Who: Gemma Davenport and Fletcher Charleston. What: Another secret rendezvous? When: Monday evening. Where: Gemma's house, in the backyard. Warnings: Fletcher's pasty Scottish whiteness on display?
Sore, tired, and more than a little cranky, Fletcher took off for the evening. With Josia gone, and in the wake of a successful heist, everyone else was plenty distracted. He'd gotten good at timing these trips so that he wouldn't be missed, even if someone noticed he was gone. It hadn't taken him long to work out the best routes to take across town, either. This whole game could be blown by one over vigilant cop, or even a really observant and concerned citizen. There had been plenty of news coverage of their miraculous break out. It didn't help that he currently looked like he'd been on the only marginally winning side of a bar fight. Being a good distraction was harder than it looked, especially when they'd been trying not to rouse too much suspicion.
His mood was not particularly improved when Gemma didn't answer the door. For a few seconds, he debated breaking in. That would probably be a little too intrusive, though. And he really didn't want to be on the receiving end of whatever Wonder Woman retribution she might have reserved for burglars. Of course, they'd be in just as much trouble if one of her neighbors became concerned ab out the dodgy looking man lurking on her doorstep. He was saved from his dilemma when he heard a splash from the back yard. Anyone spying would have to deal with a little more lurking.
Circling around, he found her in the pool. It made him smile for reasons he couldn't quite place. Not in any particular hurry to interrupt her, he crouched down by the side of the pool and waited for her to notice him. It gave him more of a chance to just...watch her. As creepy as that sounded, he never got tired of looking at Gemma.