Velma sat at the computer steadily working away. Fred was sitting nearby on a large corner couch watching her, he could tell from the almost trance-life expression on her face that she was elsewhere, her fingers dancing over key keyboard like a ballet dancer around a stage, even the regular pressing of the save button was seamlessly choreographed into her movements. Fred wondered where she was now, certainly not the next sentence, nor even the next paragraph; when she was like this her mind could be far into the next chapter, her fingers working desperately to keep up.

His gaze travelled to the bookcase next to her desk. It ran the length of the wall, so much of it was filled with Velma's work, her Master's and Doctoral thesis plus all the paper, books and other works she had produced. Next were the books they had written together, the official history of Mystery Inc, novelised forms of their most famous cases and all the mystery and crime novels they had co-authored over the years. They'd need to make some space; she was now working on her higher doctorate. Then there was his part of the bookcase, his autobiography, the biography of the Mystery Machine, a 'How to Trap Monsters and Ghosts' – in reality an introduction on mechanics and workshop skills for children, and his own Master's thesis on applied archaeology. He'd spent over 3 years working out how ancient devices had been assembled and worked. The way Velma had reacted when he was awarded it you would have thought that he had won a Nobel Prize and thrown the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. The bottom shelves contained the set of 'extreme eating' recipe books that Shaggy had written and the Mystery Inc graphic novels Shaggy had drawn with Daphne next to that were copies of all Daphne's photojournalism work. He returned to looking at Velma, there was something relaxing about watching her work this way. The cadence of her fingers on the keyboard had lulled him to sleep many a time over the years. He was distracted from his musings by movement out of the corner of his eye; he held a finger to his lips to ask for silence then beckoned them to come in. Once everyone was settled in, they turned their attention again to watching Velma work.

"Oh jinkies is that the time?" whispered Velma glancing at the clock as she finally came out of her trance, she saved her work again then backed-it up. She would read it in the morning to find out what she had written. The sounds of people sleeping made her aware of the presence of others in the room she slowly turned round and smiled at the sight before her. Fred was sleeping on the couch, his legs stretched out along one side. Their youngest child was asleep in his arms, their eldest along where his leg met the couch. She slowly shook her head 'watching mummy work' would be considered an odd spectator sport everywhere else in the world but the Jones' household. There again their children were still young enough to think that having parents who grew up chasing monsters and ghosts, a mother who could write a whole book in one sitting or a father who could build contraptions out of random stuff they brought him was entirely normal. She knew they would mourn the day when it ceased to be so. She fished out a couple of light fleece blankets from a filing cabinet and covered the children up then got one out for herself. She put her glasses on her desk, dimmed the lights then lay down on the other part of the couch, covered herself up and rested her head on Fred's lap and drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on her face.