A/N: It is rather distressing to find that I've taken so long to update that the site has actually changed its format again in the time it took me to finish this chapter. Inexcusable. Anyway... Lyrics are bolded and disregard most grammatical conventions. Large blocks of Italics once again indicate past time. Complicated system, I know. There are only so many font effects.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Disney, and the song is "Breathing" by Lifehouse. If I've taken liberty with the lyrics, it's only to better suit the mood of the chapter. Plot and witty banter are my own intellectual property, though I'm no sure that there's anything worth stealing there anyway.

Chapter Nine

It's… Well, It's Complicated

I'm finding my way back to sanity, again

Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there

Her hands shook as she composed the letter; you could read it in the wobbly tail of her "a" and the hurried slash of the "t." Blots and starts that she was sure he would catch, tell tale marks of her dishonesty. She read through it once more, gripping the flowery pink stationary tight enough to leave a crease.

"Dear Tyler…" she began shakily, exhaling to still the hand rattling the sloppily written Dear John. "Dear Tyler, if you're reading this letter right now, it means that I've already gone..."

Around her feet lay crumpled wads of stationary, pages and pages filled with her attempts to tell the truth. "Dear Tyler," those began "Dear Tyler, last week I had to make the hardest decision of my life…"

"Dear Tyler, I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't hate me, please, I love you."

In the end, it was easier to lie. She creased the letter down the center, shoved it into an envelope and called her sister into the room in one swift motion, perhaps afraid that a millisecond's hesitation would be all the difference needed to change her mind. Brooke stormed into the room, followed closely by Val's best friend Caitie, whose somber clothing, for once, seemed occasion-appropriate.

"How's it hanging Supergirl?" the purple-haired goth asked softly. Val shrugged and gestured towards her half-empty suitcases.

"Finishing up here, I guess."

Brooke, agitated, skipped the formalities. "This is wrong Val. You know this is wrong."

"You don't understand Brooke, I can't face him right now. It's…well it's—"

"Say 'complicated' and I puke." Her little sister snatched the letter from her hand and read it through once, her frown growing deeper with each line. "All that's missing here is 'I hope that we can be friends one day.' Insult, meet injury." Scowling, she handed Caitie the letter. "I just don't get it. I mean, being angry, that I get, he was a bonehead. But to just disappear on someone you love? To just leave?"

Nothing about this situation was making any rational sense, and it was driving Brooke, a great supporter of reason, bananas. "I mean, even as his friend, not even his girlfriend, saying goodbye is just human decency. This right here? This is shady." She didn't even need to mention the fact that her sister's need for secrecy necessitated not telling any of other friends or acquaintances that she was going. That she was, effectively, disappearing off the Kingsport radar without a trace. Brooke shook her head in consternation. Shady business indeed.

Val looked to her best friend for support, aware that Caitie, who'd driven her two towns down the interstate to make the appointment at the clinic, was the only other person that knew the situation in its entirety. Caitie surprised her by siding with her sister. "She's right Val, I mean, I'm not an inordinate fan of your boytoy or anything, but even the lowest dog of a boyfriend deserves a better than this." Her eyes stayed sympathetic, but her tone was stern as she continued "He needs to know. You need to be the one to tell him." There was no way of knowing if Val had caught the double meaning in her friend's statement; reacting as if she hadn't heard, she continued methodically packing her clothes away.

"Or, you know, you can ignore us and continue on with your morally bankrupt decision making." Brooke snapped, angry at her sister's stubborn detachment. "I've gotta go drop these evaluation papers off at the EMS station before Alex goes home for the afternoon. Caitie, call me if you manage to extract my sister's head from her ass." With that the 14 year old flounced out of the room, leaving the wry goth to tend to the visibly distraught Val.

"She's just upset… you know, with you moving across the country and all… And I'm pretty sure Tyler bought her friendship with Bubble Yum and Cheetos early on in your relationship." When her dry attempt at humor failed to raise a smile, Caitie sat down cautiously in the space next to her best friend on the bed.

"She doesn't know, so she can't understand." Val said shakily. "She just sees me as this evil, dishonest..." she shook her head, emptying it of the thought. "Everyone does. And those who don't now, well, they will by tomorrow. God, when Tyler reads that letter…"

"Well, you can't begrudge the guy for hating your guts. I mean, far as he knows, you booked town without so much as a 'Hey, I'll call.' Also, as far as he knows, for no good reason. For no real reason at all, actually."

For a best friend and confidant, Caitie was surprisingly bad at being comforting.

"I don't know what else I can tell you, except that I can't stay here. I can't. Being here, being in this town, having to hide and lie just in case he stops by--" Caitie's expression softened, and she rested a comforting hand on Val's shoulder.

"Hey, I know, alright? What you went through… God, I've been sick about it all week and all I did was hold your hand. I know how incredibly hard it must be to keep all of this inside of you; I know how all this must be killing you. I know you have to go. I just don't understand why it has to be like this." She peered searchingly into her best friend's face, saw, for the first time, how large the shadows under eyes had grown, how lack of sleep had made her gaunt and pale. It had been days since she left the room the two sisters shared; Caitie had driven her home from the doctor's office and tucked her into her bed, weak as a kitten, herself. From what Brooke had told her, Val had barely left it since. She'd assumed her naturally hyperactive friend had spent all that time sleeping. By the looks of her, she was wrong. "Did your Dad pick up that Ambien that Dr. Soto prescribed you?" she asked, concerned. Val nodded wearily.

"Yeah, I figure I'll wait to take it till I arrive in San Francisco. I don't want to try it for the first time on a transcontinental flight; I might pass out and end up stranded in Ohio or something." She looked around her room, at all the she would be leaving behind. Nothing beyond the clothes that she'd stuffed into her three suitcases would be going with her to California. New life, new start.

Well, almost. She surreptitiously tucked a small memory card into her digital camera case, and packed it away in her carryon. On it were the photos taken during her and Tyler's Key West vacation earlier on in the summer. A graduation gift from their parents, it was the first trip they'd been allowed to take together as a couple. Wrapped up in the fun and romance of it all, they'd agreed to go to the same college come fall, fantasizing that Key West was only the first of many trips they'd someday take together. Falling asleep in one another's arms each night, they'd dreamed of days that existed years in the future, of white weddings and picket fences.

They were happy. They hadn't known any better not to be.

"You'll make sure Brooke gives Tyler the letter?" She said. Her voice was steady, she felt too defeated to cry. Caitie, sensing the melancholy shift in her best friend's attitude and not wanting to sour their last few hours together, nodded tightly.

"First thing tomorrow morning."

***


Take a breath, and hold on tight

When Tyler arrived at the restaurant, he was escorted to table bearing an empty champagne flute and the carefully hand-shredded contents of the bread basket. His dinner companion nowhere to be found, he quirked his eyebrow at the disaster left of the table setting and asked "Am I late?" Nancy, who co-owned the establishment with her sister, gestured grandly at the grandfather clock in the corner, which at 7:58 was gearing up to strike the hour. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I think she's in the restroom sir." Tyler smothered a smile at her formality.

"Nancy, your kids pelt me with small pieces of paper five times a week. There's no need to pretend I'm anyone special." With a roguish wink he plopped down in the chair she'd pulled out for him, tilting back before she could push it back in. "Now, how about a Newcastle and some more bread?" Rolling her eyes and giving him a quick swat on the back of the head with her order pad, she caught sight of Val emerging from the restroom and lowered her voice.

"You think you can get her to sign something for Jen, my oldest? I mean, shutting down the restaurant for you two and all, that's a pretty big favor—" His surreptitious thumbs up in the face of Val's imminent arrival sent her scurrying away from the table to retrieve the drink orders.

"I didn't really mean to keep you waiting." He said as she silently slipped back into her seat. "Your manager did say 8 right?" Val offered him a small, nervous smile.

"Yeah—I mean, yes she did. But I was hustled in through the kitchen entrance at 7:30 because Helen's always little neurotic about beating the press to any event." The champagne had done nothing to loosen the knot of nerves in her stomach, and she was dismayed to find herself stumbling over words. "But that in itself is way more neurotic than she normally is, cause, first off, what press? And secondly, this isn't even an event, it's just dinner… I mean, not just dinner, I mean, obviously, this is important—" she took a deep breath, told herself to shut up "--the point is, I was waiting, but it wasn't your fault, cause I'm usually early everywhere I go…And anyway, it's me that should be really sorry, because I ripped all bread." She concluded, immediately cross with herself for her babbling. Tyler, for his part, found comfort in the familiarity of her awkwardness.

"This I can see. You obviously have a very strange relationship with complex carbs." The joke earned him a broad grin, though he noted with consternation that even her smile looked tired. "How'd your afternoon go?" He asked, gently enough to warrant an intimate lean forward. Shrinking into her seat the moment that he asked the question, she looked so worn and wire-strung that he almost risked taking her hand. Almost. He tilted back in his chair again, retreating from the instinct that called for him to pull her closer.

"It was okay. It went fine." Her response came a moment too quick to be taken as genuine. She tried to save it, quickly adding "I'm really glad you stopped by so that we could do this."

They both recognized the lie as soon as she said it, and the conversation died again. In the mounting tension, Tyler desperately scanned the dining room in search of a waitress bearing alcohol, and Val began to fidget with her table settings. She balanced the butter knife on its tip; let it pirouette on the axis till it slipped between her fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter that startled them both.

Spin around one more time

The tiny jump that she felt was enough to kick start her higher cognitive processes. Wasn't she the one who'd sat through a $1000 per session media training course for the past 3 years? Who'd given out hundreds, if not thousands, of careless answers during complicated interviews conducted by bloodthirsty celeb. journalists? She'd gone head to head with Joan Rivers and emerged poised and victorious; had even coyly batted her eyelashes and charmed Larry King.

So what in the hell was she doing crouched under the dinner table, purposefully

prolonging her search for her errant silverware?

Get it together Val.

She was a professional. Turn off the nerves, and smile for the camera, if nothing else, she could do that till the day she died.

Lights… Camera…

And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace

Cue the talent.

***


'Cause I am hanging

On every word you say

And even if you don't wanna speak tonight

That's alright

Alright with me

Tyler knew that he needed to contribute a bit more to make this an actual conversation. Val's hands fluttered in a way that wasn't unlovely as she narrated her latest paparazzi mishap for his amusement (a trick, he realized, she'd probably learned to do in acting school, to make her monologues more compelling) her voice dipped and changed as she spoke for each person involved, using her gifts of inflection, making the dullest story sparkle and come to life. And for his part, he was the audience, though the front he presented as she told her story made him a poor one.

Cause I want nothing more

Than to sit outside heaven's door

And listen to you breathing

She was like a prism dancing on the end of a string. Every so often there would be a shift in the wind, and then he'd be rewarded with a familiar laugh, a phrase, a smile… Small glimpses of the girl he used to love in the glittery, brittle figure seated across from him.

She broke character only a few times, just enough, he realized, for him to figure out that this was indeed a character that she was playing, a one-woman play put on for his benefit. Val goes to Hollywood. Just a few moments, very few moments indeed when her guard would drop and she'd nervously reach up and stroke the small wooden pendant hanging from the trendy necklace fastened around her throat. He supposed it was because it wasn't talking all that much, content as he was to sit back and wait to be rewarded with traces of his ex.

What happened to you?

He knew that she sensed when it happened too. For every familiar joke, every time he caught her eye like that he felt the corresponding tense of her shoulders across the table. Then that laugh--false, bright, icy—and then again she was gone.

Where do you go?

At these moments all he wanted to do is grab her by the shoulders and demand to know.

Where did you go?

The problem was that he wasn't a stupid man. No, not nearly stupid enough. So instead he sipped his beer, washing these moments down as he struggled to return his focus to the woman that she was now.

This is where I want to be

***


I'm looking past the shadows in my mind

Into the truth

And I'm trying to identify the voices in my head

God, which one's you?

He was being quite the creepy asshole, in Val's opinion. She set down her now empty third glass of champagne (compulsively guzzled, nerves, naturally) and emboldened by bubbles peered searchingly into his eyes.

"You don't care a lick about the Jessica Alba lipgloss incident." She declared finally, slumping backing her chair with a little hrrrumph. She pouted and considered her (untouched) main course—salmon salad, no dressing—and hand signaled the waitress for a refill instead.

Propelled forward by her pout, Tyler hurried to redeem himself. "No! I was listening…lipgloss…colorclash…made her teeth look yellow at the Golden Globes. I got that. Totally. Catastrophe." He nodded earnestly, then grinned to show off his own pair of perfect whites. "That makeup artist should just be excommunicated."

Val leaned forward, brought herself back to rest elbows on the table, but her pout remained resolute, if not ever so slightly up turned at the corners. "You're not listening to my stories because I tell stupid ones." She sighed. "I know, I wish I did something more important too. I'm not vapid. I mean. Not that vapid. I just—it's all I'm good at." Tyler took hold of her small hand from where it rested on the dinner table, held it loosely, but then a little more firm when she didn't snatch it away.

"It's not useless to have talent. You're here because people recognized how absolutely amazing you are." Emboldened by her small smile, he took her other hand, and staring at the delicate fingers as they interlaced with his and added "I know I always did."

Let me feel one more time

What it feels like to feel

The familiar warmth of his hands of over hers felt good, she realized. Really good. His touch communicated comfort, security…electricity. When they touched there was no denying that she felt the familiar prick of the current that ran between them. More than a little drunk, she allowed it to pick her up and drag her closer. "I never thought I'd find you back here." She murmured softly. She felt him stiffen, and release her hands, and she used the opportunity to reach up and run her fingers down the plane of his cheek, tracing the familiar contours as she ruminated, for the most part, to herself. "I thought about it sometimes, coming back here, seeing all of our old places. But without you here there just never…seemed to be a point."

"I'm not sure what you mean…" he began cautiously. They locked eyes as she cupped his cheek, and Val smiled a little too sadly back up at her dinner companion.

"It never got any easier, missing you."

Break these calluses off of me

One more time

The sincerity in that small statement caught Tyler's breath, and his response came quickly, defiantly, without thought.

"Well, you never really had to. Neither of us did." If the statement stung, it didn't show. Her sad, pretty face made him want to go further, to be reckless. "You never had to go. I would have—I would have done anything." Jaw hardening, he pressed forward. "I would have done everything. If you just told me. If you just said—" Something in his throat tightened ominously, and he quickly swallowed and said again "You didn't have to go."

Well I don't want a thing from you

I bet you're tired of me waiting

Val knew that the fate of the evening hung on whatever she chose to say next.

Across the table, Tyler waited, body tensed for a blow, eyes pleading. He wanted the reason why she left. He wanted the truth.

There was no way that she could break him like that. In the end, she had no choice but to lie.

For the scraps to fall off your table

To the ground

'Cause I just want to be here now

"Everything was just so…confused back then. I just thought, maybe, I could find a way to make everything easier. I thought—I thought that maybe if I left, that if I hurt you, that if you just hated me—I thought maybe that would make everything easier.

I just wanted to find a way for both of us to be happy. Because we couldn't be together…it would just hurt so much more if we still wanted to be together."

At times like this, eye contact remained essential. Staring at your hands was a sure-fire sign of dishonestly, so was fidgeting. It was a popular misconception that you looked more sincere with your head hung low and your hands twisted together.

"I was rash…I was eighteen, and just so stupid. And once I got over there, I knew that I was so wrong about everything. But it wasn't like I could fix it. It's not like I could go back and say sorry. And I know that me being here can't fix anything that I did in the past. I'm not here because I couldn't be eight years ago."

Val stared him straight in the eye, her voice stayed soft, tempo even.

"I'm here because I want to be here now."

Perfect delivery.

'Cause I am hanging on every word you say

And even if you don't wanna speak tonight

That's alright

Alright with me

His eyes softened, and the tension melted away from his shoulders as a smile, his first genuine one of the evening, radiated from his mouth to the corners of his eyes. Val released the breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding. He looked happy. Genuinely happy.

"This doesn't seem like closure." He said finally. "This conversation is—well I don't know what precisely…What are you saying?" Taken aback by the confrontation, she stuttered

"I—I know you said you wanted to walk—"

"Never mind what I said. I'm an idiot. I'd just been punched in the face—" he indicated at the still swollen area surrounding his cheekbone. "I may have been concussed, and was at any rate clearly not making wise decisions this morning anyway."

"I mean if you don't want to—"

"Don't want to what?!" he interrupted, growing just the tiniest bit impatient. She grinned at his enduring awkwardness, and as he glanced up at her, nervous and uncertain, Val felt something raw and feminine surge through her blood. She took up his hand again, felt the undeniable current that ran between their interlaced fingers.

And finally, finally, leaned across that immeasurable space of time, of distance, of circumstance that lay between them to softly plant a kiss on his lips.

Cause I want nothing more

Than to sit outside heaven's door

And listen to you breathing.

It's where I want to be.

This is where I wanna be.



P.S.: No promises. I know better now.

--M