A/N: Hi all,

Just wanted to apologise for any spelling or grammar issues with this one. I sat down and banged this out pretty quick this morning. And, I just know that (despite the proof-read), there's going to be something I missed.

Hope you like it…

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Letting out a heavy sigh as she traipsed down the hall to her apartment, Grace could think of little else but kicking off her shoes and collapsing on her bed.

This gala would be the end of her.

Normally, events like this weren't a problem for her – in fact, they were normally the easiest; whether that was because she was good at them or just the fact that they were favourite, she didn't know. What she did know, however, was that she was going to need some kind of vacation when this was all over.

It was either that, or bashing her boss over the head with a skillet.

Before she could fantasize further about maiming her boss, the door to apartment 35 burst open to reveal her elderly next door neighbour.

That was always the way, wasn't it? Elderly next door neighbours… although, she supposed, to be fair: Rachael in apartment 39 was a long way away from her nursing home days.

Abandoning these musings, Grace paused in the hall to take in the sight of Mrs. Milligan. She may have been skinny and short of stature, but frail was the last word anyone would have used to describe the older woman.

In fact, she was more of the hip-grandma type than a typical elderly woman. She wore fitted Capri pants in a vibrant teal that were tastefully contrasted with the white blouse and white canvas shoes that topped off the ensemble. Couple that with her small, sandy blonde afro and gold costume jewellery, and you had the one and only Sandra Milligan.

Grace smiled at her neighbour, and inwardly hoped that she could be as stylish when she was in her 70s – well, except for the hair… and maybe a little less jewellery.

"Alright, Mrs. Milligan?" Grace asked

"Oh yes, dear. I'm fine. It's me who should be asking you if you're alright…"

Grace's brow instantly furrowed in confusion, "Sorry?"

"I heard you the other night, dear." The older woman explained in what was almost a hushed whisper. "On Monday night. Or really, Tuesday morning. All that noise – I thought someone must've broken in and was attacking you! I nearly called the police you know…"

Grace was taken aback. She knew exactly what her neighbour was referring to, and could only thank her lucky stars that the woman seemed none-the-wiser to the man currently living in her apartment. She didn't need anyone knowing that she was harbouring a 90-something fugitive in her home.

"…But then the noises stopped, and I assumed you must have been alright. But, still, it's good to check…" the woman trailed off and fixed Grace with an expectant look.

It took a few seconds for her to catch on before she replied with, "Oh – yeah, no I'm fine. Really. It's just… you know, stuff at work has been really hectic, and I've been doing a lot of thinking about… well, about New York." The last part was a lie. She never thought about New York, it was something she'd promised herself she would never do again. But still, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Mrs. Milligan seemed to understand instantly – in all honestly, there weren't many who wouldn't. New York had affected most people in one way or another; it was like a wound that humanity shared.

"So, you're sure you're alright then, dear?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But thank you," Grace offered earnestly. "It means a lot that you'd care enough to check."

At that the old lady waved her hand in the air – a universal sign of "think nothing of it", before retreating back into her apartment. "Alright then, dear. I'll talk to you later."

"You too, Mrs. Milligan" Grace continued to smile as the door to number 35 closed before resuming her trek to her own door.

As distracted as she was, the smell of smoke that wafted to her nose from beyond the door was unmistakable. Instantly, panic rose within her.

Her apartment was on fire, and James was in there.

Shoving her key into the lock, she desperately battled with the door to get inside. The smoke alarm had just started to sound as the door swung forward and she stumbled into her apartment.

With no time to lose, she furtively scanned the areas of the apartment that she could see: Hallway – fine; living room – fine; kitchen – James batting a tea-towel at a cloud of smoke. Yeah, not fine. Dashing in his direction, she grabbed the fire extinguisher as she went.

The closer she got, the more she was able to make out the cause of the smoke. A pan. Wait – a baking pan? What had he been doing with a baking pan? And more to the point, why was it on fire?!

Without a moment to lose, she removed the pin from the extinguisher and aimed the foam right at the source. 10 seconds and the crisis was over… well, except for the constant blaring of the smoke alarm.

Wincing at the sound, she placed the extinguisher on the bench top before climbing onto it herself. Even with the added height of the kitchen counter and her heels, she still had to stretch to hit the disable button on the alarm – damn these high ceilings!

After several failed attempts she managed to silence the alarm, letting out a huge sigh as she did.

Now, for the next problem.

Still on the bench top, she turned to look at her would-be fire-starter. And burst out laughing.

Standing in the middle of her kitchen was James: tea-towel in hand, an apron covering his front, and the most stunned expression she'd ever seen him wear. It was the most ridiculous sight she could've imagined.

Recovering from her fit of laughter, she jumped down from the counter to stand in front of him.

"So… how was your day?" she asked, a teasing tone in place

"I… Well, I think we might need to order take out…" he replied, still seeming quite stunned.

She laughed again, "Yeah, I think that might be best. What were you doing anyway?"

Still shell-shocked, he turned the bench top and retrieved a book that he promptly held out to her. She looked at it closely – a cook book. Opened to a recipe for lasagne.

Even though she didn't say "aww" out loud, she definitely thought it. Could he be any cuter right now?

"I see, and how would you say your career as a MasterChef is working out so far?"

"Well, I definitely see room for improvement." He quipped back, finally starting to sound like himself again.

Letting out a sigh, he turned to the charred baking pan to pick it up.

"Careful, it'll still be-" ignoring her, he merely used his metal hand to pick up the pan and place in the sink.

"-hot", she finished lamely.

"So you've seen how my day went, how was yours?" he asked as he turned back to face her.

"Oh, about as golden as that lasagne…"

Briefly, he turned back to glance at the blackened pasta dish. "I see."

"So," she brightened, trying to change the subject, "What do you want to order for dinner?"

"Well, I think considering I nearly burnt down your apartment, that maybe you should get to pick what we eat"

"Meh, I couldn't care less – I'm exhausted. In fact, if I hadn't had to use the extinguisher on your cooking, I would probably be eating it right now."

"Well, if that's the way you feel, I could scrape of the foam" he teased her.

She sent him a "very funny" look, "Tell you what: you choose, you order – I'm going to shower and change. Deal?"

"Sure."

And with that she headed to the bathroom – until she remembered something.

Walking back to the door where she had dumped her handbag, she found what she was looking for.

Grabbing the leather bound notebook, she headed over the couch where he was currently reviewing different take-out menus.

"Hey," she interrupted, "I got you something…"

"Grace-" he said, a warning tone present in his voice. She knew he didn't like it when she bought him things.

"Don't be like that – I didn't buy it, it's something I've had for ages. I just keep it at my desk at work."

It was half true – she had, in fact, purchased the notebook – only, she'd done it years ago. Grace was someone with, shall we say, an affinity for stationary. Something her mother had always despised because it meant that every school year Grace would insist upon new pens and books – even if last year's were still good.

But still, having bought the book a few years back, she had taken to keeping it in her desk at work thinking she might find a use for it one day, but she hadn't. Well, until now.

He sighed at her, before accepting the book and flipping through the blank pages.

"What's it for?" he questioned.

"It's for you. To write down things that you remember. You know, like the thing about the books you said last week, and… you know… the dream."

He opened his mouth to say something, probably protest, so she kept going before he could get a word in.

"But, it doesn't have to just be for things you remember. It can be for the future as well. You can write about the stuff you do and learn, things you want to see. Anything. …I just thought, I don't know… That maybe if you could write stuff down, you'd have a better chance of holding onto it.

…I don't know. Maybe it's stupid. You don't have to if you don't want to." She finished.

Saying nothing, he merely nodded at her.

Sending him a small smile, she turned and began making her way to the bathroom. She had walked maybe 6 steps before he stopped her.

"Hey, Grace?"

"Yeah?" she turned back to meet his eyes.

"Thanks."

Smiling, she sent him a small nod. "Any time"