HEAVEN AND EARTH NEVER NEED KNOW

The next morning, Sam was the first to join Bailey at the command center's big table for a briefing on the Tuscaloosa killings. He was sitting at the head of the table, bent over and writing something. She looked at her coffee cup, taking care not to let it spill, then chided herself for not bringing him a cup. She walked over to him, silently, hoping to catch him unawares. She peeked her head over his shoulder, but to her disappointment, Bailey was just signing his name on some warrant petitions.

"Hey, Sam," he greeted her without having to face her. One corner of her mouth quirked up. How had he known it was her?

"Hey, Malone," she said cheerfully and sat down on the chair closest to him.

He shot her a brief look. "Why were you spying on me?"

Damn, he didn't miss anything. "Just good old-fashioned curiosity. You never know, I might catch you sketching a poem or something more untoward," she flashed a grin.

"More untoward?" He looked amused.

"You know, like a limerick." He couldn't decide if she was being serious or not. She took a sip of her drink, and her expression looked pained. She placed the cup on the table.

"Mm. I think I burnt the top of my mouth," she confessed. He offered her his water bottle without words. She poured some cold water into her coffee.

"Thanks." She stifled a yawn.

"Uh huh." He took note of her yawn, and seeing as they were alone for the time being, he decided to seize the moment. He'd wanted to call her last night, but hadn't wanted to intrude on any time Sam might have been spending with Chloe. He needed to know how the rest of her day had been. "Bad night?"

"In a way. The evening was fine, but I just couldn't fall asleep," she sighed. She'd still been up at two am.

"How did Chloe fare yesterday?"

"Well, all things considered. I took her to the grave on Sunday, so..."

He nodded at her. She looked to the double doors and sat up straight in her chair. He deduced that the others were arriving. Sure enough, he heard approaching footsteps.

As soon as George, Marcus and John were seated around the table, Bailey started the briefing.

"All right, let's get going. Thanks to Sam's profile of the Deak killer, we've learnt of three other murders by the same man. Sam, you want to walk us through the profile while George pulls up the files?"

"Sure. He's 34 to 48 years old, blue collar worker, socially dysfunctional and withdrawn among his peers. He finds it easier to converse with other age groups, people that do not belong to the cohort group that bullied and neglected him. That's why the Tuscaloosa killer is younger than he is, 26 to 38 years old. Now, Marie Deak was 31 years old, and I've identified three other victims. George, can you pull up Susannah Olding?"

"Coming up."

"Olding was a bank teller who lived in Rochester, Minnesota. She was 33 years old and lived alone. She was the first victim. The murderer fumbled his entrance to the house by breaking the living room glass door and a chase ensued inside. He was much better prepared for his subsequent kills," Sam remarked.

"He then killed Deak. The third victim was Hal Gruen, in Eugene, Oregon. He was an insurance salesman. Luanne Billings is the last known victim. She was from Rochester, like Olding."

"Deak lived in Owatonna. That makes it three different cities. Why is that, since all the other killer's victims lived in Tuscaloosa?" John puzzled.

"The Tuscaloosa victims are tied to Deak's killer. The accomplice is killing people known by the killer. Let's call Deak's killer the Minnesota man, or something, this can get confusing. Anyhow, the Minnesota man is lower class, and so are his acquaintances. It makes sense that they wouldn't have the resources or the opportunities to move away. The Tuscaloosa killer, to whom Olding, Deak and co are related to, is upwardly mobile, in a way. He hails from a middle class background."

"So we need to cross reference the victims with the profiles and revisit the victims' social circles?" Marcus asked to be sure.

"Yes, let's go through every case again, this time armed with the right profile of the killer," Bailey concluded.

The team went through the new victims in greater detail before dispersing.

Agent Wes Renick glanced at his wrist watch and furrowed his brow. It wast almost six o'clock, and the personnel secretary of the 20th district hadn't returned his call yet. He would have to call the man first thing the next morning.

He was about to pack up for the day when he spied Zach Dixon, the officer in charge of the city's internal crime database, scurrying towards his office. Something was amiss.

"Agent Renick, you got a sec?" Dixon sounded agitated, and so Renick nodded his compliance. "We have a situation. Come with me." Dixon's information was obviously sensitive. Renick let Dixon lead him to the IT department premises, situated on the fourteenth floor.

"Someone's breached the system," Dixon began as soon as they reached the fourteenth floor. Renick stopped in his tracks. The idea that someone had breached the database shared by the local police department and the Bureau was troubling, to say the least.

Dixon didn't slow down. Instead, he headed straight to a large table where two coworkers of his were sitting, visibly shaken and working furiously. "They got through a glitch in the password verification process and had a look around."

"Look around where? What did the intruder do?"

"No serious damage, as far as we can tell. They nosied around the criminal records, citations, outstanding warrants."

"When did it happen?" Renick needed to know all the pertinent information asap.

"A week ago, for the first time."

"The first time?" Renick repeated.

"They've invaded the system three times, all told."

"To what gain?"

Dixon looked discomfited. "We don't know. Nothing's missing. My guess is that we're dealing with a hacker who's trying to prove his worth to his friends."

"Have you plugged the leak? Will the intruder be able to hack his way in again?" Dixon looked to one of the men, who took over. The man's name sign said Hollington.

"We've instituted new protection and upped the firewalls. The verification glitch correction is underway," Hollington assured the agent in charge.

"How soon will it be ready?"

"Tomorrow," the second man piped up. His name was Melburn.

Renick nodded his head. "Good. Are you sure about the extent of the damage?"

"90 per cent sure. We will run a full systems check once we're secure again."

"Keep me informed."

Bailey knocked on Sam's door and poked his head into her office. "Hey. Got a sec?"

"Sure. Shoot, boss man," Sam joked, but her merry spirit got a wrench thrown in its way by her friend's serious expression. She waited in silence as the man seated himself in front of her.

"I just heard from Peter Koslowsky. You've been cleared for another interview with Lesher. Next week's Thursday."

"So why do you look so miserable?"

"He wanted to give me a heads-up. They've started the paper work on Lesher's transfer to Fort Leavenworth."

Sam leaned back in her chair, stunned. "Shit. When?"

Bailey felt her disappointment. "He said that the paperwork will take a month or so to be processed," Bailey sighed.

"Will he help us get more access to her while she's in our back yard?"

"He said he'll try, but he can't guarantee anything."

"All of this would be so much easier if we didn't have to clear every visit with the US attorney's office," Sam muttered and threw her pen on the desk, frustrated beyond measure. She stared vacantly at her desk for a while.

Then, her features grew determined. She knew what she'd have to do. "I'll just have to persuade her this time." Her gaze was clear and resolute.

"Is she susceptible to persuading?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "I'll make her susceptible. I don't intend to fail. Too much is at stake."

Bailey gave her a little nod. He hoped to God that Lesher would cave and wouldn't share anything horrifying about Coop's death.

There was one thing he could help Sam with. He would leave a message to Casper tonight, asking for the elusive agent to get back to him. They needed to set Wykoff's protection in motion.

Sam settled deeper into the chair, relieved that she and Melinda had already discussed Wykoff.

"So, anything new going on?"

"No, not really. Well, there is something Angel would probably bring up," Sam muttered.

"But not you?" Sam shook her head, and so Melinda continued: "What is it?"

"It concerns Bailey." Sam took a beat to clear her voice. "There's been a slight change in my frienship with him." She paused, trying to sort out her thoughts. "We kissed. As in, kissed. A month or so ago."

"I see." Melinda's pleasant silence invited more elaboration from Sam.

"We talked it over, and we agreed that it had to happen one time or another."

"Why do you think it happened then?"

"I guess we've been spending a lot of time together. We've gotten closer, as friends," she added for classification. "We were away on a ftx weekend, and I practically spent the entire day with him, from early morning well into the next day."

"But I'm assuming that there were other coworkers with you, and yet you only kissed him," Melinda pointed out.

"I'm closer to Bail than to anyone else," Sam retorted quickly.

"Okay." Melinda allowed for a small lull in the discussion, giving Sam time to pacify herself. "You keep saying that you two are close. How exactly would you describe your feelings for Bailey?"

Sam let out a chuckle. "I answered that same question to Angel some time ago. I thought about it then, and I concluded that we're close friends, but strictly platonic."

"Was this before the ftx weekend?"

"Yes, it was," Sam mumbled.

"Did the events of the weekend cause you to re-evaluate your feelings?"

"No, not really. Like I already said, the kissing was a one-time thing."

"Okay. Why do you think Angel asked you to qualify your relationship with Bailey?"

"I have no idea. Yes, I have been spending more time with him as of late, but you know, I've been close to him since Quantico."

"It seems to me that you're being a bit defensive. Does it bother you to be asked to characterize your and Bailey's relationship?"

"Look, however it may look to other people, only Bail and I know what we are and what we aren't," Sam snapped.

Melinda's eyebrows arched. "Like that, Sam." The blonde blew out a breath. "Sam, I'm not attacking you, as you very well know. I would recommend that you think about where your defensiveness stems from."

Sam inclined her head, signalling her agreement to give the matter some thought.

"Anything else on your mind?"

"Well... I have this feeling of... like I'm suspended in motion, waiting for something to come along, you know? Like something isn't where it's supposed to be."

"How long have you felt like this?"

"A few weeks." Sam worried her lip. "But I have no idea what that something is."

"Does it feel like something that'll get clear at some point?"

"I don't know. I've never really felt like this before."

"Does it trouble you?"

"A little. I don't like this... the unknownness of it all. That's from a poem I read." Sam bit back her words about reading the poem in a book she'd borrowed from Bailey. It seemed like every topic she'd conversed about concerned the man, one way or the other.

Melinda'a eyes wandered to the clock on her desk. "Our time's up, unfortunately. Do you want to schedule another appointment?"

"Better not. You know how my job is. I'll call you."

"Take care."

"You too. Bye." The women hugged warmly, and Melinda saw Sam to the door.

After Sam's exit, Melinda sat down behind her desk and made a few additional notes into the notebook. Confessed to unspecified feelings for BM, defensive.

Melinda sighed, wondering a little at her friend's blindness.

A few nights after Sam's session with Melinda, the fire station residence got a late visitor. Angel smiled to herself when she opened the elevator door and ushered Bailey inside. "Hi Bailey. How are you?"

"Hello Angel, I'm good. How about you?" he asked courteously.

"I'm fine. I'm wrapping up a movie with Chloe. Sam just went into the dark room. Hey Sam! You've got a visitor!" Angel all but yelled to her friend.

Chloe ran from the sofa to greet her favorite uncle. "Hi, Uncle Bailey."

"Hello, pumpkin," he lifted her into his arms. "Enjoying your summer vacation?"

"Uh huh. I went to the zoo three times in Richmond!"

"Three times, you say? You must have seen every animal in the zoo."

Chloe nodded eagerly. "I did! I saw joeys and goslings, too."

Sam sauntered up to them. "Hey! I was just about to develop some photos."

"Oh. Maybe I should come back another night," Bailey suggested.

"Nah, I'll only take thirty minutes. You're more than welcome to join in, if you don't mind being cooped up with me."

Sam's innocent suggestion garnered a meaningful look from Angel. Sam averted her gaze quickly, not deigning to acknowledge her friend's behaviour.

"I don't mind. You have a good time with the end of the movie," Bailey wished Chloe and set her down. He was oblivious to Angel's knowing smile, of which Sam caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye before leading him to the dark room.

Once inside, Sam dimmed the light and turned to Bailey. "Can you lock the door? Chloe's burst in a few times while I've been developing photos," she explained. "Thanks," she said when she heard the click of the lock.

She turned to her task, and Bailey stood by, watching his friend.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Sam prodded after a while. Bailey hadn't peeped after he'd locked the door.

"I talked to Casper." Her head whipped to look at him. "He sends his regards."

A smile blossomed on her face. "His regards? He is a nice throwback to the good old days. So are you, in fact. But I digress. What did he say?"

"That he'll get back to us in a couple of weeks."

Sam was more relieved than she'd care to admit to. "Good. Did you tell him about Elliot's... special requirements?"

"Yes. He assured me that it wouldn't be a problem." Sam nodded and started prepping the developing liquid, handling it expertly. He watched on in silence for a moment.

Then, he had to ask. "Have you always taken photos?"

"Pretty much. They're a nice way to remember happier days." She paused for a beat before remarking: "After my mother died and my father disappeared on me, photos were the only things that reminded me of them."

Only once had she mentioned her mother to him. After Angel was safe and sound on the night of her kidnapping. She'd been ten when her mother passed. Such a young age to lose a parent. After that revelation, he'd understood how much Tom's death must have shattered Sam. The last thing Sam would have wanted was to have her own daughter experience such a devastating loss.

"How did your mother die?" he asked gently, unsure if he was crossing some line. She looked at him, but he didn't see any guardedness in her gaze. Just a little sorrow.

"It was an accident. She was driving home when an elderly driver on the opposite lane had a seizure and crashed his car into my mother's," she said, her voice getting a bit choked up.

"I'm sorry," he placed his left hand between her shoulder blades, comforting her. She gave him a fleeting, warm glance at his gesture. Her sudden movement made her ponytail loosen a little.

They fell into a comfortable silence. Then, she rallied her spirits and dove into a topic that she'd wondered about now and again. "You tell me something now. You're Irish-Italian. One would expect for you to have at least six siblings I'd know about. And yet, you've never mentioned anyone to me," she stated, eyeing him curiously.

"The answer is simple. I don't have any siblings. My mother had complications when she gave birth to me. She wasn't able to have more children."

Sam's face fell. "Oh. I'm sorry about asking."

"Don't be. I was close with my cousins. We spent our childhood together, thick as thieves. Over the years, some have died, and with others, we just drifted apart."

That brought him full circle, once again to Wykoff. Now was the perfect time to tell her.

"Actually, Wykoff's insights concern my family. My cousins." Sam dropped all else and turned to him, her expression rapt. She'd been dying to hear this.

He looked her squarely in the eyes and began his tale. "When I was young, like seven or so, my cousins and me would sometimes be left into the care of our grandpa from my father's side. Occasionally, he would get drunk and smack us around. Just the older kids, and boys, at that. We didn't tell anyone 'cos the bastard knew how to convince that we were somehow to blame. But this one time, when he wasn't even drunk, my five-year-old cousin, Siobhan, dropped a glass and it broke. And I could tell from the expression on his face that he was going to lay into her. I stepped in front of her, just in time, and got a concussion for my troubles. My mother took me to the hospital and I told her everything. She told my father and my Italian grandpa, who put the fear of God into the bastard. Since then, us kids spent our time at the restaurant."

Sam felt a swell of affection for him. He'd always been a protector. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

"What was that for?"

Sam shrugged and flashed him an unknowable smile, opting to not say anything.

More tendrils had escaped her ponytail. It was about to come wholly undone. She tried to keep her hair in check by tilting her head and brushing the escapees against her shoulder. He took matters into his own hands. He reached out and pulled the band out of her hair altogether. She stilled, surprised by his intimate action. He gathered her locks together, marveling at their silky volume, and looped them through the band a few times, then pulled at the hair gently to secure the ponytail.

He was in the perfect position to look at her many earrings. He'd often wondered why she had so many of them. Did she just like them, or had they perhaps been an act of youthful rebellion? His hand inched up to play gently with the earrings on her right earlobe.

Sam was growing more and more puzzled by his seeming flights of fancy. He was inspecting, almost caressing, her earlobe. "I got them at eighteen," she answered his unaired question. He nodded, even though she couldn't see his motion. He couldn't stop his hand from tracing the back of her neck, drifting across her shoulders like a cautious explorer. Her breath hitched and she tried to fight back her shudder, unsuccessfully.

The mood had changed from their easy camaraderie to something heavier, more tangible. Something repressed.

She felt him move closer, and she in turn leant into him, both powerless to halt whatever was transpiring between them. His right hand crept to rest in the curve of her waist, while his left hand continued to take in the softness of her skin, ghosting airily over her shoulders.

A sudden compulsion had him placing a kiss in the skin between her ear and her hairline. He sensed her startle a little, but she didn't step away. Instead, her eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled to the other side. His lips left her skin, but he kept close, breathing in the citrusy scent of her locks.

His left hand twined around the front of her waist, coming to meet his right hand. She pressed into his warmth and he breathed a kiss into her hair. Her right hand flew up to caress his face, and she adjusted her head to the right, so that his lips was less than an inch away from her temple.

"You want me to stop?" he mumbled against her temple.

"God no." She spun around in his embrace and ran her hands to clasp around his neck. His hands settled into the small of her back, where they always seemed to belong, to fit perfectly, separately or together.

Her whole being was tingling from his proximity. She could feel the heat and intensity of his gaze, and she met his eyes. The desire reflected in his smoldering gaze and his intoxicating presence proved too heady a combination. She claimed his lips, and the fuse was lit.

It all came back to him. What he'd tried to stomp out of his memory since Chicago. Lord have mercy, she felt and tasted so good.

She felt like her insides were singing again. She'd never get enough of this. You never get too much of a wonderful thing. This time, she ignored the implications of her random thought and lost herself, closing herself to everything but feeling.

Heaven knows how far they would have gone if they hadn't gotten a rude awakening. A loud crash impeded on their moment. Sam broke away, listened and breathed deeply, trying to figure out if what they'd heard had been real.

"Mommy!" They could hear Chloe's wail and her fast approaching footsteps.

"Chloe, honey, let me see," Angel pleaded on the outside. Sam flew to the door, unlocked it and stepped out of the dark room. Angel and Chloe were standing in front of the door to Angel's room. Angel was inspecting the back of Chloe's head, while the little girl was crying and hiccuping.

"What happened?" Sam ran to the pair and knelt down to comfort her daughter. Angel concluded her ginger examination.

"She fell back first from the edge of the sofa. She was sitting on it. There's no blood." Sam took a look herself and came to the same conclusion. Chloe would only get a nasty bump on her head. Just to be safe, Sam decided to call Doctor Varees once the girl calmed down.

"Shh, you're okay, Chlo. You just bumped your head, sweetie," Sam consoled her little girl and hugged her.

"I'm gonna get some woollen socks to press against the bump," Angel offered and disappeared into her room.

Chloe was still crying, nearing hysteric hiccups.

"Hush, baby girl. You'll be fine," Sam murmured.

Then, she noticed out of the corner of her eye a cuddly toy horse entering her field of vision. She looked up at the same time as Chloe, watching Bailey who knelt down and offered the toy to the girl. "Mr Mustard came to take care of you," he explained. He'd gone into Chloe's room and retrieved the same toy with which Chloe had comforted him after he'd been shot.

Chloe grabbed the toy and began to breathe easier, hiccuping less. She reached out for her uncle, and Sam let her walk into his soothing embrace. He stroked her hair and murmured softly to her.

Angel brought the woollen socks and handed them over to Bailey, who placed them carefully against the girl's head. Sam and Angel looked on as he pacified the banged-up girl. Even Denzel had come along to see what the commotion was all about. Sam's throat felt tight as she observed the pair.

Chloe's crying died down before long. She dried her tears and sniffed, still remaining in the sphere of Bailey's comforting embrace.

Sam's head popped up when she heard a quiet giggle. Chloe's misery had morphed into subdued delight. Bailey whispered something to the girl and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Chloe stepped away from him, petted Denzel fleetingly and padded over to her mother, whom she hugged. "I'm better now," Chloe croaked, her voice still raw from her hysterics.

"That's good, honey. I knew you would be."

Angel reached for the socks she'd retrieved, and Bailey gave them up. "Come on, Chlo, let's go lie down. Mommy needs to call doctor Varees." Chloe grabbed Angel's hand and let the woman guide her to her room.

Bailey stood up and looked on as the pair retreated from him and Sam. Then, he glanced at Sam, who was still sitting on the floor.

"You okay?"

Sam's eyes snapped to him. She bestowed him a grateful smile. "Yes. Thank you. You were wonderful with her."

"Don't mention it." He offered her his hands and she stood up with his help.

Now that the crisis had been resolved, they let go off each other's hands quickly and exchanged unsure glances. They were both mulling over what had again transpired between them. The thing they'd believed to have gotten out of their systems.

Chloe's mishap had come at an opportune time. It afforded them some time to think. They couldn't get into it for the moment.

Bailey looked discomfited, then uttered, sounding almost regretful: "I think I'd better get going. I'll go and say bye to Chloe."

Sam nodded without words and watched him enter Chloe's room. She heard him teasing: "Where is that little banged-up girl? I've come to give her tickling therapy!"

She smiled at his joke, but then she grew somber. It had happened again. It shouldn't have happened. Yet, it had been bound to happen. Her mind was occupied by a messy jumble of stray thoughts, self-recriminations, thrilling memories. She feared that this meant she'd have to take a closer look at herself. Again.

She abandoned her feverish thinking when Bailey emerged from the room. He walked to her, and they were hesitant in their goodbyes.

"Talk to you later?" was all he said, but she understood.

"Yeah, of course." She escorted him to the elevator in silence.

"Night, Sam," he wished her as he stood in the elevator.

She responded to him in a quiet voice. "Night, Bailey." She gave him an uncertain look before shifting her gaze to the floor and closing the inner door. She listened to the sounds of the elevator descending to the floor below. She blew out a prolonged breath.

They'd made a mess again. And this time around, neither of them had the luxury of time to get over their preoccupation.

Unlike Sam, Bailey had kept his eyes trained on his friend until she had closed the door. He wondered if he was a glutton for punishment. Hell, he was one for rebukes directed at himself. The past month had made that quite clear.

Bailey jabbed the ground floor button and glared at it, as if it had caused their joint error of judgment.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, cursing at himself. Damn it. What had possessed them to do that again? Sober, no less? At least the last time, they could blame it on lowered inhibitions, brought on by alcohol. No such luck this time around. He was sober as a judge.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked, at a brisk pace, through the large garage hall that Angel used as her studio.

This was getting to be a problem. Whatever the hell this thing, this pull between them, was. But what could they do about it? They worked together, and they were best friends. They couldn't avoid seeing each other, and they couldn't even avoid being alone, just the two of them. The demands of the job made sure of that.

And, just the idea of avoiding Sam sent a pang through his innards. He loved her too much. As a friend, his mind jumped to amend his thinking.

He entered the warm, stifling air of the evening and took a few steps to reach his car. Once inside, he took a moment before putting the key in the ignition. He stared ahead, his mind dull. He glanced up at the windows of the kitchen, half hoping, half dreading, to see Sam looking down at him. Nobody was at the window. Sam must be tending to Chloe and calling the doctor.

This pull between them wasn't getting to be a problem – it already was one. And her life as well as his was complicated enough. They would have to find a solution, and fast.

Sam flicked off the lights in her bedroom and left Chloe to her slumber. On doctor Varees' recommendation, the girl would sleep beside her mom, so they could make sure she hadn't suffered a concussion from her tumble. Sam drew the door shut quietly and ambled to the kitchen.

Angel was brewing herself a cup of tea at the kitchen table. "She asleep?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'll wake her up when I go to sleep."

"Poor little girl," Angel sighed.

"How did it happen? I just want to know."

Angel grimaced. "I was engrossed in my book and wasn't really paying attention. She was sitting on the back of the sofa. I don't know how she could fall that badly."

"I don't blame you. Chlo's old enough to know better," Sam reassured her guilt-ridden friend.

Angel gave her a grateful look, clearly appreciating the sentiment. Then, she hid a smile, considering her roommate. "Did you get the photos developed? I hope they aren't ruined."

"Nah, I'd only gotten around to putting out the liquids. Didn't get any further than that," Sam replied without thinking, playing right into Angel's hands.

A playful gleam ignited in Angel's eyes. "Oh, really? Even though you were in there for a good twenty minutes?" Angel enjoyed the brief look of panic on Sam's face before the blonde recovered her cool.

"Bailey was filling me in on the situation with Wykoff," Sam fired back, trying to keep a level tone of voice. She saw her escape route and grasped at it. "Speaking of, I'd better go and get rid of the liquids. There's no saving them now."

"Uh huh." Sam heard Angel's unconvinced response while she fled from her prying questions.

Sam hastened through the play area to the privacy of the dark room. Once she was out of Angel's line of vision, she took a deep breath and ran her hands in her hair, gathering her thoughts. What a night this was turning out to be. She pushed aside the memories of what had happened resolutely, figuring she wasn't in the right state of mind to consider them.

She decided to go through the roll film, to remind herself of what she'd been about to develop. Maybe she would be inspired to make the contact sheet, at the very least.

She grabbed the roll of film that she'd left to dry. She cut the film in strips, which she placed on a clean surface. She turned on the light box, took her magnifier and bent down to inspect the negatives. The first one was of Bailey. Of course it was. He was wearing his apron. She flew over the photos of him, not having the strength to look at his pictures with a discerning eye. Better to keep moving, keep busy.

She smiled at photos of their girls' night in and Chloe's ballet recital, then frowned upon seeing photos of Angel's Cherry tree sculpture. She must have neglected to develop this batch of film. She wondered why Angel hadn't mentioned her oversight, making up her mind to ask the artist if she still needed them. She continued inspecting the negatives.

Her heart skipped a beat when she came upon a close-up of Bailey. Damn, she'd completely forgotten about this photo. She felt the sudden urge to shake her hands, but she resisted. She forced her breathing to even out and focused on the negative again, willing her heart to return to a steady rhythm.

We're wonderful one times one.

That was the stanza he'd recited when she'd snapped the photo. She hadn't really remembered what he'd looked like. His expression was...

She bolted up, forcing a stop to that particular train of thought before it was too late.

She sighed. It was like every single aspect of her life involved him, too. He, his presence, surrounded her at all times.

Her thoughts shifted to the incident from an hour ago, in this very room.

They really needed to put a stop to that.

But how?