Kate took the final drag of her 10:00 a.m. cigarette and glanced towards the great glass doors of the bank with dread. Another three hours before her lunch break, another three hours of handling small bills and making even smaller talk with customers. The joy of the modern daily grind.

Crouching down against the wall, she read the final words of the chapter.

“Aelspeth thrust her hawks-wind dagger into the beast's fiery breast. With a sky rending cry it fell before her and breathed no more...”

Kate sighed. If only real life were half as interesting as a fantasy novel. Real life was boring. There were no dragons to slay, only customers to placate, and coins to count.

She stabbed out the cigarette and, in a small act of rebellion, left it lying amongst the other butts that littered the side of the building. The taste of tar was thick in her mouth, and, for the several billionth time Kate thought about quitting, then promptly forgot about it again.

The bank was about to get busy with the day's lunch rush, and Mrs Mickles, the old teller who had been with the bank as long as it had existed, chivvied her into place.

“Hurry up Miss Kate; can't you see that the customers have been queuing for minutes?”

Kate, a snub nosed brunette, could see that they had been queuing for several minutes. She couldn't have cared less either. Why couldn't they adapt to the modern age and do their banking online like civilized people?

With a roll of her eyes behind the old Matron's back, Kate slid aside the 'Closed' sign at her desk and called the first customer in the queue over to her. The customer came with the sort of exasperated smile all customers wore when it was getting close to lunch time and they were trying to get their banking business in before they too had to hurry back to whatever mundane jobs chained them to reality.

As she counted out the customer's money, Kate day dreamed that she was the guardian of the funds, sworn to protect her liege's gold from the hordes that flowed back and forth outside the great glass windows. If the customer noticed the way Kate was holding her pen like a dagger, she didn't say anything, but muttered a hurried thanks as she scurried away with her cash.

In Kate's mind, the bank was transformed. No longer was it a shiny, glass rimmed homage to modern money making. Instead it was a great cavernous hall, filled with the lights of fluttering fairies making their home in the tall vaulted ceilings. In her mind, she no longer wore the dull, drab, black skirted suit that was standard issue for the employees of BSB Incorporated, instead she wore a leather jerkin and leggings, studded with gold to denote her high rank as a defender of the realm.

The fantasy kept her occupied as it always did, transforming the grinding hours of entering numbers and handing out cash, taking in cash, folding it over and putting little rubber bands around it into a wonderful adventure.

“Give me your money,” a gruff voice broke through her fantasy.

It had been several minutes since Kate had so much as looked into a customer's face, instead she had contented herself with a fake 'hello, how are you,' and pretended that they were gnomes, or trolls, even elves banking notes of spider-web silk.

This man made her look up however, into keen blue eyes fringed with dark brows. He pushed the pocket of his jacket towards her and Kate saw the distinct outline of the barrel of a gun pressed against the fabric.

“Give me the money. Now!” he repeated gruffly.

Her heart beating quickly, Kate narrowed her brown eyes at him.

“That's not the way it works, sir,” she said, taking a firmer grip on her aluminum bank issued pen.

With his spare hand, the man reached under the safety glass that separated Kate from his ill intent, grasping for a tray of unsorted bills.

Without a moment's thought, Kate plunged the pen into his hand, feeling the crunch as it sank into his flesh. The man howled with pain, then fell back from the window as security rushed forward.

“She stabbed me!” he exclaimed with angry surprise.

The officers that typically stood guard at the doors of the bank rushed forward as the man screamed, but for some reason best known to themselves, they made no attempt to detain the would-be thief, instead they were looking from the man to Kate and back again with a sort of silent horror. The pen stuck out from the man's hand in a grotesque sort of fashion for a moment or two, then slid out and fell to the floor with a small, but sickening thud. The thief gave her a dark look.

“You didn't have a withdrawal slip,” Kate quipped as the man stalked away, followed by security.

The teller next to her, a large boned lady named Monica who was one of Kate's best friends in the bank, leaned over with a frantic whisper. “Do you know who that was?”

“A bank robber?” Kate hazarded a guess.

Monica covered her mouth with a little laugh at Kate's ignorance. “That was Damon Rakesfield, he's the new head of security.”

“Oh,” Kate replied. “Oh, dear…”

Pulled into her manager's office not long after the stabbing incident, Kate found herself sitting in a low chair and being glowered at by Mr. Jones, her manager, and Mr. Rakesfield, who was now sporting a bandage on his right hand.

“Kate, standard bank policy is to hand over the marked bills in the case of a robbery, not to stab the robber,” Mr. Jones said, fiddling with his pen nervously. Kate saw Mr. Rakesfield give him a pained look.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” Kate responded blandly. What was there to say? 'Sorry I stabbed you?'

“Look, young lady,” Mr. Rakesfield broke in, his firm jaw set square with a restrained sort of anger. “You put the bank at risk, and you put yourself at risk with that action.”

Kate looked up at him. He dwarfed her easily, and she guessed from his broad shouldered stance, and inability to conceive of anything occurring outside set parameters, that he had some form of military experience behind him. Security specialists usually did.

“Sorry I stabbed you,” she said, going with her first impulse.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Is that covered under worker's compensation?” Kate wondered aloud. “I suppose it's not an ordinary injury, but it is definitely a work related one. Will they take our sharp pens away now and replace them with squishy ones? I used to have a squishy one. You could bend it into all sorts of shapes. Of course, I lost it years ago, but we could use them here.”

She was babbling, and as she did so, Damon Rakesfield's features took on a rather bemused expression.

“Apology accepted,” he said stiffly, sitting down on the corner of Mr. Jones' desk and leaning in towards Kate. The suit he wore was tailored finely, but did little to dull the primal nature of the man. He was like a chained beast, his gaze locked on her fiercely. “But I hope that you have learned it is important to follow procedure. This action could result in severe disciplinary proceedings.”

There was something about the intent in his eyes and his tone when he said the words 'disciplinary proceedings' that made Kate shiver where she sat.

“Disciplinary proceedings? They sound unpleasant. About as unpleasant as someone pretending to threaten you with a gun. Is that in my contract anywhere, that I'm supposed to occasionally put up with people pretending to rob me? Should I get in on the act more? Start wearing those little blood packs? Next time you can yell 'bang'! I'll act like I have been shot and there will be blood everywhere and fainting and then we can really see if security is working.” Kate delivered the little tirade dead pan, her expression as innocent as ever. Butter would not be seen near her mouth, much less melt in it.

“Are you smart mouthing me?” Damon said, his thick brows drawing upwards in an expression of total surprise. Clearly he had been expecting fawning apologies, not an avalanche of sarcasm.

“Will you pretend to shoot me if I am? Will there be disciplinary proceedings?” Kate's deadpan demeanor dropped as she giggled, feeling quite light headed after the shock of being fake-robbed and the fact that it was now a good hour after her lunch time.

“I think that disciplinary proceedings may be extraordinarily lacking in your life,” Damon said, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

“Really? So what do you get for stabbing someone? A written warning? I got a verbal warning months ago for using pens as projectiles. Maybe the pens are the problem. Do you have a sandwich, I am terribly hungry,” she chattered.

“We will not be pursuing official disciplinary action,” Mr. Jones said, his tone placating.

“And unofficially?” Kate asked, looking from man to man.

“Allow me to take you to lunch, Miss Dwight, it is the least I can do.” Damon changed the subject abruptly.

The offer surprised Kate into silence.

“Uhm, well, I don't know. Is it proper policy to have lunch with men who pretend to shoot you?”

“Come along, Miss Dwight” Damon said, standing up and motioning for her to follow him out the door. With little other choice than to make unpleasant scene, Kate decided to go to lunch with him. One unpleasant scene was enough for one day.

Lunch turned out to be at a sushi restaurant nearby, which pleased Kate greatly. She loved sushi. Sitting in a little booth, Damon watched her as she picked her way along a California roll.

“Tell me, Miss Dwight, are you in the habit of stabbing people?” he asked lightly, a crease of a smile about his eyes.

Kate laughed a little. “No, you're my first,” she said.

“I am honored,” he replied. “I do apologize for scaring you. For what it’s worth, your reactions would have made you an excellent soldier.”

She was right, he did have military experience. He was smiling at her now, and for some reason, Kate felt wary. “Well, I never did go out for slaughtering people,” she said calmly.

That changed his mood. “The military isn't about slaughtering people,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“No, it's about cuddling them with bullets,” Kate replied.

“You're given to sarcasm, Miss Dwight, it is an unattractive trait,” he said, steepling his fingers and regarding her thoughtfully over the top of them.

“It's a smart trait, but I can see why that would bother you,” Kate said with a smirk.

He chuckled at the insult. “So what is a smart woman like yourself doing working as a bank teller?”

“It's a job,” Kate said non-committaly.

“It is, but I would expect a lady like you to be somewhat higher up the food chain,” he said.

Kate shrugged. “Maybe if I had finished my accounting degree.”

He was looking at her keenly now. “And why didn't you finish your accounting degree?”

In spite of herself, Kate squirmed under his gaze, feeling like she was before the principal who was asking her why her homework had not been done that week. It was an uncomfortable feeling that made her blush.

“I just didn't,” she mumbled into her sushi.

“I see,” he replied, sounding as if he were cataloging the information away for future use.

Eager to change the subject, Kate started babbling. “So, am I in trouble for the stabbing thing? Does your hand hurt? Are you okay?”

He waved away her concern. “My hand will be okay, it was only superficial damage. As for trouble, I get the impression that you often find yourself in trouble, Miss Dwight.” There it was, that uncomfortable 'in the Principal's office' feeling, back again.

“And what if I do?” she replied, her chin held high.

“Perhaps someone should put a stop to that,” he said, his eyes meeting hers unwaveringly.

“I'm armed with pens if they try,” Kate laughed. “I’d better get back to work,” she added, looking at her watch. It was a good half hour after her last shift of the day was supposed to start. Mrs Mickles would be throwing a fit.

Damon nodded at the sentiment of returning to work and escorted her out the door like a gentleman, his hand hovering near her lower back. His presence made her nervous. He was so tall, so broad. She wondered what he had meant earlier by 'disciplinary proceedings', but she was damned if she was going to ask him directly.

She stopped outside the sushi place and rummaged about in her bag for her cigarettes. Damon watched her silently, sizing her up no doubt. Her fingers shook with nerves as she shook a cigarette out of her bag, put it in her mouth and almost had it lit before it was whisked out of her mouth with deft fingers, and snapped in two.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing! That's mine!” Kate fumed.

Damon loomed over her, holding the broken pieces beneath her nose. “These will kill you, Miss Dwight.”

“It's my life,” Kate shot back, taking out another cigarette, which was just as quickly whisked away. The man moved unnaturally fast.

“Okay, stop that!” Kate growled.

“No. You don't need to suck poison into your lungs. Now get back to work before...” his voice trailed off, holding an unspoken threat.

“Before what?” Kate demanded.

“Before I give you the spanking you so soundly deserve.” Every word was like a red hot lead weight sizzling into Kate's soul. She blushed deep red before recovering herself even slightly, opening her mouth, then shutting it again.

He meant what he had said, she could tell. His mouth was set firmly, his eyes full of resolve. He could do it too; she wouldn't be any match for him.

“Oh fine!” she sighed dramatically, stomping off to work as quickly as possible. As she entered the building, the dryness in her mouth had nothing to do with wanting a cigarette; instead it had everything to do with Damon Rakesfield.