Out of habit, Shelley entered the apartment first, placing the bag of groceries he'd bought on the counter and expertly clearing the apartment of any potential threats. Abby, as per his instructions, had locked the door behind them and waited patiently for Shelley to return and inform her the place was safe.

She didn't expect it not to be but, then again, she didn't expect him not to take his job seriously.

"All clear," he declared, stepping back into the room.

"So," Abby said, swinging off the kitchen bar as Shelley stocked away the food.

"So?" he asked in response.

"So, we're stuck inside for a few days. What do we do?"

Shelley nodded towards her backpack, which she had brought back home from the bar. "School work?" was his unfavourable suggestion.

Abby snorted a laugh. "So that's three hours down," she stated rather than moaning and rolling her eyes; school work, at the moment seemed trivial. "Besides, I can do that tomorrow. How about pancakes?

Shelley carefully contemplated for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll take a stack," he declared then made himself comfortable on the bar stool.

Abby nodded and gathered the ingredients for the crepes.

"So are you still in the service or are you 'retired'?" she asked, still holding the mixing spoon and dripping batter on the bench while she emphasised with her fingers.

"I'm not at liberty to say," he replied, his tone and face serious.

Any normal person would have laughed but Abby did not; it was easy for her to tell that Shelley was being serious and actually wasn't allowed to say as opposed to just playing to the stereotype.

"Fair enough," she shrugged, pouring the first batch of pancakes onto the pan.

"What do you do for fun then?" She asked, trying to make polite conversation. Even if the answer was short and nondescript again, it was better than the awkward silence.

"Don't have time for fun," he declared without a beat.

Abby gave him a quizzical look. "Everyone has time to do something fun," she pressed.

Obliging her, he pondered for a moment, then let out a small chuckle.

"Care to share?"

"Gardening," he nodded, smiling.

"Seriously?" she confirmed. "Like fruit and veg, or flowers."

He chucked again. "Flowers," he confirmed and, this time, Abby let out a small laugh. "What? A man can't enjoy spending time in the garden?" he defended, crossing his arms.

Abby shrugged. "Eliot likes cooking, so I suppose not."

It was another five minutes before a large stack of steaming pancakes were ready and, after retrieving the syrup from the pantry, she placed them down on the coffee table with two plates.

"How do you feel about a movie?" she questioned, plonking herself comfortably down on the couch.

"You know what movie you should watch?" Shelley suggested

"Don't say Top Gun, 'cause I've already watched it," she replied quickly, remembering their conversation from the last time they had met. "How about the Princess Bride?" she retorted and Shelley laughed. "Fine, how about the latest Batman?"

"I can live with that," he shrugged, then sat down on the arm chair nearest to the door.

They were an hour through the film before Abigail fell asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Shelley continued watching the film, remaining perfectly alert and letting her sleep calmly.

She only stirred when the movie came to an end, the change from flickering light to pitch black enough to awaken her.

"What happened?" she moaned, stretching herself out as she woke up a little more.

"Batman died," he replied bluntly. He straightened up in the chair and placed down his glass of soda, after all, he couldn't drink on the job.

"Very funny," she quipped. Shelley just shook his head, it didn't matter to him if she believed her or not.

"You should go to bed," he declared, jumping up out of the stairs and picking up the empty plates off the coffee table.

"You're here to guard, not babysit," Abby reminded him, a tired smile on her face.

"Suit yourself. Are you doing okay?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.

Abby sighed, completely sick of being asked that question; it only made her feel worse that she didn't feel concerned.

"I'm more concerned about Nate," she dodged, shifting so she was kneeling up and facing the back of the couch with her hands crossed and chin resting on the crook of her arm so she could better see him in the kitchen.

Shelley laughed through his nose as he stuffed the plates into the dishwasher. "You're a good kid your highness." He was sincere in his comment; he appreciated the fact that she was so concerned for someone else in spite of everything.

"Thanks," she murmured, almost silently.

"But are you sure you're okay? He asked again and Abby glared at him, now sure that Eliot had told him to ask. "It gets annoying having people ask you that all the time doesn't it?"

"Kinda, yeah," she admitted. "Does it ever stop?"

Shelly stood still and lent forward on the kitchen bench. "No, not so long as you got people you care about around you, and you do." His voice was soft and kind. "And one time," he continued more solemnly, "you might not be okay and you'll be thankful they asked."

She looked down at the floor intensely, brooding for a moment and contemplating what he'd said. "The truth is, I don't know if I'm okay," she admitted. Shelley rubbed his nose then placed his hands back on the bench. He was still as he listened. "I was until Eliot told me about how they killed Nate's dad," her voice wavered for a moment. "I was absolutely certain that they, that Eliot would get me out. So certain that I wasn't scared, not really. Then Eliot told me what happened and I realise how close I was to-"

"It's not good to think like that," Shelley quickly interrupted. "You start going down that road you never stop. The important thing is that you're here, for a reason. Plus, Eliot would tear down countries to get to you; him and the others would have never let anything happen to you."

"But what if-"

He interjected quickly once more. "'What if's' are question's that no one can answer. Latimer's men didn't hurt you, we got you out, you're here. Those are the things that are important." He was stern but kind in his explanation. It made sense to her, and eased her emotions slightly, though not completely.

"Is all this knowledge from experience?" she asked, trying to shift the focus of the conversation away from her.

He smiled and clapped his hands together pointlessly. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it just as much as she didn't want to; he seemed private like that.

"Well," she conceded, standing up off the couch and wrapping her oversized jacket tighter around her chest, the long sleeves falling over her hands. She wasn't sure where she had picked it up, it might have been Eliot's, Nate's or even Shelley's, but it was cosy and comforting. "I'm going to bed. The couch is pretty comfy and there's a couple of blankets in the ottoman over there." She nodded towards the small footstall near the window which overlooked the park.

"Won't need it," he shook his head. "I'll be right out here if you need anything."

"Thanks Shelley, for everything," she thanked then moved slowly to her bedroom for a well-deserved rest.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Almost immediately after Shelley had left with Abigail, Eliot had turned to Parker and Hardison, and crossed his arms; an indication that it was time for them to move out.

"Security intel and schematics of Latimer's building," Hardison declared, pulling up the info on his laptop having anticipated what was coming.

"Entry points here and here," Parker stated, pointing to two separate doorways on the plans; one public the other much less so. "We still have to clock their security though."

"If we head out now we can get a rough idea," Eliot replied and the others nodded and moved silently to the already packed and prepared van. Each silently praised their collective efficiency as they moved out.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Nate dragged himself morbidly into his apartment, leaving the door wide open and made straight for the stash of liquor he kept in his desk. He poured himself a large glass, sculled it a smooth satisfying gulp. Then he poured himself another, picked up the decanter and swaggered down to the couch.

Sophie, with heels clacking and breath huffing, followed inside, slamming the door behind her and watching in annoyance as the man began to drink himself into a stupor.

"Nate?" she asked for not the first time since they'd left Illinois, only this time, there was increased animosity in her voice.

And, for not the first time, he did not reply.

"Nate?" She chucked her coat and bag angrily on the kitchen bench with a swing of her wrist.

Nate sunk further back into the chair, toying with the glass in his hand.

"Nate, what the hell are you thinking? Letting Dubenich go?"

"I was thinking," he began, much to Sophie's surprise. "That we can't get Dubenich from prison, so we have to get him out here."

"Why do we have to get him Nate?" the grifter asked in response, crossing her arms and walking closer over to the mourning man.

Nate lifted his head and perked his brow, looking at her directly the first time since they'd left. "He killed my father, went after Abigail, in jail. If he can do that then we have to get to him," he explained simply.

Sophie, out of surprise she had not realised this earlier lent back in her heels and swayed for a moment. Then she sternly straightened up her posture. "That doesn't make it right Nate."

"You're right," he agreed. "It doesn't." He then, with more energy than he'd shown that he had, jumped up and turned on the plasma screens as he prepared to gather intel; he needed to be active, get something done. He needed to make a plan, however sinister or unapproved it might be.

Sophie meanwhile, watched on with concern as the mess in front of her steadily grew and the darkness faded away.

XXXXXXXX

Thanks always for your awesomeness friends!

Obviously, many more stories to come, in the mean time I just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas! Be loving to your friends, family and all those you come to meet. Most of all, be joyful!
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