"I hate this town." Scott brooded.

"Why?" Brick asked, nearly slipping on the December ice. "This is probably the best place the WPP could send us."

"I hate big cities... I hate that Witness Protection Program... I hate this sucky job we got saddled with..." Scott grumbled.

"Come on," Brick said, "The factory isn't that bad, neither is the Witness Protection deal, Chris gave us a pretty nice-"

"I hate Chris, too..."

"Well we can agree on that... but why hate the factory? We've got the easiest jobs there." Brick pointed out, keeping an eye out for Jay street, where he and Scott lived in the same apartment building.

"You mean the most boring jobs... I hate bookkeeping." Scott griped.

"You hate everything lately." Brick frowned, "Come on, we're lucky to be alive."

"And," Scott continued, "I hate that son of a bitch who murdered Blainly right in front of us and was found innocent. What kind of a trial was that anyway?! I swear to god that jury pool was his family and friends."

"We can't just hate this situation, Scott." Brick answered, turning a corner. "We can only hope for the best. Maybe the police will find him guilty of a different crime, or find something incriminating from Blainly's death."

"Ever heard of the fifth amendment? The crime was committed here in America, they can't try this guy twice for the same crime." Scott thought for a moment, "Come to think of it, did we ever find out who they had on trial? I can't remember his face..."

"Me neither... Judy says I repressed it." Brick agreed.

"Your aunt Judy?" Scott raised an eyebrow.

"She's a therapist." Brick shrugged. "And she said it's normal for victims to be a little shaken by incidents like that one."

Scott was silent for a moment, until he spoke up, "Worse things could've happened." Scott pointed out, "Could've been us."

"Yeah, but, why did the two of us end up in that room? Why did we have to stumble on something that bad?" Brick looked at Scott, who hung his head.

"I don't know," Scott sighed loudly, "sometimes things like that happen... people walk in on the wrong things."

Brick looked at Scott with a confused look on his face, "Scott..." Brick didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to read into this. "Is something wrong?"

Scott answered Brick's question with his own, "What makes you say that?" he asked, "Did I say something was wrong?"

Brick's lips formed a thin, straight line. "Well, you seem pretty steamed lately."

"Oh," Scott lifted his head, "It's not like I just spent three years in the trauma chair, came out to my dad, was a victim of kidnapping, had to move to goddamn New York, and-"

"Wait, what?" Brick cut Scott off.

"What, what?" Scott replied.

"What you said."

"Three years in the trauma chair?" Scott repeated.

"No, after that." Brick answered.

"Victim of kidnapping?" Scott guessed.

"No, no, in the middle." Brick said, making beginning-middle-end motions with his hands and arms.

Scott blushed lightly, he hadn't intended to say what Brick was referring to. "I don't believe I said anything in between those two listings..." Scott looked away and continued walking up the street.

Brick stood there for a moment, then shook his head and ran to catch up with Scott. "No, I'm pretty sure you did." Brick insisted.

"Well you're wrong." Scott threw back, hanging his head once again.

"Am I wrong?" Brick said, "Or would I not understand?"

Scott looked up, then at Brick. He had no idea what to say to that. Brick wasn't that kind of person; the kind to observe, the kind to listen. A lot had changed since Total Drama ended, the people had changed. Scott had changed, and so had Brick.

"For argument's sake," Scott began cautiously, "what is it you think I said?"