Chapter 7

Casey doesn't often come to the market anymore, but both April and Mark have approached him about a group who've been hanging around the market, throwing remarks. One had approached April and kept her pinned down for nearly ten minutes, though he hadn't hurt her, just made her very uncomfortable. Another had handled a bunch of the produce before sauntering away without buying anything; they'd had to dump a lot of bruised food, passing it out to the strays.

Casey goes with them the next time, helps them set up and then blends into the crowds around. He strolls around, checking out some of the nearby stalls, keeping an eye on April. She looks nervous, but she hides it, chatting with the customers and serving them efficiently.

Four boys appear, shouldering the crowds aside, snatching goods and throwing them down. Casey edges through the crowd to get to the side of April's stall; she's seen them coming, but she's focusing on her customers, trying to look calm.

Two of the boys hone in. The others hang back, keeping an eye out. Casey wraps his fingers around Polly's leash, murmuring quietly. She's growling, low in her throat, but she doesn't try to pull away.

"No freebies, boys," April says loudly. "I told you last time."

"The food looks off. We have to make sure it's good, don't we?" one of the boys says innocently. "Tell you what. Give us a kiss and we'll consider it good."

"In your dreams," Mark says hotly.

"Oh, she wishes." The other boys hoot; this is clearly high wit.

Casey smiles; he knows how to handle this. The boy was in Yabbie Creek High, was there the day Casey was expelled. Taking a breath, he cloaks himself in Heath's arrogance and stands, coming around the side of the stall. Polly's at his side, pressed against his leg. "I know you," he says pleasantly.

"Don't think so, mate. Keep going, we're discussing business here."

"No, I know you," he repeats. "Bruce."

The boy's eyes flicker. "Excuse me?"

"Bruce the Moose, they called you. Because you were slow and thick. You were three years behind me, and even I'd heard how dumb you were."

"Who are you?" the boy hisses.

"I'm Casey Braxton." He reaches into a pot of color Mark has ready, draws the lines of his tribe on his cheek. "These are my people you're hassling, my food you're trying to steal, my woman you're perving on."

Bruce has paled; he clearly recognises Casey, or at least his name, but he holds his ground. "It can't matter too much if you send kids and women to trade."

Casey smiles lazily. "You remember me, don't you, Brucie?" It's rhetorical. Everyone remembers the Braxtons.

"I remember you getting expelled," he spat.

"Yeah, that was for beating some guy who hit on my girl. I think he was able to walk again, eventually." He drops Heath's arrogance, summons Kyle's cold anger instead. "Stay away from my people, Brucie."

"Or what?"

"Or you'll find out what I've been doing since the Virus."

Bruce glances at the stall. "Raising chickens, it looks like."

"Yeah," Casey agrees, rolling his eyes. "That's exactly what I've been doing. Polly, on guard."

Polly's growling ramps up and she plants herself in front of the stall, head down and hackles up. Bruce backs up hurriedly, almost falling over his crony.

Casey spreads his arms expansively. "You're welcome to trade, Bruce. But no one steals from the Braxtons, and no one steals from my people. Not now, not ever. Remember that."

Bruce sneers, getting himself back under control. "Worm ridden rubbish, anyway."

"Polly," Casey says lazily, "chase him out of the market."

Polly lunges. Bruce shrieks, making a run for it; everyone clears out of his path, laughing as he goes. His cronies stumble after him.

Casey glances at Mark. "You okay to handle this?" At his nod he pushes through the crowd, heading randomly away.

April comes after him a little later, finding him in a burnt out cafe; she's carrying a cloth, and he sits patiently while she wipes away his marks and repaints them. "I've never seen you do that," she murmurs.

"It's hard to get them on right without a mirror."

"Not that," she says, grinning. "I meant - it was like Kyle was back."

"Yeah," Casey murmurs. "I've never done it before, really."

"Why did you now?"

"I needed them. Heath, and Kyle - they'd have kept you safe."

April catches his face in her hands, looking directly into his eyes. "Casey, you kept me safe."

April comes to Casey's van one evening, flopping onto his bed.

It's not unusual. April shares a van with Sasha now, and Casey's alone, but for a long time they were sharing, and it's perfectly normal for her to come and hang out with him, or vice versa. They chat a little, nothing earth shattering; sometimes they reminisce, sometimes it's all about what's happened recently. Sometimes they play cards or a board game or sit in silence. It's usually a good sign, when April comes to Casey; it means her OCD is under control.

Sometimes she comes to him when she's in trouble, too, but nights in the van are about relaxing, not worrying, and so he doesn't.

Tonight Casey, as he occasionally does, is picking at Kyle's guitar. There's a beginner's book propped up on the bedside table, but he's mostly ignoring it to pluck at the strings. April curls onto her side, stuffing a pillow under her head and watching him.

"Don't know why I thought this would be fun," Casey says eventually, laying the guitar carefully aside. "I can't even tell if the bloody thing's in tune."

"It sounded all right to me." April touches his arm and he flops backwards, laying beside her.

They lay in silence for a while before she speaks. "I know why you keep trying."

"Oh? Why?"

"It makes you feel closer to him."

Casey goes still for a moment before pushing up on one elbow, studying her. "I never even saw Kyle touch that thing."

"No, but it's his, isn't it? You've never put Nat into Rocco's suit, either, but you still take it out sometimes."

"So? Something wrong with that?"

"No, not at all." She tugs at the necklace she's wearing. "Bianca's, remember? I carry her around with me."

Casey lets her tug him back down; she's rubbing his arm gently, and for a while it's soothing. Gradually, though, it becomes something else.

Casey's always been physically open; it's hard to grow up in the Riverboys and not be casual about a slap on the shoulder or a hand on the arm. Or, sometimes, a blow to the head, depending. But there's a difference between those casual touches, the way he touches April or Sasha now, and the way he touched Ruby or Tamara.

"April..."

"Shush."

"No." He catches her hand gently. "April, no."

"Why not?" she demands. "Is it Sasha? She doesn't care!"

"It's not Sasha."

She stares at him for a moment, jerking her hand away. "It's me, then."

"No. Not you either."

"Case, I swear to God, if you pull out 'it's not you, it's me'..."

"It is me." He laughs softly, sobering when she tries to scramble off the bed. "April, no, wait, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you."

"Then what is it, Casey? We are two consenting ad...we're not hurting anyone, and..."

"And you're lonely, not in love."

"As if that matters!"

"It matters to me, April."

She goes very still, staring at him. "Since when?" she asks finally.

"Since - I don't know. It's just - it matters now, April. I love you, but I'm not going to do this just because we're lonely." She's still staring at him, and he adds quietly, "You're still in love with Dex."

"Dex is dead."

"I'm still in love with Tamara," he says over her. "There's a lot of things I'm willing to do for this group, and for you, April, but not this. Please."

He hopes, desperately, that she won't push. This isn't right, he feels it with every fibre of his being, but he's still a teenage boy and if she's insistent...

April sighs, seeming to collapse in on herself. "What I must look like to you."

He wraps his fingers around her wrist; no pressure, just warmth. "You look like my best friend."

She laughs, teary eyed. "I'm sorry, Case."

"Don't be sorry. Just tell me you understand."

"Yeah. I understand."

She moves to go; Casey tightens his grip for just a moment before letting go. "Don't leave."

"Casey..."

"Don't," he says again. "You don't have to. I'm not embarrassed."

"You might not be."

He stands and wraps his arms around her; she's tense for a moment before relaxing into the hug. "We can still be this," he says into her hair. "Please don't go."

April turns in his arms, tugging him back to the bed. "You're so weird," she tells him.

"I know," he agrees, curling onto his side at her push.

April curls around him. "Lucky for you, I have experience in weird."

Casey buries his face in her shoulder and relaxes.

He sleeps better that night than he has since the Virus started.

Sasha starts it, sort of.

She's working over her fish smoker, but she keeps having to stop and push her hair back. All the girls are using string to tie their hair back, but it never works very well, pulling loose and falling in their eyes.

"I swear, it'd be easier to just hack it all off," she says exasperatedly. April, working nearby, only smiles sympathetically, but later that evening she brings it back up.

They're gathered in the House, the kids playing board games or reading, winding down for bed. Casey, Sasha and April are playing cards on the kitchen table. April sets down her hand and announces "Gin. I could do it for you, Sasha."

"Do what? Is that my deal?"

"Cut your hair. I mean, it wouldn't be fancy, but I could shorten it for you."

"What's this?" Casey asks.

"Oh, I was complaining earlier about my hair always getting in the way. You could do with a trim, too, you're getting shaggy."

Casey runs a hand through his hair, shrugging. "Hair care's not really at the top of my to do list lately."

"Yet you still have time to shave," Sasha says lightly.

"That's different. Beards are weird."

"Here I thought short hair was written into the Braxton DNA." Casey flinches - he can't stop himself, though he tries - and she adds quickly, "Not that it doesn't suit you, it does."

"Bit of a pain when I've been swimming, though," he admits.

"You know, we should be careful," Sasha says absently, dealing out the cards.

"Careful?" April repeats.

"When we're in the city. There was a lice infestation starting when I was leaving." Casey catches her eye a moment too late and she winces. "Sorry, April."

April swallows; they watch her breathe for a moment. "You could cut my hair," she offers when she's calmed.

"Great idea," Casey declares. "One of you can do mine, too. We'll do it tomorrow. Now whose turn is it?"

He tells the kids over breakfast the next morning. They're enthused; it's hot enough and they work hard enough that long hair is an annoyance, especially with their limited water supplies. Casey goes first, endures the expected sheep jokes, and comes out feeling lighter, if a little lopsided. The kids line up and April and Sasha get to work.

He doesn't realise until that evening that Darcy hasn't had hers cut. She's the only one, ignoring the looks from the others, defiantly pinning her hair up. Casey doesn't push, expecting that she'll have told April or Sasha, but both claim ignorance when he asks them.

He still doesn't push. It's Darcy's hair, after all, she can choose what she wants to do with it, and if she wants to spend the time taking care of it, that's up to her.

The third time he has to step in to break up teasing, he takes her down to the beach, pretending he needs help with some of the supplies down there. Darcy goes with him, but she doesn't speak and he doesn't push, letting her poke angrily at various boxes until she's calmed down.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" he asks finally.

"Nothing," Darcy says, almost overlapping him. Casey raises an eyebrow, lets the silence hold, and finally she scowls. "It's nothing."

"Why are they teasing you?"

"Because I didn't cut my hair."

"Okay," Casey agrees, finding a sturdy box to sit on. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to, okay?" she yells. "I don't have to! It's my hair!"

"You don't have to," he agrees, holding onto his temper with an effort. Running a hand over his head, he adds, "It's easier, though."

"I don't care," she says stubbornly. "I'm not cutting my hair."

"All right," Casey says, giving in. He crouches in front of her, waiting patiently until she reluctantly meets his eyes. "You know you can talk to me, don't you?"

"I'm fine," she says impatiently. "Are we done here?"

"We're done."

She storms out of the cave. Casey takes a moment to breathe before following her.

He stops the teasing with a few words in the right ears, but he can't stop them noticing her. Darcy starts tying her hair in a bun, but it's still longer than anyone else's, visibly so. Casey slips her extra water to wash it, when he can, and he catches Sasha doing the same thing a couple of times.

He wouldn't worry so much, but it's clear it's bothering her. The bun helps, but she has to reset it over and over during the day, and sometimes she's clearly near to tears trying to handle it. April helps, brushing and braiding, but Casey can't figure out why she won't let them cut it when it's so obviously in her way.

He comes into his van one day and finds Darcy curled around Rocco's suit. "Hey," he says softly, crouching beside her. "What's up?"

She mumbles something into the armload of material, but he can't hear it. He sits down, close enough that she can sense him, not quite touching. "I can't hear you, Darce."

She lifts her head long enough to say "He likes it long" before putting it back down.

Casey sits for a while, thinking, while she sniffs into the suit. There's only one 'he' in Darcy's life, or, at least, only one she'd talk to Casey about. But it's been so long. He was starting to think she'd...

Not forgotten, but maybe that the memory had faded a little. Just enough to blunt the grief.

"Are you talking about Heath?" he asks finally.

Darcy drags herself up, nestling into his side. "He likes it long," she repeats softly. "He told me once. It suits me."

"It does suit you," Casey agrees, tugging lightly on a strand. "We could just make it a bit shorter without cutting it all. I know it bothers you, I've seen you trying to tie it back."

"He likes it!"

"It's a lot longer now than it was then," he points out gently. "We could cut some of it off and still have it just as long as he likes." She sniffles, burrowing into him, and he adds, "We don't have to. But just think about it, ok, Darce?" She nods, and he says softly, "Heath loved you. Not your hair. It doesn't matter how long it grows. He wouldn't care."

"Loves me."

"Sorry?"

"My dad loves me," she says clearly.

"Yeah," Casey agrees softly. "He does. You want to stay here tonight?"

She nods, and she's asleep a few minutes later, still curled against him. Casey stays where he is on the floor until April comes by to say goodnight; between them, they shift Darcy to the bed without waking her. Casey quietly explains to April, who sighs. "Poor kid."

"I think it's kind of my fault?" he confesses. "I told her Heath was watching her."

April glances up automatically, but she's shaking her head. "Casey, that's just what you tell a kid. This isn't your fault. Don't worry about it."

He smiles weakly. "Yeah. Thanks, April."

She smiles, pulling a slightly longer lock of his hair. "We missed one."

"Yeah, that one and all the others," he agrees, grinning.

Darcy doesn't mention it the next day, or the day after, but a few days later she takes April aside, and the next time Casey sees her her hair is brushing her shoulders.

Casey doesn't comment, but he slips her the photo of Heath and Brax. It's worth losing it to see her smile.