The days since their return from Gaia had become a lazy progression of surfing in the morning, followed by classes throughout the day, culminating in dance lessons with Wren and maybe a quiet movie in the school’s common room.  Truthfully, Nay Ryan was going a little stir-crazy.  He realized the Valley, at over a hundred square miles, was a fascinating place but he also realized that no matter where he went, Spock was watching.

Eight a.m. on a Saturday morning had found him riding the predictable crests of predictable waves and after the third trip in he didn’t bother to paddle out.  It had finally happened.  He was bored with surfing.  Tucking the long board under his right arm he made the climb up the face of the cliff without his usual bounding leaps.  As he passed under the shade of the forest a plan began to form.

Propping the surfboard against the wall in his room, he quickly rinsed the salt from his hair and body then pulled on a clean pair of cutoffs.   Mindful of Angel’s admonitions about bare feet, he stepped into a pair of sandals as he pulled on a tee-shirt and headed up to the kitchen.

The aroma of fresh pasties and coffee drew him along nearly as single-mindedly as Wren could with just one look over her shoulder.  As usual, he was the first to appear and so got first choices in everything.  Angel merely smiled as Nat moved around the kitchen filling a cup with coffee and taking out two plates.  He set them out on small breakfast table that was situated in a corner alcove.  Two forks, two knives, two spoons on linen napkins followed by the tea tray.

From the refrigerator he retrieved the clotted cream, marmalade and a tiny silver milk pitcher.  These he added to the tea service.  Pausing for a moment to consider the selection, he chose a golden croissant and a pair of almond pastries.  Just as he place these on the two plates the door to the kitchen swung open.

“About time you woke up,” he said.  “Yeesh . . . if you get any more beauty sleep . . .”

Wren Collins made an effort to fluff her curls into place while saying “Did I keep you waiting?”

Like Nat she was dress a little on the informal side, well-worn black jeans that molded to her long dancer’s legs and simple tee shirt with a ‘Paris Ballet’ logo silk screened in black.  Nat’s grin was instant and broad.

“Always!”  He pulled out her chair, trying to suppress the smile but failing.  Wren paused for a moment, before sitting, giving him the raised eyebrow look of query. 

“I thought I might go to Paris today,” he said casually.  “Would you like to join me?”  He took his place beside her.

She glanced down at her attire, “I am not really dressed for Paris, Nathaniel."

He mimicked her perfectly as he looked down at his own cutoffs.

“And I am?”  Lifting the cozy off the teapot he filled her cup.

“No, you are not either,” she had to admit.  With the tiny tongs she dropped two cubes of sugar into the cup before stirring in a measure of milk.

“What does one wear to Paris,” Nat cocked his head and tapped his lips with a finger, deep in thought.  “Do I need a beret?”  He snapped his fingers.  “Maybe I can get Spock to make me black slacks and a red and white stripped shirt to go with it?”

Wren tilted her head, smiling a bit.  "They’ll throw rocks at you.  Or stale bread”

“Hmm,            can I throw things back?”  He took a sip of his coffee and sighed.  It was wonderful.

“That might work where you come from, but generally they would not enjoy it,” she said with a half smile.

“The French don't have ANY sense of humor,” Nat pouted.  Foregoing the fork and knife he’d set out so carefully earlier, he picked up the almond filled pastry and took a bite.      “No, they are too busy smoking,” Wren pointed out.

Nat pulled a face.  “Ugh!” he said in disgust.

“Yes, exactly,” Wren agreed.

“So, what do I wear to Paris?” he asked her then he had a thought.  “Oops!  It's gonna be like . . . late afternoon there!”

Wren nodded.  "That is correct."

“Wow . . . Paris at night?”

“You sound baffled,” Wren spread clotted cream on her croissant followed by a small spoonful of the marmalade.

“I mean . . . that calls for dressing up,” Nat opined.  “I don't have anything like that.”

“I'm afraid you're not quite my size, either,” Wren said with a smile.

Seeing Nat already into his second pastry, Wren shrugged and also ignoring the flatware, picked up her croissant for a bite.

“Ummm . . .” Nat swallowed then dabbed at his lips with a napkin before continuing.  “I guess I can ask Spock.”

“You could, yes,” Wren said in a neutral tone.

“Would you like to go?” Nat’s ocean blue eyes were locked on hers when she looked up at him.

She smiled.  “Getting to see you dressed up is incentive enough."

“Any suggestions?”  Nat asked.  “I mean, I haven't had long pants other than jeans in four years.”

“I've always been fond of the color blue-grey,” she gave him an odd look that made him sit up straighter.

“Spock, what's the weather in Paris?” he said to the air.

“It is an uncommonly warm day, temperature is 22 degrees C and fair,” the computer responded.

“Is it jeans and shirt or something more . . . stylish?” Nat asked.

Wren gave him an even look.  "Do remember who I am, sir."

He popped to his feet, the chair skidding back nearly two feet.  He pulled it back into place and smiled.

"I'll dress up then!"

“Good,” Wren said tilting her head to look up at him.

Nat leaned down and almost kissed her before he stopped, his eyes growing wide, his lips a faction of an inch from her.

“Umm . . . “ he stammered, not pulling back.  “I guess I’ll go get dressed.”

Something in her eyes made his heart race and her smile was soft, almost playful.

“Yes, you do that,” she said.  “I will meet you back here."

Nat slowly backed away, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"Umm . . . yeah . . . a few minutes."

She suppressed a grin as he nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to get out of the room.  After he disappeared, she stood and quickly cleared the table.

“That boy is so very gone,” Angel commented, watching Wren out of the corner of his eye.  When she’d finished and as she was pushing through the swinging door he added “And so are you.”

Nat pounded down the stairs and threw open the door to his bedroom.

“Spock . . . what do I wear in Paris?” He all but demanded.  “I mean something not too dressy but not jeans or anything.  And it’s gotta be blue-gray!”

“Perhaps slacks, a dress shirt and a light sweater or jacket?” The computer suggested.  “Or perhaps suit?”

Nat’s clothes ended up in the hamper, more or less, as he rushed into the bathroom for a quick and complete shower.  When he came back out with a towel around his waist two sets of clothes were waiting on his bed.  One by one he picked them up and examined the offerings.  He held the pleated all-wool dress pants up to his body.

“Wow, actually long enough!”

Careful not to wrinkle anything, Nat pulled on slacks and a teeshirt before pulling a blue grey Merino wool half-zip mock neck sweater down over his head.  Sitting on the bed, he pulled on black socks and the black tasseled dress shoes provided by Spock.  Everything fit perfectly.

“Spock, can I have a mirror?”

One appeared next to the bathroom door.  Nat stood for a moment, looking at himself.  He pulled on a taupe Herringbone two-button wool-blend sport coat and hunched his shoulders to settle it into place.

“Do not button the jacket,” the computer suggested.  Nat unbuttoned the jacket.

“Better?”

Someone pounded a fist on his door and when it opened without invitation Nat scowled.

“Hey, Zach,” Nat said.

His new friend started to say something then stopped, his mouth snapping shut in surprise.

“I guess you ate already,” he said giving Nat a scowl.

Nat placed a hand on Zach’s shoulder and turned him around, propelling him back into the hallway with minimal effort.  Zach sidestepped the larger young man and fell in behind as Nat took the stairs up four at a time.  Without a thought, Zach took to the air to keep up with Nat’s sudden burst of speed.

A girl was sitting at the bottom of the girls’ stairs when they reached the ground floor.  Zach paused to ogle her all the time wondering where Archer managed to find all the hotties.   This one was a shapely red head with a beautiful face that seemed to be constantly set in serious thought.  Her clothes were rumpled and Zach wasn’t sure how long it might have been since they’d last been washed.  Not that it really mattered.  She was HOT!

“Hello, IQ,” Nat said casually.

“Hey,” she responded.

Zach landed and stepped around Nat’s huge back and waved at the girl.

“I’m Zach!” he said.

The girl looked up at him giving no thought to the gold coin she was rolling back and forth across the knuckles on the back of her hand. 

“IQ,” she said then eyed Nat.

“Nice trick,” Zach offered as the coin disappeared.

“Thanks,” she said.

Zach popped a small light ball into the air and let it spin on his fingertip before it burst like a miniature skyrocket.

“What are you all decked out for, Nat?”  IQ’s brows knitted.

“Paris,” he replied.

The girl made a disgusted noise.  “Yeah, not a rich kid . . .” she muttered.

“Spock!”  Nat raised his voice.  “Get this girl clothes!”  The turned to Zach and pointed a finger at his chest.  “And YOU, take her to Paris or something!”

Zach blinked and looked stupefied. “What?” he managed.

“I’m wearing clothes!” the girl complained.

“So . . . “ Zach moved in.  “Is IQ your real name or what?”

“That is what every one calls me,” she said, her attention still on the surfer.  “So what’s wrong with my clothes, Nat?”

“I mean the name on your birth certificate,” Zach pushed.

“Rather not tell no one that,” IQ said.  “It's a stupid name.”

Nat began to pace back and forth along the hall, IQ watched him.

Zach shrugged, “So are you really smart or something?”

“Don't think so,” the girl replied, the coin running across her knuckles only to disappear again.

“So you have powers or what?” Zach was struggling to get her attention.

She shrugged, “Yup . . . the Marshal brought me here.“

“Fire powers?” Zach offered.

“Nope.  Nat you are going to wear a hole in there carpet?” she scowled.  “Planning on getting laid or something.”

Zach decided to support her line of inquiry.

“So what’s the deal with Paris?” he asked.

“Rich kid stuff,” IQ scoffed.

“Is the whole school going to Paris or something?”  Zach hadn’t heard of a trip being planned.

“No,” Nat almost snapped.  “Wren and I are going to site see.”

“Oooooh,” Zach tone was sly.

“See, rich kid stuff!”  IQ’s tone was filled with vindication.

Zach used the moment to sit down on the steps beside IQ.

“Yeah, IQ, rich kid stuff . . .” Nat said struggling to keep sarcasm out of his tone.  “Rich kids stuff you can do now too.”

Zach opened his hand, a light ball spun on his palm for a moment before he closed his fingers over it.

“Alone?” she snorted.  “Right!”

“Well you’re around friends here,” Zach offered.  IQ raised an eyebrow at him.  “We all understand each other . . . most of us anyways . . . if you don’t want to make any enemies here you won’t.”  He stammered to a stop.

“If you say so,” she didn’t sound in the least convinced.

“So . . . what kind of powers do you have?”  Zach tried again.

“Just stuff,” she said.

Zach levitated off the steps and called up a mass of energy that made his hair stand on end.

Nat stopped his pacing and stepped over to the French doors to stare out as the beautiful morning sky.  The soft tread of feet made him spin around and his mouth dropped open.

Wren stood just above IQ and Zach.  She’d chosen a black textured twill flared skirt that stopped just below her knees, tall black leather boots and an off-the-shoulder blouse in a shade of smoky blue with three quarter length sleeves.  Her curly black hair had been captured with a handful of diamond studded clips.

It was the first time since before the Gaia trip Nat had seen her dressed up and he hated himself for having forgotten just how stunning she could be.  Zach turned and looked up at her, just long enough to flash her a peace sign, then moved closer to IQ to give Wren a clear path down.

She smiled at Nat.  “You are making a habit out of this being gorgeous thing, Nathaniel.”

IQ snorted and rolled her eyes as the coin continued its path across the back of her hand.

“Umm . . .” Nat had to blink to break his unabashed stare.  “You too . . .” was all he managed.

In return Wren blinked as if coming awake and looked down at the two on the stairs.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Yeah,” IQ said.  “Morning.”

Zach nodded.  Nat crossed the passageway and held out a hand to Wren.

“I guess we can bet started,” he said.

Zach came to his feet muttering and pushed through the French doors out into the morning sun.  IQ pressed her back to the wall just enough to allow Wren to pass.  The taller girl smiled at IQ and took Nat’s offered hand.

“I should have . . .”  Nat floundered.

IQ came to her feet shaking her and headed for the kitchen.  “Boring rich kids,” she scowled.

“I wish I had a flower for you,” Nat concluded.

Wren laughed, the rare sound like bells.  She tucked her arm into his.

“Really, you are enough.”

She could feel the sudden tension him, as if he’d had become one off Archer’s bow strings.

“Spock . . . if you would please?” Nat managed through a suddenly dry throat.

Neither felt the usual tingle of the teleporter and when they materialized in the back room of a café it might as well have been a closet.

“Where do we go first?” Nat asked, giving Wren’s hand a tiny squeeze.

“What?” She tilted her head.  “You do not have a genius plan?

“Well, I thought maybe a walk down the Champs Elyse,” he suggested.  “Maybe a boat ride?”

“There’s genius,” she said with a smile.

A clatter of dishes brought both to an awareness of their surroundings.

“Um . . . where do you think we are?”  Nat hesitantly pushed open a door and peeked out.

“Nowhere horrible, I am sure,” Wren replied.  “Besides, who is going to take on you and me?”

“No one I can think of,” Nat smiled at her.

“No one sane, anyway,” Wren replied.

A pretty young woman came around a corner and jumped at the sight of the open door and couple gazing into each others’ eyes.

“’ello!” She said.

“Salut,” Wren replied turning to face the woman.

“Vous êtes de la chasse sauvage?” she began in French then translated. “You are from the Wild Hunt?  I am Janette.  You must know my grandmother.”

The young woman gestured for them to step out of the storeroom.

“Yes,” Wren said hesitantly.

“Mary Grayson is my grandmother.”

“Oh!”  Wren smiled warmly.  "How nice to meet you."

From over Wren’s shoulder Nat said “Hi, I am Nathaniel, Nat and this is Wren.”

“My grandmother speaks of you both,” Janette clasped her flour coated hands at her waist.  “It is very nice to actually meet some of you.”

“Nothing but good things, I'm sure,” Wren said.

Nat smiled.  "Well . . .I did steal her pie the other day . . ."

“That does not bother her, only if you DON"T eat what she cooks,” Janette laughed.

“That is never a problem in that school,” Wren assured her.

“Guess all I do is complement her then,” Nat grinned.

“What are you two planning for the evening?”

“Oh, just the silly tourist things,” Wren said with a lift of her slim shoulders.  “Walking, eating, and going on a boat.”  She looked thoughtful for a moment.  “I'm trying to decide if I should pretend not to speak French.”

“You speak French?” Nat caught himself and smacked his forehead.  “That was dumb.”  Wren smiled at him.

“Would you care to have dinner, this evening?” Janette offered.

“Perhaps another time?" Nat said giving Wren’s hand, where it rested on his arm, a light pat.

Nat thought for a moment he detected the slightest rise in Wren’s color but when she smiled up at him he forgot everything.

“Like Wren said, we were planning on a walk and maybe dinner at a café then maybe a cruise along the Seine.” He said after a moment.

Janette gave them a knowing look.  “I understand.  Perhaps you might wish to combine a cruise with dinner?  I have a friend that manages one of the cruise boats.  The dining room is on the top deck and is enclosed in glass.”

Nat looked down at Wren, a question in his eyes.

“How far are we from there?” he asked.

“But a few blocks,” Janette assured them.  “You must head toward the Eiffel Tower along the Rue Le Tasse to Port Debilly, just down river from the bridge.  The first cruise is at 8:30.”

“Sounds beautiful,” Wren said breathlessly.

“I will call ahead if you would like?” Janette offered.

Nat nodded.  "If you would please.” 

Neither noticed Janette when she stepped away from them long enough to make a quick call.

“It is all set,” she said on her return.  “Just turn right and follow the street to the river.  I have asked Rene to look out for you.”

“Thank you kindly,” Wren said.

Nat grinned at their hostess.  “Thanks, Janette.”

Janette pushed open the kitchen door for them.  It opened in to a cozy little bistro with the traditional sidewalk tables though few where out enjoying the afternoon.

"Please remind grandmamma that she promised to visit this week end.  She has so much fun with her little charges, sometimes she forgets the rest of her family,"  Janette said. 

“I will remind her.” Wren’s smile broadened. 

Janette looked them both up and down.  “It is a formal dress cruise.”

“Formal.” Wren whispered, looking up at Nathaniel thoughtfully. 

After Nat leaned down to accept a kiss on each cheek from Janette, they set out for the Champs Elyse, Wren’s arm still him his.  Wren glanced often at him out of the corner of her eye, amused at his reactions to the sights and people.

“Have you spent much time in Paris,” he said looking down at her and catching her eyes on him.  He blushed, suddenly aware of her hip bumping lightly against him as they walked.

“Yes, quite a while,” she said.  “For me anyway.”  She gave a small sigh.  “I’ve missed France.”

He didn’t take his eyes off of her when he said “It is really beautiful.”

It was a struggle for him but he managed to tear his eyes from her and gaze across the river at the Eiffel Tower.  “Have you been to the Louvre?  And up in the Tower?”

“Yes, I had enough time to do many of the tourist things.”

Nat stopped, the aroma of flowers floating on the wind bringing his head around.  He turned, following his nose.  “What are your favorite flowers?"

“I'm rather fond of white calla lilies,” she said.  “Well, any white flower really.”

They stopped in front of a flower stand, Nat overwhelmed by the myriad of scents.  His eyes lit up and he pointed to a spray of tiny white flowers, lost as to how to ask what they were in French.

“Quelles sont ces fleurs?” Wren asked the man.

“Ah, tells sont des edelweiss de Suisse,” the man replied.

There began a lengthy conversation between the two as Wren suddenly became lively and expressive with wide but controlled gestures.  Nat watched, amazed at the transformation.

When she turned to him, her eyes were bright and her grin dazzling.  “They are edelweiss, from Switzerland.”

Nat plucked the fullest looking bunch from the selection and paid with US dollars, a common enough language all over the world.  When he turned back to Wren he looked at her blouse then into her eyes.

“I imagine these in a circlet . . . in your hair but I never learned to weave flowers.”

She smiled a little.  “If you help, we can still put them in my hair . . . I never learned to weave flowers either but I do seem to have a million little clips in my hair we can use.”

Wren stood very still as Nat handed her the bunch of flowers then selected a sprig.  Gently he opened the first clip and nested a tiny flower in place.

“Celui-ci est infiniment dans l’amour avec vous, mademoiselle,” the vendor said.  “Comment peut-ce être lui vous rend-il bien plus beau?”

“Ne lui dites pas que mais je l’aime aussi,” Wren replied with a small laugh.

Nat stepped back, his head cocked to one side.

“Il . . . I mean he says that you are . . . very sweet,” Wren said in answer to Nat’s raised eyebrow.

With noticeably trembling hands, Nat selected a second group of flowers and added it to her hair.  She smiled when he caught his lower lip between his teeth as he added the tiny flowers.  When he was close like that, she had to fight to keep her own hands from trembling.

At last he stepped back and looked to the peddler.  The man grinned and nod, kissing his finger tips.  Nat smiled at him in thanks.

“We had best get moving,” he said to Wren.

She nodded “Of course.”

Unconsciously he took her hand and found it chilled.  He looked at her, scowling.

“Are you cold?”  Nat hadn’t noticed the drop in the temperature.

“I am a tough girl,” she said with a slight shrug.”

Nat lifted her hand “You don’t feel tough.”

He pulled his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders, the material still warm from his body.  She actually had to fight down a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

She looked up at him, “Don't make me beat you up, Nathaniel.  I'm quite meaner than I look.  But, thank you.”  Amusement danced in her eyes.  “Now, we really must buy proper clothes for dinner.”

It was her turn to take his hand and as she pulled him out onto the Champs Elyse.  Nat found himself caught up in a whirlwind of clothes buying.  Over the next couple of hours Wren treated him like a dress up doll, having him try on this or try on that, none of it quite long enough for his tall frame.  When she was at last satisfied and his clothes were being tailored, she took a moment to slip into a women’s boutique after leaving him waiting at a café table across the street.

He settled down for what he expected to be a very long wait and watched the people drift by not sure if he was more amazed at being in Paris or with Wren.  He knew that was a stupid comparison.  He really didn’t care where he was, as long as she was there.

He’d barely had time to finish his first cup of coffee when Wren stepped out of the shop with two garment bags.  Dropping a $20 on the table, Nat danced through traffic to her side.  She stopped and watched him move, her heart flittering a little.  She looked amused as he reached her.

“That quick?” he said.

“When you know what you want, it is very easy to shop,” she explained.  “Shall we check on your tailoring?”

With the sun already down, a ten minute walk found them just up the street from the boat dock but with a slight problem.

“There is a hotel,” Wren said.  “We can take a room and dress.”

Nat’s mind began to spin at the thought of being in a hotel room with Wren.  She obviously had the same thought and she laid a hand on his arm.

“Nathaniel, think of it as a big dressing room,” she said.

With her faultless French she took a room for the night without too much explanation about luggage and they were shown into an opulent suite on the top floor overlooking the Seine.  It was what Wren had called a ‘Deluxe’ suite, two bedrooms, a sitting room and a single bathroom.  Everything was Louis XIV though Nat had no idea what that was.  When the bellhop vanished, Nat stood in the middle of the room, mouth agape.  He had thought Archer’s place was fantastic.

“It is a just a hotel room, Nathaniel,” Wren said.  She threw open the French doors and stepped out onto the small balcony.

Nat silently moved up beside her and took in the city as the true meaning of ‘City of Lights’ came home.  Turning to face him, she smiled.

“I get the bathroom first,” she said and moved toward it in a way Nat had never seen before. 

Hooking her finger into the garment bags, she disappeared with a last look over her shoulder.  Nat dropped into a chair, making it creak ominously.

“Good grief,” he sighed.

It seemed like only a matter of minutes before Wren poked her head out the door and said “All yours.”

He pulled himself up out of the chair and cautiously opened the bathroom door and peeked in.  Empty with the opposite door closed.  At the sink she had carefully removed the flowers from her hair and placed them in a shallow saucer with a tiny amount of water.  The blossoms scented the air and mingled with the hotel provided soaps and shampoo to create an intoxicating aroma that made Nat close his eyes and inhale.

Shaking himself free of the spell he stripped and took a quick shower glad for once there was no need for him to shave just yet.  Wrapping a towel around his waist he ducked into the bedroom and dressed.

He was standing on the balcony with his back to the room when the soft click of the bedroom latch made him turn.   Both stood staring at the other for a long moment.

To Nat, Wren had gone from the most beautiful girl he knew to the most beautiful girl period.  Her lithe body was sheathed in a black floor length gown that molded to her upper body like flowing water than cascaded from her hips to form a black pool at her feet.  His first thought was of a woman he’d seen in an old black and white movie from the 30’s.  Wren looked as if she’d just stepped out of that era.  He held his breath as she sauntered, yeah he thought that was the right word, up to him and ran her fingers down the lapels of his suit coat.

“You do clean up rather nicely,” she commented taking in the way the tux accented his body.  “Rather nicely indeed.”

“You look ‘rather’ stunning yourself,” Nat replied, trying not to stare too hard.  He covered the hands on his lapels and received an amused look.

“We better hurry,” he said.  “I see the boat loading from up here.”

“Hurrying,” she said without moving.

For a moment Nat considered scooping her up in his arms and leaping off the balcony but decided it might not be a good idea, no matter how fun.

They both moved at once, Nat snatching up the light shawl that Wren had included with the gown.  He met her at the door and draped the wrap about her shoulders thinking how little protection it would offer to the cooling evening.  The overall effect stopped any such comment.

The last few guests were moving slowly across the gangway when the couple arrived and a man with a clipboard smiled at them.

“You are Janette's friends,” the man said with a smile.

Nat nodded, “Yes . . .”

“Come,” the man said, gesturing to the gangway.  “I have a table especially for you.”

Still holding Wren’s hand, Nat followed her across the narrow walkway to the deck of a low-slung boat some 200 feet in length and 25 feet wide.  The hull was sleek, glossy white with a glass enclosed upper deck illuminated only by soft indirect lighting and candles.  Maybe two dozen tables covered in linen and set with some of the most elegant tableware Nat had ever seen alternated port and starboard the length of the deck ending at the stern with the last table affording a magnificent of the city.

Other guests were being seated by a team of attendant hosts and hostesses while a string quartet played softly from forward.  The man again gestured and escorted Nat and Wren all the way aft to the stern table.

“Will this be acceptable?” the man asked as Nat held out Wren’s chair.

“Quite,” she replied, smoothing her gown as she sat.

Nat stepped around and settled gingerly into the chair opposite her.  She sat unmoving, taking in the scene.

“Doesn’t matter how many times you see it,” she whispered.  “It is still stunning.”

“Beautiful,” Nat agreed, though he didn’t give the city a single glance.

As the boat’s side thrusters push the vessel out into the main stream of the Seine their host recited the night’s menu and, after a brief few words with Wren, departed.  She turned to Nat and smiled.

“I hope you don’t mind my selections,” she said.

Nat had just opened his mouth to reply when the glass panes toward the bow began to shatter to the accompaniment of gunfire.  The music ended with a screech of a bow across strings and guests began to scream.  The man that had escorted them aboard turned to them, his face draining of blood.

Nat stood, Wren coming instantly to his side, her chair tipping backward to the deck.   At the far end of the boat a half dozen men wearing black ski masks and carrying assault rifles fanned out across the width of the deck.  People were being ordered to empty their pockets and strip off their jewelry.

“You better get to your radio, sir,” Nat said to their host.

The boat’s host turned and started down a flight of stairs only to be stopped and forced back up the steps by a similarly armed pair.  On the opposite side of the deck another pair came up and trained their weapons on the guests aft.  Their host raised his hands.

Nat looked down at Wren and one corner of his mouth lifted.  She could see nothing but amusement in his eyes.

“Looks like they chose the wrong boat,” she said calmly.

“Doesn’t it,” he agreed.

Without a hint of intent, Nat moved.  Grabbing the assault rifle by the barrel he snatched it from the hands of the nearest hijacker.  A casual  backhand with the butt of the gun lifted the would be thief from his feet and hurled him through one of the panels of glass into the dark Seine.  Nat was grinning broadly as he swung to face the remaining three.

Sotto voce he said, “Your turn . . .”

            Wren’s smile was wicked.

            “Hmmm, up or down,” she pondered.  “I say . . . up!”

            With a flick of her finger one of the hijackers shot into the air then plummeted into the Seine as the boat moved out from under him.

Two three round bursts from each of the last two shredded Nat’s new jacket and shirt.  He muttered something under his breath.  Wren, as calm as ever, grabbed one and began bouncing his head against the deck almost playfully.  Before the last could react, Nat had him by the throat.  The tall surfer let him hang for a moment then shook him like a rag doll.  Eyes still trying to focus after the shake the man just had time to figure one it was the river heading for him before he hit is face first.

“That was fun,” Nat said, turning to Wren.  Her victim bounces a couple more times off the deck as he watched.  “You are playing with him, aren’t you?”

“That would be cruel,” she replied with a little smile.  “Besides, he ruined your jacket.”  The man hung suspended for a moment as she took in the ragged jacket, shirt and Nat’s hard muscles beneath.  Nat flicked the man overboard with a finger and Wren allowed gravity to once more affect him.

“Hope they can swim,” Nat remarked.

Forward the noise had subsided as the guests and hijackers watched the little drama at the stern.  The people reacted first.  Seeing an open avenue of escape, those nearest Nat and Wren broke for the stairs.  Their host stared at them as people shoved past. 

Over the fleeing, screaming people he said, “You are . . . “

Wren, in Nat’s lee and protected from the mob gave him a cold hard stare.

“What?” she demanded.  “We are what?”

“Superheroes!” the man finished a slow smile spreading.

“We’re . . . concerned visitors,” Nat said.

At the bow, the group of hijackers considered the situation and decided retreat was better than facing the two that had already taken out nearly half their force. 

They broke for the forward stairs, one yelling “Détonez maintenant! Évacuation de secours!” into a radio.

Something deep in the belly of the small ship grumbled and the deck beneath their feet heaved, throwing all but Wren and Nat to the deck.  The six attackers recovered first and disappeared down the forward companionway.

“I think we got BIG problems . . .” Nat muttered.

Wren sighed, “Lovely.”

“Life jackets?” Nat snapped at their host as he began helping people to their feet.

From behind hidden panels just under the windows, the man began passing out the inflatable life jackets, quickly giving instruction on how to inflate the devices.  Wren moved up beside Nat.

“Can you hold up the ship?” he asked hopefully.

Doubt, clouded her face.

“I guess I can try,” she said.  “I've never lifted anything this size, though.”

“It feels like its breaking in two,” Nat said.  “Maybe just one half at a time?”

Wren took a deep breath, shaking her head.  “No.  Get it done . . . Now shhh."

“Hold on . . . let me find a mooring line,” Nat said.  He stepped over the shattered glass panel and looked down over the stern deck.  A mooring line was neatly Flemished out on the deck beside the deck cleats.   He looked back at Wren with a grin.  “Okay, give it a shot.”

With that he placed a hand on the low wall and vaulted over dropping to the deck below.

Wren Collins closed her eyes and tried to construct a picture of the ships hull in her mind.  She let her power wash over the vessel like a coat of paint, covering everything.  Her date grabbed the bitter end of the mooring line and turned to scope out the shoreline.  There was a wide sidewalk along the river backed by a busy street filled with evening traffic.  The boat shuddered beneath him and he could feel it rising.

On the deck above, Wren slowly raise her arms as if physically lifting the massive weight, her black curls floating about her face.  Nat watched her intense concentration and whispered, “Come on, Wren, you can do it . . .” then turned and leaped to the shore covering the hundred feet with ease.

The strain began to tell on Wren as her arms began to tremble.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth as the entire 400 ton boat cleared the surface of the Seine.  From several gaping holes the invading river retreated, lightening the ship and Wren’s burden. 

Ashore Nat gripped the three inch mooring line in both hands and tugged.  It took very little effort on his part but he knew it had to be a monstrous strain on the young woman still on the deck.  Hand over hand he drew the boat to shore until the stern was almost over his head then turning with the rope over his shoulder he walked into the evening Parisian traffic.

Initially, all he got was the occasional swerve and numerous bleats of horns then the traffic became aware of the massive steel hull being pulled over the safety chains at the river’s edge.  Traffic stopped with more than a few collisions, several cars tried to make it to the side streets only to find their way blocked.  Drivers climbed out of their vehicles to watch as the massive young blonde man in a shredded tux towed a 200 foot long riverboat across the six lanes of the street and down one the myriad of side streets.

The keel of the boat dragged over one of the posts supporting the chains that made up the decorative barrier between the river and sidewalk.  The screech of metal almost broke Wren’s concentration but knowing Nat was still pulling gave her incentive to maintain her hold just a little longer.

Like a Macy’s Day balloon the boat sailed down the side street, nudging a building only once, until Nat was sure the bow was clear of the river.  Dropping the rope and ducking under the hull he caught the ship’s propeller and braced against it with his shoulder.  Digging his feet in, popping cobblestones like champagne corks, he brought the vessel to a stop.

“WREN!” he shouted over the chaos around him.  “PUT IT DOWN!”

On the deck Wren’s eyes opened at the sound of his voice and she released her hold on the ship.  It dropped four feet before she caught it again and carefully lowered it to the street.  Nat stepped back as the hull came down on several parked cars.  No help for that he thought.  Once it touched down it began to settle on its damaged keel, crushing in the hull in places already damaged.

Nat laughed in relief then bounded onto the stern landing on the dining deck near Wren.  In three long strides he was to her, an arm going around her slender waist and lifting her from her feet in a hug.  She let out a surprised little yelp as Nat looked down into her eyes.

“You did it!” he whispered then kissed her.

At first her eyes went wide and she thought to pull away but then she relaxed into the moment closing her eyes.  Nat pulled back first, his look now one of astonishment and surprise.  Slowly he set her on her feet.

“Umm . . .” he began.

Wren blinked up at him, unable to speak.

“I’m . . .” he began again then shook his head.  “No, I am NOT sorry . . . you were fantastic, Wren, like always.

Suddenly she grinned, one of the first genuine smiles Nat had ever seen from her.

“Thank you,” she said demurely.  “You were pretty fantastic yourself.”

“Like I said, we make a great team.” His smile slowly faded as he gazed at her.  “I think the next time I kiss you it is going to be with much thought and consideration and somewhat less in the heat of the moment.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” she said almost shyly.

Nat nodded.  “Most assuredly.”  He took her hand and touched hip lips to the back their eyes locked.   “Now,” he said, as he lowered her hand. “I think we should help get people off this ship.  Can you get them down from here?  I think I should check the interior for the crew and out attackers.”

Wren’s look was a combination of bemusement and amusement, “There’s an idea. “

Nat grinned at her and once again vaulted the low wall and landed on the aft deck.  Wren smiled after him then turned and began helping people off the ship by floating them down to the street.

Nat pushed through the first door he saw, ignoring the fact the hatch was firmly jammed into the warped frame.  It gave with a pop and slammed to the deck, the hinges gone.

“Hello,” he called as he wandered through the maze of passages and rooms until he found a descending stair.  He paused at the top, listening intently.

There was a very faint banging, like a bare fist on steel.  Dropping down the ladder he tried to follow the sound but so became lost in the maze of passageways.  He didn’t give up.  Finally he stopped in frustration at a wall.  The banging was coming from the far side and there didn’t seem to be a door to the next space.

Nat locked the fingers of his right hand together and pushed the hand through the steel bulkhead until he could get a good grip.  With a minimum of effort he pealed the steel sheets away from the beams like opening a door.  He stepped into the black space, the light from the passageway behind him the only illumination.

“Hello?” he called.

“Here,” came a weak reply from someplace near eye level to Nat.

Nat’s eyes slowly adjusted to the light level and he made up the torn deck a couple of meters ahead.  It had be force inward rather than blown outward.  Where a curled sheet of steel nearly reached the overhead a man was pinned, blood oozing down the grimy metal.

Outside the first TV van arrived, the on-air reporter popping out of the sliding side door like a Jack-in-the-box, his cameraman hot on his heels.  He pointed up to the deck of the boat.

“Obtenez-la sur le film!” he commanded, indicating Wren.  “Elle est renversante!”

The reporter began to talk as Wren lowered passenger after passenger to the street then Nat’s panicked call reached her.

Below he had pulled the metal back, freeing the young man but inadvertently releasing the pressure on the artery the metal had sliced.  He pulled off his jacket and held it tightly against the wound his strength for once a plus as the blood flow stopped.

“WREN!” he called.

She let a little girl be gathered in by her mother before turning to Nat’s call.

“Je serai de retour bientôt,” she said to the few remaining people then headed down the stairs in search of Nat.

“WREN!” Came his call a third time and she broke into a run.  She’d never heard desperation in his voice before.

“WREN,” he called.  “I NEED A DOCTOR!”

“Bloody hell . . .” she hissed.  “OKAY!  I’M GETTING ONE, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Wren spun on her toes and raced back up to the open air taking the stairs two at a time.  On deck she took a flying leap over the side, all caught on camera, and caught herself before she could touch down on the cobbles.  Hovering a meter above the ground she began waving her arms, shouting in both French and English.

            “Everyone! I am in need of a doctor!  Chacun ! J'ai besoin d'un docteur!  Y a il un docteur ici?”

“Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle!” the reporter called trying to push through the crowd without losing his cameraman.

“Je suis un docteur, ce qui est le problème?” A man pushed into the open space around her.

Without warning he floated up to her level.

“Would you be willing to help me?” she asked, in English.

“I am a doctor, of course I will help,” he replied in the same language.  “What is the problem?”

“There is . . .” she paused.  “I'm not sure exactly what it is but someone is injured on the ship."

“Might I get my bag first?” he asked, looking down at the street below his feet.  “My office is there.”  He pointed a few doors down the block.

Wren hastily lowered him back to the street.

“Go!” she said.

Below Nat continued to maintain pressure on the wound the whole time talking softly to the man who couldn’t be more than a few years older than Nat himself.

            “Come on, buddy, hold on!” he said.  “You gotta make it!”

            He twisted his head and wiped the tears from his cheek with a shoulder.

On the street Wren altered gravity for the man and he nearly flew the few meters to his door.  He hit the barrier without turning the knob and bounced off, getting it the second time.   Though he was only inside a few moments to Wren it was hours but he emerged with bag in hand and a nurse in tow.

“Perhaps two are better?” he said.

The reporter and his camera finally pushed through the crowd just in time to catch Wren and her two passengers reach the deck of the boat.  His shouted questions fell on deaf ears.

Wren hit the deck running the medicos hot on her heels as she led them into the bowels of the ship. 

Nat whispered  "Come on, Wren, come on . . ."

She had stopped to watch in agitation as her rescue team carefully descended the ladder.

“Come on,” she urged impatiently.

The tap of Wren’s heels reached Nat and he turned to look down the passage.

“Wren?”

“Coming!” she replied as she appeared from around a corner, doctor and nurse struggling to catch her up.

Wren nearly stumbled into Nat in her haste but managed to stop, needing only a hand on his shoulder to steady her self.  She looked down at the scene . . . Nat knelt on the floor at the side of a pale young man in a uniform, his tux jacket covered in blood.  He had both hands clamped around the man’s thigh, the jacket obviously a makeshift bandage.

Without ceremony the doctor pushed past Wren and knelt beside the young man.  He tapped Nat’s hands and the surfer removed his hands.  The doctor lifted the tux and a spurt of blood hit Nat in the face.

“Quic-klot!” he snapped to the nurse who was already handing him a sterile package.  Ripping it open the doctor poured the contents onto the wound and in seconds the spurt dropped to a trickle then to oozing then stopped.

“Get an ambulance,” the doctor ordered Nat.

Nat stared at the wound, wide eyed, the blood on his face and chest forgotten.  He stood, his arm slipping around Wren’s waist.

“You float him out, I’ll clear the path,” he said to her.

            Wren’s arm slipped around Nat and she cleared her throat then nodded.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Nat’s eyes found Wren’s.  “I’ll guide him, but you set him down if you have to, you still can’t have recovered from lifting the ship.”

She tried to smile a little, “I’m tough, I’ll be fine.”

The nurse looked up at the girl half her age.

“You lifted the ship?” she asked.

“No time for that,” the doctor said brusquely.  “We must get him to my office.  The Quic-klot is only temporary.  I have work to do to save his life.”

“Yes, of course,” Wren agreed.  Taking a deep, steadying breath she altered gravity around the man and he lifted from the deck.  The nurse watched all this open-mouthed.

Nat turned to the nearest outer wall and shoved his hand through the steel then peeled it back like a sardine tin.  The lights of the city beckoned.

“Gently,” the doctor said as Nat guided the man to the opening.  “Very good . . . that’s it . . . “

From this point on the ship the street was only a meter down and as Nat guided the man through waiting hands of rescue workers took it from the other side.  Two firemen helped the doctor down, followed by the nurse.  Wren remained inside the hull of the ship with Nat until the man was situated over a gurney then let him down carefully.

Five news vans had arrived along with police, fire and rescue by the dozens.  Bright lights of the news cameras dazzled them for a moment and Wren shaded her eyes.

A ring of police formed and struggled to hold back the reporters.  The doctor and the gurney’s side, began to wave at the crowd, hoping to clear a path.

“My office is closer,” he said to Wren.

Nat dropped the meter to the street then turned and lifted Wren down.

“I must get the blood supply returned to the leg as soon as possible.”

“Well,” Wren eyed the growing mob dubiously.  Let us hope the police do a good job then.

Nat all but pushed an attendant from the head of the gurney and, using his back as a plow, forced his way into the ring of people pulling the gurney along.  Wren stuck to his side facing the crowd, using her powers in small ways to aid Nat’s movement.  The police realized what was happening and began to help form a corridor to the doctor’s office.

Wren steps ahead to push the door open and in moments they were in the blessed quiet the medical office.  The nurse stirred them to a set of double doors before the doctor stopped them.

“We will take it from here,” he said and he and the nurse disappeared into the other room.

Nat turned to Wren with a faint smile and she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You ready to meet the press or do we bail for the Valley?” he asked her.

“Just give me a moment,” she replied, tightening her grip on his shoulder.  He reached up and covered her hand.  She looked exhausted.

“You really want publicity?” he asked.  Is face was covered in drying blood making the white of his teeth even more pronounced.

“No,” she said.  “Look what it got my parents.  Home now, please”

Nat nodded.

“Spock, can we go home now?”

“Of course,” the computer responded just as the office door flew open and two policemen swooped in.

They arrived in the common room still facing each other, her hand on his shoulder.  A candy bar wrapper sailed by only to be zapped out of the air by a shot from Zach.

“You need to do as Angel said!” Zach was saying.  “Eat healthy!”

“Oh, the rich kids are back,” IQ said around a mouthful of candy bar then she got a good look at them.  “HEY! Gee, get in a fight?  You are all covered in blood!”

Zach half waved at the new arrivals and continued haranguing IQ.  He slapped the candy bar out of her hand.

“But, really, it’s for you own good!” he said.  “Your digestive system is bad enough.”

“Nat,” IQ whined and pointed a Zach.  “He hit me!”  She stooped to recover the fallen bar.

“Who hit you,” Nat asked, still nearly pressed against Wren.

Zach dove at the candy and slapped it under the couch.

“No more JUNK!” he commanded.

“Hey!” IQ squawked.  “That’s mine!”

“We DO have more candy bars,” Nat offered.

“Not that Angel isn’t guarding,” IQ groused.

“NO!” Zach growled.  “She puked every time she eats!  She needs more healthy food!  Help me out here. Angel!”

The large man had just entered the common room wiping his hands on a dish towel.  IQ lunged at Zach who deftly danced out of range and closer to Nat and Wren.

“Nat, grab him,” IQ demanded.

Instantly Zach changed course and ended up on the far side of a couch from everyone.

Angel stared at Nat and Wren.

“Oh . . . MY . . !” he said and rushed to them.  “Who’s hurt!?  Spock!  You better get these two to the med lab!”

Nat raised a hand. “Hold on Angel!” But it was too late and the two of them materialized in the stark white rooms of the med lab.

“Here again . . .” Wren said dryly.  “Good timing, Spock, bad location.”

Ghost Archer appear, face set.

“Angel sent you here.  He said there was blood,” the bowman looked over Wren first, then took in Nat’s gory appearance.

“IF people bothered to ask questions they would know it is NOT my blood!” Wren snapped.

“Come over here and sit,” Archer ordered, gesturing to a pair of stools.  He pulled a small device from a drawer.  “So . . . what happened?”

Nat gave Wren a wry smile.  She had to struggle not to growl.  She sat beside Nat.

“Boat exploded.  Nasty thing,” she said in a neutral tone.

Her tall companion grinned and lifted a shoulder.  “You know . . . normal dating things."

Wren shot Nat a look but can't help but smile a little.  Date, huh? The look said.

“Well, neither of you ARE hurt,” Archer said, returning the device to its drawer.  “Where was all this?”

“Paris,” Nat said.  “Okay we go get cleaned up now?”

“Sure,” Archer said.  “And later I'll introduce you both to a combat report.”  Nat rolled his eyes and groaned.  “Spock, take them back to the school.”

Nat caught Wren’s hand as they reappeared in the common room.  She faced him.

“So much for your tux, hmm?”  She fingered the ruined and bloody dress shirt.

IQ snatched up her backpack by one strap and gave the couple a look of disgust.

“And you say I need a shower,” she growled.  “You should look at yourselves in the mirror!”

Zach, on the floor having recovered the candy bar from beneath the couch looked up.

“What?” he caught sight of Nat and Wren.  “OH!  Those two.”  He laughed.  “I thought you were talkin’ to me.

“Nope,” said IQ.

Nat looked down at the shredded shirt.  “Well, the bullets messed it up first."

He took Wren’s hands.  "Could we get cleaned up and meet back here in thirty minutes?"

“Yes, that would be fine,” Wren replied, a little puzzled.  Nat released her hands and she started for the door.  “And thank you for the advice, IQ.”  She stopped and smiled at the other girl.

“Yeah, welcome Wren,” IQ replied.

Then Wren did something Nat had never seen her do, she grinned at IQ, an open, friendly grin.

“You have spunk,” she said.  “I think I like you.”  And she disappeared up the steps.  

IQ blinked then half sneered.  Zach grabbed her arm.

“Wanna get out of here and go someplace?” he asked.

Nat stepped around them and trotted down the stairs.

Upstairs Wren entered her room and almost frantically stripped the gown off, tossing it into a corner.  Her boots, also splattered with blood followed.  In the bathroom, she turned the shower on, the water instantly hot and ducked into the stream heedless of the temperature.

Whistling, Nat almost skipped down the hall and threw open his door as if making an entrance.  The building shivered as he slammed it.  Stripping off his clothes he paused.

“Spock, can you do something for me?”

Explaining, he turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature to what anyone else would consider ‘freezing’ and stepped in.  A few minutes later he emerged, one towel around his waist, drying his hair with another.  The first part of his request he was laid out on the bed and the blood garments were gone.

Wren remained under the stream for a long time, almost frantically scrubbing at skin that was red from the hot water.  Though she didn’t let her near-panic reach her face, she did have to fight back tears as she washed.  As calm as she’d had been, under the surface she had been terrified and it had only been Nathaniel’s total calm that had kept her from falling apart.

Nat returned to the common room dressed in black slacks, a cream cable knit sweater and camel cashmere top coat that was actually long enough for his tall frame.   IQ and Zach were gone, perhaps on a ‘date’ as Nat had suggested.  Maybe after a few outings with Zach, IQ would knock off the whole ‘rich kids’ thing.  It was annoying.

“Spock?  Can I have two white roses?” he said as he waited.  They appeared on the counter of the water bar.

Nat pinched off the stem of one and tucked it into the buttonhole of his top coat then held the other by its long stem.  After a few moments he began to pace the room, his only thoughts of Wren.

In her room above, Wren emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and stopped before her closet, considering what to wear.  She selected dove grey slacks and a dark blue cowl-neck sweater.  Slowly she dressed giving her curls a fluff occasionally.  When it came to shoes she hesitated.  Those had been her favorite boots that had been ruined in Paris and she sighed.  Looking in the closet for another pair she found the first, spotlessly clean, exactly where they belonged. 

The trip down the stairs proved to be more of an ordeal then she’d expected and she found herself clutching the rail.  Nat must have heard her step because he met her at the bottom of the stairs and offered a supporting arm.  The look on his face made her smile.  The exhaustion in her eyes stunned him.

“Are you okay?”  He said in that worried tone she’d come to know.  “Maybe you should be in bed?”

“Lifting boats seems to be a little more tiring than I thought,” she said wryly.  “But I’ll be okay.  I should probably just . . . not fall.”

“I'll make sure you don't,” Nat assured her.  “Can I borrow you just for a few minutes?”  He held the rose between them.

“I think I can handle that,” she said looking up at him.

“Spock?”

They materialized on the top-most platform of the Eiffel Tower, the entire City of Lights spread out before them.  Nat lifted the rose to her.

“I told you the next time I kissed you it would be after careful consideration,” he said.

Wren took the rose from him, a smile just touching her lips.

“You did.”

“Well . . . I have been considering,” he said, turning a little to look out across the city below.  “Everyone says Paris is the most beautiful city in the world . . .” He turned back to her.  “It might be . . ."

He captured the hand with the rose in his and gazed into her eyes.  The corners of her mouth turned up.  She could feel his body tense as he leaned down and touched her lips with his.  Wren rose onto her tiptoes, her fingertips touching his cheek lightly.   His arm around her waist, he pulled her against his body and the kiss became more that a light touch.

Wren, for the first time ever, closed her eyes during a kiss and let it envelope her, for Nat all fears that it was all a dream vanished and he lost all awareness of the rest of the world.  After a long time, their lips parted and both gasped, their noses still nearly touching.  Nat came back to the world and smiled just a little.

“I don't know whether I should be jealous at the fact that you've had practice or just thankful,” Wren said, playfully.

Nat tilted his head.  "Practice?"  He smiled.  “If you call two other kisses practice."  He brushed her forehead with his lips.  “And one of them WAS you.”

“Then you have a whole lot of natural talent,” she sighed, snuggling against his body, her head resting against his chest.  “I am not complaining.”

He could feel the fatigue in her.

“That boat took a lot out of you,” he said, both arms now wrapped around her.

“Lifting steel tends to do that to people,” she agreed.

Nat kissed her hair. "Maybe we should get you to bed or at least on the couch with your feet up."

“Not standing would be good,” she whispered.  “Just don't tell Mister Archer, hmm?  He tends to insist on putting me into water-filled coffins.”

“Water-filled coffins?”

“You might know them as autodocs.”

“Ahh . . .” he said.  “Then we must get you comfortable as soon as we can.”

Wren laughed into his shoulder.

“Let's get you home,” he suggested.  “Spock, can you take us home in 15 seconds?”

He looked down at her and lifted her chin with a finger.  As their lips met the teleporter scattered their atoms across space.

The next morning Nat Ryan appeared in the kitchen early, as always, with a dopey grin on his face.  From a cooperative Angel he assembled a tray with two blueberry pancakes, a crystal cup of strawberries, a tiny pitcher of ice cold cream, another of warmed syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice and a silver bud vase with a single calla lily.   With permission from Archer, he carried the tray up the stairs and down the hall.  Tapping gently on the door, he received no response and so carefully opened the door.

Wren lay on her side, the blanket up to her chin leaving only her head exposed.  Nat carefully set the tray on the side table then paused for a moment to watch her sleep.  The lines of exhaustion had softened but they did nothing to detract from her beauty.  He dropped to his knees beside the bed and lifted a hand as if to touch her face.  After a moment of doubt, he pushed a black curl back from her eyes and allowed his fingertips just to brush her skin.  He knew at that moment there would NEVER be anyone else for him.  Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek then rose and left the room.

She opened the door as quietly as she had the first time she’d come into the room.  Nat sat on one end of the couch, his feet on the coffee table, watching an old black and white movie with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert.  Slipping into the room, she paused, watching him.  Something alerted him and he came to his feet with a soft smile.

“How are you feeling?” he said when he reached her.

“Hullo,” she said.  “I’m all right.”

She could see concern and worry in his eyes. 

“Come on in and sit down.”

“Really, I'm fine,” she assured him.  “Just don't ask me to pick up a ship today.”

“One a week is plenty . . .” he agreed.  His hand found her elbow.  “Come on . . . couch for you."

“Bully,” she said without meaning it.  She pulled her elbow from his hand and it didn’t bother him.  Gracefully she sat on the couch tucking her feet under her body.  “Really, I'm fine.  I just need practice.”

Nat smiled and shook his head.

“That'll be an interesting program for the Danger Room to create,’ she said.

The tall surfer crossed to the refrigerator and found two bottles of water before returning to the couch.  He offered one to Wren.  She took it and twisted off the top to take a sip.  Nat sat carefully on the other end of the couch not wanting to catapult Wren into the ceiling.

“So . . . we program it to put us on a ship and sink it?”

“No, no,” Wren waved a hand at him.  “I just need practice lifting.  You were just fine with the hauling around.”

Nat shrugged.  “It didn't weigh anything so how hard could it be?”

“I hear it was you who left me breakfast this morning,” she gave him what he interpreted as a shy smile.

“Moi?” he said, touching his chest.  “How would I get up there?”

“I'm sure you have you ways,” she said, “Perhaps a little gold star for saving all those people.”  Wren tucked a curl behind her ear and took another sip of water.

Nat leaned forward and picked up a newspaper, unfolding it.  The headlines read ‘TEEN COUPLE SAVE 73’.  Below the banner was a quarter page photo of Wren standing on the deck in her gown lifting people down to the street.  He gave her a twisted smile.

“Guess we got some publicity.”

“Drat and I forgot my mask.” She said ignoring the picture

“They are wondering how to get the boat off the street,” he offered.

Suddenly he held a hand up to cover the lower part of her face, his hand so close she could feel the heat of his skin.  She hadn’t flinched.

“Mmm . . . shows off your eyes nicely . . .”  He moved his hand up until it covered her eyes.  “But this shows off your lips.”  He peered at her over his hand.  “Which would you prefer?

“I've always been partial to those little masks like Robin used to wear,” she said.  “You know, when he was all cute and less angsty.”

Nat chuckled.

“Yeah, I like the domino type too,” He paused, face suddenly serious.  “I never gave much thought to a costume and all that stuff.  And what about a code name?”  He thought a moment.  “TALL GUY!”

Nat grinned at her.

Wren smiled back “Amazing Lifting of Stuff Girl.  Oh yes, we've got it made."  She shook her head.  “I never intended to be a super hero of all things."

“Did any of us?” Nat replied somberly.  “I'll probably be stuck with like Giant or Goliath . . . or something.  You can be Gravity Queen!”  He snatched up a pillow and hid behind it as she swung a playful slap at him.

“I don't do purple either,” she informed him.

His head popped up from behind his defenses.

“Purple?”

“Royalty,” she said.  “Besides, hero names with Queen or King or the like are so tacky.”

“Very,” he agreed.  “How about Princess?”

He ducked just in time to catch a real fist in the pillow.