Michelle Flowers-Simms was not home. She was kind of back to living in the place she'd called home for the better part of a decade, but now after her expulsion from Paradise, it didn't feel the same. Ironically, the events that had prompted her departure played a role in her return. She knew Talia needed her out, and that Talia's aging Romeo (who in all likelihood had met the Bard himself) wanted her our, but once "Time to Dance" blared its autotuned glory into the downstairs apartments, she knew it was time to go. She'd indulged in a bottle of wine and a bag of pita chips and slept til 1, then packed up her few remaining possessions.

Talia hugged, Boris loaded and out she'd gone, headed west on the 15. Headed back, headed h... She'd stopped to put the top down in Barstow, the surprisingly warm air drawing her back, enticing her to relax. She'd pulled her hairtie out and let her hair flip in the breeze like a shampoo commercial. It felt great for about 2 miles, before a grasshopper landed in her hair and she couldn't get it out because its jagged edge little leg had landed in one of the snarls being formed. Boris had lurched to a stop, wheezing near mile marker 90 as she'd thrown the little hitchhiker out of the car and dug a brush out of her (newly restocked) Zombie Apocalypse Survival Bag and yanked the snarls out until her hair smoothed itself back down. Then she whipped it into a braid and continued her drive.

At the city limits, she'd taken her hair back down and put the top back up. Despite Fanny's reassurances she'd be forgiven, the canvas top would provide cover if someone lobbed eggs or rotten tomatoes at her. It had escaped her notice that she was arriving back in the same outfit she'd left wearing. She slipped off the split red tank and pulled on a blue buttondown; the slight chill blowing in off the ocean made her add a knit cream sweater.

Arriving at the guesthouse, she'd seen the light on. The thought occurred to her that Fanny might have left it on for her, sort of a light in the window thing, but she dismissed it when she realized Fanny couldn't have expected her this soon... as if she were that convinced of her powers of persuasion. Could she?

Digging for the key that was on her Paradise postcard keychain, she'd unlocked the side door and pushed it open, reaching down to pick her bag back up before shouldering her way in. The sight that greeted her was... unexpected to say the least. A slightly built... robber was in the arms of a goth looking teenager in her living room. The black clad home invader turned at the sound of her bag hitting the floor, and she saw Sasha's face under the black cotton hood. Sasha... in her ho... house... with a boy. Was this a common occurrence? When had the crazy macing possum widow lady's house become the happening makeout spot? What else had been going on in her absence?

Her train of thought was derailed by Sasha completely forgetting the boy holding her and launching herself across the room. Momentarily stunned, she debated pulling Sasha off her, running back to her car and driving until she ran out of gas. She would set up wherever she landed; she could pull off a new identity. She watched cable.

But she couldn't do it. Her arms wrap themselves around Sasha without thought, and the odd little flutter that stirs in her heart as the young prima donna snuggled closer was sort of moving. All she can think to say is, "Hey kid," like a character in some old movie. A quick glare and accompanying gesture sent Gothario out the double doors, but Sasha didn't seem to notice... or mind. "I'm so glad you're back." A little shiver rolled through her during the delivery, and Michelle realized it was a suppressed sob; her grip on Sasha tightened. "Can I crash here tonight?" It took 5 minutes for Michelle to agree and enlist Sasha to carry her bags inside. They'd changed into some of Michelle's pajamas, grabbed souvenir snacks out of the Zombie bag, and plopped on the couch to watch a movie.

The tough talking heroine had been avoiding the wisecracking hero for about 20 minutes when Sasha started edging towards Michelle's side. By the time the orchestral swell accompanied their first kiss, she was squarely on the middle cushion. When the movie suddenly paused, she'd gnawed her lower lip and worked up the courage to peer to her left. Michelle was watching her with a curious but amused expression. The single raised eyebrow dropped to meet its twin as the cocked head straightened in understanding. Sliding her feet off the couch and resting them on the coffee table, she settled into the cushioned corner and opened her arms. Sasha smiled a wobbly smile and curled up against Michelle's side. They cuddled that way until the credits rolled, and Michelle shifted a bit, working out sleeping arrangements until she noticed the soft steady breathing emanating from the girl beside her. She wiggled a bit more, figuring Sasha could curl up on the sofa while she slipped into bed; the pitiful whimper Sasha let out as she clutched her like a teddy bear stopped her.

Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, she reached behind her, located the throw on the back of the sofa, tucked it in around them and shut off the lights. Arranging one of the pillows a little better behind her head, she knew she'd be stiff in the morning, but it was worth it to see Sasha in a somewhat peaceful state. When the sunlight streaming through her perfect curtains woke her, the other dancer was gone, leaving no trace but a pile of folded pjs topped with a scrawled thank you note.

Her decision to gatecrash practice that afternoon had culminated in a group hug. The kids were happy she was back, her little foursome giddily so, but they realized she needed moral support since they're dancing to Nutcracker Macer. Boo approached apprehensively; the "you're dead" sign during rehearsal and the scowl Michelle had directed at her were enough to make her stop just shy of the group. The other kids part like the Red Sea as the former showgirl stalks toward her, Sasha at her crossed elbow. The facade cracked, giggles rang out, and Michelle pulled Boo into a hug, followed by Sasha who seemed to be squeezing them both with equal fervor, followed by the rest of the dancing collective until everyone was smushed together in a tangle of laughter and limbs.

As she soaked up the love of her reclaimed students, Michelle finally allowed herself to think how good it was to be home.

Author's note: alright. Part 2. Hope you liked it. Even if you didn't... you know the drill. Do I leave it here or shall I continue?
P.S. I actually looked for Nutcracker Macer online; it's funny and awesomely bad but I would get it if I could.