Greg slumps deeper into his brown leather chair. Today was a good one: no casualties and three scumbags on their way to a permanent sojourn behind bars thanks to Team One. Greg's mind, however, kept looking southbound from the moment his alarm went off. Now, in the quiet of his apartment, he yields to that tug, picking up his cellphone.
It rings before he dials the international code.
He doesn't need to check the Caller ID. Such are the wonders of being a twin.
"Hello, little brother." Keith's tone is a little too conversational.
Greg stares at the rain outside his window, before closing his eyes and focusing long enough to feel phantom heat from the California sun on his face. "Pshh, we're talking about a four minute difference here. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Things have been a little crazy over here in Neptune," Keith answers somberly. "Maybe Veronica can go hang out with her favourite uncle?"
"Lily's death, eh?"
"She's not getting over it, Greg," Keith sighs.
"As long as I don't have to take her to work again--"
Keith scoffs. "It's not my fault your precious SRU's not ready to handle my Veronica."
"And the fact that she obtained nearly everyone's password with a paperclip and a piece of gum in the two hours I left her in my office?"
"What can I say, Greg? Our skulduggery gene is a resilient one."
Greg sucks his teeth and goes with his gut instinct. "So when does her flight land?"
"Tomorrow at noon."
"You're a wily one, Keith."
"Worst case scenario: she'll make me poutine when she returns home."
"Can't have her eschewing her Canadian roots."
"Of course not," Keith answers.
Though left unsaid, Greg hears the unspoken thank you.