text: "Why does it feel like all our cases send us to the gloomiest places off the map?" Cooper asked as they drove the endless, winding road into the mountains. There were hardly any turnoffs, though occasionally they passed a few cars parked to the side, clustered by short wooden fences and rickety stairs—scenic pull-offs that overlooked some waterfall or natural swimming hole.
  
  "High altitudes, high crime rates?" Park offered from the driver's seat of the airport rental car. It wasn't their usual big, dark, intimidating SUV, but a vain little sports car about seven years past its heyday. Precisely the sort of thing a fairly well-off couple in the midst of a crisis might drive. Santiago had set it up for them and it wasn't exactly suited for navigating these North Carolina mountains. Cooper half-feared the aforementioned crisis would be them not making it there in one piece.
  
  "One day, we'll get assigned a nice, sunny beach murder," Cooper said. "And it will be wonderful."
  
  "What nice, normal goals you have," Park murmured, slowing as they approached a subtle wooden sign to the side that simply read Maudit Falls. "Is this it?"
  
  "Um..." The deeper into the mountains they'd gotten, the more inconsistent the phone service had become. For the last fifteen minutes or so Cooper had been navigating them based on a printed-out sheet of instructions the retreat had provided online. He held up the rudimentary map so Park could see the primitive black lines with a couple of triangles drawn in the upper right corner he imagined must be mountains. It looked more like something a child had scrawled in the sand with their toe than a guide. Unhelpfully, the words Mill, Lodge, Falls and A New Beginning were handwritten in various places but didn't seem attached to any roads or structures.
  
  "Let's see, triangles in the distance? Check. Coffee stain on the left... Yeah, this is definitely it," he said.
  
  Park shot Cooper a look but took the turn anyway. Immediately the road turned to dirt and the atmosphere got even darker. According to the car clock, it was just after one, though from deep within the shadows of forest it could have been dawn, dusk or a particularly eerie midnight under a full harvest moon. The ambiguity of the light only heightened the sense that they had been en route forever, trapped in some never-ending time loop that Cooper always felt when travelling.
  
  Their flight had been painfully early though short, and Cooper and Park had spent most of it reviewing the details of their undercover identities. As Cooper had predicted, only the most basic and vague information was given. What they could tell the truth about, they would. An elaborate lie was a short-lived one.
  
  Kyle Davis and Andrew Preston had also met at work and started dating over a year ago, same as Cooper and Oliver. Though instead of working for a top-secret agency investigating crimes against werewolves, Kyle was an administrative assistant at a small college where Andrew was a professor in the English Department (a job Park had actually held before the Trust). Cooper thought their pretend relationship sounded quite sexy and amused Park during the drive with imaginings of their courtship where they had "most definitely fucked on a desk."
  
  Sadly for Kyle and Andrew, it wasn't all grade-A sex these days. They got into a lot of arguments. Small stuff mostly. But the small stuff got blown out of proportion because Kyle was too quick to snap something hurtful and Andrew too likely to shut him out, become uncommunicative. They weren't looking for a way to stop fighting, per se, but rather a way to fight more productively with less hurt feelings and things said that couldn't be unsaid. It was, as Park pointed out, almost too close to home. But that was the danger of undercover work: the blurring of identities. The things you learned about yourself when you were...not yourself.
  
  After a couple minutes, the pitted, dirt road spilled into a grassy clearing of sorts where a cabin sat, built into a hill and cradled by trees. To the left, the road narrowed even further and continued down another hill, disappearing into more forest. To the right was a large barn, its doors closed and—to Cooper's alarm—padlocked with a heavy chain. Somewhere nearby came the constant roar of a lawnmower.
  
  They both surveyed the area skeptically. The cabin was rundown from the outside and small. Far too small to be a business. "What kind of therapy do they employ here, again, exactly?" Cooper asked. "Aversion?"
  
  "We might have taken the wrong turn." Park checked his phone map. "Still no service. What do you think? Would Kyle and Andrew venture out and ask directions?"
  
  "I don't know, are Kyle and Andrew auditioning for victims one and two in a horror movie?"
  
  Park stifled a smile. "Kyle would." He patted the steering wheel. "Andrew needs to keep the car running and getaway ready. For reasons."
  
  "I hate Andrew."
  
  "That's why we're here," Park said mournfully.
  
  The sound of the mower abruptly shut off and the clearing buzzed with the resulting silence. From behind the barn a man appeared. He was white and appeared to be close to Cooper's age—around mid-to-late thirties. His hair was too close cut to tell the color, and he was wiping his sweaty face with a piece of gray fabric. Because Cooper was an excellent detective, he deduced the fabric was a shirt based on the fact that the man was dressed only in a pair of worn-out, low-slung jeans that hugged his thighs. His bare upper body was tanned, muscular and...unusually attractive in its proportions.
  
  "Huh," Park said, and even he sounded startled. Cooper silently agreed.
  
  The man had obviously caught sight of them and was staring at the car. Without the shirt covering it, his face was just as lovely as the rest of him, prominent features making him look almost sculpted. The man waved and smiled lazily before leaning against the wall of the barn with an inviting tilt of his head.
  
  "Well, keep the car running, Andrew my lad," Cooper said cheerfully, and hopped out of the car. "Be back in a bit." He just heard Park's sputtering before he slammed the door shut and approached the stranger.
  
  "Hi! Excuse me! So sorry to bother you, but I think we're a little lost," Cooper called out as he approached. He felt himself already slipping into a more outgoing, friendly version of himself he'd taken on for other undercover assignments where it was a charming guileless nature that got you information a badge no longer could. It was like putting on an old pair of favorite jeans. He'd forgotten how good it felt to pretend to be someone else. For a little while, anyway.
  
  The man didn't move from the barn wall or respond, but he smiled again, a slightly off-putting eagerness in his expression.
  
  "Um, we're looking for, uh, Maudit Falls Retreat," Cooper said, stumbling a little, intentionally, as he figured Kyle Davis would when revealing he and his partner were in search of couples counseling.
  
  "You found it." The man's voice was smooth, almost melodic, and Cooper registered the pleasantness of it before the meaning.
  
  "Oh," he said, unable to hide his surprise and looked over at the cabin to their left. He couldn't hear or see a trace of any other people on site. "Um."
  
  The man laughed. "This is the staff quarters. You'll be wanting the main lodge. There was a turn a little ways down the main road, but you can get to it from the back." He gestured toward the narrowing road, little more than a wide dirt path, that disappeared down the hill and into the woods.
  
  "Oh," Cooper said again with some relief. "Do you work here?"
  
  The man straightened up unhurriedly and held out his hand, which Cooper took. "I'm the retreat cook," he said. "Jack Nielsen. But you can call me Jackie."
  
  Cooper purposefully let his gaze flicker down Nielsen's shirtless and dirt-smudged skin, then dart back up, acting embarrassed. Flattering, to put him at ease. "Don't tell me they have you foraging for ingredients. Jackie," he added, noticing that Nielsen hadn't let go of his hand.
  
  Nielsen laughed. "We lost our grounds guy last week. I'm just filling in temporarily 'til they find a replacement."
  
  "Lost?" Cooper asked, all alarm. "Is he okay?"
  
  Nielsen's grip on Cooper's hand tightened momentarily before he released it completely. "Nothing like that. He just took off." He squinted at Cooper. "You're a dramatic little thing."
  
  "Oh," Cooper laughed. "Sorry. Guess I've been living in the city too long." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm a little nervous about this whole deep-in-the-mountains, cut-off-from-the-world thing. But it's still a retreat. I mean, they won't make us do anything dangerous." He laughed again. "No one's ever gotten hurt, right?"
  
  Nielsen shrugged. "The couple that survives together, thrives together," he said smiling, though it wasn't really friendly so much as privately amused. Like something about Cooper was funny to him. "You look like a survivor to me."
  
  Cooper felt an uncomfortable prickle up his spine. He tried to joke it off. "I can't tell if that's a compliment or not."
  
  Nielsen looked away and didn't answer. "If you follow this road here down the hill, it will lead you straight to the lodge. Can't miss it. They'll check you in and take you to your cabin."
  
  "Thank you so much," Cooper said. "I guess I'll see you around then!" He started to turn away.
  
  "Dramatic little thing," Nielsen called. "You didn't tell me your name."
  
  "Oh sorry! Kyle Davis. I'm here with my partner, Andrew." Cooper glanced back at the waiting car but couldn't see more than an impression of Park through the window.
  
  Nielsen followed his gaze. "He must be the wolf then."
  
  Cooper stiffened, a slick knot of anxiety appearing in the base of this throat. "Excuse me?" he said coolly.
  
  Nielsen didn't seem bothered by his tone in the least. "No offense meant. At least one of you must be to come to the retreat and it's obviously not you." He took a step closer. "It can get kind of overwhelming at the lodge, for our human guests. If you're looking for a little break sometime, a little chat, come find me. I'm not one of them, either, see."
  
  Cooper searched Nielsen's face for some kind of clue as to what he was saying. "Okay. Thanks," he said slowly. "I kind of expected all the staff to be wolves."
  
  Nielsen shrugged. "Vanessa likes to keep all sorts here. Besides, a pack's success depends on each member bringing their special and unique strength," he seemed to quote. "If you're not unique, you're superfluous. And that's a very bad thing to be." His eyes glinted. "A little preview of your welcoming speech."
  
  "Right," Cooper said, when it became clear that Nielsen was done talking. "I should—" He took a step back and then paused. "Out of curiosity, if you're human, how did you know that I am, too? How could you tell?"
  
  Nielsen blinked slowly at him. He had such light blue eyes and long blond lashes that it gave him a sort of Nordic serial killer vibe. Or maybe Cooper was just projecting based on this conversation. "The way you looked at me," Nielsen said.
  
  Cooper wasn't faking the heat in his cheeks now. "Ah. Well. You're telling me wolves don't look at you?"
  
  Nielsen smiled. "Not with their eyes." He slung his sweaty shirt over his shoulder and backed toward the cabin. "Don't forget. If you need a friendly face, or an afterhours snack, come find me." He added, almost mockingly, "We're all happy to help you have your best possible stay at Maudit."
  
  Cooper watched him disappear inside, the flimsy screen door banging loudly and bouncing in and out of the frame. He returned to the car.
  
  "Those must have been some directions," Park said, nodding at the car clock.
  
  Cooper was quiet as he buckled himself in, considering. "The good news is this isn't where we're sleeping. The bad news is I didn't pack any safely sealed and non-poisoned food, and the retreat cook is creepy as hell."
  
  Park's expression turned startled and he looked hastily at the cabin. "That's the cook? What's he cooking out here wearing that?"
  
  "Drive this way," Cooper said, and updated him on the relevant bits of his and Nielsen's conversation as they followed the road down the hill. The car quickly fell into shadow once again when the trees closed in around them.
  
  "Whether he walked off this mountain or is buried under the pines, I do believe Kreuger uncovered something weird here. Something weird enough to make him contact an ex he no longer spoke to," Cooper said. "I doubt he's the only one who knew about it. The cook, Nielsen, he was...odd." He subtly studied Park in the driver's seat. Watched him focus on driving slowly over enormous potholes. Whatever land Kreuger had been taking care of, it wasn't the roads. "Oliver, look at me a sec."
  
  Park glanced at him, inhaling sharply. "What? What's wrong?"
  
  Cooper hesitated, embarrassed, worried about offending him. "If I were to say you don't look at me with your eyes, what would that mean to you?"
  
  Park's face shifted to surprise and then, to Cooper's relief, amusement. "Where'd you hear that?" Cooper told him what Nielsen had said, and again Park seemed to find it funny, if a bit perplexing. "And here I thought I had an old-fashioned upbringing," he said.
  
  "What does that mean?"
  
  Park considered his words carefully. "There's this idea that we, wolves, primarily interpret the world through scent. Nose first, then ears, lastly eyes. Humans work the opposite."
  
  "I don't get it," Cooper said.
  
  "Your average human sees a mouse and it makes a sound like a lion and smells like a snake, you'd say that mouse made a weird sound. A wolf would say there's a snake in this room and it sounds like a lion and looks like a mouse."
  
  "And that's not true?"
  
  Park shrugged. "Do scents pay a much bigger role in my life than yours? Of course. But I don't just go around totally ignoring visual cues. That's a super outdated misconception even my grandparents didn't raise us on. You mostly just hear about it in old-timey fables—crows who bathe themselves with rainwater become invisible and steal food. You know, your usual shenanigans."
  
  "Where do you think Nielsen picked it up from?
  
  Park shook his head. "Whoever made him aware must have had some super traditional beliefs. Or he heard it referred to out of context and took it for absolute truth. Made it weird himself."
  
  "That guy? Make it weird? Nah." Cooper tapped his fingers against the door, thoughtfully. "So do you ever look at me with your, you know, nose?"
  
  Park frowned. "Ye-es," he said slowly, paused, then added a little slyly under his breath, "Sometimes it's the only chance I have of understanding what the hell you're thinking."
  
  Cooper's lips quirked and he shuffled a bit in his seat, leaning over to inhale deeply right under Park's jawline. Of course he couldn't pick up any more nuance than the usual, like crisp linen and leaves. But to his delight, something about the action caused Park to flush, faintly.
  
  "What do I smell like to you right now, then?" Cooper murmured. "Nice?"
  
  "A nice pain in the ass," Park said dryly.
  
  Cooper laughed low, kissed his temple and leaned back in his seat. "Careful there, Mr. Preston. Them's flirtin' words."
  
  When the road finally pulled back into a clearing, Cooper blinked and mouthed wow. A huge building of wood, stone and glass dominated the space. The lodge was two stories, had a large wraparound porch and most of the front was windows. There was a clear little parking lot discreetly to the side with some cars, an extra-large golf cart and, interestingly, a ranger's vehicle. Cooper exchanged a look with Park.
  
  "Santiago didn't say anything about the local law being involved," Cooper said.
  
  "Maybe it's not about Kreuger."
  
  The retreat may have been down a groundskeeper, but the landscape was immaculately kept. Nothing about this place looked rundown or uncared for as the staff building had. Park pulled into the lot and they got out of the car. Cooper took a deep breath surveying the area. The air was blessedly much cooler here in the mountains than DC and felt wet and heavy on his tongue. Somewhere nearby he could hear the constant white noise of a waterfall.
  
  Park appeared at his side with their bags. To the average viewer he seemed perfectly relaxed and happy, but Cooper felt the slight hum of tension as if it was his own. They couldn't predict who was in there. How quickly Park's cover would be blown.
  
  Cooper ran his hand over Park's back, rubbing slightly, and felt Park shudder and press into the touch. "Ready?"
  
  "Of course," Park said quickly, then shot Cooper a contrite look. "Ready enough," he added with more honesty. "You?"
  
  Cooper took his bag from Park. "When am I not eager and grateful for the counsel of others?" He pointedly ignored Park's snort.
  
  In truth, he was nervous but unexpectedly curious about the therapeutic aspects of the retreat. Not that they were here for that, of course. But Cooper's only previous experience with therapy was a few mandated sessions after being attacked and nearly killed a couple of years ago. Head swirling with the shocking discovery of werewolves, body struggling to adjust to a list of brand-new cans and cannots, he'd found the sessions boring, trite and utterly useless. They were a chore to sit through on a good day. On a bad day they were...distressing in a way Cooper didn't feel up to understanding. Not then.
  
  But he had come a long way—these last few months especially—and now found himself wondering if the "uselessness" of the sessions had more to do with it not being the right time or person and less with his own inability to just feel better. If the retreat gave him the chance to suss out not only a possible criminal but a bit of advice for managing his temper and anxiety, so much the better.
  
  Of course, it wasn't a great sign that the first thing Cooper saw as they walked into the beautiful, spacious lobby of the lodge was a heated argument.
  
  Two women and a man stood in the middle of the room. The man was white, in his twenties, had that permanently red-faced look to him and a blunt, square head made more blunt and square by his military-style haircut. He was also dressed in a ranger officer uniform, though the only policing he seemed to be doing at the moment was standing condescendingly with his hands on his hips observing the two women fight. Or rather, observing one tall redhead wag her finger in the face of the other, shorter woman, who just stood there passively, her own hands folded neatly in front of her.
  
  "I've given you more than enough opportunities to cooperate," the red-haired woman was saying. "But you refused to do a goddamn thing and now Lee is gone."
  
  "I'm sure Mr. Llcaj is fine," the other said. She was white, in her forties, had prematurely silver hair that curled wildly to her chin, and wore bright purple glasses. She also seemed capable of a lot more calm than Cooper could manage if someone was practically tapping on his nose with a complete disregard for personal space or, you know, not acting like an asshole.
  
  "The truth is, Dr. Claymont, we can't be so sure of that," the ranger said. He had a loping, heavy Southern accent. Floridian or something. "No one can seem to get a hold of Lee for over a week now."
  
  "I'm sorry to hear that, but he's certainly not hiding out here if that's what you're asking," Dr. Claymont said.
  
  "You know perfectly well that's not what Beck is asking," the redhead snapped. She was wearing a painfully neon-green T-shirt with a company name printed boldly across the back, Montclaire Lumber Mill, and her jeans were dusty with sawdust.
  
  "Then you can't have any reason to want to search the property," Dr. Claymont reasoned quickly. Her eyes flickered toward Cooper and Park, and she bit her lip, clearly eager to not continue this conversation under observation. "I do have a business to run, so I'm going to have to ask you to let me get back to work."
  
  The redhead laughed humorlessly. "Of course, I wouldn't want to do anything to sabotage your business. When I—"
  
  "Perhaps you'd better head back out to the truck, Monty," the ranger interrupted. He had clearly caught sight of their audience, too. "I'll give you a ride back to the mill."
  
  Monty looked over her shoulder, following his gaze toward Park and Cooper. "Fine. But mind me, Vanessa. You're not the only one with control here."
  
  She spun to leave. She sent an overly friendly smile to Cooper and Park, still lingering by the doorway, and waved at them as she walked by. "Enjoy your stay! And if I were you I wouldn't go into the woods alone. You never know what else is out there."
  
  Cooper didn't jump when the flats of both her hands slammed into the wooden lodge door as she shoved out of the room, but it was close.
  
  "Just one more thing before I let you get on with your day, Dr. Claymont," the ranger said mildly, completely non-reactive to the dramatic exit. Claymont glanced again at Cooper and Park, but the ranger didn't even give her time to protest. "Your groundskeeper, Kreuger—ex-groundskeeper, sorry. I understand he and Mr. Llcaj had an argument three weeks ago?"
  
  For the first time, Claymont actually looked irritated. "If you mean Llcaj threw a bottle at him from a moving car, then yes, I suppose you could call it an argument."
  
  "But Kreuger didn't press charges."
  
  "No," Claymont said.
  
  Ranger Beck waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. "I'd like to get Mr. Kreuger's forwarding information from you."
  
  "I'll have to look through my files." She looked pointedly at Cooper and Park. "I can drop them by the station in the next couple days."
  
  Beck smiled, taking his time, dragging the pause past the point of comfortable. "You go ahead and look," he said at last. "No need to drive down to town. I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."
  
  "I'm sure," Claymont said tightly.
  
  He nodded at her and turned to cast a tight, cool look at Cooper and Park. "Gentlemen," he said, and strolled out the big front door. When he opened it Cooper could see Monty pacing just outside before it swung shut.
  
  "I am so sorry about that," Vanessa said, approaching them. "I honestly don't know what to say."
  
  "Who was that woman?" Cooper asked, figuring it a reasonable question for both an undercover agent and a startled civilian. "Is she a guest here?"
  
  "Ms. Montclaire runs the lumber mill up the road. Unfortunately, a couple of our guests wandered too far onto her property last month and were sighted. Since then she's been a bit jumpy about a wolf in the area." She laughed at that and so did Park.
  
  Cooper smiled awkwardly. "Did she say someone was missing, though?" he asked tentatively.
  
  Dr. Claymont flapped her hand in dismissal, and if she was in the least bit worried about anything Monty had said, she wasn't showing it. "The loggers she hires are unreliable at best and Llcaj is one of the worst. Any other time she'd be agreeing with me that he's sleeping it off somewhere, but again—" Vanessa shrugged "—humans do tend to blame the Big Bad Wolf even when we're not there."
  
  Park nodded along with that. "Are you expecting trouble?" he asked, matter-of-factly. Cooper thought it was a bit too blunt for a civilian, but Vanessa didn't seem to find it odd and he realized with a start that conversations around threat of discovery were commonplace between wolves whether they knew each other or not. Above all else, they were all allies in maintaining the secret.
  
  "Not at all," Vanessa said. "We can guarantee you a relaxing, safe stay. A true retreat where your only concern is on each other." She smiled, clearly slipping back into professional mode, taking back the control she'd lost by their unexpected witnessing. She did it well. If Cooper weren't here investigating a whole other missing person, he'd be convinced nothing was amiss. "Please let me check you in."
  
  The lodge lobby was impressively appealing. Wide plank pine floors and the full wall of windows letting in sun gave the room a clean and soothing look. To the side were a few comfortable chairs and a couch gathered around a large stone fireplace, while the back of the room was largely taken up by a wooden reception desk, behind which hung an enormous piece of art. The canvas was a wash of blues and purples, but Cooper could make out an indistinct figure standing on a cliff's edge. Its hands thrown up in the air, as if pleading with the violently painted waterfall in the background. It was a bit eerie and a decidedly bold choice for lobby art.
  
  Vanessa caught the direction of his gaze as she eased behind the desk and opened a sleek laptop. "A local artist."
  
  "Depicting a local legend," Park murmured.
  
  A strange expression flashed across her face—annoyance, maybe even anger. "But one that has traveled far, it seems."
  
  "Lit professor," Park said. "Fables are a bit of a hobby for me."
  
  Vanessa smiled genuinely and her posture relaxed. "Let me guess, that must make you Professor Andrew Preston, am I right? And your partner, Kyle Davis."
  
  Cooper slid his palm over Park's back. "That's us."
  
  Vanessa finished checking them in for their five-day stay, all while cheerfully filling them in on the details of the retreat, the unpleasantness of Monty forgotten or at least expertly compartmentalized. The lodge they stood in now was where they'd meet for events, but each couple got their own small, private cabin on the property.
  
  "You're in lucky number seven. My personal favorite," she said, leading them out of the building and into the previously seen golf cart. It was the sort with four rows, one facing backward at the end. At Vanessa's direction Cooper and Park slid into the row directly behind the driving seat and listened as she gave the retreat spiel, though most of it was familiar from Santiago's folder.
  
  Each couple was expected to attend daily personal couples counseling with one of their two on-site licensed psychiatrists. There were also a number of trust-building activities and intimacy workshops they could attend. "Some activities are specifically geared toward wolves only," she said smoothly. "But you'll find those marked."
  
  Cooper examined her tone for any sign of discomfort or resentment, but found none. When they weren't in counseling sessions or doing circular trust-falls, or whatever the "trust-building activities" meant, they were welcome to make use of the lodge's luxury facilities. Swimming pool, steam room, hot tub. A full massage parlor and "plenty of outdoor sport"—the meaning of which was another mystery Cooper would have to solve. Mealtimes could be shared in the common dining room, or with a little forewarning the staff were happy to accommodate takeaway meals if guests desired a more "private setting." Cooper found himself growing increasingly flushed as Vanessa spoke. Considering he and Park were a real couple, it was harder than he'd expected hearing someone be so blunt about their sex lives.
  
  But aside from the counseling every day, most of the amenities and services offered seemed to be manufactured around providing private time for "intimate connections." Was this their main professional advice for working on a relationship? Bone more, but make it fancy?
  
  The golf cart made it down the hill and rounded the bend. Cooper inhaled sharply. He saw now that the lodge had been built on the side of a cliff, expansive back porch overlooking a lake. Filling the lake opposite the lodge was a tall, thin waterfall.
  
  "Wow," he said.
  
  Vanessa slowed the cart to a stop so they could take in the sight. "There's a lot of natural beauty in these mountains," she said. "We kick off every weekend with a hike to the top of the falls for our commitment renewal ceremony. We're meeting at the lodge at four for that today."
  
  "Commitment renewal ceremony?" Cooper said casually, trying very hard to ignore the voice screaming Cult! Cult! Cult! in the back of his head.
  
  "Some of the program sessions can be very intense," she said, starting the cart again. "You'll dig deep, discover truths about each other you never have known."
  
  "I hope we don't have any more secrets left," Cooper said, exchanging a sardonic look with Park.
  
  "Maybe not." Vanessa waved her hand as she slowed to a stop in front of a sweet little one-room cabin. Wooden siding, mossy roof and shaded by a copse of trees, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Hopefully one of the updated editions where no one would be skinned, cooked and eaten alive. Nearby, the constant noise of the waterfall softened the sounds of the summer air. "But you'd be surprised by some of the emotions that come up while here," she added. "We've found it helps to start our time together by reiterating the reasons we want the relationship to work. When the work gets tough, it's important to remember why you're really here."
  
  At least that Cooper could agree with.