WARNING: In this chapter Chase faints like a girl.

Chapter 3: Welcome Back

"Hah. What is this...? You expect me to believe that?"

Angela didn't reply.

"I'm looking right at you."

"I know," she supplied lamely. "but any more than that would have proved it..."

"So prove it then." I challenged quietly.

"And make you look insane to the people you love? I'd rather you didn't believe me."

I paused but only for a second. How unexpected. "Well thanks for being such a saint."

Angela stopped short. The green she wore, the green I'd become so accustomed to before she'd gone, made her skin look as white as alabaster. Rather than show her dismay she became steely, looked taller; she was on the defence.

"What are you so angry about?"

Swallowing my rebuttal I let her hang. A shaft of moonlight was there and then gone again. Her display frustrated me and I wasn't going to be the one to admit that it was because I saw myself pulling the same strings. We could have been there for hours. Screen door squeaking noisily behind me, I turned with finality.

"Nothing, forget it."

I submit to exasperation if only to soothe my temper that continued to flare. This coward's lie sounded too much like the idiocy she'd spouted before abandoning ship the last time. Unreal, fantastical: impossible. Maya deserved an apology.

I found her mopping listlessly in one corner, the rest of the floor was bone dry.

"I'm tired," I announced, rubbing the back of my neck with a hand while heading toward the bar. "Nearly time to close up." Hayden had already gone, and Kathy was wiping her hands clean.

"I'll never get used to his," she vowed, still prickly over Maya's obvious misery. I smiled brightly and feigned ignorance. Her honesty had always impressed me, but I wasn't about to let it show.

"Just don't slack off."

When we were alone Maya ignored my steps closer until finally I repossessed the mop. Her shoulders were slumped and round and without seeing her face I knew she be wearing that expression she'd never learned to restrain. Like a puppy that had just been reprimanded.

"Come on, time to go home." I sighed, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away, still hidden, and in the second that it took to shape a charming trap for her I was interrupted when her small weight hit my chest. Her fingers locked behind my back and her forehead nuzzled snugly under my collarbone.

"Are you going to explain it to me?"

Angela's figure flashed in my mind. She was alone, formless, but still proud. "Probably not." I admitted, honesty eluding me once again, but at her insistent squeeze I added reluctantly "but I can try."

In marriage we make small sacrifices for the happiness of the other, even just for a smile, but nagging in the back of my head was the insistence that it was needless. It was only a small island: Maya would meet Angela soon enough and then it was her problem.

"Come on," I extricated myself from her arms. "Let's go."

Midnight snack was caramelised apples and meringue. Maya was curled around a cushion on the nearby sofa and I had the fruit cut into triangles before the butter had hardly begun to melt. The flaws of my first and only kitchen were safe and familiar; no one to judge me on the standards of my performance (however faultless it was) or the effect of my spices. Without any measure of pressure my movements were carefree and easy.

My meringue nests were delicately coiled as the mixture was squeezed through a worn piping bag and were nearly finished their ultimate cooling in the double-oven. The apples sizzled and spat until I doused them in lemon zest and sugar. There was little ventilation to carry the heat and smells away, but that seemed to suit us fine. I sautéed and sweat and Maya sighed dreamily and waited.

When the apples had thickened in their sauce I poured it over the meringue in a bowl. The warmth of it lit the ceramic in my hands and the nests crackled. There was very little in terms of professional presentation but that was part of why I enjoyed cooking so much; no matter the vision at the end, a part of yourself was always reflected in the taste. Maya squealed as I passed her a serving. My own bowl held far less, but a taste was all I needed.

Peace and the clink of spoons reigned. The TV with its assortment of five crappy channels, two of which came in terribly from across the mainland, remained off; a blank face reflecting our cosy little world back at us. After finishing Maya caressed her belly and the cushions supported her contented curl.

"I still prefer oranges."

"Mm." She acknowledged my voice, her eyelids drooping. The empty bowl in her hands became loose as her breathing eased.

Snacking and sleeping like this; her metabolism was a miraculous thing. I might have envied her if I wasn't simply grateful to have someone to feed without worry. That isn't too say she was perfectly slim however. Softness around her cheeks and waist had developed since our wedding; a small increase she liked to refer to as her 'happiness weight.'

I brushed aside the hair that obscured her face and pried away the dish. It was easy to feel guilty avoiding conversation this way, but when it came to Maya there was no better apology than a warm meal. Offering food instead of feelings was an uncomplicated way of showing my care.

"Sorry for making you worry."

As late as it was, and as sleep deprived, I felt wide awake; another little break from routine. Rather than lie up in bed I took our bowls to the sink and ran the water. The lake beyond my window glittered darkly, mesmerizing me. The rainy season had been fierce this year and the water washed high upon the dock. The fishermen had been happy but the farmers had not. A lot of bad crop and sparse shipments meant that the whole island had to tighten their belts until more fruitful times. It was a delicate ecosystem of chance as well as trust.

A dish clattered from my hand onto the draining board carelessly. High on the dock a white figure caused my blood to run cold.

Without a second thought I cursed under my breath and jammed my sandals on.

Idiot Girl. I ran. What is she thinking? The figure rippled and waned. A voice that wasn't quite my own told me to slow down, this was exactly the reaction she'd played me for, but still my feet didn't stop.

"Angela!"

When I finally stepped foot on the shore she'd turned toward me and the expression on her face was poker-straight.

"Chase?" Elicited a voice in reply, but it wasn't hers. The tone was low and masculine. From the distant lamps a head of silvery blond hair caught light. Toby approached me with bleary eyes and the low crossing collar of his bedclothes exposing the better part of his chest. "I thought I heard a noise. What are you doing out here this late?"

Across from me Angela had not moved. Her hand was curled and full of small stones.

"I... uh," I glanced from him to her, his features maintaining the same quizzical air.

And so it hit me: this was her proof. Without another thought I stood next to her, throwing a casual glance over my shoulder and forming that same easy smile that I knew to fool most.

"Just catching up on some fishing."

Toby's forehead wrinkled; it wasn't something many people could say they'd ever seen. It was charming even in the dark to witness his chaste concern. "It's late," he scratched his chin thoughtfully, as though nervous he was about to say too much, "and it's quite dangerous. Does Maya know you are out here?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "I'm with my teacher."

With that Toby's interest was piqued. I'd half expected him to laugh outright. I certainly was no fisherman, and Angela from what I could remember had trouble catching clams. The minute stretched and lost shape. Everything about this instance squeaked on rusty hinges. Angela was still and I could have sworn her drawn lips showed the slightest trace of blue.

Finally Toby spoke. "A good teacher should know there isn't a lot biting at this time of night." He crossed his robe tighter as though marking his conclusion, and bowed. "You tell them that."

When his back was turned I sighed moodily. Inconclusive; I felt like a child for ever believing that there was going to be some great moment of revelation. We didn't even have fishing rods. It was one thing to sense the atmosphere and it was another thing entirely to be swept up in it without cause. I reached for her hand and found only empty air.

"Chase!" she called, past the dock, fast approaching Toby's retreating form- without thinking I shouted for her to wait.

"What?"

The world span. On uneven legs I pitched forward without warning. They called for me- both of them, rushing to my side. One well muscled arm dipped behind my waist and held me steady, while two other snow-white hands cupped across my cheekbones. They lifted my face to meet her eyes.

They were perfectly warm, perfectly solid, those hands.

The space around my brain contracted.

Her clear honey brown eyes showed vivid concern; apologetic and soft like rabbit's fur.

"Easy, easy..." Toby chanted.

"You really can't see her?" I asked, dazed. My voice felt a million miles away.

Of course I hardly needed to ask. He seemed unchanged to the Toby I had inadvertently called to wait a moment ago. When rushing to meet him Angela had gone careening into his chest mid-turn. The expression of apprehension had not wavered even as the girl he should have collided with in a rattle of teeth and bone passed through him like moonlight through the trees.

And yet she was here. Bent over me the same as Toby was, appearing to fight for the elbow space, pulling my face toward her in fervour to preserve my consciousness.

"Who?" He enquired gently, the faint echo dissipating like mist over water.

I clenched my hand around hers in a final show of strength, the distant song of the ocean drawing me into darkness.

Perfectly solid.

When my mother had been alive I remembered a cool touch to my forehead, possibly too cold. If I had fever she could press it away with such soft cool hands. Ironically my immunity had been faultless since she left me, but that touch remained.

In the morning I was back in my bed, awake to the sensation that I was far too warm for the opening season of spring. The alarm was reset and situated far left on top of the bookcase; specifically the place furthest from my reach. My mouth was as dry as ash and the muscles in my shoulders ached fiercely. In the paltry attempt to categorize of my symptoms and the whereabouts of my limbs the desire for French toast rose unnecessarily and immovably in my throat.

"Maya?"

I held my breath for a second hoping she wouldn't answer. This might be my first sick-day since my employment at the Sundae Inn and if it kept the other half of the proprietary at home I'm wasn't sure how I'd forgive myself let alone come clean for when Jake and I next went over the books. The empty silence from the single floored cottage was answer enough. I placed my too-hot feet on the delightfully cold floorboards and willed my disobedient body to work.

So. It was fever. That explained a lot.

Without a second thought I was cracking eggs at the stove and dabbing thick slices of yesterday's bread loaf in them. They hit the pan with a resounding splat.

"About time, I'm famished."

To say that I hit the roof would not have been a great exaggeration.

Angela who could apparently slink up behind a man with all the grace of a huntress was next to my shoulder dipping another slice of crust bread into the egg-mix. In my surprise I had knocked the frying pan off the heating element and I quickly jumped back to correct it.

"What- In God's name- Are you doing here?"

Angela, with an expression I could punch had it not been so sweetly feminine, simply grinned. "Don't you remember?"

"I'm sick." I deadpanned. "Get out of my house."

"I was only worried about you." She pouted, again sickly-sweet and obviously false; I sincerely hoped she wasn't mocking me.

"Well, it's hardly a wild assumption that you brought the only foreign germs successful of attacking my typically healthy constitution, so I would say you've done enough thank you."

"Me-ow," she clawed the air. She fished a now cooked piece of toast out of the pan with her bare hands and smothered it with syrup. She flopped upon the sofa in such a carefree manner any witness might wonder who the true homeowner was. "But seriously, I'm pretty relieved. You're fine, I'm not fine, you know now, and you can fix it!"

"I can—I'm sorry?" I offered incredulously, burning the second slice.

"Well...you saw right? I mean... you fainted. It was admittedly a bit uncool for you, but I can sort of understand. Especially if you really are sick." She sniggered lightly, happy to leave me outside of her joke.

"Can we start back at the beginning please? Why are you here?" the burnt toast went into the bin and two more replaced it.

"B-because..." she stammered, suddenly shy.

"Mm-hmm."

"You're really going to make me say it?"

"Defeats the point of conversation otherwise."

She took a long languorous moment to devour her breakfast whole and suck each finger clean, but she showed enough shame to jump in her seat when I clattered my cooking utensils into the sink. She watched her toes wiggling in her socks with something akin to bashfulness, the likes of which was not unusual but definitely hadn't been present since we'd reunited. It carried a sense of earnestness.

"You're..." she gave me a hopeful glance filled with awkwardness and worry, "the only one who can see me."

I laughed.

"You mean last night." I received a slow nod. "But last night wasn't real."

"We're really back to that?"

"Well yes, you're in my house without my permission and you're clearly insane. I have a temperature over 100 degrees and that generally shortens a person's patience."

Angela rose swiftly from the couch and pressed her palm to my forehead; I stiffened expecting ice but was instead met with warmth. "You're fine," she sighed, moving away. I followed her actions, performing the same test with my own hand and arriving at no further conclusion; she was right, I was feeling much more myself again.

"So, you can move through people and no one else can hear you. You're dead." I concluded with another laugh, cynicism laid bare, "You're a ghost and you choose to haunt me?"

Her eyes were flat with morose seriousness, "Please don't joke, Chase."

"What? You sleep in my inn, you eat my food, you move, talk, and feel exactly like I remember but you're telling me you're not here? That you're a figment of my imagination? But I don't have a fever? Come over to my side for a second and tell me that doesn't sound a little bit crazy."

What happened with Maya was explainable but Toby? Where was he in all this? The events still didn't make sense.

"It does!" she cried out but recovered composure quickly. "But how about you come over to my side..." her fingers graced her breastbone with the faintest contact.

"I'm me. I don't know why I'm here and I'm alone, but the Chase whom I've known and trusted can help me."

At that it was impossible to maintain my guards. One by one they fell away like overripe petals revealing fruit; soft, yielding, defenceless fruit. I raked my fingers into my hair, pulling it high and away from my eyes.

Maddened by the absurdity, disbelief at myself rose and fell with heavy surrender as my next move already appeared to be decided.

"Fine," I said.

"What can I do?"

A/N: reviewing seems a lost art these days, and I find it a little sad. While is a network to collect and alert you to your favourite stories, it is also a place to share thoughts and constructive criticisms about the writing. I myself am not the type to review every single update, mostly because I have an obsessive personality and I don't like waiting so I will normally choose to read something that has been completed over something that is updated monthly, but I pride myself in leaving a thoughtful and often lengthy review at the end or whenever a piece of writing has moved me. I enjoy passing my enjoyment to the author and I hope they enjoy hearing about it.

I'm not one to be discouraged as a lot of what hits paper is for my own self-satisfaction: I often find myself trying to write something that I feel fills a gap not often explored in the fandom, something I would like to read. But these things do take time and deliberation and as a sad reality there are authors who will base the value of their work on the number of reviews received rather than the quality of one.

Perhaps it is due to more people using mobile technology to read, finding it too bothersome to review, and forgetting. I don't wish to point any fingers merely to urge those of you who have read this far to continue using the services here to their full potential. The authors and the readers feed off each other in like, it's a beautiful ecosystem of give and take and we should be proud to contribute even in small measures :)

That small tirade aside, this story might actually drag quite a lot, or is that just me? I guess I'm trying to cover the reveals as best I can but since the summary said as much I feel I'm wasting time somehow... I hope it will come together nicely and with effect or I might be wasting time in general! Ah, but breaking Chase down is a favourite of mine.