Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it.

AN: It's aliiiiiiiiive! I know, its been what, two years? I apologize times a million. I hope those of you who stuck with this story are still around to read, because above all, this is for you. I have a million excuses as to why I didn't get this out sooner. Life, mostly, but it didn't help that I was cringing every few seconds as I read the original version of this chapter. Yes, my friends, it was that bad. Whereas with the other chapters, I was able to merely add on, and switch the wording up, with this one, I basically had to gut it – I tore it apart and started from scratch. I'm still not happy with it, but I killed the original chapter; it's dead, and I hope I never see it again. Ever. Insert shudder here.

I can't tell you when the next chapter will come - I now know better than to give a time frame. But I'm still here, and it'll be completed eventually. Hopefully.

Oh, and maybe its just my computer, but I feel like every time I upload this, takes a space out between my periods and the first letter of the next sentence, so its just one rather than two. It bugs me, so I figure it might bug you, so I feel the need to say sorry for that too!

----------

A half hour on and neither had said a word. She walked ahead of him, arms swinging briskly, her face devoid of emotion. As he trailed behind her, he thought of what seemed like a million things he could have said, ranging from corny comments about how ridiculous the weather was – the humidity was beginning to subside; it got cooler and cooler the farther they walked – to a full blown, heartfelt apology for what he'd said the night before. He knew he had been completely out of line, and frankly, he was still unsure of why he'd said it to begin with. Granted he'd called her a lot of names before, and sometimes he'd meant what he said, or at least he thought he did.

But this time, it was different. This time, he had no idea where it came from, and more than anything, he wanted to take it back. This time he hadn't meant it, and he was sorry – really, legitimately sorry, and not just because so many people had seen him, as she'd so diligently insisted, tears glistening in her eyes.

Jesus Christ, the tears.

He couldn't blink without seeing those dark blue eyes, looking so hurt, so betrayed.

All night long, sleep denying him completely, he thought back to his first-grade self, the little boy with a crazy mop of blonde curls who would have beat the crap out of his teenage counterpart if he knew how he was treating his best friend; about how things between them had been back then, and how quickly they'd evolved into something completely foreign, completely different.

His throat tightened and he willed himself to snap out of it. Shelby obviously didn't want to go for a trip down memory lane, and she most certainly didn't want to hear his apology. She'd made that more than clear the day before, and her refusal to even look at him at breakfast, combined with the absolutely enraged look that crossed her face when Peter announced they'd be paired together, more or less sealed the deal.

"Thank you ever so much Peter, thank you so fucking much."

Strike one.

Shelby's low voice, delivered through gritted teeth, penetrated their silent surroundings.

He slowed his pace, nearly stopping short; she'd wanted him to hear it. He knew she wanted him to hear it, why would she have said it out loud in the first place in that wasn't her intention? Nevertheless, he wasn't sure how to respond. She had a right to be mad at him, he'd give her that. But how long did he have to take the abuse? How long would it last? If I just sit here and take it like a little bitch, it might make it worse, Scott reasoned to himself, macho pride momentarily overruling common sense. Right, Scott. A lot of good that approach did you last night, he reminded himself, curling his fingers up into tight fists, willing himself to stay calm. If she wanted to talk to him, he'd wait. He wasn't about to play these games.

"Five other Cliffhangers, so many combinations to choose from…"

Strike two.

She was pushing it.

She was looking for an argument, wasn't she? There was no other explanation. It wasn't as if she'd miraculously forgotten he was a few steps behind her, in a setting so silent and still that he was capable of hearing her teeth grinding. But he wasn't going to give in. No, not this time, he wasn't sure if he had the self-control to suppress another reflexive insult.

"…and I get stuck with him."

Strike three.

"Look, I said I was sorry!" Scott exploded, causing her to stop abruptly. She didn't immediately turn around, so he pressed on. "How many different ways do you want me to say it? And you know, why should I even bother? You won't even listen, so what's the point? I'm not going to get down on my hands and knees and beg, Shelby!"

"I don't expect you to."

"Then what do you want from me?!"

Shelby stared at him, her eyes locking with his, his impassioned question, plea even, echoing in her ears.

Good question, Scott.

What did she want from him, really?

To tell her that he hadn't meant anything he'd said last night?

To kiss her hard against the tree beside her because – though she'd never, ever admit it now – that was all she'd been able to think about since that day in the clearing?

To walk off a cliff and disappear, never to be seen or heard from again because vultures ate his mangled remains?

She didn't know. At this point, she really didn't know. So she went with the safe answer; the "Shelby" answer.

"What do I want? From you? Nothing," she said, her tone crisp, "absolutely nothing."

----------

Peter sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead slightly, listening to the wind outside.

He'd just sent home a student who'd recently, after months of hiding it, of keeping it inside, confessed his father had been beating him; that he'd sacrificed himself in order to spare his younger brother. The beatings lead to his alcohol abuse and subsequent suicide attempts. Peter had pleaded, had begged him to talk with CPS. When that failed, he tried speaking with his mother; the student had revealed that she was aware of what was going on, but as it turned out, the woman was a victim herself, and feared for her own life if she intervened.

In the end, Peter's hands were tied. All he could do was assure himself that the boy had learned a lot at Horizon. That he could use those tools, and the strength he'd gained once he got home and –

All of a sudden, Sophie burst in the door, yanking Peter from his thoughts. Pulling a pair of gloves over her hands, she grabbed Peter's jacket off the rack and tossed it across the desk to him.

"Curtis just sent a report from the weather service. Severe weather tonight. Storms, high winds, hail – the temperature is dropping pretty fast too. The Trackers just came back, but the Cliffhangers are still out there" she informed him, zipping up her jacket.

Peter nodded, his eyes widening slightly as he moved a series of papers aside to grab a small stack of maps. "We'll get a group at a time. If they stayed on course, there won't be anything to worry about."

----------

They didn't speak again until the path split.

After consulting the map, he started to go left.

She started to go right.

"Where the hell are you going?" she snapped, hands on her hips.

Scott rolled his eyes, backing up to thrust the map in her face.

"We're here," he said, frustration evident in his voice, motioning towards a small red triangle on the map. "Look, we're supposed to go left."

"You're reading it wrong, we're supposed to go right."

"Shelby, look at the goddamn map. Its left."

"Right."

"Left."

"You're an idiot, we go right."

Her voice was cold, her glare colder.

Scott inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment as rain began to lightly pelt his face. He knew she was wrong. Hell, she might have even known she was wrong. But continuing this argument wasn't going to get them anywhere, and he knew it.

What had his mother told him about women long ago, before his parents marriage shattered to bits, before girls became more than cootie infested blips on his radar? Something about letting a woman be right, even if it was clear she was dead wrong?

Since his own pearls of wisdom hadn't been working out so well lately, he decided to defer to his mother's.

"Fine. We'll go right."

Wrong move.

----------

The terrain was becoming rougher. The path they'd walked before was relatively clear, save some leaves and small branches, an overgrown bush here and there. This one was different: rocky and narrow, with thick brush and downed trees. It was doubtful Peter would have sent them down this trail.

He sidestepped a thorny mass of briars and knew they should have gone left.

Scott considered suggesting a turn around, but kept his mouth shut. The map showed the two paths - left and right - once again converged into one a few miles ahead, about a mile shy of their final destination. So long as the trail didn't become impassable, or they didn't kill each other first, they'd make it through just fine.

Rounding a slight bend, he noticed the number of downed trees, no doubt due to the storms that had been rocking the area all season long, was increasing not only in number, but in size as well.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, he located two sturdy looking branches that could function as walking sticks.

Thinking a friendly gesture might finally break the ice, he glanced over his shoulder, holding the stick back to her. "Its getting a little rougher so…"

Before Scott could finish, she yanked the stick out of his hand, and then let it drop out of her own.

Very mature, Shelby.

Scott rolled his eyes, quickly turning around so he was facing her, stopping completely. He was so abrupt that she nearly ran into him. His patience, what little he had left, was wearing thin. "What the hell is your deal?!" he demanded, completely perplexed.

Shelby just stared at him, expression blank.

"Huh!?" he barked, stepping closer to her, at which point she took a hasty step back, fear flashing in her eyes for a millisecond. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but he noticed, and backed off. "I was trying to do you a favor," he huffed, reining in his harsh tone.

"I don't need you doing me any favors. Quit with the Mr. Nice Guy act."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, you can drop the act."

"This isn't an act, I'm just trying to be nice!"

"Nice?"

"Yeah, nice. I can be nice."

"Since when?"

"Since alwa-"

"Oh come off it, Scott! You were always just so super-duper nice to me, weren't you? I mean, the time you gave me the fake invitation to your birthday party in 8th grade? And then laughed in my face the next week in front of everyone? That was awesome of you! Score one for the nice guy!"

Scott inwardly cringed, recalling the cruel prank. "That's not how it was – "

"Oh really? Then, please, explain it to me: how was it?"

"You know how it is when you're young like that. You just to what your friends do – "

"So you're a follower, not a leader? Some hero you are!"

"Shelby, I didn't say t – "

"But you are. Doing something just because everyone else is doing it? You're a follower. And what about later on, Scott, huh? Even when all your friends, well the guys anyway, even when they all liked me, you were still an asshole. What was your excuse then?"

"Maybe 'cause I didn't wanna be nice to anyone."

"I get it, so you made a point of being especially heinous to me. Reality check, Barringer: You haven't been nice to me since we were ten. And fuck it, whatever, that's fine. But don't try to suggest otherwise. Bullshit really isn't becoming on you."

"Look, can we just –"

"Skip this little journey to the past? Get this stupid assignment over with while conversing as little as possible? Fine by me!" Shelby spat, arms crossed, jaw locked angrily.

Her eyes were staring daggers and Scott knew her well enough to know - once again - that this was going nowhere.

He resigned himself to walking in silence, the only soundtrack now being chirping birds, leaves rustling in the trees, and twigs crunching beneath their feet.

"Bad step," he muttered softly.

Too softly.

She didn't hear him; she couldn't have heard him, his voice was so muffled. Subconsciously, he didn't want her to hear him. He was through talking, through trying to get through to her. He was just done.

It was another bad move.

Lost in her own troubled thoughts, Shelby was hardly paying attention to the landscape in front of her. Scott had dutifully broken into her thoughts every now and then to relay a "bad step," and she'd thank him with a cool, sarcastic quip.

Perhaps she should have been a little more cordial, because she never saw the log coming.

She stepped up onto it, as it wasn't high off the ground, but immediately lost her footing as the rotting wood gave way and rolled forward. She slipped, her legs giving way quickly as her body flew into the air, almost like a rag doll. She landed hard on her right ankle, immediately crumpling beneath her, the back of her head slamming against the ground with a loud "thwack!"

She yelped. Then she screamed. Then she whimpered, a low, pathetic whimper.

"What's your problem now?"

Scott turned around, exasperated when he received no answer.

What the hell was her problem now? Part of him hoped she'd been eaten by some kind of wild, six headed beast – until he reasoned that said six headed beast would probably enjoy his own limbs for dessert. Regardless, her temper tantrums and childish behavior were really starting to grate on his nerves. He was trying the best he could, and in return, she was – oh no, this wasn't just Shelby being dramatic. She was on the ground, her body in a crumpled heap, clutching her head; her ankle was already beginning to swell.

"Shit! What happened?!" he asked, his voice thick with concern as he ran over to help her sit up.

She couldn't hold it in; emotional pain she could handle. She could harness her feelings for hours, days, months, years. But the searing pain shooting through her ankle was another story. She couldn't use any mechanism to numb the ache and tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. She looked down at the ground, cursing her stupidity, willing herself to stop crying. Unsuccessful, she looked up at him through dark, wet lashes.

"It's nothing. Just … just go, okay? I'm fine. I'll catch up."

"Shelby, cut the crap!," Scott seethed. "Enough with the fucking games, this is serious! You're not fine! Weren't you paying attention? I said 'bad step'!"

"I didn't hear you."

"Well I said it loud enough!"

Right.

"I'm sorry, okay!? I didn't hear you!"

Scott sighed heavily, refusing to feel guilty about his blatant lie, looking up just as a bolt of lightening cracked across the sky. The rain that had started out as a light drizzle was coming down harder now, mixing with hard pellets of – as it couldn't get any worse – hail; tiny, pea sized hail, beating down on them, stinging his, her, their soaking wet skin. Noticing her wince, Scott forced himself to remain calm. He needed to be the strong one here, he needed to be the leader, the caretaker.

Ok, Scott, observe your surroundings. Work with what you've got. Yeah, what you've got is a lot of twigs and leaves. Maybe I could build a shelter – yeah right. This isn't the Swiss Family Robinson, Barringer. You can't build a palace in the trees, this is reality.

Grasping his head in his hands, trying not to panic, he chomped down on his lip, walking forward a bit, glancing around the next bend.

More twigs, branches, leaves, rocks – wait, was he hallucinating?

Glancing back at Shelby, he held up a single finger, jogging towards the apparent mirage. It had to be a mirage, because this wasn't the Swiss Family Robinson and he just wasn't that lucky.

But this time, he was.

It was a small cave, possibly man made for campers considering its size and previously used fire pit; a small, but not tiny, covered enclave large enough to fit two bickering kids until the storm subsided.

Well, at least they'd be dry.

Sighing deeply, thanking the higher powers for cutting him a break, he made his way back to Shelby who'd stopped crying but hadn't moved a muscle, scooping up his pack and her petite frame before she could protest, blinking raindrops away as he charged towards shelter.

Once inside, he set her down gently, wordlessly, shrugging in response to the questioning look she gave him after she observed their new surroundings.

"Well, uh, it looks like we're not going anywhere for now," Scott commented uneasily, jamming his hands in his pockets for a moment, looking everywhere but at her. "At least not until it clears up a little. So, uh, we'll get you comfortable, and – "

"No!" Shelby suddenly shrieked, causing him to jump a bit. Her head was throbbing, her ankle was beginning to resemble a purple balloon, and the last person she wanted to be around was Scott Barringer. Swallowing quickly, she bit her lip, softening her tone. "I – I mean – just go and send someone back for me, I'll be fine."

"That's not what I'd want if it happened to me. I can't just leave you out here like this, Shelby," he spat, frustration coursing through his veins as he retrieved his small first aid kit from his pack, crouching down to wrap her swelling ankle.

"God, Scott, for once, realize this isn't about you. That's what I want. It's nothing new."

"What are you talking about?"

He ignored the first dig, lightly grasping her ankle, his eyes frozen with her own, asking a million wordless questions; his voice was soft, gentle. It almost made her want to cry and she didn't even know why.

"Nothing. Just … nothing. Just go, okay?"

Her teeth were chattering, her lower lip was quivering, and Scott was through trying to hide his concern. "No, I'm staying right here. You're hurt, you hit your head. What happens if you have a concussion, and you black out while I'm gone?" he demanded, rifling through his pack, pulling out a hooded sweatshirt that he'd never once thought he'd need that day. "Here. Take this so you don't freeze."

"It's no big deal okay? I don't need this, I don't need y—"

"Shelby, just shut up for once," Scott ordered, cutting her off. He was forceful, but his voice lacked a hard edge. "I know you think I'm a prick and I'm probably the last person you want to be with right now. But seriously, just shut up for once and let me try to do something decent."

For once, Shelby just nodded wordlessly.

For once, she bit her tongue and held back the one-liners, the quick quips.

For once, she was tired - so tired - of fighting.

And so for once, she'd shut up and let him try to do something decent.