Gideon waited while Ted kissed his wife good bye. When the older man had finished and Hazel had driven away on a motorcycle of her own, Ted came over and they walked towards his auto.

“Your auto?” Ted asked.

Gideon nodded.

“Nice.”

Gideon wasn’t sure about that. He looked at it. The body was old, but in decent repair. He did the best he could. “It runs,” he said and shrugged.

“How big’s the trunk?”

Gideon blinked. Usually people asked about the engine. He opened the trunk anyways and put his new tools in there. He wasn’t sure when they were coming back and didn’t want to leave them lying around.

Ted leaned on the open edge of the trunk and peered in. “Nice. You could fit a body in there.”

Gideon sputtered. “What?”

Ted grinned at him and slapped his arm. “Not a dead one.” He paused. “I mean, not unless you really want to.” Ted guffawed. “You should see your face, Prospect.” He stood up.

Gideon shut the trunk. “Why would you…?” He paused. “I don’t want to know,” he muttered. He could think of a few reasons. He unlocked the auto, opened the driver’s side, and looked at Ted. “Live bodies as in living people?” he asked.

Ted grinned and slapped the roof of the auto. “Better than dead ones. The dead ones smell something awful.” He tilted his head. “The live ones too if you scare them too bad.” He got in the auto.

Gideon stared over the roof. “Scare them,” he muttered. He got in the auto and put the key in the ignition. He couldn’t quite believe he was willingly shutting himself in a vehicle with a guy who determined that he could fit a body into the trunk.

“Could fit two in there if they were small.”

Gideon stopped with the key halfway turned and looked at him. “Or a dozen if they were clowns.”

Ted grinned. “Clowns,” he said. “They’d smell real funny.”

Gideon sighed. He supposed he’d asked for that joke. He twisted the key and the auto started.

“Sounds a little weak.”

“It runs,” Gideon said. That was the major sticking point with him. His auto ran. That’s all he required of it. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t fast. It simply got him from point A to point B.

“Too nice of a body on this thing to have such a weak sounding engine.”

“You trying to spend my money for me?” Gideon asked.

Ted snickered. “Someone has to, if you aren’t.”

Gideon looked up and down the street, and pulled out.

“Take a left down at the intersection,” Ted said and settled into the seat.

Gideon followed his directions. Something was bugging him. Savannah had been calling him Prospect all morning. He glanced over at Ted as they turned. “Um, does Savannah know my name?” he asked.

“You know hers,” Ted pointed out.

“I overheard it.”

Ted’s brow furrowed. “Brand didn’t introduce you?”

“He was gone before she arrived.”

Ted looked out the front window. “Wily old wolf,” he muttered. He looked over at Gideon. “You mention your name to her.”

Gideon winced. “No.”

“Then I’m thinking that’s a no.”

“She could ask.”

Ted snorted. “She can call you Prospect from now till judgment day and it will still be applicable.”

“She won’t ask.”

“No.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“Sure she does. She’s just,” Ted knitted his fingers and put them behind his head and crossed his ankles, “not going to ask.” He finished.

“If I don’t introduce myself, one of you doesn’t introduce me, and she doesn’t ask.” Gideon paused. “How is she ever going to know my name?”

“Sounds like you got yourself a conundrum.”

He felt a little strange about introducing himself now. The time to do it had been when she was standing in front of him on the transport checking his armor over and he’d lost that one because she was being high handed. That appeared to be a personality trait and not a one-time thing too. Gideon winced. This was going to be awkward. “You sure Frankie or the others haven’t mentioned it?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “Most likely no.”

Gideon sighed. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Ted repeated back at him.

Gideon’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He struggled and then hit the back of his head against the seat.

Ted pulled out a little bag of granola out of his pocket. He opened it and held out towards Gideon. “Granola? Hazel’s special recipe.”

Gideon looked over. He didn’t know how this was supposed to help. He took a small handful and closed his fist around it. “Thanks.”

“You want a right at this next intersection.”

“Ohkay.” Gideon said.

“Then another left at the next one.”

This town was a maze. That was it. The next time he was near the ‘net,’ he was downloading the map.

Ted contemplated the young man driving. He narrowed his eyes, and decided to mention that evening at the first available opportunity to Eberron, potentially within Brand’s hearing, that Savannah did not know yet the prospect’s name. It would be all over the Club in under six hours.

There were all sorts of paperwork to fill out in the mean time for the federal government, the county, the town, and the Club. He’d keep the prospect too busy to be thinking overly much about the problem that was right in front of his nose, mainly the five foot two, one-hundred-fifteen-pound female who was now in charge of his life, if he did not know it.

He’d have to give it to Brand. The old wolf knew how to come up with the dandiest entertainment.

---

Savannah turned her head and put a finger to her lips as she pushed the door open to Dr. Brown’s hospital room with her hip as both of her hands were full. Clara grinned at her and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ll stay out here,’ she mouthed and cuddled her baby closer.

Savannah nodded and tiptoed into the room as quietly as she could.

Dr. Brown lay in bed, his eyes closed, his heart slow, and his breathing even. Savannah paused beside him. His color seemed slightly better and his face was relaxed, indicating a lack of pain. Hope had a few holographic monitors out and running. Savannah couldn’t read them but since nothing was shrieking or making any other alarming noises, she presumed he was doing fine. Or as fine as a man who’d had his knees and feet smashed in could do.

Jordan sat in a chair near the bed with the monitors and, more importantly, Dr. Brown in his range of vision. He flicked his eyes up from his book and grunted at Savannah.

Savannah smiled at him and winked. She turned around and set a fruit basket and a leafy hosta plant in a planter on one of the bedside tables. The plastic on the fruit basket rustled.

Dr. Brown’s eyes opened. “Hello,” he said, his voice hoarse. He waved a hand around.

Savannah winced. She went over, grabbed his hand, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hello, Dr. Brown,” she said gently. “It’s Savannah Barker from Heaven Has Mercy.”

He blinked at her and it took a few minutes for recognition to dawn in his eyes. “You. Am I?”

“You’re safe, Dr. Brown.” Savannah squeezed his hand. “It’s food pantry day and they were handing out fruit baskets, and I thought you might like something to nibble on when you’re feeling better,” she said. She wasn’t sure he’d remember this when she left though.

Dr. Brown turned his head and looked. “That’s, that’s nice of them.”

“And a plant to make the room a little more homey,” Savannah said. “I hear it is traditional,” she added with a straight face.

Dr. Brown smiled and squeezed her hand back, looking at her. “Thank you.”

Savannah smiled back at him. He really was too out of it for her to be teasing him. “I’m sorry that I woke you. Please, try to get more rest. Jordan and Hope are looking after you. No one will hurt you here,” she promised.

“I’ll, I’ll try. You’re a good girl, Savannah.” Dr. Brown closed his eyes and the pressure of his hand eased.

Savannah set his hand down and tried to make him look comfortable. She nodded to herself seeing everything was in order. She nodded at Jordan and quietly took her leave.

---

Ted pulled open the door the clubhouse and went through without any pause. His eyes flicked around the bar. A table had been dragged out of the dining hall and around it a multi-generational poker game was in full swing. The extended nature of werewolves’ lives tended to create friendships that the older of the two had known the younger since they were a baby.

Such was the case with Brand and Ted. Brand had already been a father when Ted was born. Ted’s father and Brand had forged a deep friendship over booze, women, and motorcycles. When Walt had died through an accident that had been on one’s fault, Brand had stepped in and become a mentor to Ted, and as Ted grew older and became an adult and a father in his own right, that mentorship had changed to a friendship.

And since Ted’s daughter, Frankie, and Brand’s granddaughter, Savannah, were the best of friends, no few long nights were spent drinking beer and sharing each other’s side of the same exasperated stories of what to do with female teenage werewolves with a seemingly unlimited amount of energy and imagination. Esme’s brother, Raoul, often sat in on these sessions as the father of Skyler, Savannah’s other best friend.

Esme sat on Brand’s lap and managed to play with his hair and play her poker hand at the same time.

Of course, due to the long lives of werewolves, it tended to spring up strange romantic pairings. Esme was roughly half of Brand’s age and his second mate, though not his wife for political reasons. For an odd reason that Ted could understand completely, when Brand died, Esme didn’t want to have to find another mate and take over running the pack, as the wolf sides of their natures would demand. As long as Esme and Brand weren’t married, the human side of their natures would win out. And allow Esme to gracefully bow out and pass the reigns to Brand’s chosen successor who was most likely to be Savannah.

God help all of them.

Poker made a short mocking verbal jab at the two of them that caused Esme to pout at her father and Brand to mock glare and shift her closer to him and kiss her under her earlobe. Poker snickered.

Esme’s father, Poker, was about the same age as Padre, give or take a decade or two. Her uncle wasn’t too much older. Padre, Kirby, and those their age were mostly children of the Original Eight and had helped grow the Club exponentially beyond those venerable founders. One of Esme’s cousins however, was the same age as Brand, and old enough to be her father. Poker had started having children later than the others claiming his responsibilities took up too much of his time. His children were all in their sixties or less.

One of Brand’s friends in his age group, Finn, shifted a fussy three-year-old on his lap. The child reached the crayons and paper on the table.

Poker wasn’t the sole one who had children later in life. They tended to joke about their ‘midlife crisis.’ Brand would sputter and swear about how midlife crisis were fast cars, younger women, and expensive watches, not babies. Then, whoever was making the joke would look Brand dead in the eye and remind him that’d he’d been about seventy or eighty when Archer had been born.

In essence, if Brand was going to start a trend, he didn’t get to complain about it. To which Brand would remind them that Archer hadn’t been planned and been a bona fide accident. It was one Brand’s few areas where he definitely thought like a human being and as a legitimate weak point, the others enjoyed teasing him about it.

Ted shook his head to himself, when your wife could bear children up to the age about one hundred and fifty, then children should be considered more of a norm after the age of fifty than an exception.

Of course, this made for strange age gaps among siblings too. Ted prayed that Hazel never got it into her head after Frankie finally left home that she wanted another one. He had three girls already, two son-in-laws, and six grandchildren. It was more than enough to keep him busy to add chasing after yet another toddler of his own on top of it. And he’d heard from Hazel and Frankie this afternoon that Morgan and Flint weren’t done.

God help him.

Poker looked up from gathering the cards from the current hand and saw Ted. “Deal you in, Ted?” he asked.

Ted sauntered over to the table, nodding at Eberron, Reese, and Skyler at the pool table. He pulled over a chair and sat down away from the table. “No, thank you, Poker. I promised Hazel I’d be home around dinner tonight.”

“Call her up and invite her over,” Poker said. “Cady and I have been missing the two of you.”

“She’s teaching one of them night classes this term.” Ted shook his head. “Sorry, Poker. Not into it tonight.”

Poker started dealing. “Very well, sonny, have it your way this time.”

“Besides, I’d rather gamble on something much more entertaining,” Ted said, leaned back, crossed his ankles and folded his hands on his stomach. “Since, we are gambling.”

Those at the table all paused and looked at him. Ted smiled.

“Now, now, Ted, Frankie’s got the current book.”

Ted reached up to scratch his chin. “I don’t think it’s actually occurred to her to make a betting pool on this. I supposed I could always bring it up to her or—”

Frankie popped up behind him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and beamed at the table. “Bring up to me what, Daddy?” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Did the paperwork go well?”

Ted leaned his head back to look at her. “His eyes were getting that funny glazed over look. I let him go.”

“He did seem kind of dazed.” Frankie wrinkled her nose.

“What are you doing back here?”

“Oh, Quinn has decided that we were out of natural light and something about Outlaw and Clara needing peace and quiet to cook dinner and give the baby a rest from the noise.” Frankie waved a hand. “You know, the usual excuses to get us all out of his hair. He can abscond off and take Lindsey to her favorite restaurant and then out clubbing.”

“Which explains why Eb here is playing pool,” Ted muttered.

“What are you bringing up to me?” Frankie poked his shoulder.

Ted settled back into his chair. “It appears since Brand didn’t introduce our latest member to Savannah.”

Brand interjected, “I did have reason for that.”

Poker snorted. “Yanking her chain is not a reason.”

Brand grinned.

“Though fun,” Eberron interjected from his place at the pool table.

Ted continued, “And he didn’t manage an introduction of his own self when he first met her.”

Eberron coughed from the pool table. “Breasts, face.”

“Eb,” Skyler hissed and kicked his ankle.

Esme slapped a hand over her eyes.

Ted turned his head and glowered at Eberron. “May I conclude my statements without any more interruptions from the spectators?”

Eberron waved a hand at him and leaned on his pool cue. “Proceed.”

Ted grunted. “And it isn’t in Savannah’s nature to ask such questions if she has an alternative form of address handy that he’ll answer to.”

Houston coughed and brought his cards up to hide his face, having figured out where this was going.

Ted raised an eyebrow. “Therefore, Savannah doesn’t know Gideon’s name.”

The table burst into laughter.

“And he seems unwilling or unable to rectify the situation,” Ted finished.

Frankie blinked. “He hasn’t told her yet? I know she was calling him Prospect all this morning and such, but, you think he would have said something. She was going after him with sunscreen and towels!”

“It is a pleasure to know that Savannah takes her duties quite seriously,” Ted said.

Brand poked Esme. “Sunscreen and towels?” he asked. Why had he not been told?

Esme lowered her hand and kept a straight face. “She didn’t want him to get burnt.” She smiled at Brand. “You know, since she turns red like a lobster after prolonged exposure, she assumes everyone else does too, and it is much easier to go along with her rather than to argue, and then he was all sweaty, and maybe it was bothering her hormones.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Brand. He’d started this after all.

Frankie bit her lip. “She’s assuming you’re going to give him to her to Sponsor.”

Brand shifted in his chair. “I cannot confirm or deny that rumor,” he said.

“If it wasn’t a rumor before, it is now.” Esme snorted.

Brand continued. “If everyone is truly curious, they can come to our regularly scheduled meeting tomorrow and find out for themselves.”

Silence fell over the table. Brand could see wheels in their heads turning and calendars mentally clearing. The Club would be full tomorrow.

“Right,” Ted said. “In the meantime, who would like to make an educated conjecture over when said Prospect will find a way to overcome this conundrum that he finds himself in?”

Frankie stood up. “Oh, oh, book!” she said and rummaged through her kutte pockets. “Found it!” She opened it up and poised her stylus over the pages. “Proceed when ready.”

Reese snorted. “No one is going to let Savannah call them Prospect more than twenty-four hours no matter how cute she is.”

Frankie turned. “Is that a bet?” she asked him.

Reese backed up a step. “No. Just an observation.”

“Since he’s new, she’ll probably take him out Wednesday,” Poker said. “If he doesn’t manage to let it slip out during that, I’d be surprised. You can put me down for that, Frankie.”

“Sure thing, Poker,” Frankie said and scribbled his name down and the date.

“I think you underestimate the awkwardness of the situation. He’ll make it at least to Potlatch,” another said.

“Potlatch,” Frankie muttered and wrote down.

“Someone will slip up tomorrow and the whole cat will be out of the bag.”

Frankie wrote that down.

The others started arguing over the merits and disadvantages of each situation, calling out to Frankie their chosen dates and how much they were putting down on it.

Eberron listened and watched for a while. He waited for a lull. “Violet,” he said.

Reese’s jaw dropped. “That’s Friday. No way he could go that long without barking it out at her.”

Eberron rubbed his chin and crossed his arms. “I contend Violet.”

Frankie eyed him. “That’s long odds,” she said.

Eberron smiled at her. “A hundred on it.”

Frankie blew out her breath and wrote it down. “Violet it is,” she muttered.

The others started arguing again.

---

Gideon’s head swam. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. He counted backwards from ten and opened his eyes again. He didn’t feel any better. It had to be a combination of too many numbers, unfamiliar paperwork, and too much sun. There was a reason why he’d never gone for an officer’s position. All the little words began to blur together after a while.

By the time he and Ted had returned to the Clarks’, Savannah had disappeared with the Club van, the new-Clarks wife, Clara, and their newborn son, Clarence. Gideon was sensing a naming theme. He’d spent most of the afternoon filling out paperwork, half of it he wasn’t sure what it was for, but Ted had been insistent that it was necessary for him to live and work in Colorado.

Since all of the information had been mostly repeats of the same thing over and over, he’d filled it out and paid the fees. Once again, Beda had been correct and he wasn’t going to tell her. He still had the money to pay the rent though. He wanted that bill paid.

Savannah had shown up long enough to drop off Clara and the baby, and taken off on her motorcycle before anyone could say anything. Quinn had let them go before dinner.

Gideon sighed and leaned back against his couch cushions. Take-out was a wonderful thing, but it wasn’t helping his head. But, he’d paid for his furniture, paid all the paperwork fees, and bought tools. He didn’t see why he couldn’t pay the rent. He’d been waiting for the ‘dinner hour’ to be completed before going down to Beda’s.

He forced himself off his comfortable couch, out of the apartment, and down the stairs to knock on Beda’s door. He leaned on the doorframe and knocked.

Beda opened it after a few minutes. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Gideon. Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “I was hoping to pay the rent and get the lease signed.” He paused. “Why would you assume something is wrong?”

“You’re listing,” Beda said.

Taking off a roof was hard work and paperwork was mental work. Yeah, he was a little tired. “The rent?”

“I told you. Get everything squared away and then we’ll discuss it.” Beda went to close the door.

He held his hand out. She didn’t close the door completely. “At least let me pay.”

Beda snorted. “You have expenses.”

“I paid for the furniture, and the court fees and all that this morning. I’m as settled as I’m going to be.”

“Oh, my dear boy.” Beda clucked her tongue. “You have barely started.”

Gideon’s tired brain couldn’t comprehend that statement and part of his brain didn’t want to. “All right,” he muttered. “I really should have asked more questions when Brand asked if I had any.”

Beda laughed at him. That should have been his first clue that he was in over his head.

“May I at least pay the first month or for the utilities?”

“Not right this minute.” Beda reached out and put his hand down. “You need to go put a nice cold cloth on your head and lie down.”

Gideon felt slow. “What’s that going to do?”

“It’ll help your head, because you can’t be thinking right if you believe I’m going to change my mind after a mere few days. Here, I’ll go get you ice to put in a bowl. Since I’m sure you haven’t gotten around to making any yet,” Beda said and left him at the door.

A bowl, Gideon thought. Did he have any bowls?

She came back with a plastic freezer bag full of ice. “Here,” she said and handed it to him. “Put these and water in a bowl, soak a washcloth, and put it on your head. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Gideon took it from her. “Beda,” he said.

“No need to thank me,” Beda said and waved her hands at him. “Shoo. Sleep tight.”

Gideon sighed and straightened. “You aren’t going to let me pay.”

“Nope. Good night,” she said.

Gideon closed his eyes. “Night,” he muttered and walked back to the stairs.

He heard Beda snort. “Grandchildren go to bed easier,” she muttered and shut her door.

Gideon put his shoulders up to his ears. He’d never met anyone as stubborn about refusing money. He decided he’d try this cold cloth idea, cold sounded nice, and get sleep. Now, if he had someone to read him a story and stroke his head. That’d feel as nice as a cold cloth.

He might wish for a girlfriend while he was at it. He resigned himself to singleness until he could get a feel for all the people and their current relationships. He wasn’t going to get punched in the jaw for flirting or not flirting with the wrong girl. His mind shied away from an all too fresh and sore memory. He opened the door to his apartment, put the ice on the counter, and took off his shirt.

But a girl would still be nice.