AN:

I apologize for my lack of time to write. End of the quarter, last minute grade fixing, you know the drill…

DISCALIMER: Need I say it again? *sigh* Okay. I own nothing. Happy?

Let's begin…

I had spent most of the next few days with FP working on our cars. It wasn't that Fionna and I were ignoring each other, which was definitely not the case. She had been busy putting together the school assembly to promote the upcoming championship game. (Of course she was in Leadership on top of everything else. My life would be so much simpler if she wasn't quite so perfect.) It wouldn't be as bad as it was if they didn't put a carrot in front of the noses of each grade. Stupid spirit trip. The way I saw it, we had to take half-an-hour out of our day where we would be forced to competitively worship men in tights. Oh joy.

When Saturday finally rolled around, I was shocked to actually find myself in my car and driving to Fionna's house. Some part of my mind had convinced me that it wouldn't actually happen, like she would cancel at the last minute after deciding that she didn't want to be associated with a guy with my less-than-desirable reputation. Or something like that. Despite my skepticism, however, I had ditched my flannel for a plain red T-shirt and attempted to brush my hair out of my eyes. If she was determined not to be scared of me, then I didn't have to go frightening her parents, did I?

As it turned out, Fionna didn't have parents.

When I pulled up to the front of her quaint, contemporary house, there was only one car in the drive way: an old Mustang. I parked my car on the curb, went up to the front door and knocked.

Catherine opened the door. "Oh, hey, Sugar! You must be Marshall. I'm Catherine, but you're one of Fionna's friends, so you can call me Cake." She stuck out her hand rather enthusiastically. I was more tentative to shake it, but she didn't seem to notice. She just pulled me in the door. "Now, my girl is upstairs. I'm going out with my man, Mo, and you two will be here by yourselves. So behave." She glared at me, the warning clear.

"Absolutely," I reassured her. "Wait, this is Fionna's house, right? Where are her parents?"

Cake was quiet for a second. "Look, Fi tries to keep from telling people this if she can, but the two of us are actually adopted sisters. My parents took her in when she was a baby, but they died a few years ago. I'm her legal guardian now, and we live by ourselves."

I was quiet for a moment. "Oh. Okay." Then something occurred to me. "Wait, are you old enough to be raising her? Legally, I mean." Not that I strictly followed the law myself, but how did they get away with it?

Cake laughed and winked deviously at me, which I wasn't expecting, what with the mood of the conversation. "If anyone asks, Mo and I are married. Just for legal reasons. Default emancipation." There was a honk outside. "Oh, speaking of which. Time for me to go. Later, Sugar." She was out the door before I had time to register what she had said. Cake was married? I shook my head in disbelief and headed for the stairs.

"Fionna?" I called out, but bumped into her in the hallway before she had a second to respond. It was obvious from where she was standing that she had heard everything Cake had told me. "Oh, um… Hey." I brushed my long hair back nervously.

"Don't worry about it, Marshall." She shrugged sadly. "I probably would have told you my story eventually. I trust you."

I frowned and pulled her into a hug and stood there for a few seconds with her head rested calmly against my chest. She trusted me. For the millionth time since I met this girl, I had a burning desire to tell her the secrets about my past that I had sworn to take to the grave. Or at least some of the more mundane ones, maybe...

No!

I cringed as the wiser half of my brain made itself known.

She pretty. She's swaying you with her big blue eyes. Don't be a fool!

My frown deepened, but I obeyed my irritating logical side and released Fionna.

"Hey, let's keep you in a good space." I smiled, trying to be encouraging. Wow, this really wasn't like me. In just one short week, this girl had turned the legendary hardcore bad-boy, Marshall Lee Abadeer, into a softie. I hoped this didn't show itself in any other relationships I may develop. It was a good thing I had FP to keep my head on straight now.

She gave me a half-smile - not quite genuine but enough to placate me - and led me upstairs to her room.

The first thing I noticed was the extreme lack of purple, fluffy unicorns and whatever else I had assumed came with being a fourteen-year-old girl. The walls of her room were varying shades of blue, and the ones facing the exterior had several large windows. There was a comfy-looking black sofa along one wall, opposite a small TV with various gaming consoles and an impressive game collection. On either side of the sofa were speakers, about two or three feet tall. The stereo was nearby on her desk, along with a messy assortment of CDs. I found it interesting that she seemed to prefer CDs over an iPod. What I was most impressed by was the wall that her bed backed against. Her bed was twin-sized, and appeared to have been carved from a single tree-trunk. Over her bed hung a sword. Not a cheap, costume-store knock-off katana kind of thing, but a legitimate two-handed claymore with a large, crystalline gem in the hilt that glittered pink in the sunlight. It was hung precariously: vertical, tip pointing down, stopping just a foot or so above Fionna's pillow. I wasn't concerned for her, however, because it seemed to be secured very firmly.

I walked forward, almost in a daze, and carefully removed it from its wall mounts. The balance was startlingly comfortable as I twisted it, watching the sun catch on its polished blade. The craftsmanship was very fine, likely an import from a specialist in Scotland. It must have cost a fortune. My father, a sword-enthusiast, would have been very impressed.

"Fionna, where did you get this? It's impeccable." The look of awe on my face must have been comical, but I was too distracted by the beauty of the weapon to care.

"That's actually my grandfather's. My real grandfather. He tracked me down just before his death, apologized for not taking me in when my mother died after I was born, and gave me that from his private collection before donating the rest to museums. It was his favorite." She crossed her arms self-consciously, gripping her elbows.

"I can see why. It's more of a work of art than a weapon. Do you know how to use it?"

She brightened up at this. "Yes, I do, actually. I fence on Sundays, and I've won a couple of tournaments." She gestured at the bookshelf in her room that was lined with trophies of various kinds. "I've managed to modify a couple of the moves to accommodate a two-handed blade. A professional would probably have a fit over my technique, but I'm pretty sure I'd be able to fight off burglars if I had to."

I grinned wryly. "'Yeah, that's the only thing they can really be used for any more, I guess. But it's still really cool."

She smiled warmly and took it from me, hanging it back up. "That it is. Now let's get to work." She sank onto her bed and motioned for me to join her. I pulled my script out of my bag and dropped it on the floor before joining her. She pulled hers off the bedside table and we began.

We had about the first half memorized when we got off track. Pretty soon we were debating video games, sprawled on the floor by her collection.

"Fionna, it doesn't matter how many times you say it, Assassin's Creed will not teach you how to get away with murdering someone in broad daylight!"

"So you're saying if I dropped out of the sky, stabbed you, and hid in the crowd before anyone could pull my hood off, I would still get caught?"

I laughed. "More than likely, yes. Particularly if you used the Sit-on-a-Bench maneuver for cover. But let's not find out, okay? I'd prefer a more noble death than that."

Her laughter was interrupted by my phone ringing. I check the caller ID, but it wasn't from someone in my contacts. That didn't matter, though, because I doubted I would be able to forget this number if I tried. My smile dropped in a heartbeat. "I have to take this." I muttered coldly and stepped out of the room.

Clenching my fists, I answered the phone. "I thought I told you never to call this number again."

"And I thought I told you you weren't allowed to leave."

AN:

Oooh, someone's past is back to haunt him! Sorry about the mostly fluffy chapter. Character development, you know? It has to happen…

So yeah, read and review. Yay!

-Dawn