A/N: In THIS chapter: Maggie takes care of a less-than-grateful Terry.

Disclaimer: I do not own Drillbit Taylor.

Chapter 6: Care~

Maggie ran as fast as she could, feeling like she couldn't get to him fast enough. He was only two blocks away (funny, she could have sworn it was three) but it seemed like forever. Yeah, it was kinda silly, running like crazy to try and 'save' someone you hate- well, hate was a strong word...immensely dislike, but hey, blame her maternal instincts.

I mean, she still hated- disliked him, but come on, she didn't want him to die. Yet.

She finally reached him. It was Terry, alright. Wearing that same stupid hoodie with that same stupid TapOut logo, lying in the same stupid position she had seen him in on the way home, and who, by the way, was still unconscious.

She knelt down and touched his hand.

It was cold. Very cold.

Not good.

Maggie then moved her hand up to his hood, pulling it off his head. Oooh, that looked like it hurt. She took in the black eye, split lip, and nasty gash that adorned his forehead.'Seems like an improvement to me.' she chuckled to herself.

Now she faced another dilemma. What was she supposed to do now? She hadn't really thought that far ahead. Should she take him to her place, or his? She could only imagine her parent's reactions if they came home to find a bloodied and bashed delinquent on their couch.

The very same deliquent that she 'hated'.

Her mind was made up. She would go to his house. Rolling him onto his back, Maggie searched his pockets for house keys.

Bingo.

She then proceeded to stand behind his head, bend down, hook her ams underneath his, and hoist him up as best she could. It wasn't that hard. If he were Ronnie she couldn't have done it, of course, but he wasn't Ronnie.

Ironically, it seemed faster on the way back. But maybe it was just because she was hurrying as fast as she could to get out of public. Anyone would probably think she was trying to hide a body, or kidnapping, or a crazy ex-girlfriend.

Or something.

When she made it to the front door of Filkin's house, she had to admit, it felt...wrong. Like she was breaking the law or something. Well...she supposed she kind of was breaking and entering, but she was practically saving a life, here! Surely that made it okay!

Maggie released an arm from underneath Terry's, trying every key on the goshdarn ring until she got to the one that worked, all the while Terry hanging awkwardly off her other arm. As she expected, it was the last key on the entire ring that opened the door. Flinging the door open, she tossed the keys carelessly inside and put her arm back underneath Filkin's armpit before her other arm gave way and she up and dropped him.

Dragging him inside, Maggie immediately began searching for a place to put him.

Dang, this place was nice.

She stopped to observe how clean the place was, especially considering he was a guy living by himself.

Spotting the staircase in front of her, Maggie considered taking him up to his room, but opted for the couch. It was closer. She placed him on the very nice (and expensive looking) sofa in the living room as gently as she could.

Man, he was freezing.

Yet another dilemma came up: where were the blankets in this place?

Maggie spent the next 9 minutes running around like a headless chicken, opening up cupboards and closets and boxes and baskets, feeling as wrong as ever snooping around someone else's house, searching for blankets. In her frustration, she went back to some of the places she had already looked.

Of course, she didn't find any.

Maggie realized that by now he was probably already warmed up (at least partially), but she was also so irritated and stubborn that she was at the point of no return.

She was going to find a blanket.

Whether he needed one or not.

And so, she searched and searched and searched, and searched some more. She was in Filkin's room, about to give up, when she saw it: a blanket. Sure, it was his bedsheets, but a blanket is a blanket.

Why hadn't she thought of this before?

As she looked over the covers, Maggie noticed how dirty they were. There were crumbs and food and...and some sort of stain that she didn't want to think too much about. It was probably just food, but...ugh.

Grabbing a handful of sheets, Maggie forcefully jerked them forward, only to have them get cought on a snag in the box spring. She yanked again, harder this time, but to no avail.

Of course, Maggie was too stubborn to just walk over and simply un-snag the sheet from its place, so she yanked again.

And again.

And again.

She gave one final yank and the covers broke free, the force of which caused her to fall on her butt in a tangle of sheets. Dully registering a rip! sound as she hit the floor, Maggie paused for a moment in shock. Then, in a panic, wriggled as fast as she could out of the wretched fabric cocoon she had trapped herself in.

...Eeeewwwww, they smelled.

'Gross.' She stared at the bundle of germs at her feet. She didn't care how annoying or intolerable someone was, no one deserved to sleep in those things.

Reluctantly picking the covers back up, Maggie put them back onto the bed, trying her best to make it look as though she were never there. Aside from the obvious tear, of course.

Heading back downstairs, Maggie returned to Terry, who was still laying unconscious on the couch.

Man, she had really worked up a sweat. And for someone that didn't even know what she was trying to do, too.

Pfft.

Maggie paused as she began to take off her oversized jacket.

Wait.

She was hot.

He was cold.

Dammit.

Pulling her jacket back on in an angry huff, she strode over to where Terry lay and, swallowing her pride, got down on her knees. Slowly and awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around Filkins, half-laying on him, getting a chill as soon as they made contact.

'I hate myself,' She thought angrily as she lay her head on his chest.

After about a minute or so the awkwardness faded, and with nothing else to do, Maggie observed her surroundings. There was a coffee table in front of her with a pile of mail, an empty glass, and some futuristic-looking car magazines resting on it, and just beyond that a flat-screen t.v. that rested on a sleek black stand against the wall.

She couldn't help but notice the Xbox 360 Elite resting under the t.v. stand along with an open case of Grand Theft Auto IV.

'Figures,' she thought, rolling her eyes.

Aaaand that was about it. From where she was sitting, anyway. Growing bored, Maggie focused on Terry's heartbeat. It seemed kind of fast, but maybe guy's hearts were just faster? He was warming up, and that was the important thing.

Then a thought hit her.

Pulling out her iPod Touch, Maggie opened her first-aid app. She skimmed over symptoms and warnings for pneumonia. A bit drastic, yes, but she might as well. I mean, she didn't know how long he was out there.

Is the patient resting? Yes.

Does the patient smoke? Maggie lifted her face up and sniffed his breath. Nope.

Is the patient drinking plenty of water? Well no, but she'd see to that once he woke up. She tapped yes.

Is the patient coughing up mucus? Ew, she wasn't about to check. She tapped no.

Does the patient have cancer or AIDS? Did it count if the person was a cancer? She toyed with the idea of saying yes for a second before tapping no.

Does the patient have a fever? She slapped a hand to his forehead. Nope.

Is the patient being kept warm? Maggie chuckled to herself, raising her eyebrows suggestively even though no one was around to see. She tapped yes.

The screen brought her to the conclusion that he was just cold, and (probably) didn't have pneumonia. Aw, dangit, she joked silently to herself. Putting her iPod back inside her pocket, Maggie sighed.

And that was when she realized that Terry was awake.

When Filkins woke up, he was in his living room. Funny, he didn't remember going to sleep there. In fact, he didn't even remember getting home that night...oh well. He closed his eyes, still tired - and oh, so very sore - and attempted to go back to sleep.

Dang, these were some warm covers...

...

...

Terry's eyes shot open as everything that had happened that day hit him like a ton of bricks. As he was having this epiphany, he noticed off-handedly that his blanket sighed...

Wait.

Wait wait wait wait wait...

Blankets didn't sigh.

Or breathe.

Or wrap their arms around you...OHMYGODHOLYSHIT!

Terry violently shook his 'covers' off of him and backed so far into the couch he nearly fell off its arm. As his eyes focused, he found that the perpetraitor was...Maggie?!

Okay, question time.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" He interrogated, yelling in panic.

Maggie, who was half-sitting, half-laying on the floor a mere 4 feet away, seemed just as shocked as he was, save for the blush in her...wait a second, why were her cheeks flushed? He briefly looked himself over, thankful to find all of his clothes still intact. He looked to her, eyes squinting.

"What the hell did you do?" He accused.

"Nothing, I didn't do anything!" She held her hands up.

Terry looked around, finding everything exactly where it should - why the hell were all the cupboards open!?

He looked back at her, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and said, "Why the hell is everything open?"

Her face blanked. "It's not what you think-"

"The hell it isn't! You been stealing stuff?"

"No, I-"

"Empty your pockets, you little theif-"

"For your information," Maggie yelled over him, standing up. "I was trying to find some blankets to warm your cold ass up!" When he didn't say anything she added, "I mean, what kind of idiot doesn't have blankets in their house?!"

Terry looked at her for a second, then scoffed at her stupidity.

"They're in the dryer, you dope!"

"And how was I supposed to know that?"

"Um, you use your brain!"

"Well SO-RRY!"

"You know what? I don't need you here. Get out!"

Terry got up to toss her sorry ass out, but stopped when he realized just how much everything hurt. He cursed under his breath as he clutched his side, noticing Maggie smirking like the little minx she was as she crossed her arms.

"What were you saying about...not needing me?"

"Shut up." He barked, struggling to get up. He tried to stand up to his full height, but ended up tripping over his shoes and falling forward as Maggie rushed to catch him. "Look, you need to lay back down," she said, helping him back onto the couch.

"Hold on." She instructed. "I'll get you some water." And she disappeared, no doubt heading for the kitchen.

Terry hung an arm lazily over his head, trying to block out the light. He started to sigh, but stopped when he felt a sharp pain in his right side. He heard rustling coming from the kitchen, the sound of running water, a crash followed by a "DANGIT!", and the sound of a drawer opening, no doubt in search of a towel.

Terry smirked to himself. Maggie came in a few minutes later with a glass full of water and a sour look on her face. He immediately noticed the soaked spot on her pants, making it seem as if she wet herself.

"Aww, did little Maggie have an accident?" He cooed.

"Shut up," She barked, setting the glass on the coffee table with more force than necessary.

"...Hey, where did you say the dryer was?" She asked.

Terry took a sip of his water. "I didn't."

She huffed in annoyance. "Okay, well where is it?"

He had a smart retort on the edge of his lips, but due to the fact that he was temporarily crippled, kept it to himself. "In the basement." He sighed boredly. And with that, she left once more.

He expected her to come back like the annoying little flea she was and ask where exactly the basement was, but she didn't. In fact, she wasn't gone 10 seconds before he heard the basement door creak open.

She must have done more snooping than he thought...

Terry set his glass back on the table, putting a nearby coaster under it. His parents would kill him if they came home and found a bunch of cup rings on the stained wood. He turned his head, eyes landing on his 360. He was already bored and you can imagine how invitinng GTAIV was looking right at the moment, but the controller and t.v. remote were waaaaaayy over there, and he wasn't about to call for Maggie like some quadriplegic at a rest home.

So, he just stared at various objects lying around the house for an eternity, waiting for Maggie to emerge from the baseent.

She better not be messing with anything down there...

Just then, the girl in question appeared, a bundle of blankets in her arms. "Here." She said, holding out two blankets - a pink one and a blue one - for him to pick.

"Pff, I don't care." He said indifferently.

Rolling her eyes, Maggie picked the pink one, probably in an attempt to embarrass him, and none-too-gracefully spread it over him. As she walked away, he noticed something very different about her.

"...Where the hell are your pants?"

She turned to look at him, hand resting on the corner of the wall.

"In the wash." She said simply.

Now he was mad.

"You mean to tell me that you wasted an entire cup of Tide on your pants?! Do you know how much that stuff costs? It was only water!"

Maggie laughed. "Relax, I'm doing a load of your stuff, too...Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?" She pouted in a baby voice, rubbing away at a fake teardrop.

Terry buried his face in the covers, acting as though he were trying to get warm instead of hiding the damned blush in his cheeks.

"Pssh, please. I've seen better legs on a table." He muttered, trying to appear uninterested.

Maggie chuckled evilly before swinging around the corner.

"And by the way," she said, peeking back at him. "It was pop."

Maggie sat on the washer in the basement, swinging her legs back and forth as she waited for her load to be done. The basement was a lot smaller than she thought it would be...oh well. She could manage.

She hummed a random tune as she thought back to what had just happened upstairs.

It was so fun messing with Terry. She could see why he did stuff like that to other kids at school...Er, well, not stuff like that, but you know...stuff to make other people uncomfortable...eh, never mind.

Honestly she didn't see what the big deal was. Her jacket was oversized, so it covered her butt and everything. She had seen girls at school with shorts that covered less than that. No big deal.

Still, it was priceless to watch Filkins act all squeamish about it. Haha!

...

EEERRNT!

Aaaand that would be her laundry. Well, his laundry, but whatever. Maggie hopped off the washer, opened the door, and began to throw everything into the dryer.

Terry was so bored out of his mind calling for Maggie was seeming like more and more of an option. But just as his resolve was about to crumble she came prancing around the corner, ignoring him completely, and skipped upstairs.

The hell?

His mind reasoned that maybe she needed to use the bathroom and that she wasn't screwing around with his stuff, but his poor attempt at self-comfort was soon shattered as she came back downstairs, this time with pants on.

His pants.

"What the hell?!" He yelled, making her stop halfway down the steps.

She said nothing, merely finished tying off the bow she had made in his sweatpants.

"...Were you in my dresser?" He glared at her, though he already knew the answer.

She laughed. "No! I can't fit in there!"

Why that little smart-ass...

Unfortunately he didn't have anything in his arsenal of comebacks that fell under the category of 'dresser', so Terry stayed quiet, staring at her in disbelief.

The nerve of that girl!

"Come on." She said suddenly, making a move to go back upstairs.

"What?" He asked, confused.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on," she repeated. "You wanna get your face cleaned up, don't you?"

Oh, yeah. His face. He knew he had been beaten up, but he didn't know how bad. Though judging from how bad he was feeling he wouldn't wanna go looking in a mirror any time soon.

Terry pushed the blanket off of him and attempted to get up, grunting as the sharp pain returned in his side.

What was that?

Maggie looked at him sympathetically, and he automatically hated her for it.

"Do you need help?" She asked with a hint of concern.

"No." Came his curt reply.

Oh, it hurt. Just not to the point where he was doubling over in pain or anything, and certainly not to the point where he was about to ask for help, let alone hers.

He slowly made his way to the staircase, grabbing onto the railing as soon as he reached it. With each step he took, Maggie took one step backwards, probably making sure he wasn't gonna tumble over or anything. This angered him, because...well, he wasn't handicapped, for God's sake!

In the hallway that lie at the top of the stairs, the bathroom was the first door on the right. Terry went in and, putting the lid down, sat on the toilet, Maggie following close behind. She turned on the light, went over to the cabinet that rested above the sink, took out his parent's first-aid kit, and knelt down in front of him, resting it on the shower ledge.

He had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy this...

"Okay, you ready?" Maggie asked. When he said nothing she took that as a 'yes'. She then proceeded in taking a sterilized wipe to his face, cleaning off some of the grime.

She made sure not to be gentle; he got himself into this mess, and she'd be damned if he didn't feel the pain. She inwardly smirked to herself when she saw him wince.

As she cleaned off his face, she realized that she probably should have done it as soon as she had brought him in, not an hour and 43 minutes later. More risk of infection, but she wasn't about to tell him that. After she was done, she tossed the wipe into a little trash bin that sat beside the toilet.

She then grabbed a bottle of salve, opened it, and squoze some out onto her finger. Just as she was about to put some on the gash on his forehead, Terry jerked his head away and grabbed her wrist.

"God damnit, I'm not a baby!"

She sighed, looking at him disapprovingly. "I know that, you idiot. Look, of you wanna be the one to do this, then by all means, go ahead."

She started to get up, but he tightened his grip on her wrist and jerked her back down.

"...Are those things even clean?" He asked, tone sour.

She looked down at her hands, realizing what he was talking about. "Well of COURSE I washed my hands, are you nuts?!"

Actually she hadn't, but he didn't need to know that.

Terry eyed her skeptically before muttering "Whatever..." and releasing her wrist, allowing her to continue. Maggie got back to work, putting salve wherever it was needed, which luckily wasn't much.

She then moved on to the alcohol...oh, wait. Was she supposed to do that before or after the salve?

Terry must have caught on to her uncertainty, because he said, "Do you even know what you're doing?"

Holding her chin up, Maggie confidently replied, "YES." And she dabbed some alcohol onto a cotton ball, and quite forcefully placed it on his forehead.

He started to wince, but cut himself off, obviously trying to be 'tough'. Whatever. She wiped his face off again, and put a couple of butterfly bandaids on the more serious cuts. When she was done, she gathered up everything she had used and threw it all away.

She was about to close up the first-aid kit, but Terry stopped her.

"Wait." He said.

He then proceeded to take off his hoodie, grunting in pain as he did so, and lifted up his gray sleeveless undershirt, revealing a shard of glass stuck in his side.

"Is it bad?" He asked, not looking at her.

Was it bad?

There was a giant piece of glass jammed into his rib, of course it was bad!

Maggie knelt back down, moving her hands toward the wound. She hovered over the shard of glass, but decided not to touch it. Upon further inspection she noticed a trail of fresh blood oozing over the old, dried, crusted one.

He must have reopened it when he came up the stairs or something. And it looked like it was in there pretty deep...well shoot, she wasn't trained for this!

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, searching for what to say.

"I...I think-"

"Just say it!" He snapped.

"I think you should go to the hospital." She finished.

Terry shook his head. "No. No, you can do it, just-"

"No, I cant," she said, getting angry. "You don't...see, how deep it is. It could get infected-"

"I dont care, just take it out!" He ordered.

"No!" Taking her hands away, Maggie stood up and attempted to leave the room, only to be stopped as Terry latched onto her wrist and forcefully spun her back around.

"You are going to help me, you little witch," he said threateningly as he brought her eye-to-eye with him. "Whether you like it or not." He finished through clenched teeth.

Jerking her hand out of his grip, Maggie gave him a glare before sitting back down next to him and opened the first-aid kit again, searching for something to take the glass out with. She found a device that looked like a cross between tweezers and tongs. Perfect. She grabbed them and held them near the shard, taking a breath to steel herself.

"Here," she said, offering her hand out to him.

He looked at her quizzically. "For the pain," she explained. "You're gonna want something to grab on to. Trust me."

Reluctantly, he took her hand.

She turned her attention back to the wound. Taking another breath, she asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking a breath himself.

With slow movements, Maggie grabbed the shard gently but firmly with the twongs (or whatever they were called) and pulled. Terry grunted loudly in pain, gripping her hand tightly. Seeing his distress, she immediately ceased her movements, breath hitching as she looked up at him.

"No," he said, loosening his grip ever so slightly. "Keep going."

Looking back at her progress, Maggie decided it would be best to get it out as quickly as possible.

Squeezing the twongs tighter, she adjusted her grip on Terry's hand, wrapping her fingers around his almost as tightly as he had, and in that moment she knew that it dawned on him what she was about to do.

Leaving no room for protest, Maggie gripped the glass even harder, and yanked it out.

"AAAH!" He screamed, and the pain in her hand was unimaginable.

She held the offending object up to her face for further inspection. It came out pretty quick. It must not have been in there as deep as she thought. It looked like some type of beer bottle, and as she looked closer she could make out part of a logo.

"Is that it?"

Her gaze snapped to Terry, who was staring at the piece she was holding.

"Yeah." She said. It was then that she noticed how hard he was still gripping her hand. Man, that hurt!

Squirming uncomfortably, she tried to not make it obvious; after all, he was the one who had just had a foreign object surgically removed from his body, not her. Terry, however, now that he had calmed down, noticed her pained expression and let go of her.

A bit of an awkward silence followed, but not for long.

Tossing the shard in the trash, Maggie cleaned and dressed his wound. She rinsed off the twongs and put everything away.

As she finished washing her hands, she picked up Terry's hoodie, shaking off any excess dirt. She was about to go downstairs and toss it in the wash, but he snatched it back.

"Give me that." He said, annoyed.

Her brows knit together. "You mean you're still gonna wear it?"

"Yeah, why not?" He asked as he pulled it back over his head.

"It's got blood on it!" She exclaimed.

"So? I've had worse things on my clothes than blood."

Well that left a lot to the imagination.

Rolling her eys, Maggie turned to leave.

"Thanks."

She froze in her spot. Did he just...?

She finally turned around to face him, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "What?" She asked, mostly to herself. Terry breathed in deeply, probably in annoyance, and repeated, "I said thanks."

She looked down at the floor, feeling a little confused.

"You're welcome." She said quietly, and turned to go back downstairs.

Terry really didn't see what the big deal was. All he did was say thank you. Was that a crime? Was it so inconceivable that she had to turn around and jump to the hostile side of the fence? She practically saved him a few thousand dollars at the hospital, he'd be an ass not to thank her!

Oh, wait. That's pretty much what she thought he was...

Terry thought about heading to his room and crashing - he was dead tired - when Maggie appeared in the doorway again.

"Hey, do you like...want something to eat?" She asked, looking somewhat embarrassed.

What, she was gonna start living here now?! Did she think she could just waltz into his kitchen and touch all his stuff? Because if that was the case then she could just go-

"I was gonna make sweet and sour chicken, but I wasn't sure if you wanted something else..." She trailed off, sounding a bit more irritated.

Sweet and sour chicken? As in Chinese food? As in a piping hot, steaming meal? That he didn't have to make? Well no one had said about a full-blown dinner, here. This was a totally different ball game.

"...That's fine." He answered begrudgingly, trying to hide his eagerness at getting some food in his belly. "Okay." And she left.

Thinking he was finally alone, Terry began to sigh, but she was back 2 seconds later.

"Oh, and what do you want for dessert?"

Was she serious? She was gonna make dessert, too? Well damn, maybe he should keep her...

"Because I was gonna make that angel toffee cake you've got in there, but I didn't know if you'd want it or not."

Angel what, now? If he wasn't mistaken, he didn't have anything like that in there. But if she was offering...

"Yeah, whatever. That's fine." He said, rubbing his eye as he waved her off. Maggie nodded and disappeared, but not before walking up to him and handing him an ice pack. "For your eye." She explained.

Terry held it in his hands for a few moments before raising it up to his black eye.

He stayed that way for about 30 minutes.

He was seriously considering going to bed right now. He was sore, he was tired...Maggie could wake him up when the food was ready.

Getting up from his spot on the toilet, Terry walked over to the mirror to look himself over. He had two butterfly bandaids on his forehead, and one on his cheekbone. His black eye was down to a light purple, and he could only imagine how bad he looked when Maggie had found him.

That kid had clocked him pretty good. How was he supposed to know he was a member of the boxing club? All he wanted was a way to blow off some steam-

His train of thought stopped in its tracks as an unfamiliar smell wafted into the bathroom. Oh, God, was that dinner? It smelled so good...

That's it. He was definitely not going to sleep.

Terry went downstairs and, wincing a little as he bent down, turned on his 360. He popped in GTAIV and plopped down onto the couch, wincing yet again.

Dammit, since when did he get so fragile?

He glanced behind him every now and then, even though he could only see the corner that rounded to the kitchen, to check and see if dinner was ready.

He had just finished hijacking a car when Maggie came in. "Dinner's ready." She announced in a somewhat irritated tone. Finally! Hitting pause, he dropped his controller onto the couch and followed her to the dining room. When he got there he stopped in his tracks.

He had to say, he was impressed.

There was a pile of chicken on his plate, mixed with some veggies and...was that pineapple? Anyway, there was chicken, a can of soda, and a little bowl of what he could only assume to be rice.

He didn't even know he had this stuff in his kitchen.

"I already ate," Maggie said, pulling his chair out for him. "So dig in."

She went back into the kitchen as he sat down and stuffed his face. When he was done, he sat back in his chair, savoring the feeling of being full. Maggie came back out and took his soda can and rice bowl. She came back to take his plate, but he grabbed onto the other end, stopping her.

"What are you doing?" He asked for the hundredth time that night.

"I'm taking your plate." She said, annoyed.

"No, I mean why are you doing this?" She knew what he was talking about. She would never be this nice to him on any other day. Something was up.

"Look, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does. Now why are you acting all nicey-nice?"

"I'm trying to be nice to you, you idiot!"

"I know! And that's the problem! WHY are you being so nice to me?!"

"Because, you've just been through a traumatic experience-" he scoffed "-and you could use a little 'nice' for a change." She finished, an invisible vein throbbing in her forehead.

Was she serious? She was breaking her neck trying to be nice to him just because he was a little beat up? Damn, this girl was something else, haha! This was hilarious, he'd have to get hurt more often!

Masking a smirk with an untrusting scowl, Terry said nothing, and stayed silent. But, actions speak louder than words, and he was about to do something that would speak volumes.

Deciding to test her patience, Terry let go of the plate.

Maggie stumbled backwards, twisting a bit, before reeling and falling on the floor.

Seconds passed.

Shock set in.

Silence followed.

Emotions ran high.

Hiding a smile, Terry watched as she slowly stood back up, collected her dignity, and, taking a moment to calm herself, begrudgingly walked back into the kitchen. She hadn't said a word.

Wow, she was serious about this.

She came back a couple minutes later with a plate full of that angel-toffee-whatever.

Damn, he wasn't sure if he could eat it.

"It's not as cold as it should be," she said, setting it down a bit forcefully in front of him. "But it's still good." And she left again. Ignoring her now unmasked sour attitude, Terry stared at the cake in front of him, unsure if he should eat it or not.

She may have poisoned it. He wouldn't put it past her.

Ah. Screw it. He'd had a really shitty night. He deserved this beautifully-created delicacy made by the hands of his arch-nemesis.

After he was done eating, Terry went back to his game. He was just about to press play when a though hit him. What time was it? Rather than twist his head aaall the way around to read the clock waaaay on the other side of the room, he hit the dashboard button on his controller.

12:22 A.M.

Wow.

Just then, Maggie called out to him. "I'm leaving." She announced. Terry turned around to face her. She was standing by the door with her hand on the knob. Her hair was down, and he noticed the sweatpants she had been wearing had been replaced with her own.

"Okay..." he said, trying to sound like he didn't care...uh, because he didn't, of course.

"Okay..." she repeated, and opened the door.

"Wait," he said, getting up. He winced as he did so - his movements were far too quick for his injured body. She paused, staring at him.

"You're not gonna..." dammit. He decided to rephrase. "You better not tell anyone about this." He threatened.

"I won't." She said shortly.

"Not if you actually start paying attention." She finished smugly.

He knew what she was talking about. Their pathetic excuse of tutoring sessions. There was the quiet, calculating, unfriendly, blackmailing bitch he knew.

"Pfft. Yeah, whatever." He replied.

She made to leave again. "Hey...why'd you help me?" He asked. And no, he wasn't trying to keep her there longer. He wasn't. He was genuinely curious about this. It was what he had been trying to come up with an answer for ever since he noticed she was in his house.

When she finally answered, it seemed rehearsed, like she had been asking herself the same thing, but her words still held their sarcastic edge.

"Because unlike some people, I actually care."

And she left.

Terry stood there for a second, considering her words. He sighed, turning off the 360. He didn't feel like stealing cars or pimping hos anymore. As he made his way to the kitchen for a quick drink (milk sounded good) all sorts of thoughts went through his head, most of which centered around Maggie.

How was Monday going to go? Would she keep her mouth shut? Was there any more of that cake? Maybe he shouldn't be so hard on her. After all, she did practically save his life, right? And where were his keys?

Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he should soften up. It'd be pretty damn nice having a gourmet meal every night...

She wasn't bad-looking, either. She was actually pretty cute, even beautiful. He was actually surprised when her mom had told him she'd never had a boyfriend. He wondered if-

WOAH.

He was not about to just entertain the idea of them...together? Was he? She must have put a hallucinogen in that cake...

Still, she could probably be a cool...friend. Or something. I mean, how many girls did he know that would (let alone could) nurse a bloodied almost-stranger back to health? None. So she had to be kind of cool...

As his personal opinion of Maggie rose higher and higher, Terry walked into the kitchen.

His stitches nearly burst open when he saw the mountain of pots, pans, mixing bowls, cups, utensils, and plates sitting none too gracefully in the sink. And to top it all off, she hadn't cleaned the counter space. There were piles of flour, sugar, whipped cream, milk, and- was that hair?!

He gaped at everything that was waiting for him to clean up.

Bitch...

A/N: Yep. And the corny-ness continues :/ lol jk. That'll be it. For now. Lol. XD

In case you didn't quite catch what happened as to why Terry was all beat up (or you just skimmed, like I tend to do) he pretty much got his face smashed in by the kid he saw in the last chapter :D

...Wait, that's nothing to smile about :(

If you've never had sweet and sour chicken, you should try some. Really, you should. You wouldn't think that chicken and pineapple go, but they really do.

And yes, angel toffee cake is very real. In fact, if you haven't had any, I recommend the recipe from the website tasteofhome. It's REALLY good.

For anyone and everyone that's interested, I will be updating on Mondays and Fridays until this story is finished. And it WILL. BE. FINISHED.

Oh, and I feel kinda bad since I haven't said this yet, so let me take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has bothered to review and fave, and especially to all those who don't have an account that look/read.

It really annoys me when a fanfic author drops a story just because they aren't getting the amount of reviews they wanted. What about all the people who love the story that don't have an account? I have been there, too, and because of this I will not EVER abandon a story for such a silly reason. So rest assured, for this boat shall sail on! :D

Okay, rant over :|

'Till next time! Tell me if you encounter any of the incredibly deadly typos! (points if you get the reference)