Hello my dearsss,

I'm very happy to say that:

1.) I finally have another chapter of this story! And I'm working on another one too. ;

2.) I have an insanely wonderful beta reader who's a sweetheart, and who's helpful X 167. J'aime CrimsonSuspense beaucoup.

3.) I have 3 days of school before 2 1/2 weeks of Spring Break. Thank Jesus! Let's hope school is cancelled tomorrow for a snow day though, yes?

4.) I'll be eagerly awaiting your reviews. ; You know I love them. lmao

I'm not so happy to say that:

I do not own WWRY. Pity.

xxxx 3

"Just a few hours, Babe, and it's all over," I murmured to myself, pulling my cuffs down, so only the tips of my fingers could be seen. That meant I was nervous. Damn. This couldn't go the way I wanted it to if I was nervous. Godammit, get a grip, girl. I looked myself over in the mirror: gingery waves pulled sweetly away from my face with a purple ribbon, the only relic of my Bohemian days, a bright blue, slouchy, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, a short white skirt, and long, vibrantly-coloured beaded necklaces. I wouldn't have been caught dead wearing this a few years earlier. It was absolutely perfect now.

I sighed and walked over to my bed, covered in piles of papers: bills, letters, forms…boring stuff. I pushed over a stack of letters, the top one being from my mother, (God help me!), making room for myself to sit down. I breathed deeply, in and out, watching my stomach puff out and contract with every inhalation.

In a few minutes he would be here. Galileo Figaro would be in my apartment, sitting on my couch, drinking out of my glass…in my life again. Why had I agreed to this?

"Calm down," I told myself, "This is what you want. This is what you need. Closure. Finally. It'll just be a couple hours. He'll come, you'll talk, you'll smile and show him you've moved on, that you don't need him, and then he'll smile and leave. You'll say good-bye and he'll be gone. For good."

In. Out. Expand. Contract.

And then I jumped, sending dozens of papers flying, when I heard someone knock at the door. It was him.

"Breathe, Scaramouche, breathe," I murmured. Dammit. Stupid Galileo. He came back and so did that stupid name of his. I had always hated it. Sort of.

I walked over to the door and opened it. Lo and behold, Galileo Figaro.

"Hey," I said weakly.

He didn't answer, just stared at me. As weird as it was to have him gawking at me like that, I appreciated the time to take in the sight of him. He really hadn't changed at all…he was still so beautiful it made me feel dizzy just looking at him. I stared at his arms - muscled, tanned, and on display in his sleeveless black t-shirt, with his jacket slung over his shoulder – for just a second before turning away.

"Are you planning on coming in, or was the plan to just come and gape at me a little bit?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He blushed, "Sorry."

"Don't apologize; just come in!" I answered, crossing my arms tightly against my chest, "It's freezing out and a draft is getting in with you just standing there like that!"

His blush deepened further as he came in.

"Would you mind taking your shoes off?" I asked, closing the door behind him.

He looked at me, slightly baffled.

"Your shoes," I repeated, gesturing towards the neat rack in my entrance, with shoes stacked on the various shelves, "Could you take them off? I don't like to have dirt trekked in."

"Okay…" he nodded, taking off this brown work-boots and putting them in the shelf.

"What's that weird look for?" I frowned.

"I just wouldn't have thought that you would have really cared," he wrung his hands, "About dirt, I mean."

"Ah," I nodded. There was an awkward silence where he just looked at me thoughtfully before I said, "Let's go?"

"Lead the way," he shrugged.

"Well, this is a first," I smirked, "Galileo Figaro letting a chick 'lead the way'." I watched him blush with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"Maybe I've changed since the last time you saw me," he offered as he followed me to my living room.

"Maybe you should have changed earlier," I retorted.

"Maybe then you would have stuck around longer," he replied, looking around.

"Maybe," I said curtly, not wanting to push the topic any further. Then, in an attempt to change the subject, I tried, "Here we are…those are real antique couches, by the way. From the times of… um…Pelvis." Dear Lord. I wasn't trying to impress him, was I?

He nodded towards the red floral couches I'd pointed at, "Real antiques then?"

I nodded.

"I guess I shouldn't sit on them or anything then," he said, almost timidly, "Since you're scared of dirt and all."

"No, go on, sit," I shook my head, "Make yourself comfortable."

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, a smile starting to play on the corners of his lips. Hands jammed in his pockets, in classic Galileo fashion, he strode over to the sofa and settled himself down. I almost giggled at the awkward way in which he slowly bent his knees and lowered himself onto the seat, but stopped myself right before.

Instead, I cleared my throat, "Do you want a drink or anything?"

"No thank you," he smirked, "I've learnt that a level head is necessary when dealing with you."

I couldn't contain my laughter that time, "Smart boy…I, however, am craving a nice gin and tonic…more gin, less tonic."

"Fine by me," he replied with a little shrug, and a small, shy grin.

I came back a few minutes later, drink in hand, to find Galileo peering over the sofa's arm at a bunch of framed photos on my coffee table.

"What are you looking at?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

He jumped, and the photo he was holding fell onto the table with a loud "clunk". His eyes widened as he stammered, "N-n-nothing."

"Of course," I rolled my eyes with a sigh. There would be time to find out later…not that it mattered. I didn't really care, after all. Why should I?

I sat down next to him, "So tell me, Galileo Figaro, what have you been up to in the past few years?"

He smiled at me, "Taking down Globalsoft bases, spreading the music… same stuff I always did."

"Aha," I nodded, taking a sip of my drink, "Hero stuff."

"If that's what you want to call it," he shrugged.

"Same old, same old then," I murmured.

"Same old, same old," he affirmed. Looking at me, almost shyly, he added, "Only it's a lot less fun than when you were around to do it with."

"I'm sure," I pursed my lips, looking away from him. I couldn't stand staring into those great dark eyes of his. They were so sweet and innocent. They made me feel guilty, and guilty was another thing I couldn't be feeling if I wanted this meeting to go the way I wanted it to go. The way it needed to go.

"So…" he said tentatively, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What have you been up to, Scaramouche?"

Now was as good a time as ever to break it to him.

"Actually, Galileo, it's not…" I cleared my throat as he looked at me curiously, "Well it's not Scaramouche anymore."

"It's not?" he asked, looking injured.

"No, it's not," I shook my head, "I don't use that anymore. Now it's…"

"Sally! You here?"

Dammit.