The chopper was steady, which was obviously a good thing, considering neither of them were wearing seatbelts at the time. Gavin slid the doors closed on both sides of the helicopter and opened one of the cubicles.

"Does it hurt?" he looked at Aimee.

She nodded, tried to move her hand off the wound, but quickly glued it back to her side. Gavin neared her slowly and bent down on one knee. He slid his forearms under her back and thighs and carried her into the crammed cubicle. It was horribly uncomfortable at first, but when Gavin pressed his back against a certain point on the wall it retracted along with the shelves, joining the two cubicles together.

"Wish you would've taught me that before," croaked Aimee.

She smiled, but her face did not read a cheery teenage girl. Gavin noticed how unhealthy she looked, like she had been starved until weak, but he returned a smile, to save her from worry. He spread her out on the floor carefully, and then he removed his light grey jacket and jade green top. He rarely wore his RDA uniform to begin with, and now he was just peeling it off; Aimee was trying so hard to look away.

Of course he has a six pack, she thought, as though it was her kryptonite.

Gavin lifted her blouse reverentially, to just above her wound, and used his shirt to douse the blood. It was not like she was bleeding a river, but it was messy.

"Better?" he asked, applying a little pressure.

"Yes," she said. "Thanks, Gavin."

He smiled at her, but it faded briefly as he made a pained face at her wound. "What if I try to remove the bullet?" he queried. "I can see it."

A smile returned to his face, but this one was a convincing, I-promise-it-will-be-painless smile. At first, Aimee only ogled him, but quickly agreed that it was the right thing to do. Either way, Gavin would do it. He put his shirt on the ground and examined the wound, the gold that shined through the red blood. Was it real gold? That was irrelevant, but it might have been – the AIM organisation was filthy rich. The piece of the bullet that faced Gavin was its side, which was an awkward position for a bullet to be in, but that meant it would be easy to remove. Gavin pressed his middle finger and index finger on Aimee's skin, on each side of the bullet. He used some necessary force to squeeze it between his fingers and push it out, and he then successfully grasped it with his thumb and index finger. Aimee bit her lip once or twice, but her bleeding slowed.

Suddenly, she became aware of Gavin, and how he had glanced at her every now and again. His enigmatic eyes, like galleries filled with canvasses, paintings that were sometimes sad, sometimes joyful, and sometimes emanated emptiness. Aimee pondered what he was thinking; he was so difficult to read. Was he sad? He had no reason to be, but he did not seem as optimistic as she was about her bullet being unattached from her side. She was staring at him, and he realised.

"What?" he chuckled.

"Nothing," she removed her eyes from him. "I was –"

A beep interrupted her. It was loud enough to obtain Gavin's focus. He glanced in the direction of the helicopter's dashboard, and then back at Aimee.

"That's Buckley," he somewhat explained. "Will you be okay here?" he asked in a gentle whisper.

She replied with a nod, and he stood up and headed to the control panel. Aimee waited for him to reach it, before she attempted to ease herself up. But her wound, though relatively small, was stinging. She yanked Gavin's shirt from the floor and pressed it against her wound, it hurt less that way. She sat upright, her back to the wall, before gaining the courage to stand up. At that moment, her ears zoned in on the talking at the head of the plane – Gavin's voice and Buckley's voice. Gavin was expounding to him how he had rescued her, and he was vigilant not to mention anything about her accident.

"I'm bringing her back now," he informed the others. "No AIM bodies on the radars, I think you can send your fleet home."

"Alright," replied Buckley, "bring the girl over to GINM."

"She has a name," he uttered, but Buckley did not reply, and soon he realised he was talking to himself. "It's Aimee," he murmured in a discouraged voice.

Their call had been audible to all the GINM agents that were currently airborne, Stefan included. For a moment, his eyes glued themselves to his lap as his hands had to the steering joystick. He was overjoyed that Aimee was safe, but he could not bring himself to smile. He wanted to be her hero.

"Gavin," he addressed him. "How do you always know exactly where Aimee is?"

Gavin was quiet for a while, but replied, "Morning to you, too, Stefan. And it was my pleasure saving your girlfriend from Abba's claws."

"I know it was, Gavin," he joked. "Answer my question, please?"

They carried on with each other like quarrelling siblings would, and the one had no idea how much the other valued the similarity.

The third time Stefan's question arose, all Gavin could muster was an uncertain "Uh," before he was distracted by a thud from behind him. "Aimee, why are you standing up?"

Her elbow had bumped the cubicle's doorframe in an endeavour to avoid falling over. She was on her way to Gavin, but she became strangely light-headed.

"Aimee? Wait, Gavin I wanna talk to – buzz."

He disconnected from Stefan and the other agents and hurried to Aimee's side.

"You know you should be resting," he said, holding her left hand with his and placing the other on her shoulder. "That means you should be lying down," he fretted.

"I'm fine as long as I don't move too quickly," she assured him, using her elbow to push her body up off the doorframe, her pillar. "Let's go sit in front."

She started walking, groggily, towards the front of the chopper, but Gavin placed his hands upon both of her shoulders, and propped her up with her back against the wall, "Whoa, before getting you bandaged up? Don't move."

"Okay," she nodded and obeyed, too dizzy to do otherwise.

There was a first aid cabinet on the wall perpendicular to her, the one she had sat against prior to being carried into the cubicle. She viewed as Gavin opened and closed the cabinet swiftly. He returned with a pouch in his left hand, the typical first aid red with a mini white cross on the front. Gavin zipped it open and pulled out one large bandage roll. He neared her and raised her top, again to a courteous height, as she removed his shirt from her wound. He held her blouse up with the back of his hand while grabbing the bandage roll and wrapping her abdomen with the other hand.

Aimee came off of the wall to make the process easier for him, but they were soon so close to each other that she could smell his cologne.

Oh, I hope I don't stink, she thought. What, why do I even care? Maybe then he'll stop standing so close to me. He smells so good, though. What? "Could you hurry up with that, please?" she queried as politely as she could manage with her rattled mind. "You've only gone around me twice," she smiled shyly.

"Oh, sorry," he glanced at her for a second. "I was trying not to hurt you."

"Well... the sooner you're done, the sooner I can put a seatbelt on. I have chopper phobia," she kidded.

"Chopper phobia?" he made a face. "Like the propellers? Because they're at the top of the chopper," he joked.

"I just got shot in the side and you're making jokes about my phobias?"

"Are you being serious?" he asked, slightly worried.

"Well, it's not a constant fear... but I would feel much better if it wasn't on autopilot," she smiled, and Gavin realised that she was jesting with him.

He laughed, and slowly took in her expression. Already, she was less pale and more like that cheery teenage girl. The rosy life returned to Aimee's cheeks and she was beautiful, and if they were in a movie, this would be the scene where they had their first kiss. But the only thing more powerful than the attraction Gavin felt towards her was the thought of Stefan, of loyalty, and he snapped out of it.

"Don't worry; you'll be in North Hills soon. You just sit back here and rest, I'll sit with you." If not for Aimee's injury, he would have contemplated sitting away from her instead.

Gavin grabbed a pair of scissors from the red pouch and used them to cut the bandage, and he tucked the end piece between Aimee's skin and the other bandaging. He shoved the kit back into the cabinet and walked Aimee into the cubicle again. He sat down with her, helping her when she needed it. She thanked him once more for rescuing her and fixing her up, but he was suddenly distant.

"My pleasure," he said, before turning his head away, and becoming the instigator of sitting in silence.

They were at Aimee's home in a few minutes. The autopilot landed on the road in front of the house. Gavin hopped up and opened the doors, and then he carried Aimee and dropped out of the chopper. His feet touched the ground and she observed her home in front of her. She looked at the broken bay window that let light into her room, and then she ogled the empty driveway.

"Aren't we supposed to be at GINM?" she asked in the form of a whisper.

"I thought you might wanna get dressed or something first," Gavin let her down carefully and closed the chopper doors while she examined her clothing.

"Oh my gosh!" her eyes brightened. "Well then we shall be quick."

She walked along, speedily paced, and Gavin followed her up to the front door. Aimee knocked, out of habit, maybe. No one was home, she knew that, and she did not intend on waiting for someone to invite her in. Also, the door was unlocked.

Clifford, you brilliant man! she thought.

She and Gavin went upstairs, and she asked him to wait outside the bathroom while she took a not-so-fast shower. Minutes passed.

"Are you done yet?" he called through the door.

"Almost, I'm washing my hair!" she said.

"Do you need anything from your room?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "Don't go into my room!"

A smile crossed Gavin's face. "Okay," he said, and waited some more.

Aimee closed the taps and wrapped herself in her yellow towel. She opened the door slowly, so that it would not collide with Gavin. But he stood at a distance, leaning against the wall opposite her, already watching her before she had fully exited the bathroom.

"How's your wound?" he asked.

"Better," she blushed, "it's not as big as I thought it was."

He shrugged, "Sorry?"

Aimee chortled at that remark. Gavin's eyes followed the beads of water dripping from her soaked hair as she walked into her bedroom. He was left in the corridor again.

"I'll be quick this time!" she tested from inside.

She found her phone under her pillow. She was hoping that Molly and Clifford had called, but they had not even left as much as a message for her, so she put her phone down on her homework desk. She donned her lotion, under-garments, loose burgundy blouse, black leggings and ankle boots. She then tucked her phone into the convenient pocket in her blouse before standing at the mirror, combing through her hair with her fingers. Then an amalgamation of doubt and dread rushed through her.

"Do you think my parents realised I was gone?"

"What do you mean? Sure they did," said Gavin.

"Because my door wasn't even open and usually they'll come into my room and check on me, especially on a school day," her voice began to break. "I should be at school right now, I never miss school and it's Thursday. The team practises on Thursdays. What if everyone just thought I was sick and didn't... and didn't even bother checking in on me?"

She was crying. Gavin heard it in her faintly muffled words. He let himself in and swiftly hugged her from behind. Her wet hair met his bare shoulder, but he ignored the cold. His arms traversed over her ribcage and his hands held her arms tightly. She thought of squeezing his forearms with her dripping wet fingers, but she was paralysed by surprise. Gavin watched her reflection, caught the smell of her fragrant shampoo and conditioner and fully grasped the girl in the mirror.

"You are so beautiful," he said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She looked into the mirror, could not believe that he had said that. She thought he might have said it to stop her from crying – it worked. Either that or she was totally imagining things. She would have asked him to repeat it, just to make sure, but he carried on.

"And thanks for saving me," he said, wearing a smile.

"Wow," uttered Aimee, "thank you. My pleasure... I mean, you too... I mean... we should get to GINM now," her cheeks reddened more at each pause in her sentences.

"Okay, let's get out of here," he agreed, removing himself from her.

She smiled, even as her mind awkwardly processed their intimate hug. Truthfully, Gavin had made Aimee feel better, but only for so long. She was worried about her parents – her foster parents... and maybe even her real ones. Gavin tilted his head at her for a moment. He could see through her smile that she was not yet okay.

He helped her into the helicopter. She climbed in like a robot. She had barely noticed her actions, or that she was already inside until Gavin was on her left, strapping her in. She jolted, startled by the hand that was suddenly in front of her. She glanced in his direction as he fell backward into his seat, strapping himself in, too.

The engine mumbled and they took flight. In a minute, they had lowered onto the helipad on the roof of GINM. They climbed out and Gavin had to shut their doors because Aimee almost literally had her head in the clouds, they were so high up! She had no idea GINM was a skyscraper; from the ground it looked like and average sized apartment block. Somehow, they were able to camouflage the extra stories. The agents that had been airborne were long back by then. There were multiple choppers on the roof, but Aimee and Gavin were the only people in sight. They entered the elevator and rode it down to the eighth floor. Agents swarmed in the building once again. Gavin guided Aimee through the crowd and to Buckley's office. She followed him, not knowing where they were, other than in a sea of people. When they arrived at Buckley's office door, Aimee instantly became aggravated. She stopped as soon as she saw the alder wood doorframe to his office.

"I'm not talking to him, Gavin."

He turned around and looked at her. "No one's happy with him right now. But he wants to talk to you. I'm sure he has something important to say," he halted. "Okay, I take that back, but you still have to talk to him."

"I don't have to," she stated. "He isn't the boss of me; I'm not an agent."

"But you're important," he said firmly, creasing his eyebrows. "More than you know," he softened his expression.

With awkward discomfort and without another word, Gavin walked off. He was gone so quickly that some part of Aimee already felt as though he was never there. Her eyes trailed him until he disappeared into the crowd, until she was forced to enter Buckley's office alone. A clenched jaw, a gulp rolling down her throat, she went in.