Both friends had started in the security department at exactly the same time, with the young hockey playing dragon grasping the tailor-made opportunities for promotion that came his way more than anyone else's, due to the now deceased, former head of security (and of course dragon) Mark Hiscock. For his part, Owen had never seemed to mind or showed any sort of resentment towards Peter, even though others in the same position might have. So the two had become firm friends, a friendship that in Peter's eyes had increased tenfold when, at the height of the Manson fiasco last year, Owen had stood up to the two goons that had escorted him off the site at gunpoint in front of almost the entire staff. At the time, he'd been at the lowest point in his life; having been caught out by the evil Manson, who'd unexpectedly turned out to be some sort of new fangled dark dragon in his own right, plus he'd felt as though he'd failed his friends, and as though he had no one to turn to. Owen's brief bout of defiance had buoyed his spirits no end that dark day, and on his return, in his very first meeting with Al Garrett, the first thing Peter had done was arrange for Owen to get a promotion of his own. So the basketball shaped head, shaven of all but the tiniest amount of fuzz, now poking into the car's interior, belonged to the Assistant Security Co-ordinator, Peter's deputy.
"I'm glad you checked all the toilets. I'll be sure to mention your thoroughness in your next review. Are you going to let me through now?" enquired Peter, the traffic building up behind his car.
"Sure thing... boss!" replied Owen, standing to attention, giving Peter a mock salute, in the style of Benny Hill.
Smiling as the gate lifted up in front of him, Peter zipped off to find a space in the car park nearest to his office.
Once at his desk, tackling those pesky emails, he'd already figured there would be little or no chance of it happening, but to his surprise, his email offer of lunch in the staff canteen was duly accepted. What started out as a good day, had just got better.
On the cusp of lunchtime, he stood twiddling his thumbs outside the double doors of the staff canteen. Glancing up at the oval shaped clock on the wooden wall opposite, it read 11.51. Richie was late... as always. They'd agreed to meet at ten to twelve, and although only a minute past, he felt the same pent up anger he always did when people weren't on time. Richie was nearly always the usual suspect on that count. Interestingly, Janice was the only person he could think of who understood his obsession with punctuality. In the short while that he'd known her, never had she been late for anything... not once. That thought burst into a billion pieces as Richie ambled around the far corner of the corridor and flashed her trademark grin. Instantly he forgot all about her tardiness. Greeting each other with kisses, which seemed to be the norm these days, he commented that she looked absolutely radiant.
With that, the two joined the queue (which was meagre at this relatively early time of day) bought their food and adjourned to a table at the back of the hall. Much of the conversation was left to Richie, with Peter diving straight into his food. Going on to explain at length about her work, the courses she'd been both on and running, as well as some of the gossip from her part of the building, Peter nodded in all the right places, while paying genuine attention to all the things going on in his friend's life. It hit him while he was chewing on a mouthful of turkey laced with stuffing, just how proud he was of her. So much so, that it almost brought a tear to his eye.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Thumping his chest, he coughed a little, pretending some of his food had gone down the wrong way.
"That'll teach you to shovel your food down so quickly," laughed Richie.
Nodding in agreement, just as a thought occurred to him, he went on to tell Richie about the chairman of the sports club's odd behaviour, and even reminded her of the little incident he'd seen so long ago with the chairman and Manson. Not able to make head nor tail of it either, she promised to let him know if she heard anything along the same lines from any of the lacrosse girls.
"So how is the lovely Janice?" cross-examined Richie, cutting to the chase.
Peter's coughing fit wasn't exaggerated this time; it was so bad, Richie thought she might have to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on him. Waving her away, he washed down his mouthful of food with a large slurp of water.
"Well...?" remarked Richie, still not willing to give up.
"She's very well, thank you," he replied, blushing profusely.
"Owwww... sweet," teased his friend. "But you know that's not what I want to know."
This was starting to get really uncomfortable for Peter, and worst of all, he couldn't see any way in which it was going to improve.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," she replied, loving every minute.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Rich."
Leaning across the table, just to make sure they weren't overheard in the now crowded restaurant, she whispered softly in his ear.
"Is she worth it Pete? Worth the law breaking, and the resulting punishment that'll come your way if you're caught? Would you lay down your life to save her?"
Pulling away, leaning smugly back in her chair as Peter carefully considered her words, Richie was almost certain she had him. As tables and chairs filled up all around them, the food line got steadily longer and the noise levels increased, she sat there expectantly. Knowing that there was no way to get out of it, he treated her question with the respect it deserved and thought carefully before replying.
Just the thought of the stunningly attractive blonde bar worker made him smile, creating a warm, fuzzy feeling throughout the length of his entire falsehood of a form. Try as he might, he just couldn't imagine his life without Janice, his bar tending beauty. Was it worth all the potential trouble? Oh yes! Would he lay down his life for her? In an instant! Glancing across at his friend, sitting there smugly, she'd obviously known the answers to the questions before she'd even asked them, even if he hadn't.
"Amazing isn't it?" Richie announced from her position of experience.
"What is?" he replied, slightly afraid of the answer.
"Amazing how quickly it creeps up on you and bites you in the ischium." (That's a dragon's bottom to you and I.)
He still looked a little perplexed.
"Humans, Pete," she mouthed, so that only he could hear.
Reluctantly, he nodded in agreement. Once again, his friend leaned across the table.
"Make the most of it. You deserve it. And... she's lovely."
Of all the things she'd said to him, this brought a lump that felt like the size of a small planet to his throat, but before he had a chance to respond, Richie was out of her seat and up onto her feet.
"Anyhow Pete, gotta dash. Work to do and all that."
Both friends gathered up their dirty plates and cutlery, stacking them neatly in some shelves towards the front of the restaurant. As they did so, Peter whispered in Richie's ear.
"How are things with Tim?"
She froze... for a fraction of a second anyway. Turning slowly, so as to make a point, she gazed purposefully into his eyes.
"You know full well that it's over... I had absolutely no choice. I wish there had been another way, I truly do. So, my friend... make the most of what you have. Who knows when and where it will end?"
And with that she clapped him on the shoulder and vowed to catch up with him on Saturday, when she would be playing lacrosse and he would be playing hockey.