Hello folks! I am updating very fast because today August 29, 2011 is my last day of summer and as of right now (12:20 PM) my internet (on my lap top where I am typing) is not working so I cannot update my other story or read any other fan fiction so I write, yes? Thanks to my readers and my reviewers!

I hope you like this chapter, it's a bit of a filler with really no point…but I still hope you like it! And yes, I am still feeling INSPIRED!

Alex's POV:

"So Morty, can you help us?" Cammie asked as she finished telling Morty an edited version of our escape. It still made me feel slightly sick to hear about it. We were closer to capture than I wanted to think about.

Cammie hadn't begun the story until we had arrived at a small auto shop that proclaimed it belonged to Morty, who was now pacing around said auto repair shop, which I assumed he used for his legitimate work and his stolen cars. It's all about free enterprise, right?

"I think I can," he said slowly, "but it might take a little bit of time to arrange something. You can hang around here until then."

Cammie glanced at me, waiting for my nod of agreement, "That sounds great Morty, you're a life saver."

Morty grinned, "Such a sweetheart. But what are you just sitting there for? I've got two brake installations and one oil chance to do before the end of the day and a couple extra pairs of cover-alls. You're going to have to work for your room and meals."

Cammie mock saluted Morty and headed toward a back room. "Hey, wait!" I called out."

She paused her search through the box on the floor of the room, "What?"

"Are you sure it's safe here?" I asked in a low voice.

"Morty may seem eccentric, but he's very tuned into the government. He probably already knew that I was on my way back to Gallagher with you," she turned back to her box, "He's like an uncle to me, Alex. And aside from the whole car thing, he's as honest as Abe Lincoln."

"If you say so."

She threw a greasy pair of cover-alls at me and picked one out, "If you think he's suspicions, wait 'till you meet his wife."

Before I could come up with a biting remark, she was gone again, leaving me wondering what I'd do when I got back to London when she went back to her life and I went back to mine. This full time job was driving me insane and in some twisted way, it seemed to be keeping my feet firmly on the ground. Maybe it was the constant death threats messing with my head…they can do that to a person.

Three hours later I was cranky, greasy, and in a generally foul mood. Cammie and Morty both seemed to think it was highly humorous that I didn't know how to change a car's oil. I don't have a car; living in a city with tiny streets like London, bikes were much easier to get around on.

So after fiddling with it for an hour, I thought I figured out what I was doing, but alas, I was wrong. The oil in my hair and dripping down my neck proved that. And all that time, Cammie was having a grand old time installing new brakes on a Chevy, which should have been a lot harder.

When we had finally finished, I dejectedly followed Cammie and Morty around the building to a small but well-kept cottage where Morty and his wife lived.

Morty bounced up the steps and called out, "Mary! We have guests!" But the way he drew out the syllables it sounded more like this: "Maaar-eeee! We have guess-teeess!"

"Well, bring them in, man! Don't just yell at me!" An accented voice echoed back.

Inside of the house had a warm, homey smell along with the smell of something cooking. The foyer was somewhat dim but there was light coming from both the doorways and the stairwell directly in front of us.

The room to our left was a living room filled with worn but comfortable looking furniture with a roaring blaze in the fireplace and a Christmas tree standing happily. In all the ruckus during the past few weeks, I had almost completely forgotten Christmas. I'd have to remember to give Jack her gift if, when, I got back home.

The room to the right was a kitchen/dining room painted a warm red color. Something bubbled on the stove and the little oak table was set for five. The woman who stood smiling at us was much younger than her husband, perhaps forty-five to his sixty. She had long dark hair in thick dread locks pulled back into a wide ponytail and she had a festive red bandana tied around her head. She wore a floppy long sleeved blouse with an ankle-length wrap around skirt in green with bare feet covered in jewelry. I counted at least seven ear piercings as well as a ruby in her nose. All in all, she looked like someone who belonged on the set of Pirates of the Caribbean and not in a tiny kitchen in Noweheresville, New York.

"Hello, hello! Go wash up, dinner should be ready in just a few more minutes," She nearly sang in her thick Bronx accent, directing Cammie to what I assumed was the bathroom and me to the kitchen sink. I washed slowly so that I would have to turn around and watch Morty and Mary. I think they were kissing but I really didn't want to look or listen much closer. Blame my British heritage if you must, but personally I thought it was just plain gross.

I almost sighed out loud when Cammie finally returned and we all sat down to the meal that Mary had prepared. I think it was some kind of chicken, but it had a different taste then the chicken Jack usually cooked (a taste other than the fact that this wasn't burnt). Cammie really hadn't said much to me since Morty picked us up and she seemed right at home with these people.

I zoned out for a couple minutes, wishing I could just go back home already. I missed my routine, my room, Jack…but what I really wanted was a shower and a nice soft bed. I must have sighed or something because everyone was staring at me. I smiled charmingly, "Sorry, just wistful thinking."

"For a bed probably," Mary said standing up. "The bedroom at the top of the stairs is ours, but the ones on either side are for guests. The bathroom is across from the second bedroom and there are fresh towels out.

"You can go first," Cammie said with a smile.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, idly wondering if she was being nice or wanted to get rid of me.

I found that I was entirely too tired to care.

The smell of waffles pulled my out of bed the next morning. I yanked on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt I was moderately sure was still clean and trotted down the stairs just behind Cammie. "Sleep well?" I asked.

Her wild hair and narrowed eyes gave her the appearance of someone who was still very much wishing they were asleep, "No. I was up half the night listening to Morty's plans. I think we've finally agreed on a good one though," she paused thoughtfully, "but we want your input."

"Okay, what is it?"

"I think Morty should explain it; but it involves two motorcycles, four counts of theft, and the President…"

There. All done! My internet is so stupid so I am going to put this on a flash drive and add it to my other computer. Sound good, yes?

~S