The characters in this fanfic are not my creations but belong to their original author, Jess Cantrell, author of the Gray Matter Series.

While I strive to remain true to my perception of these characters, I may occasionally write pieces that could seem out of character. Please read with grace.


Stephen sat in the modest apartment, the evening light casting a warm, amber glow over his small sitting room. With a sigh of relief, he sank into his worn chair, feeling the tension of the week finally ebb away. The copy of the morning paper lay spread out before him, a rare luxury he was savoring. Most days, between patient visits and hospital rounds, he barely had time to glance at the headlines.

Today, however, had been a welcome exception. The upcoming holiday had led to an early cessation of patient visits, granting him a brief respite. The prospect of spending a few quiet hours with a paper and a cup of tea was an indulgence he'd come to cherish.

As Stephen relaxed, he felt the heaviness of his eyelids. Exhaustion had caught up with him, and he drifted off to sleep, the soft rustling of the newspaper the only sound breaking the silence. The sun's descent was marked by the changing hues of the room, from golden yellow to dusky pink.

Meanwhile, Grey's day had been far less forgiving. The demands of his job at the newspaper kept him busier than anticipated. By the time he finally emerged from the office, the late afternoon had given way to evening. Noticing Stephen sprawled in his chair, Grey took it upon himself to find something substantial to eat.

He made his way to the pantry, a small, cramped space filled with basic provisions. He examined the shelves with a resigned expression, finding only the bare essentials: a heel of bread, jam – he could make his 6th jam sandwich for that week. Cabbage, no. Potatoes, what to do with them. Salted liver, no. Salted fish of some sort, no. Eggs, maybe? The cupboard was somehow adequately filled, but somehow empty at the same time.

Deciding to rouse Stephen from his nap, Grey approached his friend and gently tapped him on the shoulder. "I'm heading out to the hotel restaurant for dinner. Care to join me?"

Stephen blinked awake, stretching his arms with a groan. "That sounds like a welcome change. This week's meals have been… sparse. I'm looking forward to something more substantial."

"I think we both could benefit from a proper meal."

Both men donned their coats and hats, and Grey locked the door behind them. They made their way down the street, through the shop, and into the bustling thoroughfare. The city of Denver was expanding rapidly, with new businesses cropping up along once-busy roads. The area they were traversing was a testament to the city's growth, a burgeoning district that would soon be part of Denver's suburban spread.

As they walked, Grey provided directions. "The hotel is just down the street and three blocks over."

"Hmmm, we should be nearing it," Stephen mused, scanning the surroundings. He was struck by how quickly the city was evolving, with new establishments and residential areas springing up seemingly overnight.

Suddenly, a voice called out from across the street. "Mr. Halevy!"

Grey turned with a smile. "Ah, Stephen, there's someone I'd like you to meet. Let's cross when it's clear."

They navigated across the street, carefully avoiding a wobbly automobile that seemed intent on veering off course. "One of those days, someone is going to get hit." Stephen shook his head as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

"Stephen, this is Dr. Dana Whitechurch," Grey introduced with a grin. "She's my physician."

Dana, mid-painting her property fence and the arch over the entry gate, had whitewash splattered across her arms, her skirt, and notably, her cheek. Her appearance was far from the polished professional Stephen had seen in her office a few weeks prior. Her once-pristine white blouse was now a canvas of splattered white paint.

"Mr. Halevy, it seems you have a talent for seeing me in less-than-ideal circumstances," Dana said with a wry smile, attempting to brush off some of the whitewash from her cheek.

"Seeing is an intriguing word to me," Grey bantered swiping his hand in front of his blank face.

Stephen chuckled, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Whitechurch. It appears you're in the midst of quite an involved project."

Dana nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yes, I've been at it for a while. I hope you don't mind the state of things."

Stephen shook his head, "Not at all. It's actually a nice change from the sterile environment of the hospital."

Dana placed the whitewash brush into its bucket and wiped her hands on a rag. "I didn't realize you were connected with Grey. It's always a pleasant surprise to meet people from my circle."

Stephen nodded, "Yes, Grey and I go way back. He's been a great help in getting me settled here. Actually, he's the one who secured my position at the hospital."

Dana's face lit up with a warm smile. "That's wonderful to hear. Mr. Halevy has been one of my most sympathetic patients. His stories about you have been quite entertaining; though when I met you at the office, I never suspected you were the Stephen."

"I'd prefer to be called less troublesome," Grey quipped, his grin widening.

Dana rolled her eyes playfully. "I've been treating Mr. Halevy since he first arrived in Denver. He's been a good sport about it."

"Well, if Grey says you're the best, I have no reason to doubt it," Stephen said, eyeing the unpainted part of the arch. "Would you like me to finish that section for you?"

Dana raised an eyebrow, "Can you reach it without a ladder?"

Stephen grinned. "I suppose being tall has its advantages."

Grey chimed in, "Stephen is somewhat of an anomaly—tall enough to reach things most people can't."

Dana laughed, "If it's not too much trouble, I'd be grateful for your help, but I insist that you have dinner with me tonight. I have food in the oven, and would feel much better about your doing my maintenance if I could return the favor." Dana insisted already mentally marking what she would need to prepare or ready for the two men.

Stephen and Grey exchanged glances, and Grey was quick to accept. "That sounds fair to me."

Dana nodded, "Once you're done with the arch, just put the can in the shed beside the house. The lid is inside, and then you can come in. I'll finish preparing the meal."

Stephen set to work, effortlessly reaching the higher parts of the arch. His movements were steady and practiced, and he soon had the section covered with fresh whitewash. As he worked, he could hear the faint sounds of Dana moving around inside the house—clattering dishes, the hum of an oven, and the occasional murmur of a song.

The sun had fully set by the time Stephen and Grey knocked on the door of Dana's Victorian style two story home and office. The interior was a cozy haven of warmth and comfort. Dana greeted them with a bright smile and led them through to the kitchen.

"I'm starving," Grey declared as he entered the kitchen, his eyes widening at the spread laid out before them.

"You didn't even do the work," Stephen grumbled, following Dana's directions.

"True, but I worked a full day, so it balances out," Grey retorted with a grin.

The kitchen was a vision of comfort, with a table set with an array of dishes. The centerpiece was a beautifully roasted chicken, surrounded by sides—fried potatoes, asparagus, and a few hastily prepared dishes that added a delightful variety to the meal.

Stephen and Grey wasted no time digging in, their appreciation evident in the satisfied murmurs that followed each bite. The meal was a marked improvement over their usual fare, and both men savored the experience.

As they ate, conversation flowed effortlessly. They discussed family, with Stephen recounting humorous anecdotes about Emma and Sinclair. Dana listened with amusement, her laughter ringing through the room as Stephen animatedly described Sinclair's more outrageous escapades.

Grey and Stephen played off each other's energy, their banter lively and engaging. Dana, who had appeared worn down in previous meetings, seemed revitalized by the evening's camaraderie. Her laughter was genuine, and her eyes sparkled with a renewed sense of joy. The evening was a refreshing change of pace for her, and she thoroughly enjoyed the company.

The conversation turned to more personal topics as the meal progressed. Dana shared stories of her own, recounting the challenges she faced in her medical practice and her experiences with various patients. Stephen and Grey listened intently, their interest piqued by Dana's candid and engaging storytelling.

As the night wore on, the fire in the hearth burned low, casting a soft, flickering glow over the room. Dana busied herself with clearing the dishes while Stephen and Grey lounged, their earlier appetite replaced by a comfortable contentment.

The grandmother clock in the sitting room struck ten, its chimes resonating through the house. Stephen rose from his seat, feeling a pang of regret at how quickly the evening had passed. "I apologize for keeping you so late. I didn't realize how much time had flown."

Dana waved off his concern with a smile. "It's no trouble at all. I'm glad we had the chance to get to know each other better. It's always a pleasure to have good company, Dr. Reyburn."

"Please, call me Stephen," he said with a smile.

"And I'm Dana," she replied, returning the warmth.

As they approached the door, Stephen reiterated his thanks. "Thank you for the wonderful meal, Dana. It was truly a delightful evening. Good night."

"Good night, Stephen."

Grey was just starting to say goodnight when the ground shook violently. The air was suddenly filled with a deafening explosion, rattling the windows and causing the room to tremble. The peaceful evening was shattered by the intense noise and the jarring impact of the explosion.