropped the gun when his arm balked at the motion and demanded attention. "Uh, on second thought, maybe you're right."

Unnoticed by the reunited partners, Rahim was slowly withdrawing the grenade he'd carried from his inside pocket. It wasn't until he'd pulled the pin and released the grip handle that Bill spotted what he was up to.

"Ralph, he's got the pin out! Do something!"

When Ralph made a move towards Rahim, the terrorist calmly swallowed the pin. For a moment Ralph felt as though the pin had gone down his own throat. Rahim grinned. "This building and everyone in it will…"

"Oh, put a lid on it," Bill ordered.

"What can I do?" Ralph looked to Bill for a suggestion.

"I say reach down his throat and pull it out!"

"Bill!"

"Whatever you're gonna do, kid, do it quick! Another coupla seconds and it's gonna look like a tickertape parade in here."

Sometimes Ralph really wished that Bill didn't have such a firm grasp on the metaphors of the English language. He pried the grenade loose from Rahim's fingers, then ran with it to the window. Problem. What was he supposed to do with the darn thing? He couldn't drop it. There were too many people in the street below. He couldn't throw it either; buildings surrounded this one, all occupied, all too close. And time was running out.

Summoning all the strength he and the suit possessed, Ralph finally tossed it straight up, into the air. It made a whistling noise as it vanished from sight. "Five, four, three, two…"

The grenade exploded harmlessly several hundred feet above the pavement. While Ralph breathed a sigh of relief, Bill let out a slow whistle. "Huh. Betcha pitch one hell of a knuckleball."

Increased noise in the hall had their attention. This time they all recognized Carlisle's voice. Before Bill could tell him to get lost, Ralph did a quick fade-out before the agents entered the office. The terrorists stared, open-mouthed, at the space Ralph had occupied mere seconds earlier.

Carlisle and another agent burst into the room to find that Bill had the jump on all four men. "Maxwell, what in the name of sanity is going on here?" Carlisle managed, after studying the situation.

"Uh…" As usual there was no good way to explain recent events. "Well, about what it looks like, Boss."

"But, how did you… and how could… how did…" Carlisle gestured about the room.

Pam dove in head first in an attempt to salvage Bill's credibility. "I think we should go into that later, sir. Agent Maxwell needs medical attention."

"Where did he go?" asked one of Rahim's men.

"Where did who go?" countered Carlisle.

"The other guy. The one in the funny underwear."

Carlisle looked to his best bet for an entertaining explanation. Clutching his injured shoulder, Bill tried again. "Uh, I guess I hit that one too hard. He's seein' things."

That wasn't nearly good enough. Bill could tell by the look the senior agent gave him. "Later, Maxwell," Carlisle promised. "Believe me, we'll talk later."

The agent who had entered the room with Carlisle pried the gun out of Bill's hands and took charge of the prisoners. Then Pam quicly led Bill out the door before Carlisle could think of any more questions. Behind them they could hear the man who had spoken before start up again. "I'm telling you, there was another guy here. He wore a cape, and…"

Carlisle cut him off with a simple wave of his hand. "Not now. I've had a very difficult day."

When the senior agent turned toward the door, it was just settling into place behind Bill and Pam. Then it opened and closed again. But there was nobody there. Carlisle shook his head in a vain effort to clear it. "A very difficult day…" he echoed.

00o00

The Hinkleys' living room was exactly as Ralph had left it. Streamers still decked the walls and doorways; the banner reading 'Happy Birthday Ralph' was still draped across the archway. The only additions were the vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table and the TV dinner beside it that sported a lighted candle.

Ralph sat on the couch with a bottle of champagne, struggling to open it. One of these days they were going back to screw-on tops, he promised himself. Pam entered the room carrying two glasses, sat down beside him, after placing the glasses next to the foil-wrapped Salisbury steak. "Got it, honey?" she asked.

Ralph nodded. "Yeah, I got it."

He finally managed to remove the cork, the loud pop making them both jump. Pam held out one of the glasses for Ralph to fill.

"I'm sorry the bakery was closed."

"That's all right." He filled one glass and Pam held out the other.

"But that dinner was all I had in the freezer. And I'm sorry we don't have any ice cream."

"Pam, really, it's okay. I don't mind."

"I wanted everything to be perfect tonight."

Ralph filled the second glass and looked, really looked, at his wife. He couldn't remember the last time she'd looked quite this beautiful. The candlelight, and the way she had her hair… he moved forward and they met in a kiss. "Everything is perfect tonight," he assured her. "You're here, and I'm here, and…" They kissed again. "And Bill's not."

Pam grinned. "What did you do with the communicator?"

He knew he looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, which was driving Pam crazy, but he couldn't help himself.

"Ralph, don't do this to me!"

Laughing, he surrendered. "All right, all right, I put it in the glove compartment of Bill's car."

"Oh, you didn't."

"This superhero is taking the night off."

To confirm his statement, Pam unbuttoned his shirt to check for the familiar red suit. It wasn't there.

"Nope," he told her. "Forget it. The hero is off-duty."

"You're always my hero," Pam assured him.

"Well, I guess I could stay on-call… for you."

"I guess you'd better."

They were well on their way to an amorous encounter when the doorbell interrupted. Pam felt her fingernails dig into the palms of her hands. "I'll kill him."

Ralph shook his head. "He wouldn't. Not tonight."

"Of course he would. You know him as well as I do. Of course he would!" Who else but Bill Maxwell went around ringing peoples' doorbells at eleven o'clock at night? Even safely tucked away, as she'd foolishly believed, in the Emergency Room at Valley Hospital, he had somehow managed to talk his way out of the 'overnight for observation', and…

Pam got up from the couch, grabbed her glass of champagne and stalked to the front door. To her surprise, when she flung it open she found Tony, Rhonda, Paco and Cyler. The kids entered and made themselves at hom. Pam stayed by the open door, wondering why this was happening to her.

Tony dug into the cheese and crackers on the coffee table. "Mr. H., look, we know it's late and everything, but we got a problem."

"Yeah," Rhonda nodded. "You seen, it's like this… we're trying to do what you said and get involved in journalism and stuff."

"But we got a problem with the headline," Paco continued. "You know, the main scoop?"

"Yeah, like, can you help us?" Cyler concluded the request.

Pam let the door fall shut. Tony turned at the sound. "Hey, Mrs. H."

Her smile was forced. "Hey, Tony."

Ralph caught the warning signs. "I'll try to help you if you can make it fast, okay? Now what seems to be the problem?"

"We got these two great headlines and can't decide which one to use," Cyler replied.

"How much quicker can we get than that?" Tony asked.

"All right," Ralph nodded. "Then you just need an opinion. What have you got?"

Rhonda pulled a small notebook from her purse and flipped it open. She read with happy eagerness. "'Whitney Vice Principal's Past Career As Parking Attendant'."

Ralph hung his head. "Rhonda…"

"Or, 'Phys-Ed Department's Locker Room Confessions'."

Tony nodded enthusiastically, pulling a very small instamatic camera from his jacket pocket. "With that one we got pictures. I think we oughta go with it."

"But, man, with the one about the vice principal we got the interview," Cyler reminded him. "Those guys he worked for downtown said he was the best lock-pick they ever seen. They usta call him 'Slim Jim'."

"But we never found out for sure that he was him who broke into all them cars and ripped off the tape decks," Paco countered. "Mr. H., we can't print it if it ain't a documented fact, can we?"

"Guys," Ralph tried to get into the swing. "Guys…"

"We can do it if it's 'speculation'," said Tony. "You know, like the articles about the flying saucers landin' in some guy's back yard. They get good money for that stuff."

"Yeah, Villicana, you believe that and I've got a bridge for sale in New York City. I'm tellin' you, it ain't a documented fact."

"Yeah, man, he knows about that stuff," Cyler agreed. "That's the only thing that kept him outta juvenile hall five, six times."

Ralph still hadn't gotten their attention, and knew this argument was likely to go all night if he didn't break in. "Fellas, hey…"

As the kids argued, Pam stepped in from behind Ralph and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to look, she held out her glass of champagne to him. Ralph picked up his own glass and returned the toast, the two glasses touching quietly.

"Happy birthday, hero," Pam smiled.

They sipped the champagne while the kids continued to argue. Everything was back to normal. Pseudo-normal, but normal enough for Ralph.

And he probably wouldn't have wanted his life any other way.

THE END

A/N Thanks to everyone who read, and especially to Ghost In The Machine for calling a continuity error to my attention, which I will fix now that the whole story is up. Glad to see there are still some GAH fans out there!