The house is deliciously silent as the first rays of light work their way through the gap in her curtains. Clara tosses off her sheets and stretches, happy in the knowledge she's the first one awake. Staying with Margaret and the children has been quite a lot better than she thought it would be (thank god her exile from the Boardwalk occurred post-Lucy; she would have murdered her father's previous love if they had been forced to cohabitate).

She's never been so close to normal family life since she was a little girl. However, since age eight, home has been a floor of a hotel she's had mainly to herself. Spending almost all her time in a three-bedroom house with two children, another woman, often her father, and usually Richard takes some adjustment. She can't write all night or sleep until she has an engagement, because there are so many other people and their schedules going on around her. She has to eat meals when they are prepared, and not when she thinks to call down for something. It's never quiet. Some child is always making noise, her father is loudly playing happy families, or Margaret is cleaning.

She never knew how much she relished silence.

What's saving her from slowly losing her mind is having Richard around. He's as out of place in this happy tableau of her father's as she is. She's growing dependent, she knows, on being able to catch his eye or talk to him when she's overwhelmed. She sighs. Laying there, she considers taking a full inventory of her feelings (which are confused at best) but instead decides to slip downstairs before anyone else is up.

As she pulls her kimono over her new pajamas (so modern, Madame Jeunet told her when she picked them out), she hears little feet going down the stairs. At first, she doesn't think anything about it, and slowly exits her room on her way to the stairs.

Her foot is on the top stair when the screaming starts, giving her a birds-eye view of the catastrophe as it unfolds. Emily, Margaret's four-year-old, walks up to Richard, who is asleep on the sofa (and when Clara thinks about this later, she will always start by thinking about how adorable he looked sleeping, and she will judge herself harshly for how ridiculous she is). Richard wakes and instinctively reaches towards the screaming child to help her.

The moment when he realizes he's the thing Emily's screaming at is so horrifying that Clara will think of it for years.

"It's okay, Emily," Clara says as she all but leaps off the bottom stair into the living room, but steps around the child. Her father and Margaret are behind her on the stairs. She only has one play.

"It's okay," Clara keeps repeating in the most soothing voice she's capable of as she positions herself between Richard, who is desperately trying to put his mask on, and her father, whom she doesn't trust to be kind, and Margaret, who doesn't look at Richard even when he has the mask on.

"What the hell happened?" Nucky thunders from the foyer.

"It's my fault," Clara says. "I was moving around in my room. I must have woken Emily up, and when she came downstairs, she forgot Richard was here."

Nucky rolled his eyes." That's certainly one interpretation."

"It's not comfortable to sleep with the mask on," Richard says, but his voice is both softer and more gravelly than usual.

"Look, we're all on edge here," Nucky says as he and Margaret take the still screaming child back upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Richard says softly. Clara doesn't move until she hears her father shut the bedroom door.

Clara sits on the coffee table. Richard's hands are moving back and forth on his knees, and she places her hands on top of his. He doesn't look up at her.

"She's just a child with new people in her house. She doesn't understand," Clara said, rubbing her thumbs back and forth across the top of his hands and trying to think of something that would make this better. "It's going to be okay."

He finally makes eye contact with her. Her mouth goes dry. Suddenly, she's aware of the fact her legs are touching his, that he has on some sort of funny old fashioned undershirt, and that the right side of his face is still warm from sleeping. It feels like the very air between them changes, and her heart feels like it is rewriting the rhythm to which it beats. She opens her mouth to say something but can't find the words.

A door opens upstairs. "Clara, join us, please," Nucky calls down the stairs.

She squeezes his hands and starts formulating a plan of attack as she walks up the stairs.

Downstairs, he stares straight ahead and hears Mr. Thompson say, "All right, now about your latest stray..." before the door shuts again.

"He's not a stray. He's my friend. He's a war hero. Jimmy says Richard's the best shot he's ever seen," Clara says.

"You and Jimmy are no longer children. His friends are not your friends."

"I didn't say..."

"He scares the children," Margaret interjects.

"Because they sense how uncomfortable you are with his face. It's not his fault. It's not as if he did anything wrong. Imagine having to go through life with children screaming at the sight of you just because your country went to war. It's a nightmare. The least we-as the family of the leader of Atlantic City-can do is set a good example of how to help injured veterans." She threw in the last in an attempt to appeal to her father's good side, but she wasn't counting on its success.

"We all know you spent the war doing War Work in New York, but it's too early for you to start waving the flag and singing an anthem," her father-who thought her leaving college to work for the war effort was as pointless and wasted as Jimmy's leaving Princeton to join the Army, and managed to make the phrase "war work" sound like a joke-said drily.

"I'm being practical. Richard is polite and soft-spoken. Let's compare that to some bodyguards I had as a child. Richard's here because we could be in danger. If something happens, the children's survival could depend on their willingness to go to him. I promise you, Margaret, Richard is the best-case scenario for a bodyguard you want for your children. If you'll try and find sympathy in your heart for a young veteran who needs it, I'll work out how to make the children accept him."

Neither Margaret or her father speaks, so she takes it as a win. "I think one of the problems is the sleeping arrangement, but if it's all right with everyone, I'll sort that out today and then sort out the children."

Clara left the room, and Margaret turned to stare at Nucky. "What does she mean, sort out the children?"

"Don't worry, Clara wouldn't browbeat children."

"Are you certain?"

Later that day, when Nucky was informed that Eddie wasn't available to assist him because Clara had asked him to shop for Margaret's house, he decided he wasn't certain. While meeting with James about other (actually essential) issues, he brought it up. "Can you explain to me why Clara has decided that your Mr. Harrow is her newest project?"

Jimmy used his cigarette as a reason to delay answering. Nucky really didn't know Clara. He remembered suddenly when Clara was nine and wanted a chemical set. She was taken with the idea of blowing things up. Instead, Nucky bought her a dollhouse. It was beautiful and expensive, but Clara said it was boring. All she could do was arrange the little people in the rooms. He realized that's what Nuck thought of Clara, and maybe even he, Jimmy. They were small figurines to be arranged into scenes of Nucky's liking. He only saw what he wanted to see, the future Mrs. Darcy Blane. The pretty blonde doll in the fancy house with the handsome husband. "Did you know that Blane grabbed Clara's arm so hard he left marks?"

"All couples fight, James. Are you saying you've never left fingerprints on Angela?"

Clara knew Eddie would come through for her. He picked up the bed, bought linens, and brought things from her room at the Ritz. He even helped her set the bed up in the little storage area Margaret had left empty, and that Richard was already using to store his bag and what Clara assumed was his guns. Margaret and the children were in the yard, and she made quick work of making the bed and setting up the lamp.

"What's this?" a voice mumbled from behind her.

"Your room! No more early morning munchkin visits, and you can stretch out. That sofa is tragically small."

"Why?"

"You needed a better place to sleep-"

Richard shook his head. "Mmm. Why are. You. Being nice. Erm. To me?"

How sad, Clara thought. He's honestly shocked someone is kind to him. Clara thinks about all the possible answers to this question. Saying because, without you here, I don't think I could stay in this house seems to push the boundaries of propriety, so she rechooses her words. "Because you are my only friend in this house. We don't fit into my dad's imaginary new family. So us outsiders, we're in it together."

In the end, it isn't Clara, but Margaret, who makes the children love Richard. Clara's been on a date with Darcy, and the next day works on a writing assignment at the dining room table while Emily and Teddy draw. She's not paying attention until Emily grabs her arm.

"It's you and the Tin Woodsman!" Emily tells her as Clara admires the brightly colored scribbles.

"Why am I with the Tin Woodsman?" Clara asks.

"You're always talking to him," Teddy tells her as he picks up another colored pencil.

Margaret looks in from the kitchen. "Mr. Harrow explained to the children that he's directly from Oz."

Indeed, Clara thought, she was so happy she wasn't locked in this house with Lucy.