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   "You've got to be kidding me...you won't even get the door for me?"

   "I think I've had quite enough of the people in this town already.   I really would prefer to skip this one.   He's been dropping off your purchases for years without anyone to assist him."

   "You're afraid of one guy?   After all of your 'transienting', or whatever..."

   "Alright, fine, if it will finish this, but I will not be held responsible for my reactions to whatever child you clearly molested, or man you swallowed...and then ate."

   "Shut-up, just get in there and wait."

   Grey refused to be shoved through the doors.   He had to salvage some dignity.   "Do you think you could hit the lights before I trip over your stash of dead bodies?"

   "Yeah, hold your panties on..."

   "This space is an echo chamber."

   "There...you good now?"

   "Yes...did you know you had a van in here?"

   "Duh, genius, how do you think I got here, walked from North Dakota?"

   It would have had to have been at least a good decade old before she even drove it here, and her time here spanned a second decade. In front of Grey rusted one of those huge American vans you would road trip in, or take eight of your friends to party in, silver and brick with a big swinging doors on the side and dark tinted windows.   Despite her answer, he doubted she even much remembered it, as it occupied the far quarter of the space long forgotten.   It rested on its rims, the vulcanized rubber of the tires reduced to radial strips long ago.   Dust and metal shavings formed an impressive layer on its roof, debris from projects which had managed to find their way through the hoist hole above.

   "You have a driver’s license?"

   "I got one at fourteen while I could still fit in his car.   My dad forged the birth certificate and taught me how."

   "How the hell did you manage..."

   *bzzzzzzz...*

   "Here he is, right on time like I taught him.   I'll go open the bay door for him.   Keep this door shut!"

   Megan had left him hanging for an answer, but she couldn't tell him no either...on the running board he stretched himself over the driver’s window to peer inside.   It was a van alright, and a time capsule, complete with curtains, bench seat and a table; the driver's seat forced back as far as it could go.   He could only speculate on her adventure over whatever hundreds of miles it had taken to get here.   North Dakota, huh?   The thought of a tribe of many-armed amazons there filled his imagination, then the whir of electricity clashing with metal reminded him to behave.

   A white work truck worked backed its way in from the gravel and dormant grass, halting before its rear wheels even came in contact with the concrete floor of the warehouse.   A tall, thin middle-aged man stepped out, the engine still humming.

   "Oh, hey...got your stuffs right 'ere," he stated after he noticed Grey, his true attentions on his paperwork, not the ceremony.   Grey checked the items as they were unloaded.

    "Well, tha's it.   See ya's."   The man said, even tipping his baseball cap.

    "What, you're not going to ask me about all this, offer your opinions on life?"

    "Sir's, I don' really care 'bout what yous is talking 'bout, and I has ten more deliveries today's.   I don' even livea around heres."   At least there were a few to which the rumors hadn't spread.

   And so with that Grey had everything required to replace the broken window, and the workspace in the back of lower floor, which had been used so often for work like this.   He was excited to get it all together in front of him, he had work and a full stomach at the same moment for the first time in weeks, what else could a man want?   Meghan had left him alone since the delivery, which was fine with him.   Really, he would prefer it that way rather than having someone staring over his shoulder, doing nothing but supervising his every move, and that was just some random nobody, not her intimidating presence.   He was still uneasy around her, despite everything, and why not?   She had been open and honest with him, but she never had denied any of the accusations either.

   It all managed to come together well enough through the course of the long day, with little drama except for a brief interruption over a delivered cage for Betty and her babies.   He worked a deliberate pace, and when he came to realize this it amused him, as if he had nowhere better to go.   By nighttime, through electricity and sawdust, he had even managed to finish clamping the finished frame together.   Grey glanced up at the boarded up window, realizing for the first time the sun was long set.   At some point at least, someone had turned the lights on for him.   The cage was missing as well.

   Meghan, where has she been all day...

   It was the first time he had felt her absence today.   After doting on him the past week, she had missing all day, upstairs he assumed.   Where else could she have gone?   Grey shrugged at the thought, reasoning that she might have found that inspiration she had been looking for.   He was looking for something as well, something much more practical...

   There were none around the workspace downstairs.   Everything had been so well organized and easy to find, almost as anal as the kitchen.   It's not like you can really hide these things.   He searched around the kitchen and the bay, even know he knew better.   He had not seen one upstairs either.   Meghan had done the measurements for the window herself.   He had not needed one until now.

   "Meghan, where's your ladder?"   Grey yelled up the stairs, preferring this to potential consequences of walking in on her work.   He felt a little foolish as he spoke it out loud.

   "A what now?"   Her reply sounded faint, especially for her.

   "LAD-DER!!!"

   "What is that?   Something you little people need?"   Her head popped into view through the floor hole, inverted from his angle from opposite the stairs, her fiery curls falling around her ears as she leaned over.

   "You can stop now.   I think I liked you better without the small talk."

   "Oh, so you don't like me now?"

   "As much as a guy can like a masculine, domineering amazon mutant."

   "Learn to more.   I'll be down in a few minutes to help."

   It happened to be longer than a few minutes, many multiples longer.   Gray paced a bit, he would even admit to being a little nervous, and why not?   She had shown him her best work.   It would only be fair to reciprocate the favor.   It finally became too much, he grabbed the measuring tape once again to attempt a confirmation of the vertical measurement through creative means.   At least a chair might get me close... He carried one over to the boarded window, and climbed atop it.   It was an improvement at least, but not enough.   Tip-toes would give a few more inches, now hook the upper frame with the end of the tape...

   "What are you doing Stray...Oh shit!"

   Grey had twisted towards her unexpected voice, and caught a peek of her in the kitchen.   Perhaps he would have been fine if it just had been her catching him in the act, if that had been all.   It was how she caught him.   It was how she chose to appear to him.   If he had lost his balance, or if his legs just gave out, or if he had lurched away in the surprise, any or all of it could have easily been the case.   What was certain was that he and the chair had parted in opposing directions, and the floor had broken his fall, neck and shoulders first.    She had appeared to him in a cream gypsy crop top and matching short skirt that rose half way up elongated, muscular thighs.

   "Grey, what happened to you?" she called to him on the run, which witnessing did nothing to ease the shock he felt.

   "I guess you could say...I was floored by you," he exhaled this slowly as she knelt over him.   "Ha! Aah-owww."

   "Dammit, you freaked me out."   The only thing he could do was stare at her form overshadowing his, dangerously close, her many arms extended around his body and head.   The open neck of her top had been pulled down off of the top shoulders, and the sleeves had been slipped through her middle shoulders, just low enough to allow a bit of billowing cleavage boil over.   For Meghan those sleeves were not even necessary, it was held in place with her shoulders above and below the knitted cotton, acting to pinch the cloth close at the sides, as well as by what it tried to contain.   Its elastic base terminated just inches beneath, yielding to all her unbudging curves above while revealing all the broad arch of her bare midriff below, from the slightest pooch of a stomach to her high sweeping waist and skirt.   The outfit's pale color brought out the blush of her fair skin and her red hair seemed to radiate in color.   He couldn't squirm away if he wanted to.

   "I think I'm getting Stockholm Syndrome..."

   "I'll get you some ice."   She soon returned to right the chair, and then Grey, sitting him up to tend to the goose egg on the back of his head.   She became a human chair straddling him from behind as she attended him, her legs crossed underneath his bent knees.   She leaned him back into her flesh, her lowest arms behind her back, bracing her weight and his against the concrete.

   "Meghan...I was looking for a ladder."   He tried to pry his way out of the cocoon surrounding him, only to have it disappear.

   "That's OK, we don't need one.   I'll help you."   She offered a helping hand or two up while maintaining the pressure on bag of ice on the back of his head.

   "Uhm, in that?"

   "Yeah, I just got done working, and it's been a long day.   I wanted to be comfortable."   Grey still could not believe the surrealism of this.   Meghan's response to him was tinged with coyness as his attentions drew hers to the ruffled skirt riding mid-way up her thighs. She twisted her hips just enough to send its edge into a twirl.

   "There's still a lot of broken glass in this frame, and slivers...and it's cold.   Aren't you cold?"   He managed to shake his eyes away.

   "I told you before, I have thick skin, it keeps things firm.   I don't even notice it."   This was a new animal.   She had discovered herself, or else had desired an effect different than before.

   "And this was the best you could find to be 'comfortable' in?"   She helped him to his feet, removing the ice for just a moment, only to after he was steady insist on replacing it.

   "Believe me, I wish I had more options.   It was made for plus sized women as a full length outfit."

   "Really, you couldn't find something anything...leaving something to the imagination?   You’re practically draping yourself over me."

   "You find something that fits me without a python grip, let me know.   Be professional, you like to stay detached."

   "Meghan, you’re not wearing a bra..."

   "What part of comfortable do you not understand?"

   "You know I can tell, right?"   I would have been hard to miss when they lie level with his nose.   She peered down at them for only a moment before adjusting her top and chest, face flushing at his question.

   "So?   I've seen your junk...and I wasn't impressed," she retorted, nearly snorting as a pair of hands found her hips.

   "I wish I could say the same..."

   "What?"

   "This seems a little much.   Also, I'm a 'grower', not a 'shower'."   He swatted her hands away from his goose-egg.

   "I'm fine with this.   We're all adults here right?"

   "Meghan, are you trying to seduce me?"

   "Nooo...oh no...hell no."   A crimson wave radiated to her very toes.   Despite her boldness, she found herself shying away, top and middle right arm grabbing above and below her top left elbow, in effect concealing her breasts as her forearms pressed against them, both hoisting and pressing more cleavage into view.   "Really?   Seriously?   What's wrong with you?   You need to get a hold of your ego."

    "Ok...Alright then, a ladder."   He had been flirted with before, toyed with by women who wanted something much the same way, but this confused him.   Here was someone truly unique trying to gain attention through other, common enough means.

   "I don't have one."

   "What?   How am I supposed to fix this window then?   Why didn't you let me know this?"   His arms were thrown into the air in exasperation.

   "And what am I going to do with a ladder after you go?   It's fine, I'll lift you."

   "No, no, no, no...no, surely you jest."

   "No, I'm serious.   I told you I can't juggle, and you don't even like my jokes."

   "Not going to happen."

   "Stop being a baby.   Let's get this done."

   Grey paced for a nearly a full minute, glancing at her, the chair, the window, and any and everything else, all the time rubbing the back of his head before he finally gave up.

   "FINE!   I need you to pull down the plywood, and GENTLY pull out the remnants of the old frame.   There's going to be sub-freezing temperatures blowing in, not to mention all the rest of the glass and splinters...how about getting a jacket on?"

   "And then how am I going to lift you?   My arms will be covered."

   "Dammit, I don't know...leave it unsnapped."

   "...Fine.   If that's what it takes to get this done."

   Grey was near pulling his hair out as he ran his fingers through it, certain of little of his life more than the pout he had just seen.   She returned soon enough with the wielder's jacket over her top shoulders and arms.   She even had included a couple pair of cheap leather gloves for good measure.   She made quick work of it, as only six powerful arms could, finishing even before he could double-check his work.

   "How do you propose we do this?"

   "Oh...I was thinking like this..."   And she pounced on him.   Before he could react, even before he understood it, she had gripped him up by his waist, then his thighs just above the knees, and finally the calves as she lifted him to her level, face-to-face.   "See, nothing to worry about.   You're taller than me now, much safer than a ladder, or my chair. There's no way I'll going to let you go."

   "Sure, I'm the definition of comfortable...How can you even move so fast."   Gray made a poor attempt to sell it, resulting in a uncertain squeak as he took in what had been done to him.   "This is very emasculating."

   "And you worry about that?   What do you weigh, 150?"

   "Just watch what you do with those fingers."

   "Oh, I will..."

   He had no reply to this, He just tried to focus on his work, setting and sealing the window on a human lift.   "Meghan, you have goosebumps all over your arms."

   "Yeah...well, I guess I feel more then I let on...sometimes."

   "OK, you can let me down now."   And she did, releasing him hesitantly, a pair of arms at a time as she lowered him to the cement.

   "See, you just need to trust me," she winked as she tuned to walk away.

   "That takes care of the inside.   What about the outside?   Are you going to assist me there as well, or do I need that chair after all?"

    "No problem.   Let me get the ladder for you."

    "Fuck..."

   Grey finally returned, a bit chilled with the balance frustrated after spending an inordinate amount of time fumbling around on a ladder in the dark night, a lone flashlight either held between cheek and shoulder or bit down on, the backtracking, stumbling and sealants refusing to bond in the freezing air.

   ...And then there was a world-champion cougar in the house, and she was hungry, and irritable.   After the last couple of hours, days, the whole week really, he was ready to ride on out of here.   He had finished what he had promised to do.

    And when are you ever going to see something like this again?   And if it wasn't for her size and the arms, would you much care about the crazy?   And if you want to leave because of her size, in which, your fear, are you any better than anyone else that goes on appearance?

   He had never hated being so right before.

   "Well, I got it set finally.   I wouldn't mess with it until everything cures, which might be a while.   I cleaned up all the glass I could find as well...in the grass and whatnot."   Grey shouted out through the hall as he tried to rub out the cold in his hands.   There came no reply as he waited a reply, so he continued.   "...I'll check it in the morning before I leave.   I have a friend I lost track of when I got laid up here.   I need to find out what happened to him..."   The kitchen was lifeless, there had been no light shining though the passage upstairs as he came indoors.   The only evidence that anything had transpired in his absence was the smell of a roast broiling in the oven.   "Meghan, you here?"

   He walked indecisively, scanning the kitchen, then the darkened living area, wondering from what corner she would jump out of next, and how someone so large could do that to him again and again.   A hundred wild possibilities passed through his mind, few of them pleasant, and none of them reality.   Meghan sat on the sofa, reclining a bit against its far armrest.   In front of her laid out on her thigh was a over-sized book.   There could have been a dozen others, most large and glossy like the first, had been placed around her on the floor, and the surrounding tables and along the length of the sofa, some left to rest opened to a favorite page, a hand or a finger still resting on a couple others.

   "Meghan, did you hear me?"   He said this more as if it was mandated, more involved in Meghan, and the passive and distant look about her, than the books which had taken her there.   She still wore the same outfit, the jacket and gloves put away, however he was not distracted by it anymore, but to her and capricious desires.

   The lamp behind her had been lit, the only light to see by, shed its dim light on books of scenery, landmarks, art, people, the common denominator being that they were bright, glossy photographs of every topic and all bigger than life; the coffee table books he would have expected when he first lie sick on this sofa.   She lingered on one, then looked to another before flipping the page of a third, not concerning about Grey.   Despite what she had insisted, despite even convincing herself, survival just was not enough anymore.

   "Next, I'm going to have you fix back doors where you squirmed your way through.   I don't want any more vermin scurrying in here."

   "Did you hear me?   I'm leaving tomorrow."

   "You won't."

   "I have to go find my friend.   He was my partner before all this happened.   I need to know if he's alright."

   "Is that why you don't connect with me?   Tough, I'm sure he's fine.   You haven't paid off your debt yet." Meghan's leg that rested on the sofa was crossed over the other, almost kicking Grey over.

   "I'm not a prisoner here."   His weight was stuck between shifting feet.

   "And I get more than one day's work for more than a week of freeloading."   She spoke calmly, but with authority, flipping another page to her book as she spoke.

   "You need to stop doing that."

   "Doing what?"

   "Throwing you weight around...I mean...trying to impose yourself on me.   You're not very good at it."

   "I don't know what you're talking about.   I could have imposed myself on you at any time.   You should be so lucky."

   "It's that!"   He began to pace, to talk with his arms.   His cool was gone.   "The tough, I don't give a fuck act wore itself to transparency all too quickly, now from one minute to the next you either forcing your wants, need or desires on me.   Look...dammit...you're alright, I just don't need that.   You're just stuck.   You're life stopped at thirteen..."

   "So…what, you're a shrink now too?"   Her hair flew like the fire in her eyes as she flared at him, but he knew better by now.   A stray hand gripped the spine of a book as if it was to be a projectile

   "I mean we are so much alike the only real difference is that I chose the exile that was forced on you.   Look at you with all these books around you, never being able to experience them.   I've seen so much that I cannot even appreciate them, or to even feel.   We both have been robbed of our very humanity."

   " 'Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.' "

   " 'Therein the patient must minister to himself...'   Did you believe that I just was into comic books?"   There was a pause between them as the ambiguity of life and language, what they could reveal and what was still held near the chest came to be measured.

   "And I've laid myself bare to you, and still you've told me nothing about yourself. So what am I supposed to think about you?"   The book was closed on her thigh.   She pulled his face to hers with the long fingers of her top right hand, which lingered on his chin.   He would not flinch.

   "Whatever you want to."

   "And that's it?"   Her fingers dropped and he was released not from her grip, but the feeling.   He drove himself away.

   "If nothing else, I cannot force myself on another."

   "And what if they want you to?"

   "I am a cypher, a nobody, a thing that brings understanding, but nothing in itself."   He seemed to have spoken an incantation, and shrunk at the words.

   "No, you're not."

   Grey sighed, "I will stay to fix your door, there is something I want to see.   Then I have to go before it's too late."

   "Fine."

   Over dinner they discussed the logistics of all of it.   These heavy doors were designed many decades ago to allow whatever came in by the bay through regardless of size, standing roughly a dozen feet tall and eight wide each.   Worn as the rest, they acted only as a fair barrier to the winter chill, but better than a two-hundred square-foot hole in the wall, not to mention what a breach that size may reveal to the passerby.   The simplest and fastest fix was to slap a patch on them, but this was rejected, as well as removal of the doors to repair the damage.   She instead insisted that he build two doors from scratch, and the expense be damned.   He would note that this was also the most time consuming option, perhaps even taking upwards of a week, but it seems his labor was at least cheap.   Grey wanted to protest, and actually found himself caring little, and spent most of his night talking about board feet and wood screws, begrudgingly coming to an agreement that the whole thing had to be done over if it was to last.

   The materials were ordered first thing that morning, but still could not be delivered until the next day.   Meghan was fine with it, this as often as not was the case.   Still, she had to let Grey know; she would find something else to keep him busy until then.   It seemed this was her turn to be ignored, her voice boomed in the rafters downstairs to no response.   Her stray it seemed had slunk off in the night, afraid of her still, to a purpose and end she could not follow.   It was a fleeting thought, dispelled by a moan she would follow, to find him curled up under a workbench, with blanket and backpack set as he had spent many hundreds of nights prior to this morning.   Again her poise was lost; it seemed only he could do that to her.   There was a scolding and an explanation, neither would satisfy, and heavy footsteps as someone who minutes ago was sweating from desperation in the cool drafty air, disappeared upstairs, having entirely enough of everything instead of perhaps feeling the loss of a single small thing.

   This left Grey idle, a few rare moments of still he might have enjoyed except for its cause.   He passed out into the frozen morning air to admire his completed window in passing, then the wood doors in full view of the sunlight.   It was big, but not complex, rows of boards cross braced and reinforced at its edges, much like any barn door.   He could do this, but then what?   It was like cleaning a stain off of the wall, only to discover by that spot that the filth on the remainder had been made all the more obvious.   Old grey shrunken wood from humid summers, icy winters, and the occasional hurricane and accompanying flood, mold covered in places where she would not dare to tread.   It could only last another five, ten years before it would fall in around her ears.   Meghan would need a new home; she could not even leave this one.   There was nothing he could do about it for now, except grab a hammer and some nails.

   It was noon before Meghan was seen again, and it was a sheepish return back in Dickies and flannel.   Grey was preoccupied, not noticing her until she spoke.   "What'cha doin'?"   She was looking over his shoulder as he sat at the kitchen table, something of an unavoidable side effect of eyes eight feet from the ground, at a couple of notebooks and a couple of other small items, things he must felt important enough to carry over hundreds of miles.

"I've kept a journal of my travels since they began, places, dates, useful information and notable events.   It's been a while since I've updated it."   Meghan leaned over him to get a closer look, a pair of arms bracing her body on the chair as a knee was shifted up past it, her weight resting on the other leg.   Close enough for him to smell her shampoo.

   "I don't get it."

   "It's in shorthand, and my particular brand of chicken scratch, with some hobocode, hieroglyphs transients use to communicate important information, thrown in for good measure.   Here..."   He passed Meghan a single-panel photo album, which she flipped through with a second pair of hands.   "I kept postcards of everywhere where I spent any real time.   There are notes on the back."

   "I didn't know there was a hobocode...Hey, the first one is New York."

   "Yes, I grew up on Long Island, in one of those areas only the really rich live…the land of Lindsey Lohan, where people go to bury their heads in the abundant sand of the beaches."

   "Sounds nice."

   "It was.   New York City was the only place to be.   I spent the first few months there sleeping in doorways and begging, until I got fed up with being an Oogle."

   "Now what's that?" she mumbled, seemingly more interested in the scenic photographs.

   "Uhmmmm...Millennials that are begging their way around the country, many even still living off their parent’s cash while traveling the country, homeless posers who blame everyone else for their problems."

   "Like you?"

   "That's just hurtful."

   "Then what?   I'm confused here."

   "Well, I was really on my own, they end up crawling back to momma usually when they finally get bored, or cut, or raped.   For a while I close enough to one, I'll admit it.   But it wasn't long before I wanted something, even the slightest bit more, something that didn't come with money.   I began to work for my living, and finally found my pride there."

   "Philly, Indianapolis, Chicago..."

   "Chicago, terrible place to be homeless."   He leaned back in the chair, satisfied to review his additions.

   "...Madison, Minneapolis..."

   "I never stepped foot into the city proper, apprenticed with a glass blower for five months in the spring and summer of 2010 until the economy shut him down.   It was the longest I stayed in one spot."

   "This is all fine...but what did you write about this...or me?

   "Nothing yet, I usually wait until I'm gone.   It gives perspective on what was important, saves precious paper space.   Besides, you knocked me out half the time."

   "That hardly seems fair, a line or two for all of me."

   "I can play coy too, or tease.   I used to work people real well, you just have to know their desires, and almost always it greed, or fame."   He leafed through his journal's pages, a smirk, or a laugh, or a quiet moment's reaction to a word, or a phrase he picked out of its pages.   "I started this in hoping to write a biography, a modern day mix of 'Grapes of Wrath' and 'Lord of the Rings,' and real.   Vain youth, like my life was going to be so important."   He looked at Meghan as she peered at one the backs of a postcard.   "When I was young, I wanted to be an a artist of some type.   I had these wonderful images in my head.   My dreams were of Technicolor vibrancy.   But my hands never cooperated, and it has only gotten worse from torn muscles and the nerve damage of hard work.   Writing is about it for me now."

   "And what's this?"   There was one final book on the table, a hardcover she pointed to.

   "Oh, that?   It's my bible."

   "Are you a Christian?"

   "Oh, no...I would never insult something like that, more like it's something I want to believe in.   That there's a end to Mankind's suffering and a better place than this, that there is a reason for it, this, everything, you and me.   It's more comforting than the alternative, life as a random, purposeless cluster-fuck as told by fools.   There are answers here, and other people’s beliefs.   Perhaps they're all right, and wrong.   Anyhow, did you come down for a reason?   I doubt it was for me."

   "Yes, I forgot, lunch.   Would you like some?"

   "You spoil me.   I might get fat."

   "You would need fifteen pounds to even be noticed, cypher."

   Lunch developed into meats and things thrown onto rolls as they continued to talk of age old questions on life, an adventurer and the amazon.   Gods and mankind with the philosophy of their intercourse condensed into a rich, everyday solution infused into life, wisdom unexpected and before unsought.   Sandwiches half-forgotten, they spoke and listened, challenging in turn just to experience the rebuttal as the conversation progressed from minutes into hours; Grey would speak in complexity drawing from his experience, Meghan spoke the profound knowledge of others in a common way.   The pair of them, pressured into the shadows of society, had found beauty and brilliance where no one else cared to look.   It would continue unabated until the dusk began to give way to the inevitable night, when eyes began to strain to view the reactions of the other, when those unwatched shadows began to swallow them once more, when it seemed that other matters could not be ignored any longer, until the owl's hoot reminded them that it was to be an early dawn.

   Lumber, screws and everything else arrived the next morning via the same slurring man, showing even less of a care this time.   Meghan refused to assist in the transportation of the goods, reflexively complaining about the costs and needing to work so she could pay for it all.   Some days he would not see her for most of the day, others she would interrupt several times to check up on him, rib him about how much the work and her cooking was bulking him up, and generally keep him company in a quiet, sparsely lit and coarse space.   He would admit to being thin, but never to weakness, there too were many ditches and fences that carried his name.   Still, she teased as she watched, rather content in this, never seeming to desire the work to be completed.   He took the jabs lightly, and returned his own at his desire.   He understood her motivations all too well, and was even beginning to enjoy the exchanges of wit himself.

"...Yeah, perhaps you would prefer a Chris Hemsworth or something for your satisfaction," Grey shouted over the whirr of the table saw.

"No question," Meghan reared back as she spoke.   Almost letting loose a laugh.

"I'm happy with the way I am.   It's efficient, plus it makes me look bigger where it counts..."   It only took a moment of distraction, and a rapidly revolving blade cutting a board at a diagonal.   Unsupported, the long end slipped off of the table saw, causing him to lurch forward into the blade.   It caught his bicep, and the crimson stuff of life dripped and was launched in every direction on a plane.

   "Oh my God, Gary!"

   "It's fine...it's not deep," he responded immediately to try to assure her, but his voice was already portraying a sense of mental, if not physical, shock.   She was on top of him, supporting up, shutting off the saw, tending to his wound.

   "You liar, you're bleeding all over the place."

   "I'm OK, it's just blood."

   "I'm taking you to the bathroom."   And she wasted no time for his consent, lifting him again with no more effort than a shopping bag.

   "You don't need to baby me...It's embarrassing."

   "Shut up, no one's here that cares."   The first aid kit was snatched on the way, and she compressed the wound, staunching the blood flow while carrying him through the warehouse to the bathroom.   Blood stained his shirt and jeans.   Blood covered the left side of Meghan's sweat top.   "It's about a quarter of an inch deep.   You might need stitches.   There's a hospital is a few miles away.   It seems to have just missed an artery."

   "And to think, if I was a bigger man it would have been more severe..."

   "I'm going to take you there."

   "To where?   What?"

   "The hospital."

   "And how's that?"

   "I don't know...the van."   She snapped a spare set of fingers at his.

   "You can't.   I already checked it.   It's not working."

   "You messed with my van?"

   She only set him down after reaching the bathroom tub, cleaning the wound, sterilizing it, and finally dressing it to an overkill with a speed and coordinated style that left Grey in wonder and seemed to confirm his ultimate suspicion.

   "See, it wasn't that bad.   I'm fine, no need for stitches.   You're overreacting like I was your own child."

   "You're doing nothing else today."

   "Just relax, I'll be fine in a bit," he stiffened his face, and tried to flex his arm.

   "I don't care.   I'm going to take you to the sofa, and tie you down if you give me any shit."

   Grey would up a resistance, but Meghan insisted, hovering over him until the embarrassment of it all forced him to promise compliance.   Her favorite sweats were useless except for leverage against him.   His own bloody clothes would disappear, to be replaced with several sets days later.   There was little for him to do, Meghan finished the doors without him and rebuilt the frame around where the doors hung, literally shooing him away if he even approached without missing a nail.

   In shear boredom, he would try the TV for the first time in years, soon coming to the realization that he had missed nothing.   He stared at the ceiling a bit, this reminded him of the job he was not finishing.    His impatience led him to Meghan's library for a perusal, to learn that whatever space that had not been used for reference material was preserved for a nearly exhaustive list of the classics, enough to impress a college literature professor.   It was not for show either; who could it be a show for?   Over the next few days he skimmed a few, remembering their stories, as Meghan finished the project, requiring little assistance from him except for a question or a comment seemingly more intended to ensure he was still behaving then a need for technical knowledge.   She did allow Grey to paint the doors on his own, and eventually to finish the framework on the outside of her warehouse, praying the whole time that the wound would not tare open his arm as he did.

   After six days the doors were finally ready to hang.   After a short and hot exchange of words it was decided to leave old doors chained together leaning against each other in front of the new as a screen from prying eyes. That evening they were unhinged, and moved out just enough to not interfere.   Meghan moved them on her own, six gloved hands gripping their edges at so many angles.

   "Those doors, you’re lifting about 600 pounds in one of them."

   "It can't be that much."

   "Easily, I even checked the weight of the wood coming in with the delivery man.   The new doors weigh over 650."

   "Well, I'm just bracing them.   It's not like I'm carrying them."

   "But you are..."

   "Let’s just get this done."   Meghan held up the replacements while Grey bolted them in.   The job was done in the setting sunlight, and no one seemed the wiser or to even notice.

   "Now if we could only replace the rest of the warehouse."

   Only shortly later, Grey stepped downstairs after a shower in the same worn outfit he had trespassed in on Meghan's life over two weeks ago.   He had thought hard about himself over the days he had been laid up, what had led him and where he was going, and it came to this moment, the focal point of an hour-glass, where everything past had come to and would lead to a future of anyone's guess.   He silently watched Meghan as she cooked with a flourish of multiple armed chaos he had never seen before.   For a time he hesitated at to what this might mean, but he could see no other option for their path.

   "Meghan, I'm going now."   A stainless spatula clattered on the tile below, interrupting the sizzle you could hear of the oil, the only sound remaining when the vegetable cutting stopped.

   "So that's it, huh?"   Her head raised skyward for guidance as her eyes closed.   Her arms, her body were frozen in mid tension.

   "Yes, there's nothing more for me to do here."

   "Fine, go..."

   Grey had already slung his backpack over one shoulder, its steel reinforcement biting deep into the muscle of his shoulder.   That was it, no long good-bye's, just resentment and regret; something had ended before it had even begun.   The doors closed behind him, and he faced the chill, dark night for just a moment before it swung wide again.

"I've poured out everything I am, and you still don't care.   What am I doing wrong?"   It was a desperate, exhausted voice that called to him, through both doors held wide open, one almost had its hinges torn out, and damn the consequences.

"And how do you know that?"   He looked back over his shoulder at Meghan, whose self was on full display.   The toes of both of her feet lie on the cusp of the grass outside her door, her head lie ducked under the archway.   "You are both amazing and beautiful."

   "But what about me, would you care if I wasn't so amazing?   Would you even notice me?   Would I just be another part of your jaded existence?"   He turn to face her, owing her that much, his backpack slipping to the earth, calling to her, with only feet separating them.

   "You said that you have never been kissed by anyone that meant it.   I have been with many women.   Some of them wanted my money, some of them wanted a chemical escape, some of them wanted to just feel important, and I was fine with all of them.   I thought that was the way the game was played.   I got what I wanted from them, but a kiss?   I don't remember if I ever received one that mattered."

   "So...what are you getting at?"

   "I think it's perhaps time to find out what that's like, if you would like."

   It was slow, and hesitant as two people felt their way towards a glimmer of light.   Meghan watched his face as he drew near, leaning in over herself near to Grey, the fear in her eyes he felt in himself.   It was a simple thing as they met level, his lips widening to meet her pucker, much like two young teens feeling their way around their first relationship.   It lingered to a second, and a passionate third before either was willing to let go of the moment.

   "Well, at least you were quiet for a moment."

   "Meghan, look around."   She looked around her to find herself a few scant feet away from the door of her captivity.   She had been freed, her sentience served.   Meghan about screamed, or squealed, grabbing Grey in a bear hug, they excitedly twirling him around once before retreating with him and his backpack behind the door.

   "Now we just need to get your van running."