Stone had been quiet since their return from Oklahoma. Oh, Stone always was a man of few words, but Cassandra had always been able to get him talking about something he was passionate about. Sometimes she'd felt like she was throwing a life preserver to a drowning man, the way relief would briefly cross his face before he'd launch into an explanation of a painting. He hadn't been free to talk about his passions before the Library. Here he could and she'd made it her mission to be not just a listener but a safe place for him.

She'd tried a few times in the days that followed Oklahoma to engage him like she always had. She'd ask him about the paper he'd been writing, about an interesting building she'd seen on a solo mission, about the more subtle translations in a work she'd asked him to translate for her. He'd answer her, but it wasn't the same. His answers were terse and the light was missing from his eyes.

She talked to Ezekiel about it over lunch one day. Ezekiel was oddly quiet for a moment and then in one of his flashes of insight (and Ezekiel did have his moments, he knew human nature) said softly, "his father hit him in front of us. The cowboy's proud, Cassandra. You just need to give him a little space."

Cassandra tried even though it broke her heart. She'd come across him in the stacks one afternoon. She'd caught a glimpse of red eyes before he leaned heavily against a shelf, burying his face in his hands. She'd lightly backed up, hoping that he hadn't heard her coming. It would just make things worse if she intruded on him right now.

She felt helpless. She always hated that feeling. Which was why she tried so hard to fix things that were actually in her ability to fix. But she didn't know how to fix Jacob.

Then one day she was out shopping and she wandered into a card shop. She'd come in to look at some cat pins she'd seen through the window but she found herself wandering the rows of greeting cards. She had no idea why it called to her. It was a blank card with a photo on the front and a quote that just spoke to her. She bought it and hoped that maybe she could get up the courage to give it to him.

Stone knew that Cassandra was trying. She was so sweet, that girl. But despite his words to his father, he did care what his father thought. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get past the boy he used to be. He'd made a step forward using his real name but he'd panicked after submission, almost changed it back. Two steps forward, three steps back.

What's worse was that Jones and Cassandra had witnessed his father's abuse. He had a tough time looking either of them in the eye, he was ashamed that he'd taken it. Neither had said a word about it though. Well he knew that Cassandra's attempts to talk to him were probably her way of dealing with it. The thief, to his credit, had said absolutely nothing. Jones had a good laugh at his expense when Baird had love patted him a little hard on his bruised face, but otherwise nothing. And surprisingly her smack hadn't sent him backwards like he'd been afraid. Baird loved them, he had a feeling his father'd be missing his hand had Baird been there instead of Cassandra and Jones.

That felt good to know he had someone at his back like that. And that Jones was keeping his peace for once. And Cassandra . . .Cassandra was always his safe zone.

But for some reason he felt like he was just stuck. He couldn't take advantage of any of their openings for moving on. He just felt trapped and if he was honest, scared.

And he found himself in the stacks one day, frustrated and really really wishing he could cry. He wanted to. Oh God did he want to. He could feel the tears welling up in his stomach and he was all alone. No one would see him or judge him. But men didn't cry. That had been drilled into him from the time he was a little boy especially after he was three or four when it became "I'll give you somethin' to cry about, boy." He couldn't do it. Even though he felt like he might become sick from holding it in. So he leaned against a shelf and tried to get himself together. Maybe it was the Library but he swore he could smell Cassandra's perfume even though she was nowhere to be seen.

And oddly he took comfort in her scent even though he was too proud to seek comfort from her in person.

A couple of days later, he was sitting at a work table, doing some research, more than a little miffed that the Clippings Book had decided to not give them anything for days. He needed to bury himself in something. So he was doing research into Prospero instead. Even though his heart wasn't really into it and his mind kept wandering.

He'd gotten up to grab another book and when he sat back down he fold an envelope propped against his stack of books.

"Jacob" was written on it in Cassandra's precise handwriting. Otherwise there was nothing written inside the card, she didn't even sign it. The card had a photo of a couple embracing and the quote "one day someone is going to hug you so tight, that all of your broken pieces fit back together."

Stone's heart clenched and that feeling like he was going to cry was back. "God I wish," he said out loud before he could stop himself, dropping his head briefly into his hands. He heard a rustling and lifted his head.

Cassandra stood just in front of the table. She said absolutely nothing, just raised her arms out to the side.

He hesitated for a moment, but only a moment before he stood up and crossed over to her. She threw her arms around his neck. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he put his arms around her waist, pulling her snug against him. He buried his face in her shoulder breathing her in.

It was silent save for their breaths.

Cassandra wasn't sure how long she was going to need to hold him but she wasn't going to be the first to break the hug. She was there to give him comfort.

She wasn't going to judge. She was safe. His mind went over and over the same two sentences. Just let it go.

The last time he'd cried had been when his mother died. Not at her funeral, not at her deathbed. Not anywhere near where his father was, where his sisters were. No, the tears for his mother had come two weeks later in a crappy hotel room in Alaska at the beginning of the year long reprieve from his father.

That reprieve was longer now. Forever if he needed it to be. And in sweet Cassandra's arms, he finally cried. For a scared little boy who'd let so much life pass him by. For his mother who'd died broken hearted, knowing that her boy was so unhappy. For his sisters who he'd never been able to protect from his father's words (he'd never hit them but Jacob knew that the words hurt more than his hands ever had).

Cassandra made soft little sounds of comfort when the tears started but she just held on, the only thing she did was shift her arms from his neck to his waist. And he held her so tight he was sure she was going to have bruises on her hips but she didn't complain, she knew he needed to hold on.

Eventually he raised his head from her shoulder, giving her a sheepish grin and loosened his grip on her waist. He hadn't quite stepped back, but he wasn't really holding her either. She smiled softly at him and removed one hand from his waist. She fished out a tissue from her pocket and offered it to him.

He thanked her and stepped back, making use of the tissue.

"Jacob . . . ." Cassandra said softly. "I still don't know what to say. But I hope I helped."

Stone threw the tissue in the nearly waste basket and came back over to her, cupping her chin in his palm. "Oh darlin', you don't have any idea how much I needed that. So thank you. Thank you."

"Any time. And I mean that." She smiled at him and they stood there for several beats just looking at each other. She was starting to think he might just kiss her but instead he finally leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Then he let her go.

"I should um, let you get back to your research."

"Yeah," he stared down at the books, shifting one over.

Cassandra smiled one last time and turned to walk away. She'd not cleared the table when he spoke again.

"Hey, Cassie?"

"Yeah?" she didn't turn around.

"Wanna get out of here? Go for a walk, get some coffee? Somethin'?"

She turned her head to look at him, her hand outstretched behind her. "I'd love that."

When he reached her, he took her hand in his.

Maybe all of his broken pieces hadn't quite been put back together. But he knew if he ever needed help getting the rest of them back, he knew exactly who to ask.

The End