Alrighty, so if you would kindly allow me to explain myself…. Yes I deleted the original chapter 9. I'm pretty ashamed of it, honestly. I knew it wasn't finished and it was short but I felt really guilty about not having updated in awhile so I just posted it as is. Then it was gnawing at me like "Rosie, get that weak shit off the web" and so I took it down and decided to repost it in its full version. Soooooo that's what you have here. The bulk is the same… no literally you don't have to reread it, it's the same. So I'm sorry for the confusion, but hopefully you can pick up where we left off (and you can learn to forgive me).

WARNING: There are some no-no words ahead

Disclaimer: I own absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percently nothing about Stitchers.

Chapter 9: The Ugly Duckling

The first thing that caught her eye was the color- pink, like blush. Last week they'd been blue. Next, she noticed the shape- small and round like Mn'Ms.

Camille leaned forward, palms pressed against the rim of the bathtub where she was sitting. The yellow light buzzed mechanically. She always thought it sounded a little sick, like a lot of the things in their house. Duckie was staring intently at his hands as he scraped a rusty file against one of the pink drops.

"Can I have one?" Camille asked, puffing out her cheeks.

The boy's muscles visibly stiffened and his head snapped up to look at her. His eyes were wide and bright with things she hadn't been able to identify at the time- surprise, irritation, fear.

"No!" he gawked, "Jesus, Cami. I've told you this isn't fucking candy!"

Camille pulled her shoulders forward, an innate reaction like she was trying to sink back into her shell.

"I know," she squeaked, embarrassed, "I was just asking."

Her lower lip was trembling slightly as she gazed up at him with her innocent, button eyes. Duckie sighed and shook his head as he continued to fill the tablets and organize them in different plastic bags.

"Don't ask, Cami." he voice sounded heavy and worn out, "Don't ask that shit."

Camille bit the inside of her cheek. She hated it when she made him sad.

"Sorry." she mumbled, eyes locking onto her feet.

Silence- save that sickly buzzing of the bathroom light- clung to them moments until Duckie raised his head slightly to look at his reflection in the mirror. Camille watched his eyes twitch, like he was searching himself for something. Then he turned away quickly, unable to stand what he saw.

"Hey, Cami," his voice picked up, "how're you doing on that magic car?"

She lit up, "It's not magic, Duckie. It's science. And I haven't made much progress because I don't know where I'm going to get auxiliary modulators. And you wouldn't believe how much lithium-ion batteries cost!"

The fifteen year-old listened with his lips resting in a subtle smile. He didn't know how to spell auxiliary. He was pretty sure lithium was an element, or something. He didn't know how much these weird batteries cost, but he was certain that they couldn't afford them. But he listened quietly as his sister of nine years rambled, because she didn't need to hear that just yet.

0o0o0o0

Camille sat stiffly on the living room couch, discomfort apparent on her features. She hated this couch with all of her being. It was cheap and torn and there was an odd brown stain on the one arm. Yet here she sat, because her bedroom window had been shattered by a slab of concrete, allowing the brittle November air to force her downstairs.

Mom was asleep in the arm chair, a thick stream of dribble spilling onto her shirt. Camille may have only been fourteen, but she knew when a hangover looked like. Not to mention smelled like.

As she scribbled away in her notebook, the front door flew open with an audible crack. Pop's boots slammed against the floor, leaving tremors throughout the house. She didn't even flinch.

"Bunch of God damn pricks!" he bellowed, "Sons of bitches. All of them!"

Her mother slurred something that didn't pass as a sentence as Pop stormed into the kitchen- no doubt to join his girlfriend in her drunken stupor- and Duckie shut the door behind him. The slamming of cupboards echoed from out of sight. Duckie appeared about as interested as Camille did.

"Credit score?" Camille guessed without looking up.

"Nope. Heating bill."

The brunette snorted, "What heat?"

Duckie rolled his dark eyes, "Cry me a fucking river. Here."

He took several envelops from off the top of the pile in his arms and tossed them into her lap. The cleanly printed seals burned in her vision as her fingers hesitantly grazed over the paper. Her veins felt like they were filled with light, the cold forgotten.

Before she could ripped them open, a thick, hairy hand snatched the pages away.

"University of Oregon?" Pop growled, carefully articulating each syllable. "Seattle School of Research Sciences? UCLA? Cam, what the hell is this?"

The composure she'd held moments ago faded instantly under her father's undivided attention. It was better when he just forgot she existed.

"They're colleges, Pop." she said meekly.

Everyone seemed to move at once, like they'd all been paused mid-sentence and someone had finally pressed play. Pop brought his arm up- no grace, no dignity, but power. Camille jumped backward and covered her head as Duckie leaped in between them.

"Fucking smart ass!" their father boomed at the same time Duckie screamed, "Don't fucking touch her!"

It was eerie how perfectly their voices fit together. Camille gulped, heart beating painfully in her throat.

"Shut up, Dick." Pop sneered, then his eyes locked over Duckie's shoulder with Camille's, "Answer me!"

She blinked and tried to find a way to speak, "There are these programs they offer in the spring. I was thinking about-"

"The hell you need college for? You're fifteen."

Camille didn't respond. She was going to vomit if she opened her mouth again. He waited another moment and when she remain silent he grunted a curse and continued his rampage somewhere else. When he was gone, Duckie turned to her, his body slacking out of the protective stance he'd taken before.

"I'm fourteen." Camille whispered.

Her brother sighed and tucked her into his arms. He held her head in his hand and stroked her dark hair. She was trembling.

The hell you need college for?

"Because, Duckie," she whimpered as the tears began to fall, "I want to have a couch that isn't stained. I want to live where no one throws rocks through my window."

"And you'll have all that, Cami." he rocked her gently, "You're going to get out of this damn place. You're going to make it."

He said it like he'd given up hope on himself and she knew it was because he had. A loud, grotesque snore emanated from their mother's mouth and Camille collapsed into sobs.

0o0o0o0

"Where is he?" her voice sounded raw as it ripped through her throat, "Where's my brother?"

She commanded the eyes in the room. They felt like magnifying glasses focusing the sun on her skin, singing her skin.

"Please," she practically fell against the counter.

"Honey, calm down." a nurse came out from behind the desk and took her shoulders firmly in his hands, "Who are you looking for?"

"My brother," the words escaped her lips faster than she could think, "Robert Johnson."

I call him Duckie. He'd kill anyone else who'd call him that. He lets me.

Guilt painted a clear picture across the nurse's face. Camille's knees almost buckled.

"He was shot three times in the abdomen, Sweetie." he speaks very slowly and very, very carefully.

It wasn't supposed to end that way. It was a simple deal. He'd made hundreds before. He'd come home with things scraped and bruised and sometimes broken- "unsatisfied customers" he'd said- but nothing like this.

"He's okay." she demanded, "He's going to make it."

The look on the nurse's face told her everything, but she couldn't believe it.

"Let's sit down, okay?"

She shook her head violently. The nurse sighed.

"Sweetie, there was a lot of internal bleeding." every word was a blow to her stomach, "We tried to stop it. He passed away on the operating table about twenty minutes ago."

Camille heard him clearly and understood what that meant, but there was a disconnect somewhere in her mind. Reality was fighting against the unbreakable force that was her brother's memory. Duckie wasn't gone. What did she have without him?

The nurse's lips were moving. He was probably saying something. Nothing registered. Black crept into her vison. Her heart felt like it had quite on her completely.

Maybe I'm dying.

And she prayed that she was right.

0o0o0o0

She felt like an angle- sure and peaceful- floating over the chaos around her. She moved effortlessly through the house, collecting things here and there and placing them in her duffle bag. Sounds reverberated off the thin walls a swirled in her ears like she was underwater.

"Ungrateful…" Ma said, "no good… wasted… my baby… your fault…"

"Fucking insubordinate…" Pop yelled, butchering the pronunciation, "piece of shit… worthless… pathetic…"

They didn't concern her. Her mind was made up and she felt free. Her stone gaze remained locked on the battered wood of the door.

"You walk out that fucking door, you don't ever fucking come back. You hear?"

She didn't look back once.

0o0o0o0

"Cami? You in there? Hello, Earth to Cami."

Camille's eyes strained to focus on the pair of snapping fingers in front of her face. When the nasally voice perforated her eardrums and her mind recognized its owner, her stomach lurched.

"What do you want, Patrick?" she wheezed.

The strawberry-blonde unfolded himself from his crouched position so that he now towered over the brunette.

"Alright, Snappy," he smiled down at her, "just wanted to say I enjoyed you presentation today."

Camille scoffed. She had just failed her presentation. She knew she did. Public speaking had always come fairly easy to her, but exhaustion had her nerves on overdrive. Her shoulders were tense, her sentences clipped, and the heat in her stare was making her professor squirm. She didn't care- oh how she simply did not care.

Her classmates had not even finished their halfhearted applause before she'd grabbed her bag and pushed out the double doors. The onset of a migraine throbbed behind her eyes, pulsing with every clack of her heels. Echoes panged off the walls of the vacant hallway.

That was the dangerous part. It wasn't healthy for her to be alone right now. There was too much room in the silence for her mind to wander, back to memories she didn't want revived.

Looking at Patrick, she thought, I guess that makes you my hero.

The irony alone threatened a smile on her pursed lips.

After storming out of the lecture hall, Camille had taken some turns until the stark concrete gave way to a corridor of floor length windows that overlooked a cobblestone courtyard. The sky was churning with grey like it was going to rain. Camille could have sneered at the cliché.

She'd pulled her fitted leather jacket tighter around her chest and wedged herself in the corner of glass, sinking into a ball.

"Yo, Cami," Patrick really did have the most irritating voice, "this ain't NASA. Quit spacing out."

She blinked up at him, appearing bored, and pressed her temple against the cool glass. It provided some relief for her headache. She wished her jacket had a hood so that she could pull it all the way over her face and hide beneath it.

"My name has seven letters, Patrick." she grumbled, heaving herself off of the floor, "I'd prefer you to use all of them."

"Hey come on," his smile wavered as she started walking away, "Woah, okay. Stop."

He stepped in front of her and she halted, every muscle in her body growling at the interruption.

"Pat," she warned.

"Seven letters," he smirked, un-phased by her glare, "Easy, Tiger."

His look morphed into something she was used to seeing on his features- sincerity.

"You've been pretty bummed the past couple of days. Everything alright?"

Her first reaction was to role her eyes, but she stopped herself. For a few moments, they simply stared at each other in silence. Silence- silence was dangerous. Her mind went to places she didn't want it to go. Camille became hyperaware of every function in her body- heart pounding, palms tingling, lungs burning.

"No." she said bluntly, needing the quiet to end.

Something was threatening to break through the surface and she couldn't let that happen.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her pulse was rising. One more second and she would crumble. She couldn't.

"No." she hissed, grabbing the color of his shirt.

His blue eyes were wide- and more than a little fearful- as she crashed her lips onto his. She was kissing him hard enough to bruise.

After a beat he pushed away, breathing labored.

"W-hat was-"

"Shut up," she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the closest door.

She didn't want to talk, but she didn't want to stay quiet. She didn't want to remember the past or worry about her friend's future.

Lab 238 was empty and- thank Jesus- locked from the inside.

"Camille," his voice wobbled, fear and arousal battling within him.

"Patrick, please," she whined, tossing her shoulder bag onto the floor, "just shut up."

0o0o0o0

"Wow," Patrick breathed, lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Camille didn't pay him any attention. She'd grabbed her undergarments and put them back on, now pacing the length of the front wall. The blinds had been drawn, only allowing miniscule rays of sunlight to peak through.

"You don't look it, Tiger," he continued, "but damn."

The brunette ceased her pacing and pressed her fist to her lips, knowing that something divine up there was judging her so hard.

Glancing at the clock, Camille noticed that it was about twenty minutes after she'd told Linus to pick her up. He probably hadn't expected her to finish her speech that earlier- or maybe he knew she'd botch it.

Padding over to where her messenger bag had been discarded, Camille knelt down and unzipped one of the smaller pouches. She clicked on her home screen. Four unread messages.

7:15PM MUURKH

BE THERE IN TEN]

7:27PM MUURKH

IN USUAL SPOT

7:33PM MUURKH

WHERE ARE YOU?

7:38PM MUURKH

KIRSTEN IS AWAKE. GET YOUR 10% OUT HERE!

Camille nearly dropped the phone. She reread the last message a few hundred times before the meaning of the words began to settle in.

Awake. Kirsten was awake. Kirsten was okay!

Something snapped inside of her, like she was a glow stick, and Camille launched herself into motion. She was frantic, darting around the room for her clothes. Patrick noticed the change and tried to sit up. He winced, contorting to catch a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface on the lab's wash tub.

"I," he started, "I'm bleeding."

Camille, now fully dressed, glanced up at him as she shoved her shoes onto her feet. There were in fact dee red scratches running up and down the length of his entire back. Kinky.

"Yep," shrugged her bag on and unlocked the door, "and I hope you got you tetanus shot because this floor is disgusting."

The hallway fell away in her vision like she was jumping through hyperspace. She was moving so quickly, it felt like her feet weren't even grazing the ground.

Their usual spot was off of the main parking lot, underneath the light post that some kid had graffitied a rendition of Van Gogh's Starry Night onto.

She made eye contact with Linus long before she reached the car. He was sitting on the hood, arms crossed over his chest. His chocolate eyes were narrowed, obviously displeased with her. It was silly and naïve, but in that moment, she'd never loved him more.

Not much to add. Thank you so much for reading (and some of you, rereading). I really can't express how much I appreciate all the support you've given me and I really hope I live up to it. Y'all the best J