By the time Reese got back up to her room, Alex, thankfully, was gone. She rushed to make her bed, then decided to just rip all her sheets off and throw them in the washer, shivering unpleasantly the entire time.

    How could she have let last night happen?

Alex. She slept with Alex. Drunk, and of course it had meant nothing, but he didn't know that. Tom didn't know that.

God, everything was so mixed up. She hadn't expected Tom to come back so soon, a small part of her not really expecting him to come back at all. She knew she'd treated him horribly, and she knew none of those articles were his fault, but it had chilled her to the bone to come to the realization that someone had been hiding in the bushes and snapping pictures of them on their run.

She started the washer and ran back upstairs, this time veering left and into her father's room. He was still asleep in his bed (it seemed to be all he wanted to do these days), and she tidied up a bit before slipping back out again.

Reese knew she was just cleaning to keep busy. So she wouldn't have to face Tom right away, though it hardly made any difference if he was living with her again. Finally, she worked up the courage to get halfway down the stairs, before chickening out and locking herself in the bathroom to take a shower.

Twenty minutes later, she was surprised to find Tom sitting at the table, stroking the head of one of the cats. Wordlessly, she strode past him, the cat leaping down and following her to the pantry, where she tore open a can of wet food and placed it on the floor.

"Reese?" Tom asked quietly. She looked up reluctantly, unsure whether she could bear to meet his gaze. "Is it okay I'm here?"

"What?"

"You still seem... angry."

Reese ran a hand down her face and walked over to the table, pulling out a chair across from him. "No, Tom... God no. I'm not mad, I have no reason to be. I'm such an ass, for kicking you out, really, I'm sorry."

Tom chuckled and reached out to take her hand. She looked up, still scared, somehow to take in his face, his tired eyes, kind smile. She didn't deserve someone like him.

"I understand, Reese," he murmured. "I supposed I'm used to it enough, but I know it's strange, having pictures of you taken like that."

"I'm sorry," she said again, and as Tom reached up to cup her cheek, she leaned into him, grabbing his wrist gently. "I just... panicked."

A floorboard creaked on the stairs behind them, and Reese looked up to see her father, cane in hand, slumped against the railing. "Bad time?" he croaked, and she pushed herself to her feet, laughing.

"No, dad, of course not. We were just about to make breakfast." Reese broke away, straightening herself up. Tom nodded and followed her up the stairs to help her father down the last few steps and into the dining room. He shook them off as they reached the table, ushering them back into the kitchen, assuring them that, despite his frail appearance, he was perfectly capable of sitting in a chair on his own.

Without much thought, Reese ducked under the sink and pulled out a large pan, dumping it on the stove and going back under for a spatula.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked, leaning languidly against the doorframe as he eyed her curiously.

    "Pancakes," she said, brushing past him to get to the fridge. "I need to make breakfast."

In one swift movement, Tom reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her away from the counter. He tugged the carton of milk out of her left hand, and the eggs out of her right.

"I'll help," was all he said, smiling warmly. Instead of objecting, Reese just nodded her thanks, knowing it would be fruitless, and, honestly, she could use the help.

As Tom stirred the eggs, flour, and milk together, Reese heated up the pan, dumping a pad of butter and swirling it around. It crackled and sizzled, and she stuck her head back into the dining room to check on her father, who'd become entranced with a piece of wood sticking up from the table. She chuckled a little and stepped back into the kitchen, only to be met head-on by a thick cloud of flour. She coughed and sputtered, swiping the air until she felt the solidness of Tom standing in front of her. He was laughing loudly and she smacked him with all the energy she could muster, glaring through watery eyes.

"What the hell was that?" Reese spat, indignantly brushing her front.

"I'm just trying to cheer you up," he chuckled, wiping his floury hands on his pants. Without breaking eye contact, Reese marched up to the bag of flour, took a powdery handful, and on tiptoes dumped the whole thing on his head. The curls on top deflated pitifully and Tom's hands jumped to his hair, spilling flour down over his face.

"There, now are you feeling better?" Reese grumbled, resuming her spot at the stove. She kept her back to him as she poured the batter in, but knew he was shaking his head begrudgingly over the sink. "You better wash that after you're done," she called over her shoulder.

She'd already finished five or six pancakes by the time Tom appeared at her side again, a towel slung around his shoulders, his dark hair still stained white. She grinned at him and tousled it. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he muttered. "I thought it was super funny."

"Oh, good," she said, flipping the pancake, "it's nice to know someone can appreciate my humor." Adding it to the pile, she handed Tom the plate and gestured to the dining room with her head. "Bring this out to dad, will you?"

He rolled his eyes but took it and sauntered out, letting the door swing shut behind him. Reese watched him go, hips swaying, flour stuck to the back of his neck and shirt. She watched until the smell of burnt pancake filled her nose and she had to scrape the batch into the garbage, cursing quietly to herself.

As they picked away at their breakfast, Tom scrolled lazily through the responses posted about the new caretaker, face lax, obviously not overly excited about any one person.

"Any luck?" Reese asked, taking a sip of her coffee. He shook his head and Reese sighed. She'd expected as much.

"But, fuck, there's a lot of weirdos out there." Despite her disappointment, she laughed, and Tom shot her a satisfied grin. "We'll keep looking though, don't worry."

"Why don't you just stay, Reese?" asked her father, smiling at her through his thin beard. It was dark, speckled with gray, but the hair on his head was already much lighter; they seemed, two completely different colors, like they'd been taken from separate people and stuck on him in a hurry.

Reese shook her head. "I can't dad," she sighed. "I need to get back home, get another job. I've put my life on hold to come up here, and we need to get someone to care for you so I can get back." He smiled knowingly at her and took a sip of his tea.

"I understand, sweetie," he said over his mug. Reese just nodded but reached out to take his hand, which was much frailer than the hand of someone his age should be.

"Oh, wait," said Tom suddenly, leaning in closer to his computer. "Here's someone..."

Reese pulled her hand back and scooted her chair so she could look over his shoulder. "You found one?" she asked excitedly.

"Young woman, says she's in her early thirties... just moved into the area... looking for a full-time job..." Tom read, scanning the page quickly. "We should do more research, but it wouldn't hurt to have her in for an interview, would it?"

Reese grinned and shook her head. "Definitely not." She watched as he scribbled down her phone number on a scrap piece of paper, then sat back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. "I hope this works," he muttered, more to himself than anything, and took another large gulp from his mug.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun climb higher in the sky until Reese's father excused himself to go sit on the porch for a bit to bird watch. "Yell when you need help getting dressed!" she called after him. He just raised a hand in acknowledgment and took to the stairs, his cane wobbling the whole way up.

She saw Tom eyeing her carefully, taking in the exchange from behind his coffee. She met his gaze and was surprised when he didn't drop it as she did. "What?" she asked sharply. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Where's Alex?" he asked suddenly. His voice was inquisitive but his eyes seemed to narrow like he'd already suspected the answer.

Reese felt her heart skip a beat.

"He, ah, left," she answered shortly. She didn't elaborate until Tom tilted his head, obviously confused. "He said... he found a job somewhere and that he needed to go..so..."

"Without saying goodbye?"

She shrugged. "He wanted to leave quickly, I guess. Didn't want to cause us any more trouble."

Though Tom didn't look entirely convinced, he accepted her explanation and sat back, crossing his legs in front of him. She found herself staring at them. They seemed to wind around each other for miles and miles before stopping at his shiny black shoes. His pant legs always seemed to be a little too short too, even though they were nice slacks a lot of the time like they'd been tailored just for him.

She'd caught herself watching him more and more if she was being completely honest. His crazy long legs were just one of the many things her eyes would linger on, sometimes much longer than the situation called for. She'd stare at his bouncy curls (God, he had the hair of a genetically blessed thirteen-year-old boy), chin, jaw, kind eyes. And his voice. A voice that she'd like to bathe herself in.

And he was sweet, and he was kind, probably one of the kindest people she'd ever met. You didn't meet people like that anymore.

"Now you're the one staring," said Tom quietly, tearing her from her thoughts. He watched, amused, as she stood up rather abruptly, busying herself with clearing up the dishes.

"What's there to stare at?" she muttered under her breath as she brushed past him and into the kitchen. She blasted the tap as she rinsed the dishes to drown out Tom's thundering laughter, cursing herself under her breath as she went.

As she worked, her she let her mind drift back to Alex, and the drunken night they'd spent together, and shivered unpleasantly. He'd known she was drunk. He'd known, and still, he let her kiss him. She remembered that much.

Still, there was something else too... something that had made her spine turn to ice. Had it been something she'd said? Something Alex had said? Her memory got fuzzy sometime after he'd discarded her robe, along with her dignity. Unable to recall, she pushed it to the back of her mind and scrubbed angrily at a bit of stuck on food.

She'd been so deep in thought, she nearly jumped out of her skin as Tom burst through the kitchen doors, phone out, talking in excited waves.

"I've called the girl, Lily's her name, set up an interview. She'll be by tomorrow at twelve -- I hope that works for you-"

He stopped talking when he saw Reese staring at him, and raised his eyebrows quizzically. "If it doesn't..." he said, "I can call and tell her-"

"No, Tom, it's great, thank you," she squeaked. Her face had gone white as a sheet, and she slowly turned off the water, gave Tom a shaky smile, and backed out of the room.

Once upstairs, shut tightly in her bedroom, Reese sank down onto her bed.

    She'd said his name. With Alex, she'd said Tom's name. His mouth on her neck, dirty hands groping her chest, she'd said his name.

Why?

She groaned, face burning, and buried herself under her covers, thankful Tom hadn't come tried to come after her.