The day echoed Elliot's mood. The sun's light was cheery and the birds twittered away, spreading gossip on current events and reflective thoughts. A warm breeze twirled beside her as she half walked, half bounced through the Common, a pink box held in her hands. A smile stretched across her lips as she jogged across the street and bounded up the stairs to the office.

Beck looked up from his computer as she walked in. The morning light filled the room and turned the top of his blonde hair white. Kicking the door shut, Elliot raised the box.

"What's that?" Beck asked.

"It's my way of eliminating two feathered creatures with one hard object."

She set the box on the table with a flourish.

"It is to celebrate the start of writing. Also it's sweet Thursday, in honor of my friend at the bakery, Stein. Beck, you should look more excited about this!"

Beck looked at the box then up at Elliot, the hint of a smile coming to his face. She shrugged and fell back on the couch.

"I was expecting more enthusiasm, but that is probably the best I'll ever get from you," she said. Cocking her head, she studied him. "Do you know how to really smile?"

"No, I forgot how," he said.

"Beck Daniels! That is the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life." She flipped open the box and handed him a steaming muffin. "Here, this should fill that hole in your heart where happiness used to live."

He took it, fighting back a smile, his blue eyes laughing at her.

"Is this what fills the hole in your heart?" he asked.

Elliot took out a croissant and started tearing it into pieces.

"No," she said. "I fill mine with ice cream. That way it melts and I can keep refilling it. Pastries are quick to fill that hole."

"As well are your arteries."

"Those too."

Elliot glanced at the computer on Beck's lap.

"Are you already working?"

He nodded.

"Where's the typewriter?" she asked.

Beck smiled this time.

"I told you pastries fill that hole fast," she said, winking at him.

"A computer is more efficient for this project."

Elliot eyed him with mock seriousness.

"I see what you're saying," she said. "You want to be done this project as fast as possible so you can be rid of my company."

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, I'm just that wise."

Putting on a solemn expression, Elliot placed her hands together and bowed. When she straightened, she pointed dramatically at Beck.

"But know this, Beck Daniels," she said, in a deep, resonant voice. "When you leave you will no longer have free pastries, thus your source of happiness will be gone."

"So I'll be banished from every pastry shop in America?"

"Don't think it can't happen," she said. "My cousin Albert has proven that it can happen. It's the same for donut shops as well."

"Poor Albert, how does he find happiness anymore?"

"He lost a hundred and fifty pounds in eight months then put fifty pounds back on in muscle and good looks," she said. "As far as I know, he's found happiness in other places."

Beck chuckled and shook his head. Elliot finished off the rest of her croissant before grabbing her computer. With a content sigh, she settled back on the couch, her legs crossed and the computer resting on top. She dug through her bag and pulled out a pair of large glasses and put them on.

Beck glanced up at her, his lips twitching. Elliot met his gaze and frowned.

"Don't laugh at me," she said.

Beck looked back at his computer.

"I wasn't," he said.

"Please you were half smiling," she said, "that was pretty much a loud laugh by your standards."

Fighting back a full smile, he looked up.

"I wasn't," he said. "I like the glasses."

"You mock, but I don't plan on being a sixty year old woman with bad eye sight."

"You plan on living until sixty?"

"You heard the zombie apocalypse is planned for next year too?"

"No, I figured you and your family would be taken out by a hit squad or the mafia."

Elliot let out a loud, condescending laugh.

"Please," she said, "we faked our deaths years ago to get away from the mafia."

"And being on the best sellers list hasn't outed you?"

"Like the mafia read. And plastic surgery. Three years ago, I was an ugly blonde."

"Really?"

"I was just as shocked to know there could be such a thing as an ugly blonde."

"Well, I like you better this way," he said. "Glasses and all."

Elliot fought back a smile but lost the battle. Beck cleared his throat and shifted, aware of what he had said.

"That's sweet," she said, "But you're only saying that because I could fire you."

"And you could take away my pastries."

Elliot's smile widened and Beck echoed the look. He broke from the gaze, trying to regain his composure.

"We should get to work," he said.

"Yes, probably."

She nodded to his computer.

"Can I read what you have so far?" she asked.

Beck hesitated for a single second, before handing the computer over to her. She smirked.

"Interesting," she said. "Nervous to have me read? Is it because you faked your submission work? Because if so, I want that other guy."

Beck chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Elliot switched his computer with hers and began to read. After the first sentence the laughter fell from her face and her eyes were glued to the screen. Leaning back on the couch, Beck watched her, scrutinizing her reaction. After a few silent minutes, Elliot looked up. She blinked at Beck and he met her gaze with a steady look.

"Beck Daniels," she said. "What are you doing?!"

He looked at her amused, his eyebrows raised.

"I was under the impression I was writing," he said. "But I'm with you and I never seem to understand what's going on, so I could be wrong in this case."

Elliot gestured to the computer, her eyes wide with exasperation.

"How could you think this was writing our book?"

"I mentioned Weston's name," he said. "I thought it would be clear."

Elliot set aside the computer and rested her head in her hand.

"Elliot?"

She held up a hand. Beck fell silent, studying her with a mystified expression. With a mock, heavy sigh, she looked up.

"Beck, let me put this clearly. In terms you will understand. You need to write," she said, emphasizing every word, "like you did when you were probably in fifth grade."

Understanding entered Beck's eyes and he shook his head. He leaned forward, his hand out stretched towards his computer. Elliot blocked it with her arm.

"I'm serious Beck," she said. "If you continue to write like this, then I will have to fire you and get a ten year old to come in and do the job. I can't have my writing put next to yours. I would be out of a job."

Beck dropped his hand, looking at Elliot with a serious expression.

"Elliot, a ten year old?"

"Too old? I knew I should have said eight year old. Oh well, you get the point."

Beck studied her for a long moment.

"Do you don't honestly think that your writing level is-"

"Nope," she said. "We are not having that discussion. You read my previous books, yes?"

Beck nodded.

"My writing hasn't improved much since the last one. Mimic that level of writing."

She picked up his computer and handed it back to him. Before he could take it, she pulled it out of reach.

"But keep what you wrote," she said. "I want to read it again." She let out a wry chuckle. "Give me something to aspire to."

Nodding, Beck took the computer. They fell into silence as they each focused on their own screens. The sound of tapping keys filled the office as Beck began writing again. Elliot stared at her computer, her chin resting in her hands, words dispersing every time she went searching for them.

After a minute she got up and poured herself some coffee. Beck glanced at her, but said nothing as she resumed her spot on the couch. The clock ticked on, the sound growing louder in her head as each minute passed. A scowl began to form on her face the longer she stared at the blank page before her.

"I can't decide-" she said, ponderously.

"You already had a croissant so go with the muffin," Beck said, without looking up.

"If I should have never hired you or if I never should have taken up writing," Elliot finished.

Beck looked at her. When he noticed the scowl he lowered his computer lid.

"Elliot."

She didn't look at him, instead she rubbed her face tiredly, all the energy from minutes before gone.

"Elliot, I know you don't want to talk about it, but it might help."

Elliot jerked her head up.

"What?" she said. "Admit that my writing is a complete joke and I don't know how I have made it this far without a college education?"

She buried her head in her hands.

"Why do I blurt these things out to you?" she said, her voice muffled. "Maybe it's your face. If I don't look at you, the problem will be solved."

She lifted her head. "How do you feel about wearing a paper bag over your head for the duration of this partnership?"

Beck said nothing, just looked at her. She scowled at him.

"You're annoying you know that?" she said. "The only thing louder than your silence is the sound of your brain working."

"Why do you diminish your talent?"

Elliot shrugged and leaned her head against her hand.

"Milo says it's because I have no confidence in my writing and have low self esteem. But he's dating my sister so I'm not sure how much we can trust his judgement."

"You believe he's wrong?"

"All the time. That's why we never ask him for directions."

Beck said nothing to this, his face blank. Elliot crossed her arms, her expression taunting.

"What? No response?" she said.

He merely shrugged.

"Your defenses are up. Anything I say will mean nothing."

"Does it ever?"

Beck raised a single eyebrow and Elliot slumped back onto the couch, looking away from him. After a second she looked back. His expression was as calm as ever.

"I really want to punch you right now," she said.

"I'm sure the feeling is nothing new."

Elliot let her head fall back onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

"You'd think with all the experience I have, that I would be better at this," she said. "But each time I found myself surprised that I wrote the book and people actually read it. Whenever it's over, I feel as if it was never me. Somehow this book magically appeared. I know it's a ridiculous thing to think. Especially since we don't have magic in America, otherwise I would have gotten a letter."

Elliot let silence fall around them as she continued her contemplation of the ceiling. Beck moved his computer to the side and leaned forward over his knees.

"Elliot, look at me," he said.

She ignored his comment.

"This was a bad idea," she said.

"What? Hiring me?" he asked.

"No, talking."

"I'm surprised you can admit that one."

Elliot raised her head and looked at him. He gave her a small smile.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Giving a careless shrug, she let out forced laugh.

"You shouldn't look so worried, it's just my usual prewriting freak out." She stretched trying to look unconcerned, her gaze unable to hold his. "Normally no one sees this. I should have had this happen in my room. It would have been far less embarrassing. My pictures usually never judge me. Except the Picasso."

She waved her hand.

"Don't worry, it will pass. It usually does. Well, it has every other time. If it doesn't, than we're both screwed."

She let out a tight laugh but Beck didn't join in. He looked at her, his gaze unyielding.

"Elliot-"

"Beck, we're not talking about this."

"But -"

"No! I'm serious." Her look was defiant as she stared at him. "I don't want to talk about this. Bring it up again and I'll kick you out of here. Is that clear?"

He nodded and sat back, still studying her. Elliot pulled her computer onto her lap, letting out a sigh. The blank page was still waiting for her and her brain was empty of words.

**********************************************************************

Holy nachos!

I have recently been binge watching Teen Wolf (DYLAN!!) cause you know, why not? (I discovered the tv show is based on three things: shirtless men, dramatic music and a LOT of slow motion) Anyways, because of this I have decided to write a werewolf book! (Groan, please don't.) Hold on! It won't be like other werewolf books because its going to be the humorous side of becoming a werewolf. Who even knows when I will write it. I'll probably write the first chapter and put it in the Chapter One(s) book, adding it to the long list of books I plan to write! You know, the usual!

Claws, Howl, and Pack! (I don't think the first one works but I couldn't think of a better thing to put)