A/N: My apologies for the long time between updates. My inspiration for this story is flagging at the moment, to be perfectly frank, but I'll keep it going if I can.

Disclaimer: don't own.

As Tori stared out her living room window into the fast-gathering twilight, her thoughts drifted toward school. She had missed nearly a week now, and neglected the homework that was piling up on her desk; neither André's gentle encouragement nor her parents' increasingly unsubtle prodding could convince her that it was worth doing. The science fair, she remembered now, was fast approaching, and she hadn't yet even chosen a topic, though Cat kept trying to persuade her to help design some sort of hamster-powered robot (what a ridiculous idea!)

André was noodling about on the piano, working, as ever, on a new song. He was still (much to Tori's amusement) trapped in that awkward phase in which nothing could come to his lips except nonsense; in a few minutes he would give up, throw up his hands in despair, cry "I'll never be a good songwriter!", then, immediately, be struck with inspiration and write a masterpiece. It was a sequence as regular as clockwork.

"I don't think that me and you / Have anything to do / With…um…with a hundred-dollar shoe / Filled with Crazy Glue…dang it!" His forehead struck a jarring chord as he slumped onto the keys. "Maybe I should listen to Grandma and become an actuary after all."

For the first time in quite a while, Tori actually chuckled. "Hang in there, 'Dre. You'll get it."

André gave a heavy sigh. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom? Maybe splashing cold water in my face will get my brain working."

"Sure, go right ahead." Watching him dragging his weary feet up the stairs, Tori thought of the many times his presence had been the only thing standing between her and complete despair. When she had decided to leave Hollywood Arts on her very first day, he talked her out of it; when she was nearly kicked out of school by mistake, he stood by her; and when she found Trina in the bathtub that horrible, horrible day… Tori wanted to believe that she could have handled the situation by herself, but if André hadn't been there to help – well. It was best not to let her thoughts veer off in that direction.

André's PearPhone, which he had left atop the piano, began to ring. Tori knew that the ringtone – "Eye of the Tiger" – meant that it was his grandmother. She also knew that the call might well be urgent, but she didn't like to answer André's phone for him; as she had learned once before the hard way, André's grandma reacted…poorly to hearing any voice but her grandson's.

When, after almost thirty seconds of ringing, André had yet to appear, Tori roused herself from the sofa, went to the foot of the stairs, and yelled up: " 'Dré! Your grandma's calling! 'Dré?"

No answer.

"André! Did you hear me? Are you alright up there?"

Still no answer.

And suddenly, Tori Vega was overwhelmed by memories. As vividly as if it were happening right at that moment, she saw again the slippery pool of blood at the bathtub's edge, heard the moans of pain and despair, felt the rapidly chilling flesh of a dying person beneath her fingertips.

But the face of that dying person, as it materialized in her mind's eye, flickered back and forth. At one moment, it was her sister; at the next, André.

"NO!" she screamed, and hurried, stumbling, unseeing, up the stairs. She lowered a shoulder and, with all the force her thin body could muster, crashed into the heavy bathroom door to force it open.

But it was unlocked, and she went sprawling. Dazed, she looked up into the face of an utterly bewildered André. Her ears filled with a mighty rushing sound, which, it took her a moment to realize, was the running faucet, turned on to its fullest extent.

He couldn't hear. He couldn't hear the phone, or me. That's all. That's all it was.

What in the hell is the matter with me?

André stooped and helped Tori to her feet. "Are you okay, muchacha? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No. No, I'm fine. I just…your grandma's on the phone, and you didn't come when I called, and…I thought that…I thought…"

Why? Why would I think André would hurt himself? Why would I think that he would want to...

Leave me.

"No," she whispered. "Don't leave me, André. Please don't."

His eyes widened. "Why in God's name would I ever do that?"

"I'm just…I can't…ever since that day…dreams…nightmares…fears…I think that behind every door, around every corner, I'm going to stumble on the bleeding body of someone I care about, someone I love…"

Despite himself, a quiet thrill went through André's heart as he realized the implications of those last three words.

"Tori," he said softly. "Have you ever talked to anybody? I mean anybody who's…you know…trained to deal with this kind of thing?"

"I don't need professional help, 'Dré. I have to be there for Trina, for Mom and Dad. I have to be the strong one now…have to be…" A nascent sob caught in the back of her throat. "…Have to be strong…"

"And you think seeking help makes you weak?"

"I…I guess not, but…Trina needs me…"

"Tori," he said, suddenly deathly serious. "Do you really think that your sister wants you to suffer for her sake?"

"No…"

"Then talk to someone. Don't let the anxiety eat you away inside. Will you promise me you'll do that?"

Unable to speak, she nodded. He pulled her close and gently kissed her forehead.

After a long embrace, she looked up into his rich brown eyes. "Why are you so good to me, André?" She whispered.

"Because," he said softly, "you deserve it."

The last of the evening light waned and died, casting into deep shadow the two figures, their arms still intertwined.