Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Sorry for the hiatus. Stuff has been crazy recently! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please take a moment to leave a review. Thanks! (^.^)

Frisk walked around a corner to see a small courtyard in front of a home which had probably seen better days. Between them and the house was a tree, which seemed to be growing fairly well even with the lack of natural light. They wondered how this could be, if perhaps something was fertilizing the tree. Or someone.

"No I wasn't," Frisk screamed. "Who even thinks of something like that?"

Well, someone was thinking it.

"There you are," said Toriel, running towards Frisk with her purple cellphone in hand. As she approached, she began to run faster until all they could see was her feet stomping their corneas. Gravity dealt another blow as it felt like the ground managed to shove Frisk's vertebrae into their sternum.

"Reset," Frisk asked, moaning as they sat up and brushed the dirt off of themself. "Why," they asked after a moment. Toriel ran towards them again, this time falling to her knees and picking them up in a gentle embrace.

"I called you. I sent you a text. I went back to that room. But you were gone!" She shuddered and Frisk felt something rolling down their scalp. "I thought he had found you. I didn't want to lose you again!"

"I, I'm sorry," Frisk stammered. "I don't know what you mean by 'again,' but I'm sorry for making you so worried." They worked their arms away from their sides to embrace Toriel by the neck. "I should have checked my phone or sent you a message. And only a sick and twisted individual would think that leaving that spot was a good idea."

Hey! I resemble that remark!

"I'm sorry I overreacted," Toriel said, leaning back to get a vantage point to dust off Frisk's hair. "I guess I should have thought you might have left that area. My errands took much longer than I expected them to. It feels like I left you alone for almost a month!"

"Yes," Frisk replied slowly. "How 'bout that?"

The two of them stood silent for a moment before Frisk leaned back to finish the hug.

"So," they said. "This is all very nice, but you probably need to use your arms at some point…"

"Oh, right," Toriel said, carefully placing them upright on the ground. "I guess you're too old for that sort of thing."

They made an uncertain sound while shrugging. "I can walk and you seem busy. But this," they took one of her hands in their own, "this is always okay."

Toriel smiled, wrapping her large, furry monster hand around Frisk's smaller, less-furry human hand.

"Are you hungry," she asked.

"I'm famished," they answered, giving a playful kick to some of the leaves near the tree as they approached the house.

"How do you feel about fava beans and a nice Chianti?"

*reset*

"Do you want a milkshake? Mine brings all the boys to the yard."

*RESET!*

"Well, remember how I asked if you loved butterscotch and despised cinnamon?"

"Yeah, but remember? I'm okay with either."

"I was very glad you said that, because I've just finished baking my famous butterscotch-cinnamon pie!"

"Wait, that's a thing," they asked.

Apparently so.

"And I think there's still some ice cream in the freezer, so we can have pie ala mode if you'd like!"

Frisk stopped dead in their tracks.

"Please tell me it's not goat milk," they whispered.

"What? Why do you-" Toriel stopped and her eyes went wide, her face shifting into a mixture of empathetic concern and suppressed laughter. "No, it's not made of milk from goats." As the two walked to the kitchen, she added with uproarious laughter, "At least not any you know!"

They wordered how quickly they could become lactose intolerant.