Chapter 2: Marble Floors

"No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time."

― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

The halls of the private art gallery were always studiously and diligently silent. The upper management liked it best that way. The halls probably did, too. Smug, stupid halls and their smug, stupid management. Art, the bigwigs said, should be a silent and personal thing. Or, at least, the buying of it should be. The only sounds that every disrupted that very businesslike quiet were the postman who dropped his bag with a thump at the welcome desk every day at 2pm (he had a crush on Margie the welcome desk lady and she was being very coy about the whole thing), the elderly janitor, Mitchell, who always wore a bow tie, had a perpetual sniffle, and only sneezed three times every time, always, and, lastly, the young woman currently charging brusquely through the corridors as if her skirt was on fire.

She was in a frenzied hurry, distracted, almost very nearly unaware of the incredible noise her (very expensive) black heels made on the marble floors. She was almost embarrassed by the racket she caused.

Almost.

But, she had told herself that morning (when she heard the error of her wardrobe), her shoes were far too trendy and complimentary to her outfit to feel true remorse. When you have it, you have it, and today she had it. Or so she kept trying to remind herself every time she darted across the hallway. It was a bit difficult to keep up the mantra through all the clackity-clack noise though.

At that thought, her mantra: Remain stalwart! Believe in your fashion!

There was no sense feeling guilty now anyway. It was after hours. The only people around were too ensconced in their research or whatever it was they did behind mahogany doors to notice her footwear or the tumult she caused. Her boss had yet to leave for the night though. There was still time to turn someone's mood sour and with her luck, it was likely to be him.

But as she hurried on, stubbornly ignoring the whole predicament surrounding her footwear, she relaxed by degrees. The halls that housed the exquisite art of the private collection were dim, hollow, and empty.

Everyone really had gone home. And once again, she was working overtime.

Fantastic.

Passing by a large, picture window she caught sight of her haggard expression and the frown that seemed permanently fixed around her mouth. If she weren't careful her job would be to blame for both the premature wrinkles and the complete surrender of her free time, happiness, and soul.

She sighed dejectedly and her heels suddenly sounded much more morose. She rounded yet another corner managing to slide a little on the slick floor and almost topple out of her shoes as she did.

Confidence lowering by notches, she thought. Another stellar Friday.

Life here would be so much easier if she didn't feel so tired and incompetent.

But working at the equivalent of a judgey mausoleum for three years could do that to hopeful young women out to conquer the world. When she had first arrived at the museum steps she wasn't even paid. It had been three long, grueling months of interning. To this institution interning meant numbering papers and making copies. She learned rather quickly that around here, they meant serious business when it came to photocopying and organizing and stapling. At the end of three months, in which she was run ragged and sustained several grievous injuries from a temperamental stapler, a fussy printer, and a downright rude paper cutter, she decided that, yes, she could put up with this bullshit and, yes, she could handle a position at this establishment. What would the battle wounds have been for otherwise?

Woe to the hopeful college student, too vainglorious to see her own demise.

She had been thrilled to work within her intended field of study. But as three months turned into six and six into twelve and twelve into three years, she was now disenchanted and disappointed.

Three years of work for this place and she was just barely above that of a medieval page. She still made all the copies, got all of the curators and donators coffee, and still fought the urge to break down and cry every time she made the smallest mistake. The only one thing she wasn't doing anymore was numbering artifacts. God, that had been terrible.

But then again, she mused darkly, the idea of actually being able to handle artifacts was much more thrilling than being a glorified secretary.

She sighed again, unconsciously losing some of her posture. She always thought like this when she wasn't tearing her hair out trying to reload paper into the printer or attempting to soak out coffee stains from her blouses during lunch breaks. With too much time to think, unattainable goals haunted her like ghosts, mocked her as she walked (loudly) through the corridors.

But there was no more time for self-pity this evening, and as she neared her destination she summoned her courage and, predictably, grasped at nothing. Slowly, quietly, as if she were afraid of being spotted, she slipped past a large door at the end of one darkened hallway lined with expensive paintings.

Once inside, she had to fight the urge not to burst into tired giggles. Every time she was in the head curator's office she felt as if she were on a movie set of a boarding school. The room was decorated with oak paneling and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled with more anthologies than one person could read in a lifetime. She had wondered, on more than one occasion, if he had ever read them or if he only kept them to appear wise and impressive.

It was dim and dated inside as if the place should have been lit by candles or gaslights instead of electricity.

This probably would suit the snobby, elderly curator. She could already picture him in a smoking jacket with a fat cigar and tumbler of whiskey in one hand and an ancient but altogether cliché treasure map in the other.

Currently, the old gentleman was standing next to one of his many bookshelves, leafing through a text that looked older than most of the objects on display in the museum. He was a short man, but not near as diminutive as she. At a little over five feet, her greatest aspiration in regards to height was to stand taller than the middle schoolers who passed by the museum every morning on their way to school. Hence, the (very expensive) heels.

Giving herself a sharp mental shake, she returned her attention to her boss, who was diligently ignoring her in favor of his text.

Clearly, it was a page-turner.

Her eyes rolled skyward before landing on him again.

He had a sort of dignified pomposity about him. An air that had been polished and perfected throughout years of being -Pants-Man-Curator. He was snippy, always had coffee breath, and his favorite pastime was passive-aggressively insulting her. As if he had a PHD in Thumbing One's Nose instead of… whatever it was he did have. If he were not directly responsible for her paycheck she would have put him in his place by now.

But, she always found herself begrudgingly admitting, despite the swift desire to kick him his snooty kneecaps, he had a lot to teach her. After all, she had only just finished college, and as smart as she thought she was, there was no comparison between her and Dr. Reginald Wesley.

He was, unfortunately, a genius.

She just wished he wasn't so damn cocky about it.

Shuffling her feet a little, because if her shoes weren't gorgeous they were at least painful, she hovered awkwardly at the doorway, feeling meek and bothersome. The man turned without lifting his gaze from the tome he was fixated with. The image of a whiskey and a cigar returned with a vengeance. She pressed her lips together to try and stifle a laugh.

"Ms. Higurashi," he voiced his acknowledgment of her presence. He was bored with the very thought of her. "There are several documents in that folder on my desk." He gestured absently with his free hand, still eyeing the book. "As soon as you deliver them to accounting you may leave."

Annoyance welled to the brim of her sanity. She was not sure whether it was his absolute indifference to her existence or the fact that the accounting office was going to be closed in approximately 5 minutes that made her want to scream, wrench the book out of his hands, take him by the shoulders, and scream, 'I'm a god damn professional you old windbag! I am overqualified to be your (fabulously) high heeled lackey!'

Instead of doing just that, she swallowed her anger, as she always did, and padded her way, submissively, over to his desk where the large and overly professional leather folder sat. She made to leave but paused haltingly.

"What is it Miss Higurashi?"

She winced at the butchering of her last name, the annoyance in his tone. Her teeth ground in a way that would have made her dentist shake his head in disapproval.

"The accounting office will be closed shortly," she said, "If I can't find anyone to take the files, what would you like me to do with them, Dr. Wesley?"

In one exaggerated movement, the man placed a finger over the spot he was reading from and finally pulled his eyes away from the text. When he met her gaze she could even more easily make out the thinly veiled dislike he held for her, made worse by the condescending lilt of his next words.

"If you think that you will not be able to deliver the files then perhaps we have more serious matters to discuss. Perhaps," he paused, a single white eyebrow twitching upwards, "perhaps, we should discuss duties you would be incapable of completing if I were to bestow more responsibility upon you. If you think, even for a moment, that the files will not be in the hands of accounting by," he glanced at the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, "four 'o' clock this evening, then, by all means, please leave the files, have a wonderful weekend, and we will take several minutes on Monday to discuss more appropriate job situations for you."

She stared at him for a moment, debating if hitting him over the head with one of his antiques could be classified as assault in court. Bludgeoning. Yes, that was assault, her brain supplied. Just a slight bludgeoning, she argued back. Bludgeoning lite.

But, the smarter part of her brain wearily reminded, just in time to stop her legs from crossing the room and her hand from grabbing the heavy nameplate on his desk, the best way to get under his skin was not through physical harm.

Summoning her most cheerful smile, she sing-songed, "I can handle it, sir. Have a good weekend." She slipped out the door. He then returned to his book, but the frown on his mouth showed told her he was miffed. Score one, Higurashi!

The door shut with a snap behind her. Her face was warm with irritation.

"I know what we can have a discussion about! Let's discuss what's happening with your crazy, old man eyebrows, you coot," she muttered breathlessly, looking at the time on her phone.

In a sudden rush of panic, the girl slipped off her beautifully pointed heels and ran, stocking toed, down the hall.

As she flew around the corner, arms flailing, she ran smack into the last person in the office who was leaning down to lock the door.

"Shit!" she cried out in surprise and embarrassment, reaching out to steady herself on the unfortunate man. She felt a hand grab her elbow before she tipped over and spilled precious files all over the floor. "I'm sorry! Sorry, sorry! I had to get these files into the office for Dr. Wesley and-"

She looked up, still apologizing gracelessly, and into the face of the last person she wanted to see right then. A man in his late twenties looked down at her, the glare of his glasses obscuring his eyes. Even so, she could plainly read the amusement upon his face. His mouth twisted slightly, looking more like a grimace than a smile, but she guessed it was the latter.

"Kagome, what an unexpected and pleasant surprise," his voice held a level of sarcasm that instantly raised her hackles.

"Hello," she replied gruffly, her cheeks burning.

"Did you have a reason for so unceremoniously running into me, without shoes on, or is this a common practice of yours on, " he glanced at his watch, " Fridays at 4:01?"

She reached down and slipped her shoes back on which gave her time to decide she was better than him and didn't say, "Yeah, well, your face," like she wanted to. Instead, she held up the envelope she had just dropped. "Dr. Wesley asked me to give this to your office."

The man shifted slightly, his smile widening to reveal perfect white teeth, "Ah. Well, you see, you seem to have just missed our office hours."

Her shoulders dropped in weary defeat and her anger disappear. "Please, Aaron. I don't want to lose my job."

He sighed and shifted his coat onto his other arm. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a set of keys and inserted them into the old oak door. The door swung open and the man gestured for her to walk inside.

"You know, Kagome, you should really develop your sense of humor. I was kidding. Or you should probably take care of your chores before everything closes for the day. One or the other."

She glowered furiously as she passed him, making sure that this time he did see the extent of her sour mood. Aaron's brow rose. A challenge!

Her frown deepened. He wasn't nearly as bad as Dr. Wesley. But he did like to tease. Always nettling her, giving her a difficult time. Sometimes she thought he was trying to actually befriend her but most of the comments that came out of his mouth were usually just curt enough that they fell on the dark, snide side of funny. She could almost see them being friends but whenever she tried they grated each other the wrong way. For that odd and unexplained reason, she continued to joke/trade barbs/be incredibly sarcastic to each other when the occasion warranted it.

Clearly, Kagome was going insane and had settled for unfunny teasing from a man she barely knew to supplement the lack of real, human friendships on the job.

Stalking further into the darkened room she slapped the file on his desk with a satisfying thump.

"I'm aware of the time and when I should complete my tasks. It wasn't my fault, but then, I'm sure that you don't care much about a little errand girl's problems."

She slid past him and out the door and made sure to step on his foot.

"Ow! Do you have a license for those things?"

She smirked and leaned against the wall. When he stepped back out and locked the door he looked down at her expectantly, but her eyes flitted away from his gaze.

"Anyway, thank you. I appreciate it," she said honestly.

He studied her another moment, then nodded and walked away. "Have a nice weekend," he threw over his shoulder. She almost smiled until he added, "Let's hope next week you drop some time from your mile run so I don't have to postpone my weekend plans for you."

She glared at his retreating back but was too tired to throw out a nasty return. Near her wit's end, she went the opposite direction and was darkly self-satisfied at the amount of noise she made on the way. She came to her tiny office, nothing more than a janitorial closet really, and gathered up her coat and purse. After locking her door she trudged out of the museum and into the rain, not even bothering to pop her umbrella.

What was a little rain after the week from hell?

At her apartment, she dropped her things in a damp mess. Kicking off her stupid, horribly painful (and very expensive) shoes, which had both been sunk into muddy puddles several times, she made her way to the kitchen, stripping off her soaked black collared shirt to throw it over the couch. Padding around the kitchen table she looked around, worry creasing her forehead.

"Ajax?" she called, her voice stalled swallowed into the dark recesses of her tiny, empty home.

A jingle of metal met her ears and her face broke into a wide smile, the first genuine one of the day. Four feet shuffled along the carpet of the hallway and a second later her short, stocky corgi came sliding into the kitchen, his back end wiggling with excessive joy.

"Good evening to you, too!" she cooed, kneeling down to ruffle his fur and envelope him in a hug. For his part, his short stubby legs bounced his squat body halfway up onto her lap and he basked in the attention.

"Were you a good boy while I was gone? Do you want your dinner?" In response the corgi danced in a circle, his nails clicking happily on the linoleum.

She felt the week melt away as she smiled down at her little mutt, making his dinner and setting it next to his water dish. Opening the freezer she poked around, wrinkling her nose at the various frozen dinners for one stacked at the back, each in varying stages of freezer burn. Eventually, one was chosen, and she popped it into the microwave and went to play with Ajax, flipping on the TV as she sat on the floor. Her couch was too uncomfortable for actual human butts. Clearly, her priorities were way out of line. She muttered curse words at the guilty shoes laying in the corner.

Ajax dropped a slobbery ball on her work skirt, demanding attention.

"Good boy," she murmured distractedly, tossing his tennis ball down the hallway for him to fetch.

The six 'o' clock news was littered with death, mayhem, and destruction. The usual. She was only half listening anyway. Civic responsibility prevented her from foregoing it altogether, but the world was so depressing she thought maybe it would be all right if she only watched once in a while. About to flip the channel, she paused as a new segment aired.

The first few images were stock footage of dig sites. But the story unfolded in a museum, somewhere across the world. It was something about rare finds and private collectors and anonymous buyers and the market and how some very rich people made themselves even more money by selling history.

"…private collectors can make millions of dollars a year. Many prefer to remain behind the veil of lawyers and cash. But there are several who are known in the art world over for their interesting tastes and the amount of money they will pay for history. Several museums here in Japan have become rather lucky recipients of large, undisclosed donations and payments for rare masterpieces. Makoto Yamamato, the curator of one of the prestigious private museums on Osaka had this to say about his high profile customers…"

Kagome watched the flickering television screen, feeling an odd pull, a brief flickering of awareness in her mind.

"…There are many rich men and women who frequent my museum, many well-to-do business people who fund digs and excavations in the hopes that our teams will find priceless artifacts. Just the other day a large donation was bestowed upon us by several prominent figures from Kyoto, including the Katsu, Soseki, Watnabe, and Taisho families. These are very private individuals, but I believe it is no secret that several katana collectors worldwide are vying to purchase one of our latest finds at the Shikon Site…"

The segment ended a few minutes later, but oddly, Kagome had trouble recalling the rest of the report. Somewhat befuddled Kagome blinked back to reality. A commercial was blaring annoyingly at her now, and she wondered if she really was that tired, to blank out an entire few minutes of her life.

But then Ajax was worming his charming way into her lap and the dull throb of a headache had her forgetting about millionaires and swords and museums and had her concentrating, instead, on a good night sleep. Instead, when she did finally lay down in her very empty single bed she stared at the ceiling.

Was this all there was? TV dinners? Wasting money she didn't really have on shoes she didn't really need? A shitty job that was slowly turning her into a husk of a person?

When she started school she still believed in adventures. Not the fantastic, prince-stuck-in-a-tower-lady-princess-swinging-a-sword-over-her-head-yelling-'babe-I'll-be-right-up-just-let-me-kill-this-asshole-of-a-dragon-rampaging-around-my-kingdom!" kind of adventures. Real ones. Like joining a team of archaeologists and digging up long forgotten communities. Finding artifacts and pieces of lost history somewhere else in the world. Those kinds of adventures.

She dreamed of being somewhere else. Doing something else. Being someone else. Honestly, she didn't want much. Just a little, tiny ounce of manageable adventure.

Ajax huffed in his sleep and thumped against the side of the bed as he turned over.

Instead, she was alone and, she could admit it today, lonely. With nothing on the horizon to take the edge off her pretty spectacularly boring 9 to 5 life.

She rolled over the side of the bed and reached to pet her beloved dog. "Ajax, don't grow up. It's a trap. You can't actually eat Snickers bars for dinner because then you have to buy new, bigger pants and you can't even afford the snickers bars and pants, to begin with."

The dog sighed and Kagame echoed him. She needed a change. She needed to figure out something different from her daily grind. But, maybe not right now at midnight on a Friday. Right now she was weighed down and just a little despondent and really, really tired. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was Saturday and Saturdays were full of possibilities. Tomorrow, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

When she slept that night, she might have dreamt about an indiscriminate shape in the dark, a sharpened line of a sword. She might have dreamt of exotic places and taking the hand of a stranger. She might have dreamt that the same hand lifted her out of her boring life and she ran, and ran, and ran. She might have dreamt of bravery and tears. But in the morning she didn't remember, wasn't bothered by the depths of darkened sleep.

It rained all weekend long. Both Ajax and Kagome found themselves forlornly staring out into the bleak, late winter sky. Ajax longed for a walk and Kagome felt guilt-ridden every time he sat by the apartment door, staring at his leash. But outside the rain came down in icy sheets. So they spent most of the weekend on the couch channel surfing and eating cold Chinese food. It was a humdrum way to spend her two days off, but she didn't have anything better to do. She had no one to call, no one to go out to dinner with, no one to go window-shopping with, and no one to sit on the couch and watch TV with. No one except her dog and he was already willing company.

The vague, empty lines of her apartment offered little solace from the dreary days. Many times Kagome had admitted, coming home was almost less pleasant than running around at work. At least there she had human contact. Someone to say hi to every day. Here, her home was noticeably lacking in welcoming warmth. But that wasn't to say she didn't try. She bought flowers every Saturday when she went to the grocery store. Her current batch was sitting colorless and sad in a vase on her kitchen table. It was pretty pathetic, she decided, when a home sucked the comfort out of the decor.

She had a few pictures on the walls, some prints of artwork she admired. But it was never enough to offset the loneliness that permeated this place. It wasn't the apartment so much, or the city outside her walls. It was the heavy burdens she carried in her heart that made settling so impossible.

Kagome and Ajax spent the weekend ignoring their gloomy isolation.

When she curled up in her bed on Sunday night, facing another drizzly, unhappy Monday morning, she fought the urge to cry. Night was when she worried most, the time her brain shut down and slowly picked off the things she had yet to do, the goals she had yet to accomplish, the memories she had yet to erase.

Her throat worked hard and a burning tickle disturbed her sinuses. Another weekend went and she still hadn't a clue what to do about her life.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think of happy things so she wouldn't work herself up into a real heaving cry right before bedtime. It helped then, that she remembered the museum was expecting a new piece sometime this week and with it, the annual board of directors would be coming to examine all of the exhibits. Kagome fell asleep worrying about work rather than the withdrawn existence she lived. It was preferable.

Monday mornings were always the worst. Kagome could remember her clear hatred of the day as far back as grade and high school. Mondays had been terrible even then. She had long ago decided that they were a day designated by the universe in which cosmic justice (or injustice) was haphazardly dealt in her direction.

Anything and everything could happen on a Monday.

Like traffic jams, for instance.

She was late and it was raining and her pantyhose might have had a very unfortunate rip up the back of her leg. Why were pantyhose even a thing anymore? She gripped the elastic waist digging uncomfortably into her middle as she hurried into the museum. Folding up her umbrella as she entered she inadvertently dripped rain onto the marble floors. As she shook the umbrella to remove the excess droplets, she looked out the large windows of the front of the establishment. The museum looked out on the chic and rich downtown area, where the art district met the new and old money of a city built on lazy commerce.

Expensive cars rolled by on the wet streets outside, their tires splashing the sidewalk in front of the museum. A tall, dark figure weaved across the sidewalk, jumping away from the waves of street water thrown towards him. The glass doors opened and Kagome stumbled backward as Aaron pulled off his long raincoat and splattered her neat black skirt with oily puddle water.

Monday.

She gave him a look that said "I will end you" as water left trail marks down her clothes.

He looked up after wiping off his suit, clearly displeased, and his expression slackened into one of surprise. Apparently, he hadn't even seen her standing there. Awesome. Monday and she's invisible but not in a cool super hero-y way. In a ruins the outfit sort of way.

Seeing the look on her face he glanced at her skirt and had the decency to wince apologetically.

"Sorry."

She set her jaw angrily, had to bite her tongue, and her shoulders hunched up to her ears. For a moment he thought she was going to swing her purse at his face, but instead, she turned around and stomped toward her office, slipping slightly as her wet heels moved across the perfect floor.

Hello, Monday, yes, I see you there. Glad you could make it, she fumed.

Aaron watched her slip and slide down the hall, his head cocking to the side ever so slightly. She was a weird, funny little thing. He tried not to laugh too loudly when she grabbed onto the water fountain as her feet came out from under her once more. She may as well have been on ice skates in the middle of the rink for all she was slipping. His glasses fogged up again and shaken out of his stupor he left Kagame to slide her way into the day and drifted off to his own office where Monday blues awaited him too.

That Monday, as Kagome was running her various errands and filing out assorted forms of paperwork, she became aware of a foreign and long forgotten emotion zipping around through the air of the museum. Excitement. No one was ever excited around there. The closest emotion to exhilaration the suits had ever displayed was a sort of detached, bored eyebrow raise. Usually, she saw it when she had done something clumsy in front of a superior. It was a look that said, "oh, how quaint and amusing, a poor, klutzy peon to amuse us! Dance, peon, dance!".

Kagome giggled to herself as she ran copies. It was too easy for her mind to put everyone who passed through these doors in medieval tights and bad hairdos. Dr. Wesley would make a great, fat king. Aaron would be the perfect jester.

Today though, there was that thrill humming through the walls and an undercurrent of energy in the normally dry talk of the curators.

The darkened corridors seemed to liven a fraction every time she stepped into the hallway, and after several trips to and from Dr. Wesley's office, her stomach developed a serious case of butterflies. The other curators rushed around one another, talking in excited (but hushed!) whispers. She dared to think something actually exciting might happen. Or not, she thought as she tried to covertly deconstruct Dr. Wesley's still-present scowl.

While she took her lunch break at a chic little coffee shop near the museum, she wondered what had everyone in such a mood. They had been expecting a new piece for at least 4 months. She hadn't thought it was new news. But, apparently, she was missing something. Maybe it was a mummy, she mused silently, her podcast droning on in her ear. No, ridiculous. A very priceless and expensive chamber pot then! A toilet might be something the curators could put that kind of excitement behind.

The door of the coffee shop opened behind her and a bell above the door jingled pleasantly. Aaron stepped into the shop, and immediately removed his glasses, cleaning them with a part of his suite that was not drenched with icy water. When he put his glasses back on, his eyes were instantly drawn to the woman sitting framed at the picture window. He walked slowly over to the counter where the line weaved amongst tables of patrons, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She was a tiny thing. Not much more than 5 feet or so. Despite her small frame and generally forced but determinedly polite demeanor, he had often been witness to the temper in her, the tensing of muscles that might have signified the recoiling of a well-aimed sucker punch. He spent most of his limited time around her trying not to laugh at her klutziness, her general way of handling things, and her obvious, though dampened sense of humor. She was, to sum it all up, a spitfire. And a pretty amusing one, too.

As he placed his money on the counter he glanced back at her again. She looked sad. She probably wanted to be left alone. She could be a lot of fun to joke with though and when she did smile or laugh, which was rare, she gathered the attention of anyone in the immediate vicinity.

Aaron wished that he had better people skills. He knew that the times he had spoken to her, he rubbed her the wrong way, and generally presented himself as an ass. It wasn't that he tried to upset or hurt her feelings. In fact, he knew they had a lot in common thought they could be friends. She listened to interesting music and read a lot of books. She liked movies and made obscure pop references. All things he valued in his friends. He just couldn't seem to ever do or say the right thing around her. It just seemed to be the way they worked.

He nodded slightly to the barista as he was handed his coffee and sandwich. With mounting reservation he made his way over to the window, pausing awkwardly behind Kagome.

"Er- Hello," he began uncomfortably.

Kagome looked over her shoulder and pulled out her earbuds, dark brows furrowed in confusion. Her face changed as soon as she saw him. Surprise danced over her features.

"Oh, hello." She was attempting to mask her reaction, horribly. She spun on the bar stool so that she could see him fully. "Eating lunch?"

Aaron smirked slightly and held the sandwich up before her. Her eyes narrowed a fraction and her mouth turned down. He felt himself floundering.

"Yes, I am." He said, scrambling for nice pleasantries, "May I sit down?" He gestured to the seat next to her.

She nodded, bewildered. Aaron slid down into the seat, his long legs making it an awkward fit. They sat for a moment, unsure of what to say to one another.

"We have a new piece coming in from Japan this afternoon, I hear," he finally said.

She looked up in disbelief, "How is it that you, the accountant, hear more about what's going on in the museum than I do?" She shook her head and stirred her coffee a little violently, "It's just not right."

Aaron smiled and unwrapped the paper around his sandwich. "I have a secret informant."

She went still but he could tell she was trying not to look too interested. "The plot thickens."

"You know front desk lady? Margie?" Kagome nodded, still holding as still as possible. " I made out with her at a holiday party once."

"You did not!" She turned to fully face him now, in disbelief.

"What can I say? I enjoy a love triangle with a mid 40 something and a postal worker."

Her disbelief evaporated. "Oh, so we're joking now."

Her words were dry and level but she was doing a terrible job at concealing a smile.

"I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with seniority? Or the fact that most of the people we work with are pompous assess whose only true joy is tormenting recently graduated underlings?"

Kagome turned sharply and stared at him. He swallowed a bite of his sandwich and it slid down like a rock; he wished that he had kept his mouth shut. The degree to which he was screwing this up was incomprehensible.

But to his surprise, after a pained second of silence, she laughed.

Her frown split into a wide smile and she threw back her head and laughed. Aaron, a bit the socially nervous sort was torn between enjoying the moment and telling her she was awfully loud for someone the size of a middle schooler. He decided against it since this seemed to be going well, but her laughter had drawn several patrons' eyes to them. He saw a man in a corner booth watching them with silent interest. Aaron blinked once, dismissed it, and turned back to Kagome, who was giving him an incredulous glance as she smothered her laughter behind her hand.

He smiled back.

"It's true you know," she said, bringing her cup up to her lips, "they are pompous asses. I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks so. I thought maybe you played for their team."

Aaron let out a small sigh of relief. Better, he thought to himself, better. Maybe he could do this whole chit chatting thing.

She paused the hand stirring her beverage, "do you know what piece we are receiving? What could put even Dr. Wesley into such a brilliant mood? He only scowled at me three times this morning instead of the usual 5." She rolled her eyes toward Aaron.

It was the man's turn to laugh and then cough as he choked on his coffee. Smooth. Kagome reached out and thumped on his back, causing his glasses to slide down his nose and nearly into his cup.

"I'm alright," he said gruffly, trying not to laugh more. Kagome laughed again. After he had complete control over his lungs he spoke. "I heard," he said, smug, "that we were receiving something different than expected. I heard, from one of the curators, Dr. Linus to be exact," he referred to a middle-aged woman who was one of the junior curators and a woman that Kagome happened to loathe, "that the museum is going to receive," he paused for dramatic effect and nearly broke his serious tone at the anticipation on Kagome's face, "a sword from the Shikon site."

Kagome blinked. In all honesty, she knew next to nothing about the infamous dig which had been in the news in recent months. Although she had once jumped on information about new sites and pieces of archaeology, now, as a glorified secretary she had mostly lost interest in learning about items she would, in her eyes, never have a chance to handle.

"The Shikon site?" she found herself asking stupidly.

Aaron raised a dark eyebrow, "Aren't you supposed to be the one interested in archaeology?"

Kagome shook her head in disbelief. She could hardly believe they were having a conversation, much less that he knew more about recent developments in her profession than she did.

"Yes, and I am. I love history and archeology. But, well, since I received the job at our prestigious little museum, I've found my job description more secretarial and less adventurer and museum curator. Hitherto for," she raised an eyebrow at him, inviting a smile, "I have been less and less interested in all that old junk I went to school for. I find it just a little disappointing when I'm not even allowed to touch the artifacts at my job that's all about art and artifacts." She sighed and leaned her chin into her hand.

"I see." He said, picking off a tomato that was making his bread soggy. He was silent a moment and they both stared out into the rain. "I'm also very interested in archaeology," he finally offered quietly.

"Are you really?"

He nodded slowly, continued to stare out into the rain. " My original plan when I entered college, all those years ago was to become an anthropologist or archaeologist. I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to become a professor or go into the field, but I knew that was what I wanted to do."

"How-"

He took a sip of his coffee and held up a finger to stall her question. "I was blessed with an efficiency for numbers. My father made sure I wouldn't have any funds for college-"

"But, surely there were-"

"Awards and grants and scholarships?" He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Of course. But it wasn't enough. Also," he laughed softly, caustically, "I had a horrible habit of being a snob. I was accepted Ivy league. I wanted to stay there. To my family, and to myself, at that time, looking the part was everything. So, I decided that numbers weren't so bad and money and a degree from the University of Whatever the Hell was better than going to a smaller college that I could afford. So, my plan was abandoned. Until recently that is."

"Oh! I see." Her face lit up. "That's why you are working at the museum. You wanted to be close to what you were meant to do."

"You could say that."

The woman finished the dredges of her coffee and looked at him, "I never knew that."

"How would you?"

She shrugged, a little sheepish, and pointed her spoon at him, "True."

The man smiled and glanced at his watch, "Well, I don't know about you, but I only have an hour for lunch."

"Mmm," she took a final bite of her sandwich, nodding her dark head in assent, "Same."

They walked out of the coffee shop, carrying on their conversation, entirely unaware that in the back of the cafe a keen pair of eyes had watched their every move.

The walk back up the block was brisk but they shared a few more laughs and pleasantries and Aaron thought it was quite the success. Kagome smiled her thanks to Aaron as he held open the museum door, heedless of the rain dripping on his head. For the second time that day she shook her umbrella free of excess water. They were hardly in the door when the familiar sound of tapping heels met their ears. A prim looking woman in a business jacket and a bun that had no business being as tight as it was appeared, casting them both disapproving looks. Dr. Linus stopped her quick steps and turned to address them.

"While we are not a business office and do not hold to many, if any business office rules, I would still postulate that Dr. Wesley would be most displeased to find out that an inter-museum romance was detracting from quality financing and…paper running."

Kagome bristled and Aaron had the decency to look embarrassed. However, he recovered more quickly than Kagame who seemed to have gained two or three inches of height and looked dangerously close to saying a four-letter word. He wouldn't have minded seeing that. But still. She needed saving from herself, obviously.

"You'd be hard-pressed to find any romance anywhere past the welcome desk," he said, nodding his head in suggestion toward Margie, who today, was wearing a very devil may care red lipstick. "Anyway, Dr. Wesley will most likely be more pleased that Kagame took the time and care to dispel the excess water we've brought in with us. We wouldn't want to jeopardize the precious documents that she might be running around with, would we? I shudder to think of what might happen lest we track liquid through these pristine and carefully managed hallways."

"Yeah," Kagome threw in lamely.

Dr. Linus' cool gaze sharpened as she fixed the girl with her grey eyes. Kagome sent her a sweet smile, closer to a baring of teeth than anything else and threw her still damp jacket over her shoulder.

"Well," she said, "I should be getting back to my paper running."

She nodded once to Aaron and hurried off down the hall, slipping on the marble floor like she had earlier that morning. Aaron couldn't help it. He laughed. Kagame turned around and mouthed 'Thank you'.

Aaron looked back at Dr. Linus who was shaking her tightly bunned head at him, her disapproving gaze bordering on condescending. Aaron shrugged at her, turned away, and sauntered down the hall, whistling a tune. Not bad for a Monday.

Kagome was actually pretty late now that she looked at the time. It was a good trade for the look on 's face though. Wicked woman. How could anyone be so miserable? All the time? It's like she was stuck in a frigid bitch setting. And it was kind of nice to be united with someone against these ridiculous people. All in all, her unexpected lunch with Aaron had been enjoyable.

But she was now running very late. She hurriedly hung her coat up, dumped her umbrella in her chair and shot down the hallway. Fumbling in her effort to get into Dr. Wesley's office, she banged her hip against the door and stumbled into the room, already preparing herself for a snide but perfectly articulated insult about her time management… that never came.

In fact, the curator hardly noticed her late entrance. He was busy scribbling notes across papers, checking messages, thumbing through a giant book, all while shooting nervous glances at his phone.

His air of fervor was so electric Kagome was surprised his bookshelves of ancient dried tomes did not ignite as he passed them.

When he finally noticed her, she was stupefied to see that his expression held the vague ghost of a smile.

"Miss Higurashi, I'm glad you are here. Run these down to Dr. Linus and then meet me in our Japanese wing. Our newest piece has arrived. And!" His voice nearly squeaked it was pitched so high, "I am expecting a very important and prominent visitor. Be sure the coffee is on!"

He shoved a huge stack of files into her hands. Kagome staggered under the weight. She wondered how the older man had lifted them to begin with; she was having trouble simply keeping her arms up. Another sign her life had taken a sharp left. She mentally adding 'find gym' for weak, noodle arms to her running list of "Improving and Living My Best Life".

As artfully and as gracefully as she could (which was to say, not), she made her way back to the door, opening it with her toe. She hurried back down the hall her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. She was surprised that this Monday was turning out so well. It had to be a fluke. Usually, by now any good thing that happened was squashed by a terrible calamity to remind her she was, in fact, living through a Monday.

She was feeling pretty confident that the rest of the day might continue on without a hitch when she rounded a corner and for the second time in two weeks, walked smack into someone. Her first thought was what the hell kind of builder makes a building with this many blind corners? Her immediate reaction was to throw up her hands and hug the files to her chest.

Which turned out to be the worst immediate reaction in the history of immediate reactions.

Several of the leather bound files slipped from her hands, falling to the floor with a loud slap, exploding papers all over the floor. Turns out, marble makes a slick surface to scatter both paper and clumsy people. A pair of hands came up to grasp one flailing arm as she slipped over the leather folders and papers scattered across the floor.

She balanced herself with her free hand against the wall and, face burning with the heat of exactly 405 suns, prepared to apologize profusely to who would likely be a Very Big and Important Boss Person. She looked up and froze, jaw-dropping, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that this was not a regular Monday at all.

"Well. Fuck me." She breathed and immediately regretted.

The stranger frowned, Kagome added 'don't get out of bed on a Monday' to her "Improving and Living My Best Life" list, and tried very hard to sink into the floor and disappear.