Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since the last update! I took my board exam. It spectacularly sucked, but as I understand it, that's par for the course. Now I'm trying to pack up my apartment so I can move. Grand. I hate moving. So. Other stuff sucks. Enjoy. Also, I don't own the characters, Poweraid, Splenda, or EasyMac. Or really anything else. I do own piles and piles of notes, but they really aren't worth suing me over. Also, this is the revised chapter 10. I posted, went to sleep, and woke up remembering all the stuff I'd meant to include. So, now it's here. Enjoy. Again?

Mary fidgeted in the seat beside him, shifting ceaselessly in the hard metal folding chair. She had muttered something about the feds being cheap bastards early that morning when they'd first plopped themselves down, and he had to agree with her. The overly warm auditorium made it difficult for him to concentrate, and he knew it was harder for Mary, although she was definitely doing a better job than he. His powers of single minded concentration were, he knew, greater than hers. Especially when the DOJ had gone out of its way to find the country's most monotone speaker to droll on ad nauseum about the smallest details of their jobs – the jobs they did every single day. Mary was muttering under her breath, and he chuckled, earning him an elbow in the ribs.

"Pay attention." She hissed, only half serious.

"Come on, Mare." He whispered back, leaning close enough to smell her. "This is crap. We know this stuff in our sleep."

"I know." She patted his knee patronizingly as she rifled through her purse. "Give me some paper." She whispered, only to be shushed by the moron sitting behind her. "Oh, you shush." She hissed back as she checked through Marshall's front pockets herself.

"Hey!" He pushed her hands away. "Just…hold on a second." He extracted a notebook from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her.

"Thanks." She muttered, and quickly scribbled something on the first blank page she flipped to, then handled it back to her partner.

"Tic-tac-toe, Mare?" He quirked an eyebrow at her even as he drew a lopsided "o" in a corner box.

"You said you're bored." She reached over and put an "x" in the center. "Now you have something to do."

Eight rounds of tac-tac-toe and five rounds of hangman later, Mary was getting restless and Marshall was just plain bored. She had managed to take notes on whatever the speaker was talking about, much to Marshall's amusement. He'd given up paying attention a while ago, and found it a bit odd that Mary, even while goofing off and playing games with him, was still transcribing the lecture verbatim.

"Lunch! Finally!" Marshall was stiff after sitting for four hours, and had to use his arms to stand up. The years were catching up to him, and he felt just plain old sometimes. Usually, he just tried to not think about it.

"Thank god, I'm starving." Mary followed her lanky partner out the door, past the crowds, and straight out to the rental car. "How long do we have?"

"Hmm?" He glanced at her briefly as he backed the car out of the space. "Oh, little under an hour."

"That enough time?"

"We're not going far." He assured her blandly, knowing how much she hated it when he was evasive.

"This had better be edible."

"Oh, ye of little faith." Marshall chuckled at her.

Marshall was watching Mary as he lounged on the bed. She was at the desk studying. Desperately copying her notes again and again. She was more studious than he'd anticipated. From what he knew of Mary, and honestly, that was a lot, she had skipped as many classes as possible in high school and college. He hadn't pegged her for the bookworm. The question here was…why? She took notes during the lectures. The lectures she didn't want to go to in the first place. Then she spent all night studying. She slept on the floor for the past two nights without incident. When he'd been bored in class, she'd played games with him – all the while scribbling down the finer points of the lecture. Something was up. And he didn't like it.

"Hey, Mare?" He tried to catch her attention. "Mare!"

She looked up from her notes and twisted to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Let's go." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached to grab her hand, only to have her pull it away and turn back to the desk. "Ma-ry!" He sang. "Come on."

"I'm busy, Marshall." She waved him off.

"Mary, let's get out of here."

"Not now, Marshall!" She said it with a little more force than absolutely necessary, and actually felt badly about it.

"I'll buy the first round." He waited. Nothing. "And second." She froze, and he knew he had her attention. "Third?"

"Deal." She closed her notebook and stood. "Let me change."

"You look fine." Marshall protested, figuring it would take her hours to get ready.

"I'm in my pajamas, you perv." She grabbed a pair of jeans and made a swirly motion with her index finger. "There's no free shows here, Marshall. If you wanna watch, you've gotta pay first. And I don't take credit."

Marshall had the grace to hesitate before he rolled his eyes and turned his back. He heard the zipper, and waited a few moments before he turned.

"Ready?"

"Ready." She grabbed her purse, slipped on her shoes, and smiled at him.

He knew better than to think Mary would ever stoop to live up to the cliché. She could get ready in a hurry. She could beat the crap out of a man twice her size, and she could outsmart event he wiliest criminal minds. She was Mary. It's just how she is.

"Who's D.D.?"

"No one."

"Are you itching for a D.U.I.?"

"We're walking, my ever suspicious friend." He wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders. "There's a bar just a few blocks away."

He gave her a squeeze and dropped his arm, and to his surprise, Mary wound her arm around his. Not much was spoken for the rest of the walk to the bar. He wasn't about to look this gift horse in the mouth. He wasn't born yesterday. If Mary was initiating contact, he was just going to go with it. Be the proverbial river. Let it happen.

Marshall was on his third round of shots, and Mary's jaw was definitely feeling looser. He wasn't feeling that buzzed, but he attributed it to his increased body mass. Of course the fact that his liver got its exercise regularly probably didn't hurt, either. The booze may have gone to his brain, after all, he realized as he opened his mouth and heard the words come out.

"Tell me about how you taught Katie to drive."

"How or why?" Mary asked for clarification.

"Both." He suspected there was a story there.

"She was twelve. She pestered me to teach her to drive." She ended her with finality, telling him that she wasn't going to continue.

"And?" He pressed, praying it was a smart decision.

"I did."

Marshall wasn't stupid. There was more to this story. And he suspected that she needed to tell it to someone. "Why? You weren't old enough to drive. How'd you learn? Who taught you?"

She was silent for a moment, and he feared he'd pushed too far. She surprised him, though. She had a tendency to do that.

"Jinx liked to drink." She stated, and he nodded. This was not exactly news to him. Jinx's drinking problem had caused him, and especially Mary, no small amount of concern.

"There was a bar near the apartment." She paused, and took a shaky breath before continuing. "But she didn't always go there. She liked this place in the next town. They men were richer there. Suburbia or some crap. The freaking American dream. She actually thought she was going to convince them that they should leave their wives and happy family and picket fences and take off with her. I wonder if she would have even taken us with her if anyone had taken the bait." Her voice got softer and trailed off at the end, and Marshall felt his heard contract a little. A daughter shouldn't have to wonder if her mother loved her.

He reached across the booth and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Anyway, it was far away, and the barkeep would call the house and when he closing, and someone had to drive her home." She took a deep breath. "Someone had to drive the other car home." She shrugged as she repeated, and Marshall understood that the "someone" who'd needed to do everything was Mary. It was always Mary.

"How old were you?" He felt bad asking, but he needed to know. He had an inkling that she needed to tell someone. He hoped he was the one.

"The first time?" He nodded. "I don't know. Twelve. Maybe thirteen."

He sighed. That hurt him. He couldn't imagine how much it hurt Mary.

"And Katie?"

"She knew." Mary took a shot. "And when she thought she was tall enough, she made me teach her."

"No one makes you do anything." Marshall reminded her.

"Katie does." She turned her head and stared at something innocuous for a moment. "So do you."

He had to admit, there were times that he did have a tendency to push Mary towards what he considered to be the correct direction.

"She saw the logic of it, you know?" Mary scoffed when she realized the irony. "God, she's just like you, but with boobs."

"And chromosomes that closely resemble yours." Marshall posited. If that fact wasn't well…true…then the relationship with Mary that he fantasized about would be illegal. Not to mention sinful. And right down disgusting.

"So I taught her how to drive."

"And that's it." He knew it wasn't.

"I guess."

"You two have to take that show on the road often?" He hadn't meant the pun, but it came out anyway.

"Often enough." She shrugged. "I don't know. Every couple weeks or so, I'd get the call. Katie was always at the apartment, so it just made sense for her to come with." He was starting to see, although he suspected that she'd downplayed how often the experience truly was. "I'd drive Jinx's car, and Katie would drive whatever car we'd managed to boost."

"Boost?" Marshall was aware of Brandi's penchant for boosting cars, but this new information was like catnip to his over-analytical brain.

"Fine. Yes. I was the one that taught Brandi to how to steal cars. But it wasn't always stealing. Sometimes we'd just borrow the keys to her boyfriend's car if he happened to be staying with us, or if we were staying with some boyfriend. " She admitted, and Marshall was granted a one-night pass into the life and times of Mary Shannon. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity. Parts of him wondered about those boyfriends. The volume. The history. Were the girls safe? Those might be questions better saved for a different night, though. He knew they moved around a bit when she was younger after her father left. Tonight he was starting to understand a little more.

"And Katie." He observed.

"She's never done it without reason." Mary defended, assuming that he was thinking the worse.

"I didn't mean it that way." He soothed. "I just meant that you needed to take care of your family, and you did. No holds barred. There's no judgment here." He promised.

"I know." She conceded. Marshall would never do that. He didn't judge her. He'd never judged her. "I gave her a few lessons in the parking lot at the school." She explained. "She's a natural." She laughed, but it was bitter. "Except she was too short. Frigging midget. She had to sit on a stack of books and have the seat all the way up just to touch the pedals. I'd drive to the bar. Pick up Jinx. I'd drive her Mercury home. She'd drive back whatever pile of crap we'd gotten a hold of. As long as it wasn't a stick. She still can't drive a stick."

That was it, then. It seems that everything in not only Mary's life, but also a large portion of Katie's, had been defined by Mary's father disappearing and Jinx crawling into the bottle to soothe away the pain. Mary had battled against all odds to keep not only Brandi, but herself and her mother alive, and she had, perhaps unwittingly, pulled Katie along with her.

"We almost got arrested once." Mary continued uncharacteristically. "Well, I got arrested. Katie got off with a warning."

The knowledge that Mary had a juvenile record didn't exactly surprise him, he just figured it had been for something other than dragging her thoroughly marinated mother home from some fine establishment in the middle of the night. There were times, and this was one of them, when Marshall truly wondered if there was any justice. Surely she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to be abandoned and left to care for her mother and sister. She didn't deserve to have her entire life defined by the conspicuous absence of one cowardly male. Of course, he reasoned, neither did Brandi. Brandi probably wasn't even aware of how this whole situation affected her. Mary, at least, was capable of some degree of introspection and did occasionally share her revelations with him. Most people didn't know that about Mary. He knew. He knew she was deep. He knew she spend a great deal of her time just thinking. Thinking about her life. Her choices. Those of the people around her. He didn't always agree with her decisions, but God bless her, she did try.

"You go to court or something?" He should know this, he realized. Basic criminal proceedings were something about which he shouldn't have to inquire. That was probably a testament to the tequila. Or whatever it was Mary had ordered. He hadn't actually taken the time to taste it. Just downed the shot and took it like a man. Of course, so had Mary.

"Nah. They dropped the charges." Mary took another shot, and Marshall had visions of dragging her home. He decided to stop drinking lest they both end up requiring assistance.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She drew the syllable out long. "I'm thinking Jinx probably showed up in one of her more colorful getups. Probably brought Brandi along for effect. Cried those crocodile tears and concocted some cockamamie story about how this was all a burden on her. It really is ALL about Jinx, you know." She was sounding bitter. "Every goddamn thing."

"Katie didn't get in trouble?" He suspected that Mary had something to do with that as well. Probably did everything she could to keep her out of the crosshairs, so to speak.

"I wouldn't drag her into something like that and then sit back and let her take the blame." Even drunk, she was still relatively articulate. "I took care of her."

"I know you did." He patted her hand gently and wondered if she'd cripple him if he hugged her. Must be the booze. "You take care of everyone."

"Mare?" Now was the time to ask, if he was going to. "Can I ask you something?"

"I thought it was "may"?" She teased, knowing how much incorrect grammar irritated him.

"Fine. May I ask you something?"

She must have been feeling the alcohol, because she said yes. He wondered at it after.

"What's going on with you this week?"

"Whaddya mean?" She locked eyes with him in a silent battle. Daring him to say it aloud. Think it. Voice it.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Just. You're taking notes in class. You studied until midnight last night. I have a hunch that if I hadn't dragged you out to this lovely establishment…"

"Dive bar." She corrected.

"Fine. Dive bar, that you'd still be holed up in the room studying. What's going on? Is something else bothering you?" It wasn't that he thought she was lazy; quite the opposite, in fact. He just didn't understand the change. She wasn't usually the studious type.

"What's it to you?" He didn't take her accusation too seriously. She was too drunk to take too seriously. Still, it stung a little.

"I'm concerned. And I'm your friend. That's what it is to me." He said if firmly, and it got her attention. She bit her lip as she looked up from the table. The wooden grain had become very interesting to her in the past minute or two, and she was tracing the lines with her index finger.

"I'm just trying to learn the damn stuff, Marshall!" He knew he'd made a strategical error, but he had no idea what it was.

"I know that." Soothing her now would most likely be ineffectual. He tried anyway. "I guess I'm just worried that there's something else afoot here. Something deeper."

She was silent for a moment, and Marshall watched as her eyes fixed on something unseen in the distance. She looked tired. Pale. Tense. He waited. Her expression changed suddenly, and he found her eyes on his.

"Some of us have to work a little harder to learn things, or is that not okay with you?" Her remark was biting, and the deeper meaning was unmistakable to him.

"You think that I don't think you're smart." His voice held disbelief. She was brilliant. He knew that. He thought she knew that. Damn. No wonder she was angry with him. He waited for a response, but no verbal one came. Instead a slight blush covered her cheeks and she had to avert her eyes. How embarrassing.

"Mary," He used her first name. The whole thing. This was serious. How do you convince a person that you respect them intellectually? He thought back to all the times he'd corrected her or someone else in her presence. The times he'd babbled on incessantly about some mundane topic or tried to impress (and occasionally piss off) with obscure facts and dribble. Had she taken those moments as insults all these years? God, he hoped not.

"Mary? Is that it? Is that what's bothering you?" He saw the muscles around her eyes tense, and knew he'd hit the nail on the head. Had he failed her this spectacularly?

"Doesn't matter." She shoved her hair our of her face and set her jaw. It didn't matter. So she wasn't a genius. She didn't have her partner's freakish ability to memorize volumes with a single glance. She was good at her job. She was…tired.

"It matters to me." He pushed. "It matters to me if you think I don't respect you. Or if you think I don't value you as an asset to this partnership."

Damn him. Damn him and the obnoxious way he always knows what's going on inside her head. She stared at the people line dancing for a few minutes. Denim clad legs. Kick. Rock. Turn. A metaphor, she realized ruefully. A comparison that does not use "like" or "as." That would be a simile. Kick. Rock. Turn. Add "run" in there, and you'd have her life. Why was it that she always ended up doubting herself the most?

Marshall was waiting, staring at her profile as she fixated on nothing. He knew her well enough to know not to push right now. Wait. Pause. Let her collect herself. Let her talk on her own terms. He glanced at his watch. It had actually been a few minutes since she'd spoken, and he considered saying something. Then the muscle in her jaw went lax, and he waited.

"I'm not like you." Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear, leaning over the table that separated them.

A pause. "I have to work harder to learn stuff." He caught what she said, but only barely. The music and frivolity was too much. They'd have to leave to continue the conversation.

"Let's get out of here and talk." He suggested, praying she'd agree. This probably wasn't the best time to have heart to heart with his partner, but it would have to do. He wasn't letting this hang.

She just grunted and tried to flag down the waitress, but Marshall intervened. He'd been counting. She'd had enough. Hell, he'd had enough, and she'd outdone him by four. It was a wonder she was still conscious at all. It was probably best to get her back to the dorms before the liquor hit her brain full blast.

"How much do I owe?" She was starting to slur.

"I've got it." He waved her off. "Don't worry about it."

"Marshall, I can pay." She rummaged in her purse and found a wallet, then clumsily tried to open it. He handed the waitress his credit card and smiled when Mary didn't even notice. She was still fighting the snap mechanism on the wallet.

"I've got this one, Mare." He tried to put the wallet away. "You can pay next time."

That seemed to placate her, because she let him take the wallet and put it back in her purse. Pulling her to her feet, he steadied her with one arm around her waist and the two started out on what ended up being a long walk back. He had to admit it, though; the girl could hold her liquor. Perhaps that wasn't a good thing.

"Mary." His voice was low and rumbling in her ear and it made her shiver. "You need to know that I DO respect you."

She responded with a small, petulant nod, and he resisted the urge to press his lips against her temple.

"I know that I don't have to work that hard to learn things. But you have to know by now that I don't care about that. You…" He searched for the right words. This was not the time to be construed as patronizing. He could only reassure. Placation wouldn't work here. "You…you are the only person I'd want backing me up. Fist fight. Bar fight. Fire fight. Digging through papers at work. Whatever. I know what you're capable of doing. I've seen it first hand. Please don't think that I doubt you." The unspoken message here was "please don't doubt yourself," but he knew she did. One drunken pep talk was not likely to change that any time soon.

"Mary, look at me." He stopped, the hand on her hip pulling her against him. "Come on." He coaxed, but she refused to meet his eyes.

"Katie told me that you checked her homework every night. I'm guessing you checked Brandi's too?"

A small shrug with one shoulder. She tried to downplay the importance.

"Do you know what your genius is?" It never occurred to him that she didn't. He did. He saw it immediately after he met her, and that was what had urged him to tell Stan to hire her.

"You see the best in people. You see what they can become. You see through all the bullshit and the lies and the masks they put on. You have an innate, god-given ability to read people and care about them. No one lies to you and gets away with it. You don't take anyone's crap, and that's a good thing. You have your finger on the pulse of human emotions, Mare. You cut through people's defenses and you help them become something more than they dreamed they were capable of becoming. Katie's going to be a physicist, and she attributes that entirely to you, you know? Jinx has her head on straight. She's sober. She's working. She's making good decisions. That's because of you. Brandi's in school. She's dating a nice guy who adores her. That's all you, Mare. Your genius is your unfailing belief in the people you love. No matter what you've been through, no matter how many times they've let you down. You're still standing in their corner ready to pick them back up, dust them off, and set them back on their feet ready for another round."

She still wasn't meeting his eyes, but her face had relaxed. Jaw no longer clenched.

"I'm lucky to have you in my life, Mary." He had one hand on each shoulder. "You remind me to see the good in people every day."

She scoffed at that. "How drunk are you?" Green eyes finally met blue in disbelief. "I'm sarcastic, cynical, and angry on a good day."

His smile was one she didn't recognize. "And yet you still, somewhere deep inside, look for the best in people."

"So you're saying my genius is naïveté?" She smirked.

"Nope." The mood was lighter now, and he was glad. Her silence had been suffocating. "I'm saying your genius is your never-ending ability to hope that people are good. That they will surprise you and be more than what you see. You see people. You see straight through them. And it makes them uncomfortable in the spotlight. You, Mary Shannon, are a spotlight. You shine on people and urge them to fix the broken, bitter pieces of themselves, and you remind them of who they can be. What they can become. That's a gift, Mare. Never doubt it." "Never doubt yourself." That was a conversation better saved for another day. Best to leave this here.

"You believe me?" He wrapped his arm around her waist again when she stumbled slightly.

"Yeah, Marshall." She whispered in the damp night air. "I believe you."

Neither one spoke for the remainder of the trip back. Marshall chose to leave Mary alone with her thoughts. He couldn't tell if she really had believed him, or if she'd caught on to what he'd been trying to say. What he'd left unsaid. She didn't push his arm away, so that was something. He was grateful to have a room on the first floor when he realized just how toasted Mary really was. Rather than having to lug her up the stairs, he just half-carried her to his room and collapsed on the bed with her in his arms. She made a little grunting sound, but made no move to push him away or get comfortable. Marshall didn't move for a few minutes, his hazy brain savoring the feeling of warm Mary snuggled against him. Eventually his better sense took over, though, and he disengaged himself from her and sat up. He removed his boots and belt and tossed off his button down shirt, then turned to address Mary. She was sound asleep from the looks of it, and he wasn't even going to broach the subject of getting her into pajamas. Instead he opted to take off her shoes, but left her belt and the rest of her clothing exactly as it was. Now he was really stuck, though. She was on his pillow. And his blanket. Not to mention his bed. He had a feeling that this was going to be one of those defining moments of their relationship where the choice he made right here, right now would dictate the course of their collective future. Then again, perhaps he just got overly sentimental when he's drunk.

Throwing caution to the wind, and reasoning that "it's my bed," he rashly crawled back onto the tiny twin mattress. If he had to, he'd argue that he'd been drunk, too. It could work. She smelled good, he noted. Even after an entire day in the auditorium, hours in a bar, and a humid walk to and from there, she still smelled good. He noticed she'd changed her body wash or lotion. Something different. Not vanilla anymore. Something citrus. Summery. He couldn't put a finger on it. Her hair was in his face, so he smoothed it back and had to close his eyes. It was as soft as it looked. He was uncomfortable, so he wriggled around, slid his arm under Mary's neck and wrapped the other one around her middle. She felt warm against him. It felt right somehow. If only…

Marshall woke up early the next morning. Well, sort of. He was only half certain he was conscious. His brain felt like he was moving through jello. He was a little confused. "Think, Mann. Think." He silently took stock of his whereabouts. Quantico. Dorm. Bed. Vodka. Shots. Mary. Mary! He opened his eyes and was greeted with a face full of Mary's blonde hair. She had buried her head in his chest at sometime during the night, and their legs had become tangled together. He never wanted to move from this spot. This position. Just stay here forever. Unfortunately, if Mary woke up and discovered that his right hand had, at some point during the night, worked its way under the hem of her shirt and was now splayed flat on her lower back she'd be liable to turn him into a eunuch. He fought the urge to gently stroke the soft skin of her back, but he lost. Failed. Caressed. But only for a moment. Carefully extricating himself from their collective embraces, he stood over her watching. Her face was relaxed. Her hair spread messily over the pillow. His eyes coasted down from her shoulder, the dip of her waist, flare of her denim clad hip. Oh, god. He needed to leave the room.

Coffee. She'd want coffee when she woke up. And water. Aspirin. Food. He had a mission. A plan. He needed to get to work. A quick glance at the clock told him he had roughly an hour before she had to wake up. She'd need more time this morning. She'd be sluggish. Have a headache. He didn't envy her the headache that would inevitably plague her all day.

Taking care of Mary's hangover gave him something to think about, so he threw himself into it. A quick trip to a pharmacy yielded bottles of water, sports drink, aspirin, and those microwavable macaroni and cheese dinners. Coffee. He'd need coffee. He thought he'd seen a small coffee shop a few blocks away. He bought four. Regular coffee. Black. The maximum amount of caffeine. He swiped some sugars on the way out. Regular for him. That new Splenda crap for Mary since she'd been on a new health kick of late.

Mary was still sleeping when he got back to the room. He considered letting her sleep longer, but she did need to get up. It took her a minute or two to get going on a good morning, and this would not be a good morning. Hell, his head felt like it was cracking into tiny pieces, and he'd stopped several shots before she did. What was she hiding from, he wondered? Why? What wasn't she telling him?

He took a sip of coffee and sat on the edge of the bed with a small smile.

"Mary." Another sip. "Mare, it's morning." He kept his voice low and soft. Comforting.

The only reply he received was a low grunt and Mary clumsily pushing his hand off her shoulder.

"Mary, I have coffee." His fingertips lightly brushed her hair out of her face. "And food. And painkillers."

"Mmmmph."

"That's my girl." He waved the coffee cup in front of her face. "Come on. Open those eyes."

Another groan, followed this time by a slow blink as she opened her eyes.

"Coffee?"

"You're a god." Came her hoarse reply as she moved to sit up.

"Here." He sat down the coffee and helped her sit up, realizing how poor she did feel if she was accepting assistance from him. "Coffee?"

"Aspirin." She croaked even as she accepted the cup.

"Got it covered." He unscrewed a PowerAid and handed her two pills. "Take these." He waited for her to swallow. "And come with me."

"Where?"

"Trust me." He grabbed the shopping bag and his coffee and gestured for Mary to open the door.
"Where are we going?"

"Follow me." He led her to a small kitchen area on the third floor. "Here we go." He handed her the box of macaroni and cheese. "Eat up."

"Hangover food." She graced him with a wide grin. "You take care of me." There was something unidentifiable in her voice, and her eyes matched it.

"It's my job." He deflected, reminding her of his promise as he added water to the microwavable dish.

They ate their breakfast standing up, leaning back against the counter side by side. Coffee, mac and cheese, and gatoraide. Not exactly a breakfast of champions. It wasn't pancakes and eggs, but it was still perfect. She was touched by the gesture. She hadn't been kidding. He did take care of her. Odd, though. She didn't mind. Why was that?

A/N: that's all for now. I'll be without internet for a few days while I move and get settled in. More will be forthcoming if anyone still wants it. Take care.