I'm here with an update. Once again, many thanks should be offered to Steph for beta-ing this piece of junk in a timely fashion. She's absolutely wonderful, and my favorite. And Alex, for being a meany, and not letting me sleep. She sucks, but she's my favorite.
No, but in all seriousness, Alex says she will take praise in the form of flowers and Chinese Food. PM me for her address. She's my drill sergeant (I had to ask her how to spell this), and she actually helped me with dialogue that I just couldn't get. So any dialogue that holds any amount of emotional depth - she wrote.
I'm currently trying to convince her to write the rest of the story, as well. I'll keep you updated on my progress.
And of course, thank you all for sticking with me, and leaving me encouraging and wonderful feedback. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the part. (=
thetvgeneral
C&N214
Hopeless Romantic - I'm still framing your feedback. I still giggle when I read it. ILU!
starcrazed
Michelle
Rowedog
keepsmiling7
raemac
begonia9508
paper - please, I am the queen of jumping timelines. This wasn't supposed to happen until later, but I shuffled some things around. Hopefully it all works out.
jojotheorange
behrluv32
LairaBehr4
twilight
katydid
Natalie36
tequathisy
TimeLord31
Dream Weaver - *blush* Ohhh, thank you. (= That's pretty much one of the greatest compliments, ever.
Tears_of_Mercury
Thanks, again! I hope you enjoy this part, as well. (=
Part Twenty-Eight
He could remember with vivid clarity the last time he held her in his arms, just like this. It had been the night before their wedding day; the night before everything had changed and his life had ended. They had decided to forgo tradition and spend the night together, for staying apart had always proved difficult for both of them. He could recall the way her body had perfectly contoured to his, and the way she’d felt in his arms. He remembered the way the sheets had draped low over her soft body, and the way she’d snuggled more closely into the circle of his arms. He remembered the silkiness of her skin, and the intimacy of sharing the warmth of her body. He remembered never wanting to leave that moment.The memories of that night – those of which he’d kept close to his heart to preserve his sanity – were nothing like that of the memories that had been forged tonight. He wished that he could say that the memory of the last night he’d held her paled in comparison to this moment. He wished he could admit that this time it had been better than all the times before.
It was not.
Max had rushed things; he hadn’t meant to jump into this situation as he had. His goal in seeking her out tonight had been to just talk – to hash things out between them. He had wanted to explain. That’s all he’d wanted to do since being rescued from the clutches of the unit. He hadn’t meant to just fall into bed with her, and commit something they both were going to regret.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and berated himself for allowing something that should be profound and significant turn into a mistake.
Squeezing her more tightly into his embrace, Max frowned. Her body was tense, every muscle was tightened. While he knew she was sleeping, knew that her tension wasn’t due to the fact he was holding her so closely, it still gave him pause. It was as if it were impossible for her to relax, even in sleep. As if she had to remain on guard and alert, even in her subconscious. And she was unconscious – the steady rise and fall of her chest confirmed that.
As well as her dreams. It had been her dreams that had awakened him, after all.
Regardless of what Liz wanted to believe, regardless of what she’d told the others, the connection still thrived between them. It hadn’t died from the years and galaxies that had separated them. It had simply fallen dormant, waiting. How else would he have been able to see her dreams, whilst he was deep in his own slumber? And her dreams, they were disturbing. They unearthed her fears. And her guilt.
Tenderly, Max pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her shoulder, and then rolled gently away. The mattress didn’t shift as he sat up and stood from the bed. The hardwood floor didn’t squeak as he crossed the room and into the adjoining bathroom. Nor did the door hinges make a sound as he silently shut it behind him. He left the light off so as to not disturb her. He turned on the water, and then wet his face. The coolness of the water soothed the tired ache behind his eyes and nearly made him groan. After a moment, he lifted his head and peered at his shadowed, exhausted reflection.
Finally he knew the identities of the faces behind the white masks. The masks that had haunted his dreams for months, just as they’d haunted Liz’s. While both sets of dreams were wrought with turmoil, Max found it difficult to determine whose recollections were more painful: his for having to be subjected to the torture or Liz’s for being forced to participate. For it had been her who’d helped collect cellular samples from Isabel, Tess, Michael and himself. It had been Liz who he’d felt gripping his arm like a vice as he was forced into the tub of ice and water. It had been Liz who he had struck.
Max groped for a towel, and through the darkness he was able to discern the fluffy white fabric with a light pink floral pattern. The tender, feminine décor struck him as incongruous to the personality she had since adopted. When he brought it to his face to dry, he smelled perfume and the scent that was exclusively hers.
He hung the towel back up, returned to the bedroom and crawled beneath the sheets once again. When he wrapped his arms around her, he noted that she still hadn’t relaxed in her slumber. His frown perpetually in place, he tucked her head beneath his chin, pressed a kiss to her hair and breathed in her scent.
As he held her, he recalled all the times Riannan had looked at him with an expression that conveyed that he had no fucking clue what she had endured to get them to this point. And now, Max could admit that she had been right. Prior to tonight, he’d had no idea the kind of hell she’d been subjected. Now, he could feel her self-loathing for every experiment she had participated in. He held her tighter. His stomach clenched and his throat constricted as an image of her near-rape flashed before his eyes. Impulsively, his arms tightened around her still, wanting to protect her from the memory.
Pierce. She had called the man Pierce. He had requested her resume, her references and application personally. He’d wanted her in his Unit, under his control. He wanted her – to possess her irrevocably. And he had been willing to do whatever means necessary to achieve that.
His anger dissipated nearly as quickly as it had surfaced, causing him to blink rapidly as another memory assaulted him. It was moments after Pierce had left her in her kitchen, after she had fallen brokenly to the floor. Riannan was there, talking to her, soothing her – her skin had been on fire.
And Max had known it for what it was, even before he’d heard Rian’s explanation. Liz had changed; her human cells had finally fallen mutiny to the slow, wide-spread alien cells. And he had done this to her.
His emotions were oddly conflicted by this revelation. At first, he’d felt powerful, elated – Neanderthal-ish, even – because he knew that no one would ever possess Liz in the way he had.
And then he remembered Pierce, and felt disgusted with himself. It was the desire to possess that had resulted in Liz’s tumultuous break down, and the last thing Max wanted was to share similar thoughts with a monster.
Thus, he felt ashamed. He had done this to her – by knowing her, by being infatuated with her he had forever changed her existence. While he hated himself for robbing Liz Parker of a normal life, he knew with the utmost certainty that, if given the opportunity, he would do it again. For there was no way he could ever let her die.
* * *
Liz came awake, yet her eyes remained closed and her breathing even. It was ridiculous, childish to try and pretend as if she were still lost in her dreams. Not that her dreams were preferable to reality, because in most cases they were not. But at this moment in time, she preferred her dreams, no matter how painful, to the latter.Because reality was Max Evans.
She wanted to stretch her limbs and loosen her tense muscles, and then curl back into a little ball beneath the covers. Despite the ever present aches that awaited her when she awoke, Liz broodingly admitted that last night was the best night of sleep she’d gotten in years. The kind of sleep that left you so thoroughly rested that you wanted to spend the rest of the day as a lazy blob of a person, in the soft comfortable bed that held you.
Or, she relented, encased in a lover’s arms.
Liz took a deep breath, concentrated on its even release while simultaneously trying to focus on the heated body all but surrounding her. She noted that Max’s breathing was even as well. Soft puffs of breath hit the back of her neck not protected by the cascade of her hair. His arms were loose around her body, but still heavy. And his hand was placed purposely, possessively over her abdomen. Despite the fact they’d made love the night before, the simple placement of his hand was the most intimate expression of all.
Tears started to spring from behind her closed eyes. She concentrated and pushed them back. Satisfied, she opened up her eyes and took in the red numbers on her beside clock. 9:30AM: the others would be waking up, and soon they’d wonder where Max was. She’d get frantic phone calls, and thus have to explain the situation.
Which just pissed her off all over again.
Rejecting the idea of trying to remain asleep she grabbed his wrist and tried to fling it back behind her. It was an awkward movement, and his limp arm was heavier than she’d anticipated and only served to flop against her hip and ass. Irritated, she shoved at his hand again and then rolled out of his embrace. With quick, agitated movements, Liz began to sort through the piles of clothes on the floor until she held all of Max’s in her arms.
When she finally looked at him, he was leaning on one elbow, his shaggy hair an adorable, tousled mess. Liz clenched her jaw. He blinked tiredly, confusedly at the mattress as he tried to gather his surroundings. She knew the moment he did and his eyes immediately zeroed in on her – soft, pleading, hurt.
Liz lobbed the pile of clothes at him and refused to cover her arms in order to shield her nudity. “Get dressed,” she said softly. “I’m taking you home.”
* * *
Liz exited the bathroom, her body wrapped in a towel and wet from her shower, just in time to hear her phone die on its last ring. She sighed, already knowing who was calling, and made her way to the bedside table. The missed call log revealed Rian’s number.
Knowing that putting it off any longer would only serve undue panic, Liz punched the send button and brought the phone to her ear.
“Max is gone – we’ve looked all over, he’s – ”
“Here with me,” Liz supplied softly.
There was a beat of silence, not even Rian’s breathing was discernible. Then finally, “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” Liz promised. “As soon as I get the dumbass back to the house.”
Rian knew she’d get details later; she said a quick goodbye and promised to inform the others. Just as Liz placed the phone back on the table, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Max poked his still disheveled head of hair inside, and smiled sheepishly. “I thought I heard a phone ringing,” he said. “How much trouble am I in?”
Liz only glared.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he tried to joke, but knew he was failing epically. He cleared his throat. “Can I use your shower?”
Liz took a deep intake of breath. She didn’t want him to come out of the shower smelling like her soap and her shampoo. The next time she stepped in the shower, she didn’t want to think that he’d been in it last. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of Max Evans while she was in the shower, it would make her exceedingly uncomfortable.
But he didn’t need to know that.
She shrugged and, gripping the knot of her towel, walked over to her dresser and began to sift through her clothes. As she did, Max silently made his way into the bathroom. Not knowing how long it would take him to shower, Liz dressed hurriedly. After donning her underwear, she slipped into a pair of jeans, a white camisole with a black t-shirt over it. She didn’t bother to brush her hair, but opted to pull the heavy wet strands into a bun and restrained it with a hair-tie. Finally, she grabbed a pair of socks, her cell phone and handgun, and booked it down the stairs.
When she arrived to the kitchen, Mulder and Scully rushed over to greet her just briefly before running back to ravish their bowls, which had been freshly filled with dog food. Liz quirked an eye brow, not at all pleased that her dogs were so easily coaxed by the enemy. Give them food, and they become friends for life.
“Traitors,” she murmured good naturedly before she, too, realized that she was starving. She was late waking up this morning, and they were used to a strict eating schedule. So, in that case, she really couldn’t blame them for getting food wherever or from whomever they could.
Having forgiven her misguided companions, Liz went to the refrigerator and retrieved eggs and bacon. If she was starving, then she was willing to wager that Max was, too. And it can’t be said that she didn’t try to be a good hostess.
She set about preparing, and the bacon was just beginning to fry when she heard Max come down the stairs. Liz glanced over her shoulder at him, still refusing to make direct eye contact.
“It smells good,” he complimented.
“There are plates in that cabinet there.”
Wordlessly, Max walked into the kitchen and retrieved to plates. He opened the next cabinet doors and retrieved to glasses as well. He proceeded to set the table in silence, while Liz started scrambling the eggs.
The refrigerator door opened. “Do you still drink milk with your breakfast?” He asked.
She did, but just to be contrary she said, “Orange juice.” She heard him get out the carton of milk and then pour it into the glasses. She concentrated on her task at hand, pretending not to notice how very domesticated the situation felt. It was as if they’d been doing exactly as they are, for years.
“Where is the silverware?”
Liz could only point. She didn’t like this familiar sense of routine. She didn’t like the sound of him shuffling around her tiny kitchen. She didn’t want him to here. And just how in the hell did he get here?
The question had plagued her last night, but she’d been too busy being exhausted and berating herself for allowing what happened to happen that she refused to ask the question. Now, however, seemed like a good time to get some answers.
She grabbed the sizzling skillet of eggs and walked to the table. The yellow fluff was distributed onto the two plates, followed by several pieces of crisp bacon. Mulder and Scully suddenly lost interest in their kibble, and planted their rumps next to the table.
“No,” Liz said pointedly, and shook her spatula at them. “Your food is over there.”
Mulder licked his chops. Scully lowered her head and feigned innocence.
“I like your dogs,” Max told her.
It seemed to Liz that he just wanted to hear himself talk, since she wasn’t very forthcoming with her own tête-à-tête. She didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with him. She wanted to beat him over the head with her spatula. Or perhaps the skillet.
“How did you get here, Max?” She finally asked, and seated herself at the table.
A guilty flush colored his cheeks. He picked up his fork, his expression remaining sheepish and speared some eggs. He cleared his throat, “Hitchhiked.”
Liz took a steady, deep breath. Definitely the skillet, she decided.
Max chewed thoughtfully. “Do you have any Tabasco sauce?”
She pointed to the refrigerator, and then took a bite of her own meal. Max was right; it needed Tabasco sauce. Liz briefly wondered if he would notice her sudden taste of spicy food. She’d never had that acquired taste before. As soon as she thought it, she dismissed it. The eggs were bland, but not inedible.
Max applied a generous helping of the spicy liquid all over his plate. The aroma was enticing and, for a moment, gave Liz pause. Quickly, she recovered and took a bite out of her bacon. It needed something sweet.
Then, Max held out the bottle of red sauce for her, his expression strangely expectant. She eyed him curiously, before shaking her head. “I don’t like hot sauce,” she lied.
He watched her for a moment before he set down the bottle. “Oh,” he murmured, yet there was something in the tone of his voice that told Liz he didn’t believe her.
She glared at him. “How did you find me?”
Max chewed his food slowly as he held her gaze. After he’d swallowed, he spoke, “I felt you.”
“You felt me?” She parroted, incredulous.
He nodded, picked up a piece of bacon. He broke it in half. “Our connection.”
Liz stilled yet again, not certain she’d heard him correctly. “Our connection.”
“Yes,” he supplied. “I walked and then eventually hitchhiked. The feeling grew stronger the closer to you I got. It really wasn’t that difficult, considering I’ve never…tracked someone before.”
“You tracked me?” Liz clenched the fork in her hand, hating her inability to say something original.
Max nodded, his brown eyes focused on his plate. “It surprised me that our connection still thrived after all these years, and distance, that separated us,” he confessed.
Liz ground her teeth at her matter-of-fact tone. He was playing with her, and it pissed her off.
“Though,” he continued. “The strength of the connection probably has something to do with your change.”
This time, Liz couldn’t even repeat him. She struggled to formulate a thought, a word, a syllable. Anything. She failed. They stared at each other. She knew that shock was written, quite clearly, all over his face. While his looked sad – whether it was because she hadn’t told him, had been intent on lying to him about it, or for other reasons, she wasn’t sure.
Finally, Liz was able to lick her suddenly dried lips. “How long have you known?”
Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and finally put his fork down. “I didn’t know until last night,” he didn’t rush into an explanation about that. “But I should have. You’re like a beacon – whenever you’d visit the house, I’d know when you were close. It was very strange. More potent than what we experienced when we were younger.” When she remained silent, nearly motionless, he opened his mouth and tried to speak again: “Liz, I –”
The phone rang. Liz startled, her eyes refocused and then darted from the kitchen and into the living room.
“Hello,” she breathed anxiously.
“Hiya, darlin’.”
Jon.
“Hi, Jon,” she replied, hoping that the smile missing from her face had made it to her voice. “How are you?”
“Finer than a frog’s hair,” he answered on a chuckle. “I was just callin’ to check up on you. Haven’t heard your pretty voice in a day or two. I wanted to see what’s what.”
She laughed lightly, exceedingly aware of Max’s probing gaze at her back. “Well, you seem to have caught me at a bad time,” she lied, hated how easily it came to her now. “I was just getting ready to walk out the door.”
“Well, shoot,” he sighed dejectedly. “Is this business or pleasure, for once?”
“Pleasure. I’m going to go see a friend I haven’t seen in a very long time.”
“Darlin’, is that me? Should I have Linda clean house?” His tone sounded hopeful.
Liz laughed again, and a smile spread across her face. “I wish, Jon. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Betsy-Ann. Come see me soon, do you promise?”
“I promise, Jon.”
His good-bye floated to her hear, yet Liz remained on the phone for several moments after he’d hung up. Finally, she jerked herself from her thoughts and turned to meet Max’s gaze. He didn’t try to hide the questioning look in his eyes, or his displeasure at the knowledge that she had been speaking to another man. A man he didn’t know.
She knew his questions were bubbling to the surface, and she didn’t feel like fielding them at this point in time.
Quickly, she walked back to the kitchen and grabbed her plate. It was full – she’d barely touched it – and scraped the contents into the garbage. After she’d placed the plate in the sink, she turned around to face him. Her expression was neutral as she said, “If you’re ready, I’ll take you home now.”
* * *
“Mulder, get your head out of the way,” she complained and shoved at his heavy torso with her elbow. “You cannot sit up front, and I’m trying to drive.”
Mulder heaved a dejected sigh. Through the rearview mirror Liz swore she saw her dog throw Max a look of contempt before he curled up on the backseat. She grinned and her eyes darted over to Scully; her head was hanging out of the back window, and her stubby little tail was going a mile a minute. Unlike Mulder, she was content to ride in the car regardless of where she sat. Mulder had to ride shotgun or he sulked.
Liz shook her head and returned her attention to the road. She needed to remain alert. She’d scanned the cars behind her since she’d left the house, looking for any suspicious vehicle. She’d been without a tail for a while now, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. Perhaps they were finally doing their jobs right.
Yet there had been no one. The highway was nearly deserted; she’d passed a cluster of slowly moving cars several miles back and no one had caught up with her. It was a good sign.
Now, she needed to get to a gas station.
“So,” Max hedged, his tone hopeful. “We have a long car ride ahead of us.”
Liz’s jaw clenched. “That we do. Why don’t you take a nap? It’ll go by faster.”
He sighed. “Liz, I don’t want to take a nap.”
“Music, then?” She reached for the dial, but Max beat her to it and prevented her from turning on the stereo.
“Liz, please be cooperative,” he pleaded. “I told you: all I want to do is talk.”
“And I told you: the timing isn’t right,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
“When is the right time?”
Liz sighed and felt like a broken record. “When all of this is over,” she answered. “Then it’ll be the time.”
Max remained silent for several moments, and Liz glanced at him, noted he was staring at her profile, and then averted her gaze. “And when will this be over, Liz?” He whispered. “Tomorrow? The next day?”
Liz inhaled deeply to garner her composure. “When the Unit has collapsed within itself. When all those responsible are held accountable. When it’s safe. That’s when it’ll be over.”
“It’ll never be safe, Liz.”
Her hands clenched to fists on the steering wheel. Weren’t those the words she’d heard from the very beginning? Weren’t those the words he’d uttered to her time and again, each time an effort to dissuade her from wanting to be with him. When had he stopped saying those words to her? When had he given up trying to convince her that they shouldn’t be together? The first time they’d kissed? The first time they’d made love?
It’ll never be safe.
“This can end now, Liz,” he said softly. “We can just leave. We can make it so they never find us –”
“There’s no guarantee of that, Max,” she forced out. “And I refuse to live my life on the run. I worked too hard – the others worked too hard – to live the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. This will end it once and for all. Can’t you see that? Don’t you want that?” She tossed him an inquisitive stare. “Don’t you think you deserve that – after all that we’ve been through, that we all deserve that?” Liz shook her head. “I refuse to settle for anything less.”
“Okay, okay,” Max murmured in an effort to diffuse the situation. “We won’t talk about that right now.” He fell quiet for another moment before he turned to her again. “So, why don’t we talk about what happened last night?”
This time Liz laughed, albeit a bit strangled. “Max, I don’t want to talk about that for a very long time.”
Her flippant response angered him. Max narrowed his gaze, his hands clenching in his lap. “You know, Liz, for someone who is so determined not to run away from the FBI, you certainly seem hell bent on avoiding everything else. “ He watched as she tensed beside of him, watched as her lips parted in retort, but he rushed ahead. “What the hell happened to you, Liz? You act as if you’re still the same girl who faces her problems – head on – yet you’re running. What the hell has changed?”
For several, tense moments Liz remained utterly quiet. When her gaze remained locked on the road, and her body painfully tense, Max shifted in his seat to better face her. His lips began to form the words of a feeble apology when she spoke.
“You left, Max.” She uttered the words so softly that had Max not seen her lips move, he couldn’t have been sure he’d heard her. “And for a long time, I tried to convince myself that it was a mistake – that you hadn’t really left me. I was certain that you’d been kidnapped, that someone had found out about you and you were somewhere in the hands of the FBI. Because I truly believed that you never would have left me behind. Then, I saw it for what it was.”
Max swallowed. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but knew that he’d be rejected. He wanted to explain – now more than ever he wanted to speak – but knew that it would go unheard. So instead, he furled his hands into fists, locked his jaw, and waited.
“So, that is what changed, Max,” her tone changed, hardened as well as the expression on her face. “You were simply gone, and I’m so sorry if absence really doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. I’m sorry that I’m so bitter, but you made me this way, Max. This is who I have become because of you, because you chose to leave, because you –”
The words caught in her throat and Max cringed. He watched as tears shimmered before her dark eyes, prayed that they wouldn’t fall and unman him. She blinked; they were gone. Still, he didn’t say a word.
Liz cleared her throat, tossed back her head in an effort to dust the hair from her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
* * *
Agent Riley J. Brady struggled to bring some semblance of order to the crinkled bills the cashier had just handed back to him. He hated stopping at gas stations he wasn’t familiar with, and who were unfamiliar with him. The cashier at the Marathon wouldn’t have given him these bills. And he hated these bills. He hated when his money looked as if it had gone through the washing machine, hated the crisp sound they made as they rubbed together. Call him weird, but it was pet-peeve and he meant to rectify the situation immediately.
He continued the battle of the bills as he walked back to his car, when something caught his attention. He looked up, and through the deep tint of his sunglasses he saw a familiar face across the lot, pumping gas in her car.
Agent Liz Parker.
Brady nearly raced to her side, intent on introducing himself. As a rookie, he needed to take it upon himself to meet agents of superiority. He needed to get his name out there. He needed to create more opportunities for himself. At last summer’s “Bring Your Family to Work” Cookout, he’d choked and missed the perfect opportunity to do such that. He remembered her being there with stark clarity. She had brought the two dogs with her then as well. As much as he hated to admit it, his irrational fear of large dogs was what had prevented him from approaching her.
But they were in the car now, surely he could muster up the courage to go over.
Brady sucked in a deep breath, and just as he was about to take another step when something else caught his eye.
The passenger window rolled down, and man’s face came into view. Brady tensed, recognized the face immediately, and fell victim to paralysis.
Just what the hell was he supposed to do now?
A horn blared and he jerked his head to the left to see a guy in a car waving for him to get out of the way. That would be a good first step. Sheepishly, he made his way back to his car, his head carefully downcast.
He remembered receiving a flier with four mug shots on them. Apparently, FBI fugitives had escaped from the compound and a massive search was in effect. Hadn’t Brady just daydreamed about being the one to find them, and bring them back into custody? Hadn’t he just imagined himself being personally commemorated by Agent Pierce himself – the most prolific agent the Unit had ever had?
At first glance it would appear that Liz Parker had beaten him to the punch. Yet his carefully honed FBI instincts told him that was just not so. While there was a subtle hint of tension between the two, there was also a more prevalent layer of familiarity. No, whatever Agent Parker was doing with this man, it was not turning him into custody.
So, where did that leave him? Just what in the hell was he supposed to do? Should he go up to her? Immediately, he rejected that idea. He opened his car door and reluctantly got into the driver’s seat, but he left the door open.
What would Agent Pierce do?
Brady saw his phone then. He’d recently uploaded his mobile pictures of the men with mullets onto ratemymullet.com. Quickly, he grappled for the phone and got back out of the car. This was going to be too easy, he thought, as he made his way around the other side of the car to feign pumping his gas. He opened the phone.
Liz just finished at the pump and then walked to the passenger’s window to accept the money he was holding out for her.
Brady snapped the picture. Then another.
As she walked by, he carefully kept his gaze averted and quietly reentered his vehicle. As he stared down at the pictures on his phone, he knew that while they weren’t good quality they would be proof enough.
And that Pierce would be pleased.
TBC