Bright and early Monday morning I wake up and fall back into my normal routine. Whatever kept me from being tired last night has worn off, because I can really feel just how early six a.m. is, especially after only having five hours of sleep behind it. After my shower, I head into the kitchen, fixing the tie around my neck absently.

    The one thing I have yet to invest in is an automatic coffee machine, and for the millionth time, I wish that I had taken the plunge a while ago, so I wouldn’t have to get up quite so early to swing by my favorite coffee shop on the way to work. The bagel pops out of the toaster, and I wrap it quickly in a napkin and tuck it into the outside of my briefcase on my way to the door.

    For once, there’s mail on the floor.

    I pick it up and look for the return address. There isn’t one.

    I glance at my watch, and let out an audible curse, shoving the letter into my jacket pocket as I make my way quickly out the front door of the apartment, locking it behind me. I should have just enough time to get to the coffee shop and still make it to work on time, if I run.

    Jogging down the steps from the seventh floor is, I learned the hard way, faster than waiting for the elevator. I jog past the bank of elevators and wave to the attendant as I hit the door to the stairwell with my shoulder in a move that would make any varsity football player proud.

    “Late again, Miss Po?” Harry’s voice calls after me into the stairwell. “Good luck!”

    I love the people in my building, but sometimes I wish it was a little less of a community so that I could get in and out without so much talking. Fourth floor landing and I have to scrunch to one side to get around a couple dressed in impressive looking business suits. It’s only seven a.m., what are they doing in the stairwell?

    At the first floor door I swing a left and head into the garage level. One of the joys of being a senior operative is that I get to drive my own car to work.

    If I ever meet the person who invented the automatic door unlocking device that came with my car, I’m going to lay a kiss on him that would give my poor, conservative father a heart attack. I toss my briefcase in the passenger’s seat and start the car, pulling out of my space and out of the garage. The radio belatedly turns on, and the traffic report only reinforces what I can see before me.

    “…hope none of you are trying to get downtown this morning because everything’s backed up fourteen blocks due to a water main break on Main street…”

    “Shit,” I grumble, thumping my forehead against the steering wheel. “So much for coffee…” I reach into my glove compartment and pull out my sunglasses and my cell phone. I hit the office speed dial as I adjust the glasses on my face and wait patiently to make my turn out onto the street.

    “Preventers Headquarters, this is Nancy speaking, how may I help you?”

    “Nancy, it’s Sally,” I say, frowning as I glance at the traffic around me, and cringe to see a truck driver leering at me. “I’m stuck in traffic, so I’m going to be late this morning.”

    “Oh that’s right, a water main broke on Main, didn’t it?”

    “No need to rub it in,” I grumble.

    “Sorry,” she says in more of a sincere voice than I expected from her. “It’s worth it for the apartment you’ve got though, if you ask me. I’ll make sure to inform Miss Une about your situation as soon as she comes in.”

    I hesitate, “You…”

    “Something else, Sally?”

    “Nevermind. Thanks Nancy,” we say our goodbyes and hang up.

    There’s no real reason to have her tell Wufei that I’m going to be late, is there? He’ll figure it out, undoubtedly. Not that he’ll really care…

    I blink and smack myself in the forehead. Wufei is the least of my worries. There are so many more important things… like staying awake and keeping down road rage. Honestly, you’d think that if we can put colonies of human beings into outer space we could figure out how to overcome rush hour traffic, but no.

*

    At HQ, I clock in, an hour late, and, grumbling, make my way into the elevators. “Hey Sally!” I turn and glance over my shoulder a little, glasses low on my nose.

    “What’s up, Jean?” I ask, holding the elevator doors for him. Jean is a file clerk, so we don’t really do much talking, but he’s generally a nice guy. Tall, brown hair, clear blue eyes. He fits his uniform beautifully, and has most of the women in the office drooling over him.

    “We’re switching over the filing system, so I’m going to have to ask you to redo your last set of reports,” he says with a sympathetic smile.

    “What?” I groan and lean against the back wall of the elevator. He obligingly pushes the button for the proper floor, and tucks a large file full of folders under his arm. “It took me two days to fill out those.”

    “I know, if there was any way I could keep you from having to fill out those papers, you can be sure that I would,” he says, staring at me intently. “Are you ok? You look like you had a rough morning.”

    Third floor. This elevator is slower than the one in my apartment building, but I didn’t have the energy to take nine flights of stairs up to the floor where my office is. “I had a late night last night, and then I got stuck in traffic.”

    “So that’s why it’s half past eight and you’re still carrying your briefcase.”

    “Yeah,” I say, turning to glance out the back of the elevator. The one good thing about this elevator, unlike the stairs, is that it has a nice view. The reinforced plate glass gives you a good view of the city, and a little of the harbor, if you’re going to one of the upper level floors. “So what brings you to the tenth floor this morning?”

    “All the field operatives have to refile their last reports, not just you, Sally. My aide is late, probably stuck in traffic too, and so I get to deliver the bad news in person.”

    “Wait a minute…”

    “Yes, you’re late for a department meeting.”

    I let my head droop and drop my briefcase to the floor of the elevator. Fifth floor. The elevator stops. Just one more delay in my morning, I guess. “I want to crawl under a rock somewhere and die.”

    Someone else gets into the elevator, and a calm voice says, “Melodrama doesn’t really suit you, Sally.”

    I peek one eye open and look at the person who just got into the elevator. “Thanks for that vote of confidence, Trowa.”

    He gives me what passes for an amused look, on Trowa’s face, and greets Jean.

    “Trowa, if you’re here, did I completely miss the meeting?”

    “Not at all,” he says, “Une said that it was important for you to be at the meeting, since it involves the upcoming assignments, so we waited for you to get here. I got paged to make my way up to the tenth floor since you clocked in.”

    Seventh floor.

    “Well that makes me feel too special.”

    The three of us fall into an uncomfortable silence. Trowa’s not much of a conversationalist. Of all the ex-pilots, he’s the one that rivals Heero for quietest. I turn and glance out the window, thinking about last night. I never dreamed that spending time with Wufei could be so comfortable.

    “Sounds like someone didn’t get her coffee this morning,” Trowa comments, leaning against the railing on the side of the car and turning his gaze out the window.

    Dinner was calm, we avoided talking about anything relating to work at all, and somehow I managed to avoid explaining what I meant about being defensive around Chinese men. The conversation lingered on the restaurant I had chosen to go to, and the decorations. Wufei, apparently, is a big fan of the use of screens as a spatial supplement. We talked about painting, traditional and what we each enjoy looking at.

    “Keep talking and you’ll find out how much nicer I am when I’ve had my coffee,” I mutter, folding my arms across my chest. Jean chuckles good naturedly.

    Ninth floor.

    “That’s funny,” Trowa quips, “usually people are glad to hear me talk.”

    That comment makes me stand up a little straighter and tip my sunglasses down so that I can look at Trowa. “Was that a joke?” I mutter.

    “Could be,” Jean responds.

    Finally we’ve reached the tenth floor. I lean down and scoop up my briefcase and the three of us step out of the elevator. “I’m going to drop this stuff off in my office, I’ll meet you in the conference room in a minute.”

    “I’ll let everyone else know,” Trowa says, making a left and heading towards the meeting room.

    “Mind if I walk with you, Sally?” Jean asks, keeping step with me. “I’ve got to deliver these to the offices anyway. I’ll just drop yours off with you and do the others after the meeting.”

    “Uh… sure,” I say, and pull out my keys, unlocking my office door. It’s dark inside, meaning that no one else has been inside it this morning. I reach over to flip on the light, and find Jean standing close behind me.

    Very close, since I can feel his breath on my neck as I slip my jacket off.

    Too close, I take a step into the office.

    “Sally, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

    I swallow, and glance up the few inches into his blue eyes. “Jean, I’m late for the meeting, and I’ve had a really bad…”

    “Can I take you out for lunch?”

    The question makes my voice trail off, and I belatedly finish my sentence, “…morning.” We stand there a moment and then my mind catches up with itself. “I’ll… answer you later, Jean, I’ve got to get to my meeting.”

    He starts to speak, but I put a hand on his chest and push him out the door, pulling the door shut behind me. “I’ve got to get to my meeting,” I repeat, turning and starting off down the hall, leaving him behind.

*

    “What took so long, Sally?” Julia asks, reclining in a chair with her feet up on the table. I push her feet off my table space and take a seat, taking off my sunglasses and setting them at the top of my file folder. One of the junior field operatives, she’s about as cheerful as Duo or Hilde on a sugar rush, most of the time. Blond hair, green eyes, and a figure that makes her the one woman that most of the people in the office were betting Jean was going to ask out.

    “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say in a peevish voice.

    Obviously they were wrong.

    “You didn’t get your coffee this morning,” Julia comments, glancing me over. “You look like you didn’t sleep too well either.”

    “Thank you for being the third person to notice that this morning,” I snap. I usually don’t mind Julia, but sometimes she can be more annoying than should be legally allowable.

    The rest of the room quiets down as they hear me snap at Julia, and after a second of regarding me querulously, they turn back to their side conversations. Julia purses her lips, mumbles an apology, and turns to talk with Vladimir who is seated on the far side of her. I lean back in my own chair, and quietly wonder how this morning could get any worse, when someone sits down next to me.

    I don’t bother to look who it is, but a hand falls on my forearm on the armrests of the chair, and turns my hand. I turn to look at the person who’s got a hand on me, and see Wufei. I start to speak, to protest, or something, and then I feel it. I didn’t notice why he had taken my forearm in his, because the second I turned to look at him, I found myself trapped in his eyes.

    But the warm Styrofoam cup he puts in my hand is unmistakable.

    I start to speak, but Une walks in at that moment, and there’s no more time for talking. “Well, now that we’re all here, shall we get down to business?”

***