Dan stood alone in the kitchen; ruthlessly scrubbing dishes crusted with baked-on food, taking savage satisfaction in his task while the others sat silently in the living room, pretending to watch television. The tension in the chalet was suffocating, and Dan knew he was contributing to it by keeping his distance from the others. He also knew that he needed time to calm himself, to regroup, before he could face them. Attacking the cheese grater too forcefully, he shaved the skin off his knuckles.

“Shit!”

The vicious hiss of a whisper slipped out, warning him to control himself. He threw the Brillo pad in the water and forced himself to take a deep breath. Suddenly weary, Dan bent his head and gripped the edge of the sink. Dark, disjointed images swam in front of his bleary, exhausted eyes. Just as Trixie had been transported back to the scene of her torture, Dan found himself reliving the long days, weeks, and months after their return. He inadvertently squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, seeing again the dark hollows under Trixie's eyes as she steadily lost sleep ... and then hearing again the faint, restless cries when she finally did sleep...

Resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands, Dan forced himself to let go of the sink, but frustration at his inability to help Trixie kept his muscles taut. He plunged his hands into the tepid water and resumed washing the dishes, but couldn't push away the memory of Trixie's dreams. After Maria died, the dreams seemed to primarily relive the events directly leading up to her death. But those dreams were relatively quiet. Often, he hadn't been aware she was dreaming until she stumbled out of her room, disoriented and terrified. He frowned, comparing those dreams to her most recent ones. Since Bill gave her the necklace, the dreams had been anything but quiet. A cold shiver crept along his spine as he remembered the frantic, desperate calls for help. And the violence. Will she dream tonight?

He looked down at his hand and saw that the cuts were beginning to bleed, bright red blood staining the bubbles in the water. Cursing again, he ran cold water over his hand and watched the bubbles pop and disappear as the blood and water struck them. So much blood, he thought. Entirely too much blood.

Dan was startled out of his dark thoughts as he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

“Hey.”

Dan winced as he recognized Jim's voice. Turning slowly, he saw the fiery red-head standing several feet behind him, arms crossed against his broad chest, barely suppressed fury emanating from every fibre of his being. Dan turned back to the sink. Still emotionally drained, he couldn't muster enough energy to be irritated by Jim's aggressive stance and tone. With a voice as dull as the dishwater he stared at, he asked, “What do you want, Jim?”

“What do I want?” Jim's voice was edgy and uncontrolled. “What do I want? I want to know what the hell is going on. I want to know what happened to Trixie to turn her into...”

“Turn her into what?” Dan asked, his voice ominously controlled.

“Into someone I don't know anymore.” His anger spent, Jim dropped to a chair. “Dan, I don't know her. I didn't know about her scars. I didn't know about her dreams. I didn't know she was CIA. I had no idea. Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what it feels like to see someone you lo-,” he stopped, started again. “I care about her, Dan. After all these years, I still care. But I don't know who she is anymore. I don't know where the old Trixie is, and I don't know enough about the new Trixie to know if...”

“To know if she's worth caring about?” Dan's quiet voice was marked with an edge.

“No! That's not what I meant. Of course, I care about her. I always will. I just don't know.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I don't know anything anymore.”

Dan placed the last of the clean dishes in the drying rack and wiped his hands on the tea towel. With a heavy heart, he joined Jim at the table. Avoiding Jim's anguished green eyes, he said, “I'm going to tell you what I told Brian, and what I told Mart. She's still the same Trixie. All you missed was her growing up and becoming more Trixie.” He winced internally at the Honey-speak, but kept going. “All of us have had things happen to us in the last few years. It's just that Trixie's life has always been more dramatic than any of ours.”

Jim choked on an unintentional chuckle. “That does sound like Trixie.”

With a fervent wish that he were doing anything but having this conversation with Jim Frayne, Dan met his eyes. “Nothing has changed from when we were teenagers, Jim.” He waited until the light of understanding went on in the confused green eyes. “Nothing.”

“Really?” The question was a quiet plea for hope.

For the first time, Dan saw the insecurity that plagued Jim. “As far as I can tell, yes.”

Jim swallowed hard. “I just wish I knew for sure.”

Dan rose. “No one ever knows anything for sure. Sometimes, you just have to trust and take a chance.”

Jim considered the words carefully. “I'm sorry about what happened in the hot tub,” he said, breaking the heavy silence.

Leaning against the counter, Dan admitted, “So am I. I wish I could have stopped it.”

“You tried,” Jim reminded him. “We just weren't in the frame of mind to listen to you.” He drummed his fingers restlessly. “I'm sorry.”

“You said that already,” Dan pointed out.

Jim narrowed his eyes. “It's not something I say often. Enjoy it.”

Dan snorted. “No, I imagine you don't do a whole lot of apologizing in your line of work, do you?”

“And you do?” Jim countered, and was rewarded with a sheepish grin. “I thought so. You're used to being in control. We both are. And tonight...”

“Neither of us were at the top of our games,” Dan agreed, and glanced to the staircase. “And nobody controls Trixie. Not ever.” His lips compressed into a thin line. “Deep down, I think she wanted you all to know what happened.”

Jim looked up, eyebrows raised. “Really? It didn't look that way.” It was impossible to mistake the hope in his eyes.

Dan shrugged. “She knows how to blow off people. She doesn't give out information unless she wants to.”

“She hasn't told us anything,” Jim pointed out. “You're the one who told us what happened.”

“She let you find the scars,” Dan said quietly, and watched the turmoil in the emerald eyes. “She never lets anyone see them, much less touch them.” Dan looked away. “She may not have consciously decided to tell you, but if she'd really wanted, she could have stopped you from finding them.”

Jim digested the new information slowly. When he spoke, he didn't ask the question Dan expected.

“Does she dream a lot?” Jim asked hesitantly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I wouldn't say a lot,” Dan hedged. He had no intention of betraying Trixie's confidence.

Jim waited before asking his next question. “How bad are they?”

“Bad enough.” Dan crossed his arms over his chest, irritated by the feeling of being pressed for information. “Look, Jim. I understand that you want answers, but I'm really not comfortable--”

“I know.” Jim looked up apologetically. “I just feel ... helpless. Those scars...”

Dan sighed and sank back into his chair, defeated by Jim's genuine pain and concern. After a brief internal struggle, he said, “Just be her friend, Jim. She misses you. She doesn't talk about it, but I know she misses you, and whatever it is that you had together. Right now, she needs all her friends, including you.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Just a friend?”

Dan turned away. “That's for you to work out. I'm just telling you, now isn't the time to freeze her out or dwell on whatever it is that went wrong with you two. Can you handle that?”

Jim swallowed. “Yeah. I can do that. No more ego.”

Dan snorted. “No good. She still wants you to be you, you know.”

“Nice, Mangan,” Jim groaned, recognizing Dan's attempt at humour.

With a shrug, Dan removed two mugs from their hooks and filled them with coffee. Jim shook his head reluctantly. “No thanks. I'll pass.”

Dan raised his mug and enjoyed the rich aroma before placing the cup to his lips and drinking deeply. “Suit yourself.”

Jim glanced at the coffee, wishing it were beer, or, even better, whiskey. Then maybe he could drink and forget about everything he didn't want to think about.

Dan smiled into his mug, recognizing the look on Jim's face. “Yeah, we should have sent Mart out for more beer. Coffee doesn't quite cut it, does it?”

“You got that right, Mangan!”

Dan set down the cup and looked up with an innocent expression. “Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe you'd rather have a donut?”

Jim flushed and pushed a hand through his hair. “Trixie sure got us with that one, didn't she?” he asked, referring to Trixie's animated enjoyment of a donut on the previous day.

“I'm not the one who almost put the vehicle in the ditch,” Dan reminded him with a smirk.

“I guess I'm going to be a while living that one down, aren't I?”

“Oh, yeah. With Trixie's memory, I think it's safe to say you won't be forgetting about that anytime soon.”

They laughed, then fell silent as they thought about Trixie. Finally, Jim cleared his throat. “We'd better get back to the others,” he suggested. “If we're not careful, in another few minutes Di will be in here forcing us to talk about our feelings, or something.”

Dan shuddered. “We certainly don't want that.” He looked towards the living room. “Really? Di would do that?”

“You have no idea. You should have seen her tie into me in the hot tub when I wanted to chase after Trixie.”

“You were smart to listen to her,” Dan told him quietly. Jim jerked his head up and stared at him.

“That bad?” Jim asked, a knot of worry forming in the pit of his stomach.

“She'll get past it,” he said curtly. “She always does.” Trying to maintain their new-found ability to get along, he continued. “Of course, the real danger would have been me taking a swing at you.” He grinned. “You may not have noticed, but I have a bit of a temper at times.”

“Really?” Jim pretended to be shocked. “And here I thought you were just exercising your over-protective tendencies.”

Dan laughed aloud, causing several Bob-Whites to sneak furtive glances towards the kitchen. “Over-protective? I have three words for you. Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“I prefer the phrase 'innately concerned with the well-being of my fellow man',” said Jim.

“That would explain those reflective strips you bought for midnight skiing,” Dan mocked as he carried his mug to the counter and they prepared to join the others. Dan held back, noting the rigid posture of the other Bob-Whites.

“They're just worried,” Jim assured him.

Dan grunted, still reluctant to join the group and face more questions.

“They'll feel better if you'll watch with them.”

“What?” Dan frowned.

“They're worried about Trixie, just like us. They'll feel better if we're all together. You know, Bob-Whites united.” Jim's tone was casual, but his expression was intent.

Dan shook his head. “And I thought I'd seen X-Men too many times.”

“What?” Jim looked confused until he remembered the movies. “Well, you could pass for Wolverine.”

Dan shrugged. “So I've been told.”

Jim eyed him curiously. “So, what's it like, being an international man of mystery? I bet the girls love it.” Jim's voice was still friendly, but contained a hint of a challenge.

Dan grinned. “Probably just as much as they love the very wealthy, very successful VP of Wheeler International.”

They stared at each other for a moment before laughing together. “Best jobs in the world,” they agreed.

From the living room, Diana called, “Are you guys joining us, or not? We're voting on a movie, and if you don't get in here soon, it's going to be Legally Blonde.”

Her statement was met by loud and fervent groans from Brian and Mart. Jim turned to Dan. “See? We're needed.”

Dan nodded, pointing to Mart and Diana, who were fighting over the DVD as Honey and Brian cuddled on the love seat. He narrowed his eyes as he observed Di slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. “We'd better get in there,” he agreed.

“Cover me. I'm going in,” Jim declared.

With swift agility, Jim snatched a DVD from the pile on the coffee table. Amid sputters of indignation, Dan smoothly plucked the Legally Blonde DVD out of Diana's hand and held it behind his back.

“Thank goodness,” Mart muttered. “Dude, what took you so long?”

Jim's lips twitched as he observed a miffed Diana slide to the far end of the couch and cross her arms over her chest. “I thought you had the situation under control.”

Mart snorted. “Under control? We were this close,” he measured with his fingers, “to suffering through Reese Witherspoon saying 'like, you know' for an hour and a half.”

“And you're not out of the woods yet,” Honey teased. “We agreed to alternate movies. Since voting doesn't really work, it's only fair.”

“I don't even like blondes,” Mart muttered, and slouched into the corner of the couch opposite to Diana, trying not to watch her out of the corner of his eye.

“I heard that!” Honey called.

Mart turned to her with a winning smile. “Ah, but you, my dear, are not blonde. Your luminescent locks are the hue of creamed honey, and are undoubtedly some of the most fair on which my eyes have dwelt.”

“Good save, Mart,” Honey acknowledged, while Brian narrowed his eyes.

“Mart, did you just hit on my girlfriend?” Brian asked, pretending to be jealous. “Cause, if you did...”

“Don't worry,” Dan interrupted. “I'll keep him in line.” He sat down between Diana and Mart and stretched his legs until they extended past the far end of the coffee table. “We're ahead,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Just enjoy the movie,” he advised Mart.

The mild-mannered lover of books brightened considerably at the prospect of blood, gore, and violence.

“Men,” Diana muttered under her breath.

“Can't live with them; can't pry the remote out of their hands,” Honey lamented.

Diana's petulance evaporated as she giggled at the mental image. “It could be fun trying, though.”

Mart groaned. “Not this again!” He handed the remote to Dan, and immediately regretted the action when Diana focused her attention on the dark-haired young man beside her.

Being wise enough not to incur the wrath of a disgruntled, jealous, and confused college professor, Dan looked for a diversion. “Heads up, Jimbo,” he called.

Jim caught the remote and settled himself into an easy chair. Ignoring the wide eyes at Dan's use of a nick-name, he responded, “Thanks, Danny.” He pulled the lever to extend the footrest of the recliner, and started the movie.

Brian frowned. “Wait a minute...That doesn't look like Mel Gibson.” His eyes grew wide as the screen turned pink. “Hey! This isn't Lethal Weapon! Jim?”

Jim squinted at the case in his hand. “That's odd. This is the video I put in...”

“That is strange,” Diana agreed, widening her violet eyes for maximum effect.

Dan, however, did not miss the gleam of victory. “Nicely played, Agent Lynch,” he commended.

She flipped her raven tresses and returned his smile. “I thought so! But, really, half the credit should go to Honey.”

Honey nodded. “It's best not to mess with us. Especially when it comes to chick flicks.”

“Point taken.” Brian drew Honey back against his chest. “You do know that you'll have to watch our movies at some point, right?”

Honey shrugged. “It won't be tonight!”

The six Bob-Whites settled back and prepared to watch the movie, and if they found their thoughts and eyes wandering to the open staircase leading to the bedrooms, no one spoke openly.

Upstairs, Trixie lay in a dreamless sleep, huddled under a heap of covers in her usual pyjamas of cozy plaid pants and a cotton shirt. She awakened slowly, groggily, a curious thickness coating her throat. Without moving, she stared at the dark room, utterly confused about her location. When her brain managed to force its way past the lingering fog of the sedative, she realized that she was in Dan and Mart's room, and that the hazy light winking at her was the bedside clock radio. She studied the time, then frowned. Twelve-thirty. Again, she waited for her brain to play catch-up. After a moment of intense concentration, she decided that twelve-thirty probably meant that everyone had gone to bed. Glancing at the twin bed beside her, she noted that it was empty. I wonder if Mart and Dan are both camped out on the couches downstairs ... and are they speaking to each other?

Trixie closed her eyes and tried to return to the peaceful slumber she had been enjoying. She soon realized that the low dosage sedative had passed its peak effectiveness, and that she wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. Keeping her mind carefully blank, she stayed in bed a few moments longer, but knew that she was only making matters worse. If she didn't get up, she would soon be tossing, turning, and reliving disturbing events.

With a sigh, she sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, searching vainly for the fuzzy slippers Honey habitually left for her. Finally, she stood reluctantly, instantly missing the comfort and warmth of the polar fleece blanket and fluffy duvet. Without thinking, she opened the closet door and rummaged until she found something suitable. Slipping her arms into the over-sized UVA sweatshirt, she quietly opened the door.

Noting the flickering light of the large screen television, and the murmur of low voices, Trixie hesitated, with one foot poised on the top stair, then sighed and padded down the stairs. Though she made little noise, her friends seemed to be immediately aware of her presence. Diana and Honey were the first to spot her, as they carried their empty glasses to the kitchen.

“Trixie!” Honey exclaimed, meeting her at the bottom of the steps with a warm hug. “How are you feeling?” she asked, searching her friend's face with an anxious expression.

Trixie pushed back her surprise and pleasure at Honey's response, and gave her an extra squeeze. “Awake. I'm feeling very awake.”

Diana joined them, slipping an arm around Trixie's shoulders. “Awake is a good start,” she assured her, and steered her to the living room, where the males were now standing awkwardly. Brian took one look at her exhausted, bleary eyes, and enveloped her in a strong hug.

“I'm so glad you're okay,” he whispered. “And I'm sorry for before.”

Trixie sniffed, cursing the sedative that always lowered her emotion threshold. Luckily, Brian understood. “Now, you can make me feel better,” he continued, still in a low voice. “Come sit down. Unless you'd rather go back to bed?”

“No!” she snapped, then continued more calmly. “I'm not going back to bed.”

Brian nodded, and started to say something, but was interrupted by his younger brother.

“Trixie!” Mart exclaimed, and folded her into a bear hug, the likes of which could only be rivalled by the youngest Belden. After enjoying the unexpected display of affection, Trixie laughed and stepped back.

“You're all acting as if I've had major surgery or something. I'm fine! But, what are all of you still doing up? It's late.”

Mart groaned, even as he plopped back down on the luxurious leather sofa and pulled Trixie down with him. “We were watching,” he coughed, “a movie. Which will remain nameless, and will never again be spoken of in my presence.”

“Dang it!” Trixie exclaimed. “I missed Legally Blonde?” She glared at Dan, who had remained silent while the others greeted her. “This is why I hate sedatives. I always miss something good!”

Dan caught her eye and smiled, relieved that she was able to laugh and joke. “I can't be certain, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Di and Honey would be more than happy to watch it again.”

“We could probably be talked into it,” Honey agreed, but Trixie's attention was fixed on the one person in the room who had yet to greet her. The one person whose presence she could feel studying her, watching her every move.

Jim stood away from the rest of the group, his worried green eyes never leaving Trixie. When she looked at him, he felt pierced, and vulnerable to her censure. He felt overwhelming guilt at the pain he had inadvertently caused her. The memory made him wince, but he couldn't look away. Their eyes remained locked as Brian settled himself beside his sister.

“I...I'll get the drinks. And is everyone hungry? Or did you snack during the movie?” The words tumbled out of Trixie's mouth, gathering speed as she continued.

“Well,” Honey responded, “Mart had a little something, but the rest of us were too full from supper.” She looked around the room for confirmation. “I think a snack would be fine. What did you have in mind?” she questioned, as they rose from their seats.

“I have no idea,” Trixie admitted. “I just thought...” Losing her train of thought as she passed Jim, she slowed her pace almost to a complete halt as Jim's jaw worked in an unsuccessful attempt to articulate his concern. Trixie smiled tentatively, then flushed and looked past him to the kitchen. “I just thought I'd see what we have,” she finished weakly, but she knew she hadn't fooled anyone.

With legendary tact, Honey pretended not to notice Trixie's pink cheeks and inattention. Once in the kitchen, they searched the cupboards and fridge, volunteering and rejecting suggestions.

“Microwave popcorn it is,” Trixie decided at last. She placed the first bag in the microwave and stared at the window, waiting for the popping to begin. Honey set seven glasses on the counter and took a bottle of Coke out of the fridge.

“I'm sure everyone would like drinks,” she mused, and began pouring.

“To help them stay awake, right?” Trixie voice held a trace of bitterness. “Admit it, Honey. You were on your way to bed when I came down.” She sighed. “You don't have to stay up, you know. I'm fine.”

Honey finished pouring the pop. “I know. We're not staying up because we have to, Trix. We're staying up because we want to. Do you honestly think any of us could sleep, knowing that...”

“Knowing what?” Trixie demanded.

“Knowing that you're hurting,” Honey said, her hazel eyes clouding in sympathy.

Trixie burrowed deeper into the borrowed sweatshirt. “What did Dan tell you?”

“He said that you and your roommate were captured and tortured. And that your friend didn't make it.”

Trixie met Honey's eyes and saw reflected in them every narrow escape and terrible adventure the two had shared. She shivered, imagining what her life would be like if Honey had been the one to die when they were teenagers.

Mistaking the cause of the pain in Trixie's eyes, Honey slipped an arm around her shoulder. “You must have been close,” she sympathized.

Trixie smiled softly in remembrance. “Yes, we were.” She came back to the present. “Almost as close as you and I.”

“Trixie, I'm so glad you made it out!” The tears slipped down Honey's cheeks.

Trixie closed her eyes against the flood of memories, regrets, and loss. “Me, too, Honey. Me, too.” She blinked rapidly and willed away the gloom.

The beeping of the microwave caught both girls by surprise. Honey giggled as Trixie retrieved the piping hot bag of popcorn and held it gingerly by the edge. Gratefully, she dumped the white, fluffy kernels into the bowl Honey offered. Their eyes met.

“Remember all that popcorn we used to eat at our sleepovers?” Honey asked.

“That was real popcorn,” Trixie agreed. “Popped in oil, on the stove.” They both smiled, and Trixie's stomach growled. Ignoring her hunger, Trixie grasped Honey's hand and made an impulsive decision. “Why don't we have a girls-only time tomorrow? We could do lunch, or something. What do you think? Want to grab Di and ditch the boys tomorrow?”

A wide smile lighted Honey's face and went a long way towards banishing the traces of her earlier tears. “I think it's a plan. Besides, this trip is cheating us out of the movie sleepover we planned.”

Trixie snapped her fingers. “That's right! That was pretty inconsiderate of your father,” she concluded, her eyes twinkling.

Honey nodded solemnly. “Yup. Watching the same movies here, nestled in a snug chalet in the mountains with the guys is just cruel and unusual punishment.”

Trixie glanced back to the living room, smiling at the homey picture of her friends and brothers relaxing and teasing each other. When Jim looked up and caught her eye, she blushed and turned back to Honey. “The very worst punishment,” she agreed.

Honey hid a smile and picked up the bowl of popcorn. “I'll take this in to them while the other bag is popping,” she offered.

Trixie reached for the unpopped bag of popcorn. “Okay. I'll bring this in a minute.” With her back to the living room, she didn't notice the pointed look Honey directed at her brother. The humming of the microwave muffled the briefly paused conversations, and the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Jim cleared his throat. “Need some help?” he asked, acutely aware of the hitch in his voice. Nice, Frayne, he thought with disgust. I thought you finished with puberty years ago.

Trixie jumped as she spun around to face him. Startled, she grasped the counter behind her and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Whoa!” Jim held up both hands and forced himself to laugh in an attempt to hide his inward cringe at her reaction. “It's just me.”

Trixie laughed nervously. “I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little on edge.” The staccato barrage of rapid popping subsided, and Trixie turned back to open the microwave door. Mishandling the hot bag, she sucked in her breath sharply. In two long-legged strides, Jim covered the distance between them. He reached to take the bag from her even as she turned to face him. Trixie found herself pressed back against the counter, one of Jim's arms on either side of her. She froze, her heart galloping madly.

Jim knew that the gentlemanly response would be to step back and give Trixie some room. He knew that the living room was full of curious eyes pretending not to watch them. He knew that Trixie was nervous, and that a nervous Trixie was...unpredictable, to say the least. Giving these thoughts serious competition was the foolish desire to remain where he was, and take his chances. After a brief struggle, Jim managed to look away from the eyes in which he threatened to drown.

Before he could step back, Trixie placed a tentative hand on his upper arm and flashed the brilliant smile that always prompted his own quick grin. “I suppose I could use some help,” she admitted, and handed him the bag of popcorn as she moved away from him.

Jim suppressed a chuckle as she struggled to remove a bowl from the top shelf in the cupboard. “Allow me.”

With a shrug, Trixie stepped aside. Jim easily retrieved the dish and handed it to her with a flourish. Refusing to acknowledge the red-head's height, and the advantages he enjoyed because of it, she took the bowl and deftly filled it with hot, fragrant popcorn.

Jim sighed as Trixie pattered about the kitchen, never making eye contact. Desperate to make amends for his actions in the hot tub, he cleared his throat. “Trixie.”

At the sound of her name, spoken with almost unbearable tenderness, Trixie shivered and turned to him, her wide blue eyes searching his face. Instead of speaking, she chewed her bottom lip.

More than anything, Jim wanted to take her in his arms and soothe the signs of stress evident in her expression, her posture. But there were things he needed to say first. “Trixie, I'm so sorry.” He faltered as her eyes continued to search him. “I reacted badly. Again.”

Still, Trixie didn't speak.

Jim ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a spiky, ruffled mess, and tried again. “Can you forgive me?” he pleaded.

Trixie shook her head, and Jim's heart sank. She picked up the tray of drinks. “There's nothing to forgive,” she said. “You didn't do anything wrong. And I'm sorry, too.” She looked down at her hands. “The last thing I wanted to do is remind you of your scars.”

Jim almost laughed, until he saw that Trixie was serious. Shocked by her reasoning, he took the tray of drinks from her, his hands deliberately lingering on hers. “Trixie, I can assure you, the last thing on my mind is my scars.”

She looked up in surprise.

“The only thing on my mind is you,” he concluded, his green eyes intense.

Trixie swallowed hard. “We'd better take the food to the living room,” she whispered, but didn't move.

Jim nodded. They continued to stand, neither wanting to make the first move out of the kitchen.

“Hey!” a voice called. “Are you guys coming or not?” Mart stopped shovelling popcorn into his mouth long enough to warn them, “I'm working up a powerful thirst here.”

“Just for that, I'm keeping this bowl to myself,” Trixie informed her brother.

Mart sighed. “I'd fight you for it, but, frankly, I haven't been coming out on top of these arguments since supper. Keep it,” he said, even as he eyed the popcorn longingly.

“Thanks. I will,” Trixie replied, and helped Jim pass out the drinks. When the tray was empty, she set it on the kitchen counter, and returned to find her spot for the next movie. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that either she hadn't been paying attention to where people were sitting, or some fancy footwork had taken place when she wasn't looking.

Diana and Honey occupied the love seat, with Brian stretched out on the floor in front of them. A large pillow supporting his back gave the impression of comfort, but Trixie was certain she saw him wince as he shifted and avoided her gaze. Dan remained in the easy chair, while Mart lounged at one end of the couch. Seated at the other end of the couch, Jim smiled and patted the cushion beside him.

“Have a seat,” he offered.

Trixie's eyes darted to Dan. A raised eyebrow and barely perceptible shrug confirmed her suspicions that, yes, the seating was contrived, and, no, he hadn't had anything to do with it. Trixie took the seat, purposely bumping into Mart and crowding him into the arm rest.

“Hey!” he protested. “What's the big deal? It's a big couch!”

Trixie smacked his leg, even as she wiggled her hips in an attempt to crowd him further. “That's for not rescuing me from the back seat on the drive up here,” she informed him.

“Have a heart, Trix!” he begged, covering his relief that Trixie seemed back to her normal, spunky self.

“No way!” Trixie shook her head. “Jim paid his dues.”

“Oh, I think I can afford a little more,” Jim said mildly. “Come on, Trix, have a heart,” he teased in an imitation of Mart.

“Well, okay,” she agreed reluctantly. Before scooting an inch or two away from her brother, she leaned close to warn him, “If you fall asleep on my shoulder, I will personally dump you off this couch so quickly you won't know what hit you.”

Mart looked at her in surprise.

“You're a Belden, which means you drool. You're a male, which means you snore. You won't be doing either on me,” she informed him tartly.

Mart narrowed his eyes, but didn't contest her claims.

Trixie settled back with a pleased smile. Nonchalantly resting his arm on the back rest behind Trixie, Jim leaned close and whispered, “As luck would have it, I have absolutely no problem with drool.” he dropped his arm to her shoulders and urged her closer.

Brian cleared his throat. “Mart? Are we going to watch the movie?”

“Right.” Mart scrambled for the remote, finally locating it between the cushion and the arm rest. After wiping his greasy hands on his jeans, he started the movie and settled back, revelling in the extra inches Trixie had spared him. Trixie tucked her legs neatly beside her on the couch, making sure to prod her brother. Mart merely turned to face her and crunched his mouthful of popcorn with extra gusto. With a shake of her head, she settled back lightly, being careful to hold herself away from both her brother and Jim.

As the movie progressed, Trixie noted with amusement that Honey and Di had become uncharacteristically silent, and that even the guys were becoming less vocal in their exclamations over the various action scenes. When Mart's head dipped in her direction, she elbowed him gently but persistently until he tipped to the other side, and the sound of gentle snoring became audible.

Jim, too, found himself losing the battle for wakefulness. He slouched further and further into the corner of the couch, his heavy arm across Trixie's shoulders drawing her with him. Certain that everyone else was asleep, Trixie allowed herself to be pulled back against his chest. As they eventually sank to a reclining position, she reflected that, all things considered, she couldn't ask for better friends. Listening to the mixture of quiet breathing and gentle snoring that filled the room, she found her troubled memories retreating to the edge of consciousness. At first the movie held her attention but soon, she found her mind drifting, reliving the short but sweet moments she had shared with Jim. His quiet comments meant for her ears only, his single-minded attention, his kiss... Trixie blushed as she remembered the brief, exhilarating encounter of Christmas day on the porch of the Manor House.

Jim's arm shifted, drawing her even closer, and she relaxed gratefully into his embrace.