One less worry

Scott looks up quickly from his computer, looking pleasantly at Katie. Her presence never created any nervousness in him.

Hearing her question, Scott looks down for a moment, removing his hands from his keyboard. He thinks, weighing his options and the outcomes. There would be a lot of people... a lot of strangers. He hadn't been out in public like that since...

His eyes drift back up to Katie. "Um..." He hesitates. He knows that she knew this would be hard for him if he said yes. But he also trusted her and the security she offered for the band. If he went, she would be looking out for him too.

Scott swallows hard. He looks down at his hands, then back up at Katie again. "Okay. As... as long as I can ride with some of you guys. You know... kinda keep an eye on me."

He manages a little grin. He knew Katie would know what he meant... he needed to be kept out of the crowd right now, and would need an escape route if he got cornered before he panicked.


"Thank you for calling, Miss Lockheart. We've been notified of your case. A message will be sent to Heather Jones immediately."

It was several hours later that Susanne transfers a call to Angelica. A woman's voice is on the other end. "Miss Lockheart... this is Heather Jones from Social Services, stationed in Arizona. I received a message that you wished to speak to me, as defense for Carson Banks."

Her tone is cool and displays her authority. "I'm sure you realize that there is not much evidence on either side of this case. However, I must tell you that there really needn't be any. I'm sure we both have witnesses to prove that Mackenzie was in Mr. Bank's custody for almost twenty-four hours. I specifically told him to take the girl to local authorities to be picked up, and he deliberately did not. This will not be good for him in court, Miss Lockheart. As for the girl herself, she is now safe, and I think it would be in her best interests not to drag her into this mess any more than she already is. I'm sure you understand."


"..So, that's where I'm at with the restaurant..." Carson gives a grunt, and looks out from under the kitchen sink. "Hand me that other wrench, would you?"

Tim hands him the tool, seated on a chair while seeing if Carson could fix the leak. "Sounds like you got your hands full."

"Tell me about it."

"Discovered brother..."

"Half-brother."

"Discovered half-brother, gaining ownership of a restaurant... you're getting to be pretty busy."

"Yeah well..." Carson strains, trying to get a bolt loose. The rust finally gives way, and he lets out his breath as a bead of sweat runs down his face. "...lots of things to keep me busy, but not very much to keep me happy." Hearing himself say that, he pauses in his work. "I take that back. I'm happy."

"Just unfulfilled," Tim muses. "Wish you were back on the Elite still?"

"I suppose part of me is," Carson admits. He continues to fool with the pipe. "I worked so hard at figuring myself out... growing... finding who I was in God's eyes... finally realizing that I could be a soldier but didn't have to be who I used to be. And now... it doesn't matter."

"Don't give up too soon," Tim chides lightly. "God doesn't give us those passions and talents for nothing. Of course you weren't meant to be an assassin. But there are definite skills there that you've already used for good. He won't let them rot if you won't."

"But..."

"Haven't you learned yet that there aren't any "buts" with God?"

Carson can't help his grin as he stares up at the sink's drain. "Yeah, okay." Working a few more minutes in silence, he finally admits the other issue as well. "Found out I have a daughter."

Silence. Carson moves to look out at the kitchen chair, waiting for a response.

"Well that certainly puts a different spin on things."

"No kidding."

"You obviously didn't know about her."

"Didn't have a clue."

"How old is she?"

"Twelve."

Tim gives a little chuckle.

"What?" Carson waves a wrench at him. "Something funny?"

"No...no. Just thinking about how our pasts can still bite us in the butt even when we've turned around."

"That's for sure."

"You've seen her then?"

"Yeah..." Carson fiddles with the pipes again. "I don't know what's gonna happen there. "She wants to spend time with me. The social worker hates my guts. She's got a couple that wants to adopt her, but she wound up coming to see me without permission and now I'm in trouble for kidnapping."

Tim lets out a low whistle. "You do have a lot on your plate right now."

"I think that would be a true statement." Carson makes a few adjustments, then slides out from under the sink. Getting up, he turns on the water, then looks underneath to see that nothing was leaking out. "There she is. No more keeping a bucket under here."

A smile comes to Tim's face, and he gets up to help put the tools away. "Thank you, Carson. Don't know what I'd do without you around."

Carson watches thoughtfully as Tim hobbles to the back with the toolbox. "My pleasure," he mentions quietly.

Coming back, Tim cocks his head and looks at Carson for a moment. "Be nice if you had once less worry, wouldn't it?"

"Sure." Carson shrugs. "Who would say no to that?"

Tim rubs his scruffy chin for a second or two, thinking hard as he studies Carson. "Follow me."

Carson lifts his eyebrows as Tim heads to the back of the house. "Tim, I gotta go... I gotta go check on the restaurant and make sure Aerith is okay."

"It'll keep," Tim hollers over his shoulder.

Carson sighs and follows the older man, preferring to respect him over being prompt for work. He walks with Tim through the house and out the back, through the rickety back porch that he'd been wanting to replace the screens on. Once outside, they go to the garage. Carson hadn't been out here but a time or two, hardly paying attention to what was inside. It had always just been to grab a tool or a garden hose or the like - but usually Tim came out himself to get whatever they needed.

Today though, Tim leads him inside, and fumbles with the large door. Carson helps him unstick the latch and pushes the door up on its rails. Sliding above their heads, the open door lets in the light.

Tim shuffles around, moving a few boxes away from what looked like a covered vehicle. Carson had never even noticed it before. Always there for a purpose, he hadn't bothered to realize that under the boxes, old blankets, paint cans and more, it wasn't just another pile - it was a car.

Tim grunts a little as he moves things around. "Here, help me with this," he directs.

Carson steps in to move things away, having no clue what Tim wanted him out here for. He knew that Tim hadn't driven for years, and he could only imagine what kind of shape a vehicle must be in out here, let alone the make or year of it. He had failed to notice the lack of dust on the items that had been strewn all over it.

Finally getting down to the cover, Tim motions Carson to help again, and they pull it back. Carson's eyes widen, his jaw dropping slightly.

Seeing his reaction, Tim grins. "She's a beauty isn't she?"

Carson blinks, totally surprised by what he saw. He couldn't remember a Firebird he'd seen in better condition. "What year is it?"

"Oh, I don't know... nineteen seventy-seven? Seventy-eight? Something like that."

"Wow." Carson runs his hand along the glistening black paint. The condition was incredible. "How did you..."

"Old man like me's got a lot of spare time." Tim chuckles. "I kept it covered up to keep anyone nosy out of here. Didn't want no kids in here messing with it."

"It's amazing."

"Spent enough time with it. I'd get bored and come out here to give it an extra polish... start her up and let her run for a while to make sure the engine still worked, that sort of thing." Tim shrugs. "Couldn't go anywhere, but it was nice just sitting behind the wheel."

Carson shakes his head, unable to help a laugh. He leans in the open window, looking at the immaculate interior. "How long have you had her?"

"Oh, about five years is all." Tim pauses, growing reflective. "She was my son's car, you know. When he died, I thought I'd hang onto her just because."

Carson knew that Tim's son had died in a freak skiing accident several winters prior. "Well you've kept her up well, that's for sure." He nods. "I'm sure your son would be proud."

"Yeah, but what good is this kind of car when she can't be driven? She's meant to be out on the road, put to use and showing off her stuff, not stuck in here under a tarp."

Carson gives a little sigh. He didn't know how it must feel to still be independent, but with a body that simply wouldn't allow for certain tasks anymore. Tim's eyesight wasn't what it used to be, his back was in bad shape, and his reflexes certainly weren't sharp anymore. Driving just wasn't an option. "Well... at least you give her attention. That's all you can do, right?"

"No... no it's not." Tim turns around and fishes in an old coffee can, pulling out a set of keys. They fly in Carson's direction.

Surprised, he catches them. "What are these for?"

"My tool shed." Tim rolls his eyes. "The car, dummy. They're for the car."

Carson's eyes grow a little wider as suddenly he was afraid he knew what was coming. "Well what..."

"I wouldn't drive her around too much without insurance, and we'll have to turn things over to your name, but if anyone asks in the meantime, you can just say you're borrowing it."

"But... you can't be serious."

"I am." Tim stands with stubbornness. "She's my car and I'll do with her what I want. And what I want is for you to have her."

"Aw, Tim." Carson swallows hard. "I could never afford to pay you for a car like this. Sure, I can afford the insurance and licensing and all that now, but she's worth a fortune."

"Did I ask for any money?" Tim smirks at him. "If you don't get going, you're gonna be running later than you already are."

"But..." Carson looks down at the keys, then the car, then the keys and back to Tim. "I can't."

"Yes you can." Tim nods in satisfaction. "From the first time you came and helped me, up until now, you've been nothing but help. You've given an old man company he was too proud to ask for, and help he was too proud to hire out for. You've never taken a dime for it either. Don't you think for a minute that I haven't been watching you... seeing you change... seeing your heart. You've had enough trouble thrown at you - it's time somebody helped you get back up on your feet again."

Carson is totally stunned, and for several moments he just stares at his older friend. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll take her and for pity sake, get to the restaurant. That poor little waitress needs to be checked on."

Carson's mouth slowly upturns into a grin and he steps forward to give Tim a warm handshake. "I'll never be able to replay you."

"You repay me? Son, I'm repaying you for what you've done for me."

The roaring engine was music to Carson's ears. The smooth steering was like silk. With windows down, the cool morning air whipped through his hair. It felt good. It felt really good. Getting to Mom and Pop's, he parks, locks the car and sprints for the back door.