Author's note:

People, it's 3,111 words. It's not edited well. Please put up with it.

Levi nervously munched on one of William's bag of pretzels. Watching the confounding blonde with a French braid fixing breakfast was all he could do—though he couldn't deny he enjoyed watching her. She'd removed her white hoodie. William's apron around her slender waist and the way she moved around the small kitchen with grace. . .

He scowled in disapproval of the direction of his thoughts and emptied the whole bag into his mouth, disturbed and annoyed. He had no business thinking of her in ways apart from friendship. Besides, it wasn't like she came here just to see him. She was here for business. As she placed the dish of crisp bacon, two sunny side-up eggs, and two slices of toasted bread before him with a tall glass of some orange juice she found in the fridge, she sat herself opposite him on the kitchen counter.

"You're not eating?" he asked almost icily. He didn't get her whatsoever.

She entwined her slender fingers together, her face altering back to its strained appearance. She shook her head. "I can't stomach anything right now."

"You wanna tell me what's up?" he asked while busying himself with his dish. Taking a bite, he was pleasantly surprised. He realized he'd grown accustomed to William's burned everything.

Chris silently observed him. He'd re-shaved the sides of his head—and hadn't removed a single piercing but the one she'd removed, he hadn't replaced. She fought to keep a straight face as he wolfed down his meal and went for a second round. Her eyes wandered to his upper arm, wrapped snugly in a pristine bandage. Concern welled up at also the dark bruise on his jaw. Last night must have been hectic. Was that why he also looked sleep-deprived? "How was last night?"

His classic smirk on, his dark blue orbs met hers. "Loved it," he said with a hint of steely delight, eyes almost lighting up.

"So you were up all night playing the events over and over?" She'd meant it to be a teasing comment. She hadn't expected the shadow she saw pull over. His jaw clenched, his hand absently running over his dark brown broad strip of hair. She instantly regretted her words—even though she didn't understand how they'd affected him. His fingers travelling momentarily to his shoulder and his eyes turning vacant, she instantly thought he was in some discomfort. She reached over the counter and pulled the blue cotton t-shirt's neck back to reveal the bridge of his neck and shoulder. Her hand stilled. The gruesome circular scars stared back at her.

He took a sharp intake of breath, closing his hand around hers and setting it aside. Shame took her captive. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know it hurts," she poured, burying her shameful hands in her lap. What had she done?

"It doesn't," Levi growled. Only he knew what a lie that was. Her green orbs begged for pardon. He subconsciously reached for her hand, wanting to comfort her. "You didn't hurt me. I promise."

Chris met his eyes. How was it possible for the void to speak so loudly? "I opened up an old wound, didn't I?"

Old? Maybe. But had that wound ever dared to close and begin to heal? How many psychologists had he visited? How many nights had he been tormented? No, his wound was as raw as ever.

He hardly noticed Chris moving to his side.

"You can talk to me." Her British accent was down.

Her voice was a soothing balm. He almost did, her beautiful emerald eyes bordered by dark, long eyelashes, filled with concern, compassion—and something else. But he couldn't. She was such an innocent creature, proven by the way she'd turn crimson at the sight of his body. She wasn't of this world. How could he tell her his bullet-hole scars were just a stamp of assurance of his wretched self? How could he tell of the things he'd done that would make her blush furiously—and the things that would make her go ashen from disgust of him? His eyes absorbed her gentle yet drawing countenance. He cupped the side of her face, a hint of color seeping into her cheeks. He could open up a snippet of his burden. "I'm messed up bad, Chris." He retrieved his hand moments later.

She shrugged, yet not in indifference or dismissively. "Everyone's messed up bad." She paused for a moment. "And those are the types of people God wants to heal."

God.

He sighed. He'd heard all that for the major part of his life. He'd always had the mentality that he never needed Him. And if things went wrong, it was His fault. Wasn't God supposed to be in control? Why did everything seem to go out of control? His defenses rose, his jaw hard. He casted his sharp gaze on His follower. "Well, if He does heal, why does He also break?"

Chris felt like a deer in front of a car's headlights—cornered.

Lord, give me words. Give me words that will not rip him further.

She took a deep breath—and met his steady would-be intimidating gaze. Her hand rested upon his tanned, larger one. She shrugged. "God does allow us to break." She could almost feel the ice building. "But His healing leaves us better than we were before. Before His healing, we didn't know His power over sin, death, or even guilt."

Levi obstinately turned his gaze away. Chris felt like she was losing him. Oh, God, please soften his heart!

"Levi, He wants to take your burden away. But He won't do it without your consent."

"You didn't come here to talk about your Jesus," he whipped back.

The wall was back up.

Defeated, Chris swallowed her hopeless feeling and plunged in. "Well, Richard gave me a tour of their basement."

Suddenly all her anxiety piled back in, knotting up her insides. "He saw the wooden door we forced open. But he wasn't bothered—or so it seemed so. We walked down some passageway in the opposite direction."

Levi watched her face grow more ashen. He forced himself not to regret having changed the conversation. "Go on."

"He showed me everything."

Levi felt like an ice block had hit him. Either Kristal was awfully friendly with the villain until he laid his heart bare before her, or that scum had something up his sleeve.

Her eyes turned glazed. "He showed me the formula and even demonstrated his invention on a sealed glass box filled with field mice." The horror she'd seen replayed in her mind.

Some gas was released into the tank. Richard turned the temperature of the tank up to temperate. Less than a few seconds later, he said his invention had detonated. But all she saw was a tank strewn with death mice.

She dared ask him what he planned to do with such a grotesque weapon. She already had an idea. He neared her. She stepped back, but was obstructed from further movement by a table dressed in all sorts of chemistry contraptions. He lowered his lips to her ear, sending chills of horror up her spine. "Use your imagination, my dear," he whispered. "What do you think?" His blue eyes locked inches away from hers. He seemed to be reading—or trying to read whatever expression she had on. A sickening smile tugged his lips. He looked over her, the look of a hungry beast before its prey.

Why was she alone with him?

Capturing the small of her back, his mouth lowered. Slapping him was the default setting of her hand. His eyes burned with rage, her handprint on the side of his face. She ducked past him and hurried for the metal exit door.

His carefree laughter echoed behind her.

Levi felt like coals had been heaped on his ever blazing fire. How dare that—that gutter slime conceive in his mind the desire to make a move on her! "You should've not just slapped the dung," he spat to Chris, "You should've knocked him cold. I bet you have the ability."

Chris eyed him incredulously. "This isn't just about that!" Seriously, the only thing he'd heard was that heedlessly tossed piece of information? "Levi, he's planning something big—something big enough that he sees me as a suspect!"

Levi grinned at the look of horror on her lovely face—then sobered when her fist banged the counter, enough to rattle his empty plate. "How do you know he thinks you're a suspect?"

Chris tugged at the tail of her braid, and sighed. "Thomas told me the strangest thing. He said Richard had something for some woman named Pauline. He said she was oxygen when tested. 'Be carbon dioxide,' he said." A frown creased her brow. "He drew me into a bear hug and patted and drummed some sort of rhythm." Her green orbs lit up. "It was Morse code for 'watch'."

Levi raised a skeptical brow. "So he warned you?"

Her defenses rose. "He's not the devil incarnate." She moved on as his mouth opened most probably to object or make crude sarcastic remarks. "I have this weird feeling that I'm no longer some member of the staff anymore. And to add to it, I still had to go for an appointment for my dress—with this black Honda not too far off."

Dress. The word echoed in Levi's head. He had to stay logical. It wasn't like someone was inviting her for ballroom dancing. She wouldn't accept. "Oh? A dress for what occasion?" He tried sounding nonchalant.

Her head dropped to the counter. She groaned. "There's the other problem," she said, forehead against the hard surface. "I kinda accepted Richard's invitation to go to the classical music concert to be held at the museum of music." Her head flew up moments later, realization hitting her.

Meanwhile, Levi was busy trying to fight the boa constrictor of unfounded jealously from strangling him.

Chris leapt off her stool, and slapped her hands together. "He's planning it for the concert!" It was overwhelming. It all made sense! And if she was right, those Oswald Plumbers had already installed the deadly gas cylinders into the building. Her heart rate increased as the wave of it batted her. She placed her hands on the broad shoulders of the man who suddenly looked hewn. "Levi, he's planning it for the end of this month!"

Levi remembered Hans' words. Maybe she was truly smarter than met the eye. She was a mystery—he liked that.

"The cylinders are already at the building!" Her eyes glowed as he rose to his feet. "All that needs to be done is to remove them from the building before the day that the prime minister and other important citizens go there."

He put on a teasing skeptical frown. "How do you know all this?"

"That's a long story that started with an address written with lemon ink at the back of one of Greenwood's books about chemistry," she said in a carefree tone.

He understood the weight of the matter. And he would make sure the building got secretly inspected two days from now. And then somehow snuff out Greenwood somehow to stop any further troubles. But right then, with Chris Hopper before him, the only thing he could think straight on was her. His finger traced her ear. Her smile died, her eyes darkening with awareness. Knowing she intended to retrieve her hands from his shoulders, he covered them, holding them captive. He studied her features, from her hairline to her delicate chin. He moved up to her eyes once more. His heart leapt and he warmed up at the look in her eyes. He'd never seen it before—yet something in him responded to it. He'd do anything to protect her.

Chris fought to tear her gaze away. In the timeless silence, nothing had been said, yet so much had been. Protection flashed in his eyes after a warming gentleness. However, what she felt was useless—and it hurt. She used force to reluctantly retrieve her hands from Levi's shoulders. Turning on her heel, she entered the living room to get her hoodie. It was time to move on.

"Where are you going?"

She turned reluctantly at the deep voice. She pasted on a smile. "Well, I can't stay too long. Suspicion is already high. I am still being followed." She consciously switched back to her British accent.

Levi grinned knowingly, making her heart flutter. "Well, then let's shake 'em off."

They left the apartment, acting like close friends in the eyes of all they saw on their way to the elevator. Chris' false cheer dropped as soon as the metal doors closed. The dimly light elevator rose, Levi tapped the number three five times, and it stopped. She panicked.

He pulled her to his side, arm around her shoulders. "Chill, it's okay." His effort at comforting was mirrored in his tone. The elevator started moving to the side. Chris took in a sharp breath at the speed. Without warning, it cascaded down, making her bury her face in Levi's chest.

An empty un-lit apartment greeted them when the elevator doors opened. Levi led her out, for she was too perplexed to move. An apartment was the landing?

"This apartment will lead us to the back where there's a van on its way to a flea market." His voice sounded deeper than usual. Her hand covered with his, he pushed a door open that led to brightness of outside.

Chris' feet ceased to move at the sight of the van. She remembered the last time she was in one. This one was being loaded up with works of art and some easels and tables. No one was in sight though, the birds chirping from some unknown place. Levi and she were the only humans in the back parking lot.

He stretched his strong arm out to her as he got in the back of the van. Would mishap follow? His expressions were unreadable. "Come on," he said, voice low.

She took his hand and let him help her into the dark area. It wasn't like she had a choice. This was the safest form of transport for now. They scooted the back of the van and kept silent, footsteps approaching. The doors were slammed shut, quenching out the light. She gasped, the darkness unnerving. A strong arm circled her shoulders, the act of comfort evident.

"It's gonna be okay," Levi boomed—yet it soothed. Some rummaging followed.

She leaned into him, unbidden tears stinging her eyes. A wind-up lamp was turned on, helping with light, but not helping her feel better. She was tired—tired of secret identities, dangerous enemies, and watching her back constantly. "I miss home," she whispered into the silence dominated by the humming engine. A rough hand gently rubbed her arm. She blinked the tears back.

"What do you miss about it?" Levi whispered back.

She snorted in an unladylike manner. "My apartment, my students, my life." She looked into his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't miss normal."

Levi swallowed. She'd turn incredulous if she knew he didn't. What was there to miss? His dad? His party-hard brother? In the white light, her hair seemed brighter. Her eyes looked a bit bloodshot. Had she been crying? That disturbed him. She smiled weakly. His heart soared. He couldn't resist the urge to trace her hairline. She stubbornly turned to lean her head on his shoulder—his view becoming only the top of her plaited hair.

"Don't you miss the people you love?"

He retrieved his arm from her shoulder. Love. Was there anyone back home who fit that criteria? Fiona unbiddenly popped into his head. It was as though his subconscious asked him whether he still felt anything for her. And no. He didn't. He didn't love her. Maybe he never had.

"Do you?" asked the woman at his side.

"Who said the people you love have to live oceans away?" The question was mostly directed to himself—but also a little bit to her. He felt her withdraw, ice building up. He panicked. What had he said?

"Seriously? No—family is waiting for you? I'm sure your woman wouldn't be pleased to hear you don't miss her." She sounded curiously chirpy.

He turned her so she faced him. He studied her expression—blank expression. He narrowed his eyes at her. Color poured in. He suddenly understood her question and smirked at her. "You're asking if I'm single?"

Her eyes flashed—though hot color attacked. "I asked no such thing!" she hissed.

He folded his arms across his chest, smug. Let her fume. "Yes, I'm single."

He felt a sharp jab to his ribs. He chuckled, eyes shut, passing the message that he was amused. She scooted away from him. He followed, his shoulder touching hers. She muttered something incoherent into her raised knees. He wrapped her into an embrace, enjoying her discomfort. Her fist met his firm chest—though she didn't fight. He felt her relax and sigh. "You're lucky I'm not in a mood to kick you low."

His chuckle vibrated in his chest, Chris' ear against him. She smiled despite herself. She briefly returned his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle. His heart beat picked up and she heard him inhale sharply. Bursts of warmth met her neck, her ear, her hair.

Alarm swept over her. She tried pushing him away, but he hardly moved. "Levi, please," she whispered urgently, her heart pounding in her chest.

His hands took either side of her face. She held her breath, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen—yet unthreatening. She shut her eyes tightly, shutting him out. His warm breath caressed her face, his scent filling her. She clenched her fists to her sides.

He mumbled her name over and over in her hair, his deep voice low and husky.

She shook her head stubbornly. She reacted to him, but she couldn't let her flesh win. God, help me!

His warm lips brushed over hers. She gasped, goosebumps growing. "No, Levi."

He seemed to have not heard her. Levi knew she was fighting herself—and not him. And she wasn't winning. She reacted under his touch—the same affect she had on him. What kept her back?

He didn't care, his emotions roaring with heat. He covered her mouth with his despite her protests. And he wasn't disappointed by her response. He paused briefly to let her breathe.

"God, please help me!"

Levi hardened.

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