"And the cow jumped over the mooooooooooon, hey!"

CRASH!

Mircea winced as the drunk man landed face-first on the ground. The bartender heaved a resigned sigh. "So he's at the surf-an-imaginary-crowd again," he said. "You should probably move, sir. He's going to try it again."

True to the bartender's word, the man staggered to his feet and clambered back onto the bar. "Ah! Wait!" Mircea cried, grabbing the drunkard by the arm. "Why don't you sit here and tell me what happened next?"

"Huuuuuh? Neksht where?"

"The cow jumped over the moon, right? Then what?"

"Don'tcha know, shtoopid?" the drunk guffawed loudly, slapping Mircea's arm. "Hey diddle, fiddle, middle, riddle..."

"It's 'Hey, diddle, diddle,' Denham," said the bartender, patiently.

"And isn't that before the cow jumped?" Mircea piped.

"Doesh it matter?" slurred Danham. "The cat laughed anyway."

"I thought that was the dog."

"That's right." The bartender nodded in agreement. "The dog laughed, and the cat played the fiddle."

"See, that's always bothered me." Mircea put his glass down and placed his interlocked hands on the bar, in full business mode. "All it says is 'the cat and the fiddle.' Even the pictures show the cat playing the fiddle, but where is it written that the cat played it? The phrase has a titular feel to it, like War and Peace or Romeo and Juliet or James and the Giant Peach. I think that sentence is a prompt to use our imagination to find out what the cat did with the fiddle. The cat could be shitting on it for all we know."

By the time Mircea was done ranting, every single person at the bar was listening. Denham tugged on Mircea's sleeve. "Hey, hey, mister," he said in a low voice, beckoning him to come closer. "Lemme tell you shumthin'."

Mircea leaned closer, curious. "Yeah?"

"The cow was in on it," Denham whispered conspiratorially.

"Eh?"

"And that's the headline!" Denham suddenly shouted, vaulting onto the bar. "Everyone was distracted because of the jumping cow, so the dish and spoon could run away!"

Mircea had frequented high-end bars affordable only to the cream of society so far, but he absolutely didn't regret breaking that habit today. This pub was full of Betas and the occasional omega, and the raucous, informal atmosphere was radically different from the dressy, muted hum of his usual spots. And while this spot was too noisy for his taste to become a regular, an occasional visit for a change would be okay.

After all, Alphas weren't interested in dissecting nursery rhymes, no matter how drunk they were. Everyone seated at the bar gave their two cents on why the cow jumped over the moon, and by the time they came around to discussing the biomechanics of jumping bovines, a crowd had gathered around the table and Denham had switched to crying at the top of his lungs.

"He got fired yesterday," explained the bartender as Mircea tried to push Denham off him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mircea commiserated, trying not to think of his own employees who would soon end up in Denham's boat if he didn't score a contract soon.

"I wash living my dream!" Denham wailed. "All those 'earsh shlogging in college, all that monneh, all that kissing of my no-good halfwit Alpha boss' arsh-"

"You're saying that to an Alpha," the bartender pointed out.

"-all washted! My life, ruined! I shpent my entire 'ife working towarsh my goal, and now...and now...waaaaah!"

About halfway through Denham's tale of woe, Mircea had stopped trying to shove him away. Steeped in thought, he let the man sob into his shoulder. It wasn't like he had forgotten about other people having their own ambitions. But he'd been so absorbed in his anguish over the unfair imperilment of his life's work that he had forgotten that it was affecting others in Lemaile much like it was affecting him.

He had worked very hard to make sure that Lemaile was worth the effort his employees would put in to get there. He himself could name over fifty people for whom Lemaile was as dear as it was to him. And now that he had realized that, he was ashamed of every time he had considered letting Lemaile go.

It's your life's dream....you will never put more heart, effort or sacrifice into anything else.

Ah, the words that had validated his struggle. If it weren't for that guy, he would probably have given up. Heck, if it weren't for that guy, he wouldn't have even ventured into this bar, and he would never have had the revelation he was having now. He would have laid waste to the efforts and ambitions of hundreds. And he would have overlooked the enormous store of passion, skill and desperation that was Lemaile, those ranks upon ranks of people who would fight as hard as, if not harder than, himself to save it.

Mircea's chest swelled as he drew in a breath filled with renewed hope. "Shit," he swore, his voice trembling with excitement, a thrilled grin lighting up his face. "We might actually pull this off."

"Bull 'awt oph?" Denham sniffled.

"I'm about to end up like you," Mircea answered. "My dream's about to go down the drain too, but I might be able to save it."

"More powwuh to yuh."

"To that end, I must now get back to work." Mircea rose and handed the bartender his card. "Put Denham's drinks on my tab too."

"Huh?!" the bartender exclaimed, surprised. "But...it's eleven in the night, and Denham's an-"

Mircea tucked his card into Denham's pocket. "Call me when you're coming here again," he said hurriedly. "I want to know how you're doing."

"Wait-"

"Gotta go, bye!"
*
"What the fuck were you thinking, Zach?!"

The file flew across the room and hit the younger Alpha squarely in the face. "Hey! What's your problem?" Zach exclaimed. "And what the hell is this?"

"Lists of current and former employees of Lemaile. I'd told you, Zach! I'd begged you to leave my employees alone! But you fired good people and replaced them with your no-good friends!"

"So what? I just helped my friends get a good start in their life." Zach took a long draw of his hookah and blew a ring of smoke in Mircea's direction. "And shut the door before Mother smells anything."

Mircea complied, but only because he didn't want anyone to hear the din and come to stop him. "Those were good people, Zach!" he snapped as he opened a window. "I personally head-hunted some of those people! What the hell, man - a woman who didn't complete sophomore year of college is the CFO!"

"So what can I do about it? Just get rid of them if they're such a problem. It's not like there's any shortage of replacements."

Oh, how Mircea's fist itched to connect with Zach's face. "Those were highly educated and skilled people, not light bulbs," Mircea growled. "And that's not all. You and your imbeciles used Lemaile like your personal wallet and left it with nothing! Embezzlement, tax fraud, bad loans, law infringement - what haven't you done, huh? I wouldn't be surprised to find a couple of murders thrown in!"

Zach shot him an annoyed look, but didn't seem otherwise bothered. "So what? It was my company. I could do whatever I wanted with it."

Outrage was too small a word to describe what Mircea felt. "Does the fact that you ruined lives not bother you!" he seethed, punching the wall. "Before I handed over Lemaile, I made it so you wouldn't have to lift a finger! Then why!"

"I still don't understand why it's got you so bothered, Mircea. It's not like it's a stain on your record. What's done is done, so how about you go on with your life and let me enjoy mine?"

"Sure! The debt will vanish into thin air, and laws are just wasted ink on paper, aren't they? And thanks to the substandard buildings your fools approved, contracts are just pouring in!"

"And I ask you once again why you're being such a drama queen. If Lemaile is in such trouble, just let it go."

Mircea saw red. "Why, you-" he hurled another file at his brother. "A deadbeat like you could never understand, you no-good son of a - rrraah!" The remaining files hit Zach with dull thuds. "I could kill you!"

"What the hell! Behave yourself!" Zach blocked Mircea's right hook. "What's one company gone when you're the CEO of eight and the owner of two, huh? Nobody asked you to clean up Lemaile's shit. So why-"

"BECAUSE IT HURTS!" Mircea roared, so loudly it hurt his throat. He couldn't tell whether it was emotion or the smoke from the damn hookah making his eyes wet. "Lemaile is mine! Not QuartzCorp's - she's mine! You were set on spiting Father, but you didn't do squat to him. You ruined my Lemaile! What did I ever do to you!"

"Okay, that's enough." Zach took his hookah to his mouth again. "I don't know why you're squealing to me and how I can fix your problem. So pick up your shit and go take a shower or something."

Mircea snapped. Crossing the distance between them in one step, he coiled his entire body as far as it would go as he drew his fist back. His punch connected with Zachary's jaw so hard it slammed the latter's mouth shut over the hookah's mouthpiece, knocking out two teeth.

"I want you to take responsibility," snarled Mircea as he shook out his throbbing fist. "Tell me each and every wrong thing you have done during our time in Lemaile. Leave out nothing, because if I find out anything new myself, you are going to prison."
*
Ah, just one whiff and Mircea's scowl turned upside down.

The omega had his back to Mircea when the latter came in, allowing him to stare to his heart's content as he spread his work things on the table. Oh, how he'd love to skim his nose along that long neck! How he'd love to squeeze that slender waist! How he'd love to run his hands through those thick locks - was that a tie pin?

"You're going to burn a hole through me."

Mircea jumped. He'd been so busy daydreaming he'd failed to notice the omega come over. "So you came again," the omega continued, smiling.

And what a smile it was. "Hey there, Thief. Is that my..."

"Yes." The omega touched his half-bun, held together by the pin he had stolen. "It really worked."

"How could it not?" Mircea sighed, swooning internally.

"So, a drink with at least two shots of espresso and something heavy to eat, right?"

"How'd you know?!"

"Mussed hair, wrinkled suit, creased brows, thunderstorm on your face...it's obvious you've had a long night, and a bad one at that. And if you're here on a Saturday morning with work plastering your table, you must be planning to be here a while. So you'll need a filling meal, won't you?"

A warm fluffiness spread in Mircea's chest. "Marry me," he said, as impressed as he was flattered to garner such attention from the lovely stranger.

"Nope!" The omega laughed, cerise slowly flooding his cheeks. The other patrons, who had never seen the cafe's star waiter in such a good mood, stared openly. "As for the menu - shall I surprise you?"

"Sure. No cantaloupe, please."

Now that he was in a better mood, Mircea could get a lot more done. By the time Thief arrived with his food, he was already done with the day's emails and was jotting down ideas for the project he had his eyes on. "Here you go," said Thief, setting a plate before him. "Turkish coffee."

"And there's beans on toast with eggs and sausages," Mircea observed appreciatively. "I don't remember being so happy to see breakfast being served."

"Is that so?"

"It is. I don't know if it's because the food's good or because the one serving it is you."

The omega cocked his head to one side. "You don't even know me," he said, voice tinged with regret. "How can it be because of me..."

"It's because you make everything...brighter. Not that I've had a bad life before, but I didn't know there was someone who could make it even better. I can find joy in things I never could before, and it feels amazing." Mircea reached for the omega's hand, and to his delight, the latter didn't pull away. "It's not uncommon, you know. Many people have life-changing encounters with people they've never met and will never meet again."

The omega suddenly frowned and looked around himself, as if checking for spectators. A man at one particular table to his left made him scowl and rip his hand from Mircea's hold. "I told you," he said to Mircea sadly. "I can't be anything to you."

"But-"

"Work hard, Mircea Quartz." With that, he turned and left before Mircea could say another word.

"What is wrong with that guy?" Mircea grumbled, unrolling his silverware.

A tube of antiseptic cream, cleverly wedged between the knife and fork, fell out. It took a second for Mircea to make the link. "He noticed," he mumbled, examining his abraded knuckles with a smile. "Ah, it's a good day after all."

The hours ticked by slowly. Thief took it upon himself to keep Mircea fed. Thoroughly engrossed in work, Mircea didn't notice what he was eating or how long he had been working. It was almost five in the evening when a bill was slammed on top of the sheets he was scrawling on.

Mircea looked up to find the cafe empty save for himself and Thief, who had seated himself in the chair opposite his. "Did the cook lose patience?" he asked.

"That's not it. Go home," Thief ordered. "You've been working for nine hours. You should rest."

"Not yet," Mircea argued. "By the way, what's your name?"

"I like 'Thief.' " Mircea opened his mouth to argue, but the omega held up his hand. "I feel like getting to be in your arms and to talk to you like this has used up all my good karma. I'm afraid I'll push my luck too far by telling you my name."

Mircea made to argue again, but the genuine unease in Thief's eyes stopped him. "You're not a criminal for real, are you?" he joked.

"No," Thief replied, his melancholy intensifying. "I'm just unfortunate." Giving himself a little shake, he peered at Mircea's papers. "Anyway, what are you doing? Are those blueprints? I thought you were a businessman."

"I am, but I'm an engineer by education. I'm drafting a proposal for a set of three water treatment plants at the edge of the Gilded Glades."

"Wow. You must really enjoy it, seeing how you were at it all day without any breaks."

"I do love it, but right now it's desperation." Mircea released a weary breath. "I have to get this contract. If I don't, my company goes under. And I'm so afraid that I keep revising and re-revising my drafts. Now here I am, starting from scratch when the due date is Tuesday morning."

Thief took a moment to survey Mircea's face. "This is about that dream of yours, isn't it?" he concluded.

"Yes. You know, I built that company from the ground up. Nobody wanted to hire a high-class Alpha kid, so I worked as a construction worker throughout high school and then worked three full-time jobs in college to lease the warehouse I started my business from. It grew into a giant without a single penny invested by my father. Even now, Lemaile is my greatest achievement, and when I think that there's a fifty percent chance I might lose her, I get terrified. I can't think."

"Then pretend you're back to the start. Work like it's Lemaile's first contract, not its last. And for all it's worth-" Taking Mircea's injured hand in his own, the omega kissed the swollen, abraded knuckles. "-remember that I will always be here for you."