Hello, again! First off, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed and read "My Bad". You guys are so great, and so nice and encouraging, really, thanks for such a warm welcome, I appreciate it. :) Well, I'd like to start off by saying that this story is around five years old. I know, crazy. I started it on the MB a long, long time ago, when I was just a wee lil lamb, and rediscovered it this summer. I was super encouraged reading all the reviews that I have vowed to finish this tale once and for all. I was gonna do it on the MB, however, the MODS . . . well, they were problematic. So, I've moved it here! Anyway, I hope you guys like it, 'cause this story is like my baby.

Also, I haven't read the books in a while, so the plotline doesn't follow canon completely - there are some . . . adjustments. Just wanted to let you know in advance. Some things to keep in mind (I'll get through it quickly so it won't bore you), no flames, please review, OH, AND TELL ME SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF! How long have you been in the fandom? Are you a reader, writer, or both? What's your OTP(s)?

Anyway, without further ado, let's get started!


"Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal." - Albert Camus


It was just another day . . .


"And that is why one must always create characters who are real, and flawed, and not always perfect. Perfection is boring, and most importantly, it is misleading to readers everywhere. It is a lie subscribing to our own societal standards - barriers that we as humans fight every day to break down. So, don't be a fraud, be genuine, and you can be guaranteed success . . . in one way, or another."

Ding, ding, ding!

Amy Cahill faced the senior class students as they hurriedly rose out of their chairs, grabbed their backpacks, and made mad dashes towards the door that separated them from their freedom. Their teacher - an old, grandmotherly figure by the name of Mrs. Olsen - loudly bellowed after them, "Well, I think that wraps up class for today. Don't forget, you have an essay due tomorrow morning, and we will be discussing The Stranger and it's stance on existentialism on Friday, so be prepared - I will not be taking in late work!"

The educator huffed at the lack of attention she was receiving from her pupils, and turned to her guest lecturer with a small smile. "Thank you so much, Amy, honestly, I don't know what we would do without you coming in from time to time. But you know kids - sometimes they just need a little push towards greatness."

Amy grinned back at the elderly woman. "I'm happy to help, truly, m'am. You've got a talented bunch here, so no need to worry about them."

Mrs. Olsen chuckled slightly as she made her way towards the large, wooden desk placed strategically at the front and center of the classroom. "Oh, you are just the sweetest, hon. Riverbridge High appreciates you nonetheless. It's always good to have a successful writer around to teach us amateurs a couple of things!" She picked up and imposing pile of homework from the surface, and frowned as she shuffled through the papers. "I won't keep you waiting, dear. I'm sure you must be aching to get home."

Amy giggled. "You've got that right!"

Packing up her own stuff as quickly as her hands would allow her, the Cahill shot Mrs. Olsen another bright smile and waved goodbye.

Well, at least they weren't completely awful today, she thought as she made her way down the halls of the high school and out of brick and mortar building. It was a chilly January afternoon in New York City, and the streets were packed with busy people rushing through their busy lives, determined to get from Point A to Point B in as little time as possible. Yellow cabs lined the roads, honking at others to get out of the way, or to simply move a little quicker. Typical New York fashion - if you can't do it fast enough, you're simply not good enough.

Amy waved her hands wildly. "Taxi!" she yelled, and after about a minute, one pulled over, letting her in the car and out of the cold. "Manhattan, please."

Looking out the window at the city that had become her home, she thought about her day. Being a guest lecturer at various schools wasn't always the most "fun" job, but it was rewarding in its own right. After she had her short story published in The New York Times, she found that she was more popular with the intellectual crowd than she had originally thought, and was requested by many eager teachers throughout the country to come and speak at their high schools, and sometimes even colleges. And well, she couldn't just say no, after all, there could be a William Shakespeare sitting among the young pupils, or a Jane Austen, and maybe she could inspire them in one way or another. It was her duty to help out, if she could.

"Thanks," she said as she got out of the cab and made her way towards her and her boyfriend's apartment - a beautiful place that she liked to refer to as "the diamond amongst rhinestones". It was a trendy, modern type home, in a good neighborhood at the heart of the city, and though it wasn't without its faults, Amy thought it was perfect just the way it was. She stumbled upon it during her second year of college, and convinced her significant other to keep it as a temporary residence until they both finished their schooling. However, in time, "temporary" became more like "permanent", and the thought of going back to past responsibilities after graduation became akin to jumping into an dormant volcano - unappealing and dangerous. So, the couple had decided that while it was good to escape their family's drama for a while, it was better to escape it indefinitely. It wasn't running away, per say, more like . . . turning over a new leaf. A fresh start.

"Jake, I'm home!" Silence.

Amy sighed, and glanced at her watch. Five o'clock. Jake Rosenbloom worked long hours at the Murphy & Sons Law Firm, so she really shouldn't have been surprised that he wasn't home yet. At twenty-nine, he was a rising star, zooming through the ranks much faster than anyone could have ever anticipated, and was on his way to becoming one of the greatest lawyers in the state, perhaps even the country. Amy walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture of the both of them in Central Park, taken right before the start of her first semester at NYU. She let out a small smile. It had been eleven years since they started dating. A more or less bumpy road, but one that she wouldn't change for anything. The two had been to heaven and hell together, but those trials and tribulations only served to reassure her of their shared forever future. He was the single "epic love" of her dreams, one that she would continue to believe in and rely on for the rest of her life, and though she never voiced it, she could feel that they were about to begin a whole new chapter together - and soon. It made her both scared and excited at the same time. Mostly excited.

Sighing in content, Amy put the photograph back in its place and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was going to be a long night, and she wasn't particularly looking forward to banging her head repeatedly against the wall, hoping to clear up her writer's block, but that was a necessary evil. It was common knowledge that she was quite the wordsmith, however, few knew of how far her writing abilities actually extended to. True, she did publish some cool pieces in several magazines and notable newspapers, but her true passion has always lied in books. And she published a few of those as well . . . five best-sellers, to be exact. Of course, no one besides Dan, Nellie, and her publisher actually knew of her little side hobby, but she kind of liked it that way.

Plus, Amy loved Regina Devlin, and considered the famous pseudonym to be the greatest character she had ever created. A strong, beautiful, independent young woman who was unafraid of what others thought, she wrote the most exquisitely touching stories of far off adventures, life long friendships, and poignant romances. She was confident, smart, and witty, and in short, she was everything Amy had always wanted to be. She was good enough. Regina was the mask Amy put on when she needed a little confidence boost, and she helped her strive to become a better writer with every word that she put on paper. In short, she was the new and improved Amy Cahill, free of a turbulent past and hopeful for a peaceful future.

Filling her mug to the brim, Amy plopped down into her chair and glanced warily at her keyboard and then at the clock. Five thirty.

Here goes nothing.


Dan Cahill wouldn't exactly consider himself shy or introverted or even modest - at all. No, those traits were usually associated with his overachieving and sometimes overbearing older sister. He, however, never had trouble expressing how he felt - in fact, he was quite good at it. But tonight . . . well, tonight was really making him reassess himself completely.

One does not simply create multi-million dollar video games and be nervous for dates, he thought to himself. The sweat stains around his arm pit area were adamant on proving him otherwise. Get a grip, and some dignity, while you're at it!

He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair and drew in a long breath. This wasn't going to work. It simply wouldn't do. He must be sick or something, there was no way that he was having an actual fashion emergency. What was he, a Kabra clone?

He needed to calm down. It was just Veronica. His Veronica. And he was sure about this, he was really sure about this. In every man's life, there came a point like this one, where he must make a big decision - the right choice! - or simply walk away. All or nothing. So why was he so . . . nervous? It was pathetic really. Like, come on, he was a billionaire, living in the new and improved Cahill mansion, with his best friend - his cat. Who didn't want that?

He just needed to get through those four little words. Will you . . . will you . . . will you . . .

"GOD, CHEESES, SALADIN, FUUUUUU - "


Ian Kabra never really knew exactly what he was painting, all he really knew was that it had to be perfect. Today was proving to be the most strange day - work was easy, nobody dared to question him, there was some actual free time . . . Something wasn't right, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He never did like being out of the loop.

"Bernard, some water, if you please - I'm parched!" he called to his butler.

"Certainly, Mr. Kabra," the man responded, making Ian smirk. It sure paid off being fabulously wealthy.

At twenty-seven he still couldn't believe his luck. Not only had he survived all of his fucked up family's crazy antics, but he - against all odds - actually thrived in the aftermath. Taking over his family's art dealership, leading the entire clan, quadrupling his wealth and restoring his family's good name singlehandedly . . . It took some fire, but he did it. He made himself proud. Well, prouder, that is.

And now, he was left to enjoy the fruits of his labour. And my, my, didn't they taste good.

He brushed some more green onto the canvas. Ever since Ian was a child, he had relied heavily on drawing and painting because it helped him think and relax - two things he desperately needed in his household. He wouldn't ever make his hobby public knowledge however - didn't want to get mistaken for some mindless bloody Janus. The prodigal son of Vikram and Isabel Kabra could do better than that, after all - or so his parents would say had they ever found out about his craft. However, now that neither of them were there to constantly criticize his life choices, he could allow himself to enjoy his little talent from time to time. It was his salvation.

Today, however, was puzzlingly odd, and everything seemed . . . well, wrong. He'd been thinking about it a lot recently, how there seemed to be something missing from his perfect little bubble, but at the end of the day, he had always managed to convince himself that it wasn't a cause for concern. Today, the task seemed a little more difficult.

Could it possibly be - no, he shall not think about that stupid idea.

He sighed, dejected. It's a phase. I'm just lon -

"Shit!" His hand had slipped, and his perfect picture was ruined.


"For God's sake, Stephanie! You do not mix my line with Gucci! It gives people the wrong impression, don't you know anything?!"

Natalie Kabra was not a patient woman, nor was she a woman that handled idiotic mishaps well. She did not go through all that very expensive, time consuming education to have her subordinates - that were getting paid handsomely to do their jobs, mind you - muck up her hard work.

"Lisa, DON'T YOU DARE put that red dress on her! She'll look like a tomato! Honestly, is anyone here in their right minds today, or do you all have your heads shoved so far up your - "

"Ms. Kabra!" rang the voice of her assistant. Just in the nick of time.

Natalie let out a deep breath and rubbed her temples. "What Julie, and make it snappy, today is not a good day for testing the limits of my patience."

The mousy woman cowered a little under her glare. "Um, well, Milan called, and they said that they can't have the pieces in by tomorrow, but they can get them to you the day after. One of the models has gotten sick, so we're short. Oh, and your brother called with a reminder to make sure that you eat lunch, he even sent some over - isn't that sweet?"

The bejeweled Kabra woman looked distastefully at the brown paper take-out bag before snatching it out of her assistant's hands.

"Tell Milan, that my fashion show is tomorrow, so if they want to get paid - no, no, if they want to LIVE they better find a way to get those pieces to me. Grab Meghan from the first floor, the pretty, skinny, not-too-bright blonde one, and say that she's walking the runway tomorrow - offer her my congratulations. If she refuses, tell her that she's walking, or she's fired. As for my brother, call him back immediately and tell him to never send me peasant food again, I'm a grown woman with a very successful fashion line and magazine, I even have my own building to prove it. I can manage to buy my own lunch, thank you," she said, as she took a bite out of her garlic bread. "Ugh, the carbs." Turning on her heel, she took another bite and headed down one of the immaculate white hallways.

"Wait, Ms. Kabra! One more thing!" Julie piped up.

"I don't care!" Natalie called.

"But it's important! Mr. Beckett called and wanted to confirm your date tonight!" Natalie stopped abruptly. She closed her eyes, let out a deep sigh, and turned around to face her assistant.

"Send my apologies and cancel that," she said. "I'm bored with him."

It wasn't just him that she was bored with.


It was 11:55 PM in New York when the phone rang.

"You won't believe it but . . . I'm getting married, Ames."

And Jake came home to a shattered teacup.


It was just another day . . .


Well, I hope you liked that! Let me know, and tune in, more chapters to come soon!