A/N: Thank you so much for the warm response to the first chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy.

Chapter 2

The next few hours flew by, as the POstables labored to clear their boxes of damaged mail and attempt to find their proper destinations. When they weren't all working in concert, it seemed a much more bustling, disjointed place, and they inevitably got in each other's way to reach resources on opposite ends of the DLO. At one point, Oliver and Shane very nearly ran headlong into one another in their haste—Shane with a letter to deposit into the vacuum tube, Oliver on his way to the mini-fridge. They paused just in time, Oliver reaching out to steady her and stop the collision.

"Pardon me, Ms. McInerney," he exclaimed.

"No, excuse me, Mr. O'Toole."

She felt the heat of his hands on her upper arms, even through her blouse. He didn't let go of her right away, and her eyes flew to his, her heart picking up speed as it usually did at his touch. He realized what he was doing a beat too late for strict propriety and dropped his hands. He moved one way to pass by, while she moved in the same direction, once again moving into his path. They each tried again in the opposite way, with the same result. While Oliver appeared flustered, Shane appeared amused.

"Shall we dance?" she asked drolly.

"But there's no mus—right." He heaved an agitated sigh as he realized she was teasing. "I'll go to my right and you go to yours."

They successfully passed each other without further incident, but Shane smiled for several minutes afterwards. The work and the momentary comic relief had gone a long way toward soothing her anger with Oliver. The fact that he was wearing her favorite blue suit was certainly helping to cool her ire. She was finally able to think clearly enough to consider what had made Oliver behave as he had at dinner.

All roads certainly led to his ex-wife and his mother, two self-centered women who hadn't seen past their own selfish desires to appreciate what a wonderful person Oliver was. And so he'd been uncertain about Shane, about everything with regard to relationships. His heart wanted more from her, which explained his valentine invitation, but he was also still gun-shy, which explained his reluctance to call her more than a friend and to hesitate about calling a date a date. The fact that this was the third time he'd disappointed her like this was what had really frustrated her. The first had been the cancellation of their long ago showcase performance. The second had been when he'd castigated her friendship after she'd found Holly in Paris.

Still, understanding and avoiding feeling hurt were two different things. Shane was beginning to feel ashamed that she'd felt the need to punish him somehow, to offer a tangible separation to prove the point that he really did need her, that he wasn't really hurting her by pushing her away. An obvious lie, but she'd felt childishly vengeful and stubborn herself. Maybe that was why they weren't meshing well—they were too much alike when it came to admitting they were wrong.

These thoughts, along with her research on the computer, made time go by quickly, so that it was after noon before she remembered lunch, and only when Rita hesitantly approached her.

"I'm a bit hungry," said Rita, unsure whether the bet included lunch breaks. "Do you mind if I grab a quick bite?"

"Of course not. I'm so sorry. You go ahead. I'll keep working."

"You have to eat, Ms. McInerney," said Oliver, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping from his desk. "As your immediate supervisor, I order you to take a break."

Rita wisely beat a hasty retreat, as Shane turned her attention to Oliver, her eyebrows up at his haughty expression. "Pulling rank on me, Oliver?" she asked coldly.

She glanced over at Norman, who called to Oliver that he was going to lunch and practically flew past them to escape the gathering storm.

"Yes, I believe I just made that clear."

"Huh. That's very out of character."

"What exactly do you mean?" he asked. He walked stiffly across the office to her workstation.

Shane got up from her stool to stand before him. "That's part of our problem, isn't it? You never seem to say what you mean, so everyone around you has to guess and either risk offense or being offended."

"Perhaps if people paid just as much attention to my actions as to my words…"

"Ok, well let's do that," she offered, with a hint of angry condescension. "You make me a valentine, but you don't follow up on it. You take me out to dinner, but you act like you'd rather be anywhere else; you don't eat the dessert I ordered for you, and when you walk me to my door, you awkwardly shake my hand. So, taking out all the hurtful things you said that evening, how do you suppose I should interpret those actions?"

Taken aback at her renewed ire, Oliver blinked once, trying to process that painfully accurate summary of his recent overtures. After a moment, he swallowed, then visibly attempted to pull himself together.

"Firstly, I already explained my reasoning surrounding the missing valentine. I was trying to be a gentleman and leave it to you whether to respond or not. Secondly, that whole dinner was awkward because I was taken off guard by the things you said, about how much you'd frequented Montaldo's with other men, or how you assumed you knew me better than you did by stating to the waitress that I had no allergies. Then, of course, was the unexpected, rather loud dinner show, which was not what I'd had in mind for the evening. I'd wanted quiet conversation, not a Broadway production. My fault, I suppose, for not doing more research, but there you have it. I was taken off guard—I'm sure you've surmised that I am not a fan of surprises."

"Well, if I wasn't aware of this before, I certainly am now. Note to self: Oliver O'Toole does not like spontaneity. Got it."

They stared at each other, hurt, disappointment, and annoyance all warring within them. The air was once again redolent with strained silence until Shane could no longer bare it. Abruptly, she turned away from him and walked over to her desk to retrieve her purse.

"It seems I've been commanded to eat lunch. I'll be back in an hour."

"Shane—" he began, his voice sounding suddenly desperate. But she pointedly ignored him and strode toward the door, while Oliver helplessly watched her leave. After a moment, he went back to his desk, sitting down heavily. For the first time in a long time, he longed for a shot of good single malt scotch.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the day passed in heavy silence, the feuding pair resolutely trying to focus on their work and winning the bet, although some of the fire that had compelled them that morning had been extinguished by their wounded coldness. Norman and Rita looked longingly across the DLO at one another. It was like Mom and Dad were fighting, and they, the youngsters in the house, had no idea how to make it better. They'd begun to surreptitiously text one another, muting their phones and looking slyly toward their teammates to be sure they weren't observed fraternizing, albeit by text.

Rita: I hate this.

Norman: Me too.

Rita: I wish there was something we could do.

Norman: Maybe if we could find a way to get them alone together. In the movies, stalled elevators and locked industrial freezers always work.

Rita: Too bad we aren't in a supermarket, and I have no idea how to stall an elevator, do you?

Norman: No . How about we write them letters to meet somewhere, making it look like the letters came from each other?

Rita: Good ideas, Norman, but those things only work in the movies. It breaks my heart to see them this way. I think Divine Intervention is the only thing that will fix this.

Norman: I suppose you're right. Hey, speaking of movies, they're playing The Parent Trap at the Vintage Theatre downtown tonight…

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

When Oliver looked up from his desk at 5:30, it was to see with dismay that everyone had already left but him. If they'd said good bye, he hadn't even heard them, so preoccupied with his own heavy thoughts was he. Despite having his team around him all day, he'd felt decidedly lonely and isolated, and the idea of going home to an empty house bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He hadn't felt this way since after Holly had left, in those dark days before Shane had come and lightened up his life again.

He picked up his phone and called his dad.

They met at a steakhouse closer to Joe's home, where they were less likely to run into anyone Oliver knew. Joe of course knew immediately something was upsetting his sensitive son, and he'd rightly surmised it was Shane.

"What's going on, Son?" he asked, watching worriedly as Oliver nursed his double shot of expensive whiskey.

"Two guesses," Oliver replied morosely.

Joe grimaced. "I'm guessing woman problems."

"Got it in one." And Oliver lifted his glass in sardonic salute.

"So, what happened with Shane?"

Oliver sighed. "You'll be pleased to know I finally got her to a restaurant last Saturday, but things did not go well. I misunderstood her, she misconstrued me, and when I might have rectified things when I walked her to her door, I chickened out and shook her hand instead of kissing her. It was an unmitigated disaster, Dad, and I fear there will never be a second date."

"Oh no. Surely she will have forgiven you by now. Shane is a kindhearted woman, reasonable and empathetic. Have you apologized?"

Oliver stared sheepishly into his glass.

"Oliver! Well, no wonder she's still upset with you."

"That isn't the worst of it though. I was actually working myself up to an apology this morning, but she made it perfectly clear that she was totally put off by the male sex, that she was no longer interested in dating anyone, and made a bet that she could do her work at the DLO better and faster than a man could. Of course, she meant me in particular."

"Wow." Joe chuckled softly and shook his head before taking a sip of his beer. "You really did a number on her. Obviously you two can't go on this way. What are you going to do about it?"

"Why, win the bet, of course."

Joe frowned. "Oliver—"

"Well, she seems to need some sort of retribution to make herself feel better, but I will not succumb to feminine capriciousness and let her win. I won't make that mistake again."

They were silent a few moments, Joe's brain working to find the best way to give advice to his stubborn son without hurting his feelings or making him more frustrated than he was. Their server arrived with their steaks, baked potatoes, and asparagus, and by the time Oliver was cutting into his filet mignon, he seemed to have settled down somewhat.

"You know," Joe began conversationally, "In my experience, a woman doesn't get that upset if she doesn't care about you. And judging by that double you just drank, I'd say you feel the same way about her."

"I do, Dad. Very much. So much in fact, it's scaring the life out of me."

"So you're putting up roadblocks to save yourself some pain; I get it. But you're never going to find someone unless you take a chance and put yourself out there. You hurt Shane's feelings, and I'm confident a sincere apology would go a long way with her."

"I feel I'm owed an apology too, after everything she said this morning."

Joe shrugged. "If we love someone, sometimes, for the sake of the relationship, we apologize first. We forgive first. If you want to be with her, you might just have to bite the bullet here. Who knows? It might be worth it. She might be worth it."

Oliver reluctantly had to admit to himself that his father might be right. Shane wasn't Holly, after all. She lacked Holly's basic self-centeredness, her flighty behavior. But there were other things that worried him about her, and he wondered if perhaps it was his own fear, his own faults, that made him think the worst of Shane.

"There's another part to this wager of ours," he said. "If I lose, she gets to ask me three questions that I must answer."

Joe laughed in admiration. "That's sneaky of her. What do you suppose she'll ask you, provided you lose, of course."

"That's the terrifying part. I suspect she'll ask me to admit my feelings."

Joe gave an exaggerated shudder. "Oh my."

Oliver smiled in spite of himself. "Now if I win, I have some things I'd like to know about her."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like…" His mind suddenly drew a blank. "Come to think of it, I don't actually know what I'll ask. There are so many things about her that baffle me."

"If a woman mystifies you, Son, she'll keep you guessing the rest of your life, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. It certainly means she will never bore you. I suggest you start making a list; you might never get that chance again, and you definitely want to be prepared."

"Do you think you could help me?"

"Of course."

Oliver took his grandfather's pen from his inside breast pocket, then removed the small paper napkin from beneath his drink. Determinedly, he wrote: #1.

A/N: If you've noticed shades of "Higher Ground" in this chapter, it's no coincidence (and there might be more references ahead). Even though that was my favorite SSD episode ever, and it was perfection itself, remember, this is an alternate universe, where I'm exploring another way Shane and Oliver might have gotten together. I hope you like where this is going. More soon. Thanks for reading.