He had the key to her house. She never asked him to ring the bell, knock or even call. "Just enter," she used to say. It didn't seem to matter to her if she was at home or not. He was allowed to come at all times.

He rang the bell anyway. Even with a key, he would feel like a burglar going inside without invitation. Although she never failed to remind him he was always welcome to come visit her. This time she was awaiting him, though. He knew she would be at home; that was the deal.

She opened the door. She let him in and then welcomed him as an old husband. The expression of happiness on her face made him glad he decided to come. He didn't remember a single time that she was frowning at him. Someone who didn't know her very well would say she never frowned, that there was always a smile on her face, but those people were wrong. He witnessed her being sad. He knew she wasn't cheerful all the time. But every time she saw him, she smiled. And he smiled too.

"When did you come?" she asked. She mean when he arrived to the city.

"Just now." He still carried a backpack and a suitcase. "I thought of stopping by at my place to leave the baggage there but . . ."

She wouldn't let him finish. She hugged him enthusiastically, needfully, as if she hadn't seen him in forever. Well, it had been long time since the last time they were together. Sure, they talked on the phone, mailed, chatted on the internet, but technology couldn't replace simple act of physical closeness. The feeling of the other person, the ability to touch them was rare in their case, so when they got to meet, they appreciated every minute they could spend together.

"It's good to see you." She wanted to expand on that thought, but after consideration she realized speaking about how she missed him wouldn't be appropriate. Moreover, he could see that she was glad to see him again. She changed the topic. "Do you have any plans for your time here?"

He sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Right now I feel like lying down, relaxing . . . I'm so tired, you wouldn't believe." His shoulders were down and the whole posture was weak. The exhaustion from the travel was visible on his face and on his body as well. And it was so hot outside.

"You know where the couch is. Or you can go in my bedroom. Help yourself," she said with a smile on her face.

"I don't have time for that," he cried.

"How about some food then? I can cook something and in the meantime you can take a shower. What do you say?"

"I cannot say no to that."

While he placed all his stuff in the hall and then headed upstairs to the bathroom, he knew precisely where it was, this wasn't his first in her house, she went into the kitchen.

Her kitchen wasn't separated from the living room, on the contrary, it created one big space where the smell of the food filled the big, light living room. There were many windows, to which Dean pointed several times as a great opportunity for uninvited guests, but she never saw it as a serious threat. She always replied that she couldn't live someplace dark, and he understood that, but sometimes he worried about her safety.

In the kitchen everything was already ready for her to start cooking; she had prepared it upfront because she knew Dean would come and she wanted to speed up the process so that he wouldn't have to wait long. There were all the ingredients on the table, the oven was already pre-heated, but since she wanted everything to be fresh, she didn't actually start cooking yet. She had to fry tortillas, cook the sauce, then fill and roll the tortillas and place them in the casserole pan. But when Dean came downstairs again, the Enchiladas were already in the oven.

"That smells amazing." Dean often used to compliment her cooking skills and wondered why she didn't cook regularly, at least not very difficult dishes. She had told him that she cooks mostly if there are guests coming to her house, as now he was, but when she was alone she didn't waste time cooking. That was exactly what she said; she told him that cooking was a waste of time, or that it took too much time and became boring after a while. Nevertheless, she enjoyed cooking for him.

"So how was your week?" she asked as she was washing the lettuce. She talked to him yesterday on the phone but she asked anyway.

"Busy," he replied. He hadn't told her yet about how certain people knew that she was still seeing her, that was something that couldn't be discussed on the phone. Dean thought that maybe he would tell her later that day; for sure he would tell her before he left Vegas again.

"Now you get time to chill."

"Not really."

They both knew there was no time for him to relax, not for longer than few minutes anyway. Even though he was at home, he had to practice, he had to go to the gym, go running and so on. And sooner than he'd like, he had to go back and return to his typical schedule.

Dean sat behind the counter, they never ate on the table, they ate either on the counter in the kitchen, which Cassie was now cleaning and putting plates on, or in the living room, usually when they were watching TV. "Can I help you with something?" Dean asked because he got this feeling that he was doing nothing and he should help instead of letting her take care of everything. Right now she was putting on the oven mitts so that she could take the Enchiladas out of the oven.

"No, dear," she replied, with her back turned to him.

"What have you been doing this past week?"

"You know, same old. Work mostly. But, hey, my brother is coming tomorrow. You can come by."

"Which brother?" Dean asked. He never knew which brother she was talking about. She had four of them and no sisters. Cassie was the youngest, so whenever Dean heard about any of the brothers, automatically he got scared a little. They were all older than him, and although he hadn't met each of them, the ones he had met were at least as big as him, if not bigger. And they certainly were those protective brothers. But they were friendly once you got to know them.

"Max."

"And that is . . ." He still had no idea. There were too many of them. How was he supposed to remember their names and be able to connect it to a face?

"He's –"

"Wait. I'm gonna guess." He had nothing else to do anyway. The food was still hot, even though now it was on their plates in front of them. Cassie was sitting next to him, but suddenly she stood up and turned on the radio. Then she sat down again and waited for his guesses, anticipating them to be wrong.

"The one you used to live with."

"That's Josh."

"Oh, okay. The one with the hot fiancée."

"Still Josh, " she giggled.

"The one I talked to yesterday?" His voice went high at the end as a result of uncertainty. But she knew that he had called her brother the day before and chatted with him; he told her later when he was on the phone with her that same day.

"And that's Levi."

"And Max is . . .?" He was out of guesses. There were too many brothers. He heard about all of them before. Mostly when she was telling Dean about her family, her siblings, she talked about one brother only. Then, at another occasion, she would tell him about other brother. One by one, he learned a lot about them, but still he had troubles remembering their names.

"The one living in Mexico, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded, but still there was confusion in his eyes.

"Come on, Dean, that's an easy one. Max, Mexico." She believed that way he would easily remember which one he was, but it didn't work as she hoped.

"And I've met him before, right?"

"Yes." Then she hesitated. "I think so."

"And you want me to come see him?" Dean wasn't too pleased by that idea. Even if he had met him before, he didn't know him that well. From all of Cassie's brothers, he kept in touch with one, well, two. Josh, now Dean remembered which one he was, the one he met first, the one that Cassie used to live with back in Denver, the one that Dean came to respect the minute he saw him. And then even more the following morning. That was a funny thing, the morning Dean woke up groggy from the previous night and found Cassie's brother in the kitchen. They had a long conversation at the end of which Dean was sure that he was developing a crush on Cassie.

The other brother that Dean was friends with was Levi. He didn't know him as long as Cassie and Josh, but there were many similarities between Dean and Cassie's youngest brother. They met, Dean wondered, it was probably in March, definitely when he was still dating Cassie, by a chance. Dean still remembered that evening. Levi, who, by the way, insists on pronouncing his name "LE-vi", and jerks every time somebody calls him "LEE-vy," came unexpectedly to visit his little sister and Dean was there in her apartment with her. As she went to open the door, Dean stayed sitting on the couch, watching TV. They were right in the middle of watching some movie, Dean tried to remember its name . . . it was a comedy . . . Superbad! Dean almost shouted. His happiness over this little victory couldn't go unnoticed by Cassie.

"What are you thinking about it?" she was curious.

"Oh, just reminiscing about the day I met Levi."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. Do you remember his reaction when he saw you in my living room?"

"Of course. I was waiting for you to come back –"

"You were snuggled in that blanket," she interrupted him, giggling.

"It was cold," he tried to protect his masculinity. The truth was, he just liked the coziness of her lying against him, hearing her musical voice in his ear each time a funny scene appeared on the screen, covered with that purple blanket . . . It was so long ago.

"I lingered a little longer in the hall, placing his shoes by the wall because he left them in the middle of the way . . ."

Dean laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"You do that too," she pointed at the fact that neither he was perfect.

"He walked into the living room, I heard his footsteps so I turned around. He took a good look at me."

"Then I entered the room," Cassie continued with the story. "Levi looked at me, wide smile on his face, and he asked me if you were my boyfriend, the guy I told him about."

"And then he said . . ." Dean had problems holding back the laughter.

"Hold on to this one," they both said at the same time. That line was stuck in their minds forever.

"Why, I asked him. I had no idea what was so special about you. Especially at the first sight."

"Hey!" Dean said, pretending to be hurt by what she said.

She let it pass. She said, "Then he looked at me, confused, not sure if I was kidding him or if I seriously meant that question. He laughed; I could never forget that laughter when he realized I had no idea whatsoever. Finally Levi yelled, 'That's fucking Dean Ambrose!'" Cassie tried to make the best impression of her brother and his significant high-pitched voice that he gets when he's really excited.

"And you were staring at him, not knowing what was happening. Then you looked at me, looking for an answer. You told him, after a really long pause, 'Uh, yeah. I know his name; he's my boyfriend.' Oh, wow, you had no fucking idea."

"I was clueless," she admitted.

Shortly after that Cassie found out that Dean was a professional wrestler, a celebrity, for certain people. But that discovery didn't change that much; Dean initially thought her knowing his true identity would spoil the easy, uncomplicated relationship they had. Easy in regard to their interactions, connections of their minds, not the physical closeness since there were hundreds, thousands of miles separating them most of the time.

"And Levi then told me everything about you," Cassie continued reflecting, "that damn bastard knew more about you than I did."

Dean was smiling from ear to ear, he liked those times, he would love to think about it more often but he forbade himself to think about this époque of his past. It was better left untouched. Talking about it now, though, seemed harmless. "But even though you found out what I did for a living, you never became a fan of mine," Dean remarked. It wasn't meant to be a reproach.

"Well, I realized since you never told me you were a wrestler in the first place, you only told me you were a sportsman, more or less, you didn't want me to be involved in that part of your life."

"I didn't –"

"No, it's all right. I was fine with it."

One thing Dean really liked about Cassie; when she said she was fine, she was, indeed. And it was that way with everything. She was honest. Of course she lied, quite often actually, but when it mattered the most, she only spoke what she really thought, and what was true. Somehow she could sense when was the right time to say something that was far from reality and when it was better to be honest. Similarly, she always knew when it was time to stop with her typical cheerfulness; she could be serious when the situation asked for it.

"Although," she spoke again, "now I sometimes turn on TV and accidentally," the way she said, it was probably on purpose, "catch something like . . . I don't know, Seth beating the hell out of you with a steel chair."

"I supposed you had a good laugh on that."

"Oh, you can bet I had. . . . Anyway, I think we slightly got off topic," Cassie remarked. "Are you coming tomorrow?"

"That . . ." Dean had trouble remembering what the original topic was.

"Max is visiting. Actually, he, and Ana," she said as a matter of fact, "are coming to see Vegas, have some fun for a couple of days, so I can be glad they even pay me a visit," she laughed. "But they'll bring Daniel and I'll have him for myself for a couple of hours."

"Daniel?" Dean wasn't sure he came across that name before. Well, at least not in a connection with Cassie.

"Their son. Come on, I mentioned him before, haven't I?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders; she might have, who was supposed to remember? "How old is he?" This question wasn't really necessary; the age wouldn't change anything. Just her telling him she would be babysitting her nephew and asking him to join her was repulsive enough. What would he do with a kid?

"1 and a half year."

So it was decided then. "I really don't think so," Dean replied, stretching that short sentence as much as possible. It was clear that Dean had no interest in being around some child who, moreover, he didn't even know.

"All right. No problem. One little thing, though. Would you mind taking Lily to your place? I really don't want to risk anything when there'll be a child around."

"Oh, yeah, of course. That makes perfect sense, especially after that incident."

Cassie shivered when she remembered how Lily got away. The thing was Lily was a spider, pet tarantula. Cassie disliked spiders, didn't feel comfortable when she saw one; actually she hated them. It wasn't a phobia but she felt strongly against them. In her theory, which so far proved to be successful, it is possible to get used to anything; when you don't like something, all you need to do is spend time doing it, or if it's not an activity but an object, animal, or even human being, get close to it, learn to live with it. So she got a spider. For first few days it was almost unbearable, really creepy and sometimes Cassie got thoughts of starving it to death. But now she was getting used to it, she even came to like Lily; Cassie believed naming it would help her like it more, and it did. Unfortunately, about two weeks ago Lily disappeared. With spiders that's when the real problem arises.

"I almost fled my house," Cassie recalled.

"But you're persistent," Dean said. "Once you get something on your mind, you don't give up."

She accepted the compliment with no strong feelings. "That night I lay in my bad with the thought that I might die." The shivers ran through her body.

"Maybe next time don't go into extremes. Want to get a spider? Get a harmless one, not one that can poison you."

"I don't know," she said, staring into her plate, playing with the fork and the food without eating it, although it was getting cold. "It makes me feel alive."

"Don't you worry that one day this attitude can actually kill you?" Dean suggested.

"You're the one to speak," she attacked. "Maybe I don't know that much about Dean Ambrose but I'm well acquainted with a certain Jon Moxley. Hell, even now. . . I watched you when Seth was hitting you with that chair. And damn, I saw your matches with Evolution or the Wyatt Family. You do realize how much beating you receive, don't you?" Cassie got comfortable in this offensive mode. "I'm not saying I'm objective here but it appears to me that you're the one who always receives most punishment. If you weren't okay with it, no," she wasn't happy with that formulation, "if you didn't like it, enjoy it," she smiled, this sounded right to her, "you wouldn't let them do it. I know you Dean. I can imagine you listening to the plans for The Shield, or whatever is left of it, and when you hear someone was to beat them, you offer yourself, you beg you could be the one who gets the worst beating. It makes you feel alive, doesn't it?" she finished. She satisfactorily leaned backwards on her chair, knowing she had proven her point.

Dean was biting the nail on his thumb, avoiding eye contact with the detective, hiding the smile, not very well though. He finally looked at her but instead of saying something in regard to her previous comment, he just said, "Eat, it'll get cold."