The doorbell rang, as Topher had predicted it would, at exactly seven minutes past one.

"So, she knows people consider it rude to be on time for social occasions but she's too well-organized and anal to actually be late, so she just waits in the car for what she thinks is the optimum casual, non-planned-seeming time period. She must have some kind of equation for it 'cause it's always dead on seven minutes. I first timed it when I was, like, six and she was making us all wait outside some boring faculty dinner. And it's never ever changed since then. Not by a second."

"That's really fascinating, honey, but the time you've taken to explain it to me has kept her waiting outside for an extra thirty seconds and if she really is as pernickety as you keep telling me she is, I don't think she's gonna be too happy about it, so I suggest you move your butt out of my kitchen and go open the door."

Ivy didn't look up from stirring her specialty kimchi but aimed a vague swipe behind her at the offending butt as Topher obediently trotted from the room.

"OW! Husband beater!" he called over his shoulder.

"You wish. That's just the fiancé-level beating. When the real husband-beating starts you'll know about it!"

"Now you're just turning me on on purpose!" Topher realized too late that he was right by the door. He took a deep breath and opened it, face fixed in what he fervently hoped was an endearing smile.

"Hi, Cynthia!"

Luckily, his guest was talking animatedly on her cellphone and hardly seemed to notice his presence at all, so Topher figured it was unlikely she'd heard any of the conversation on the other side of the door.

"Well, that is not good enough, Ann-Marie. You tell him he's got to get it. We need that funding and if he doesn't think he's up to the task then I will gladly replace him with someone else who is. I expect people in my department to earn their tenure, not just swan about going to conferences and tying their students' shoelaces… No, look, I can't argue about it now; I have a lunch meeting. Just make sure it gets done please. I'll see you Monday."

She had already strode past Topher and into the living room, finishing up in front of the bookcase, whose contents she eyed critically as she spoke. When she hung up, she swiveled round to regard Topher with the same critical expression. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to let Ivy pick out his clothes that morning – proper shirt that you have to iron (which he did); gray v-neck sweater and straight dark jeans that didn't touch the ground at the back. He'd forgotten to change his shoes though, he realized, as Cynthia's appraising eyes reached his battered Converse and narrowed in that dreaded, almost imperceptible way. She didn't comment; only sighed and angled her face upward slightly. Topher bent forward awkwardly and kissed her cheek.

"It's not a bad area, actually," she remarked grudgingly. "Though I doubt the property prices will survive the almighty crash that's on its way. You really should have looked at Palos Verdes. Your aunt Sylvia recommends it very highly; which, of course, you'd know if you ever got in touch with her."

Topher twisted his fingers together, then remembered how Cynthia felt about fidgeting and jammed them in his pockets. "Yeah, well, this is only kinda a temporary deal over here. It's near our work and the beach is pretty nice and clean and Ivy likes… But look, here she is, she can tell you herself!" he exclaimed with considerable relief, as Ivy appeared in the doorway holding a tray with a jug of iced tea and three glasses.

"I like the farmers' market. I cook a lot of Korean food and it's nice to be able to get the fresh produce." Ivy put the tray on a side table and stepped forward with her hand out. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Br – Whitaker," she corrected herself smoothly, catching Topher's tiny frantic headshake. "I've just been reading your new article in the IJM. Very interesting approach you take to the Ruh-Vilms problem, though I'm not sure I totally agree with your characterization of the submanifolds in Euclidean spaces. I think you'll have to explain it to me in a bit more detail. Would you like an iced tea?"

Topher inhaled sharply and held his breath. Criticizing Cynthia's work was definitely not part of the plan. But to his astonishment, she quirked a tiny smile and held out a glass to be filled. "Thank you. My favorite. Christopher didn't tell me you were a mathematician as well as a neuroscientist."

"Oh, well I wouldn't go that far, but Math was my minor back at MIT and it's still kind of a hobby."

"Well, that's refreshing to hear. As hobbies go, it certainly beats video games." She aimed a pointed glance at Topher. "Christopher, why don't you make yourself useful and run and fetch me paper and a pencil so I can talk Ivy here through a few proofs?"

"Thanks, babe," said Ivy when he returned with a notepad. "Could you go watch the soup for ten minutes? It should be nearly ready. You know what to do once the tteok are soft."

"Yes, ma'am."

As Topher left the room again, he heard Cynthia say in a not-at-all-lowered voice, "You've taught him to cook? That's either very foolish or extremely impressive."

Topher grinned.

"Well, I don't usually like Korean food. I find it's often too spicy and packed with additives, but I must say that was surprisingly wholesome and palatable," said Cynthia, reaching for the last sesame gyeongdan.

Under the table, Topher pressed his hand, curled in a thumbs-up gesture, against Ivy's thigh. This was high praise indeed. "Thanks, Dr Whitaker," she replied, smiling sweetly.

"But a smart girl like you shouldn't waste too much energy making soup, you know. You must think of your career at all times otherwise some man will try and hold you back," Cynthia continued sternly.

"Hey, did I mention that Ivy got a promotion last month?" interjected Topher hurriedly, scrabbling to pile up the dirty dishes. "She's got her own research project to head up now, studying leptin receptor signaling in the development of hypothalamic circuitry. Really exciting, cutting-edge stuff."

"I'm glad to hear it; though I pity the poor soul who has replaced her as your assistant. I'm sure you expect them to wait on you hand and foot." Cynthia turned back to Ivy and added, "His father is exactly the same."

Topher's grip on the plate he was holding slipped and it crashed down loudly on the one beneath. Cynthia frowned and he felt his cheeks reddening.

"How's Michael doing these days anyway?" he asked breezily, struggling to regain his composure. "You seen him at all?"

Cynthia snorted. "I read his new book. Well, started it. Derivative tripe. Why they gave him that award I will never know. The man hasn't had an original idea since 1976. He just steals them from his colleagues and students. I remember one time, not long after we were married -"

Ivy could see she was just warming up for a full-scale rant so she risked an interruption.

"Yeah, I guess Topher did try to boss me around at first: wanted me to fetch him snacks and tidy his office, that kind of thing. But I didn't stand for it for long. I told him if he didn't give me some real work to do, I wouldn't think twice about quitting. There'd be plenty of other institutions that would be glad to have me. He never gave me any more trouble after that. I think he's maturing. Slowly."

She ruffled Topher's hair affectionately, stacked the plates neatly and placed them in his outstretched arms. He rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen from where the clattering of a dishwasher being packed soon emanated.

"You have got him well trained," said Cynthia with genuine admiration. "I think you must be right. He must have matured. Three years ago I would have sworn he was incapable of it. I assumed he would never settle down to a worthwhile career and a stable lifestyle like Ruth has -" She broke off. "He's probably never even introduced you to his sister, has he? They don't get along. "

Ivy shook her head. "She lives in Boston, doesn't she? Topher and I are both so busy with work, we don't really get out of LA much, but I'd like to meet her. I'm trying to convince Topher we should make a trip over there sometime this year."

"You should. You'd like Ruth. She's a human rights lawyer. Very successful. Her husband too, though he's not quite her caliber. They're planning to have some children soon and I expect David will be the one to leave his job to look after them. At least, I hope so; I must talk to Ruthie about that…

"But anyway: Christopher. After he dropped out of his PhD I all but gave up hope of his ever doing anything useful with his medical training or his intelligence in general. I don't hear from him for over a year and then I suddenly get this email out of the blue announcing that he's been appointed head of the neurological research department at the Rossum Children's Hospital! I'll admit to you, Ivy, that I didn't believe it at first. I even called Rossum to check. Christopher has always been prone to lies and exaggeration but on this occasion, it seems I misjudged him. Apparently, he really has finally grown out of his perpetual adolescence and acquired some kind of sense of responsibility and direction. Well, I suppose you're living proof of that, aren't you, my dear? No woman in her right mind would have given him the time of day a few years ago, let alone agreed to marry him!"

Cynthia laughed, shaking her head at the absurdity of the idea and launched into a lengthy account of Topher's dateless teenage years. Ivy laughed along merrily, delighted at all the excellent boyfriend-teasing material she was acquiring today.

A few minutes later, Topher reappeared, wiping wet hands on his jeans.

"Hey, what's so funny you two?"

"Never you mind," Cynthia told him brusquely, rising from her seat. "I'll finish that story another time, Ivy. I want to start back before the traffic gets completely unbearable."

Topher fetched her jacket and as he helped her on with it, she asked, "So when's this famous wedding of yours going to be?"

Topher hesitated a moment, trying to gauge the most acceptable answer. "Oh… well, actually we were thinking of waiting a while; maybe a couple of years even. You know, concentrate on our careers; buy a bigger house in a better area…"

"Hmm, I suppose that makes sense. Marriage is definitely not something that should be rushed into. Though, frankly, Christopher, if I were you, I'd want to pin this one down right away." She indicated Ivy with her thumb. "She's far better than you deserve and don't you ever forget it."

Topher nodded earnestly and took Ivy's hand. "I know. I won't. So, uh, thanks for coming, Cynthia. We'll let you know about the wedding."

"Yes, make sure you give me plenty of warning so I can mentally prepare myself for the ordeal of seeing Michael and his awful family." She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. "Goodbye, Ivy. Good luck with this boy of mine. If he gives you any trouble, you can always give me a call. I know how to deal with him."

"Thanks, Dr Whitaker. I'll bear it in mind," Ivy replied, tugging gleefully on Topher's hand, which had tightened around hers. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I mean it."

"Likewise. Goodbye, Christopher. Be good."

They saw Cynthia into her car and stood at the yard gate with their arms round each other until she had driven out of sight, then they broke apart and into an elaborate sequence of high-fives.

"Yeeeaaah!" whooped Topher, "We did it! We survived the Demonic Freeze Ray Stare for, like, more than two whole hours! We totally rule!"

"I don't know what you've been complaining about all this time. Your mom's lovely," giggled Ivy.

"Oh yeah, right. Lovely like the Borg Queen. Frak me, I am a solid sweaty ball of tension." He undid the top button of his shirt and rolled his head from side to side making an unpleasant cracking sound.

Ivy winced. "Mm, sexy."

"Seriously, Ivy, you gotta help me. The only way I will de-stress enough to go back to work tomorrow is if I whup your ass in at least six rounds of Street Fighter."

"You? Whup my ass? In your dreams, my friend!" Ivy scampered up the steps to the house and called down from the top, "C'mon then, what you waiting for? Best of seven. Loser does the laundry!"

Two hours later Ivy had won five games out of seven of Street Fighter IV and a full three of three of Wii Mario Kart and was doing an exuberant victory dance around the living room.

"No way is this fair," whined Topher. "You so put a reflex depressant in my tteokguk."

"Aw, poor Mr. Bad Loser," Ivy taunted, shimmying back to the settee and perching herself on Topher's lap where she began to massage his shoulders. "Perhaps I'll have to find a different way to de-stress you…"

She leaned in for a kiss and, just for a moment, Topher gave himself up to it, burying his hands in her thick black hair. After all, it had been a tough day. Then, with a little sigh, he gently pushed her away.

"Not right now."

She looked down at him with confusion and concern. "Why not? What's the matter? Are you OK?"

Topher smiled and kissed her hand. "I'm just fine, babe. Don't you sweat it. I'll let you have your wicked way with me right after your treatment."

The next morning, at the Dollhouse, Ivy was already hard at work by the time Topher emerged yawning from the server room.

"Hey, Ivy. Good weekend?" he enquired; then, without waiting for a response, "We got any of those cinnamon roll Pop Tarts left?"

"No, you let Charlie eat the last one when he was imprinted as that snowboarding instructor, remember? But listen, Topher, there's something weird going on here. I'm logging last week's engagements and yesterday morning Mr. Langton signed off Kilo for the day, but I don't have any details for the client or the engagement. Do you know where she went?"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about that. I took her out myself, just for a spin around town in her Doll state to run some tests on her Biolink Feed. It was playing up a bit, but I managed to fix it no problem. She's all hunky-dory now, so why don't you stop fretting about it and run down to the store for some more Pop Tarts?"

Something in Topher's voice told her he wasn't telling the truth, but Ivy decided not to call him on it. It was too early on a Monday morning for an argument and it wasn't like she cared what Topher did with his free time anyway. Well, OK, maybe she did just a little, but there was no way he was ever going to find that out. She gave a long-suffering harrumph and went to fetch her purse.