Treacherous

Disclaimer: I do not own the Total Drama series or anything else copyrighted.

A/N: I know it's been a week since I updated, but I've had a lotof unforeseen occurrences take place in my personal life recently, and for that I apologize. I should be updating frequently again, and I LOVE this chapter, so if you're still here, you're in for a real treat. I also wanted to take this moment to clarify two things about the last chapter - 1) I messed up the timeline accidentally! Courtney meets Duncan on SATURDAY, the 17TH of November, NOT Friday the 16th (this is 2007 people, in case you're a super nerd like me and want to know). She spends the night at his place, and returns home on the Sunday morning. Sorry if that confused y'all! and 2) I'm assuming that Duncan gets tattoos between Island and Action and that the Fresh TV artists just didn't want to have to keep drawing them on him for two separate reasons - Courtney refers to Duncan as a "tattooed bad boy" in TDA, and they both get heart tats on their arms together before All Stars that mysteriously disappear, and I really doubt they would have had them removed so quickly. Plus, I like the whole tat thing - it's so Duncan! Alright, done blabbing, please read and review! Love, Callie, mwah!

Chapter 13 – Call It What You Want

I sat on my bed Monday evening staring at my cell phone. The ball was in my court, I knew it. I internally chastised myself for not giving Duncan my number at some point on the island or leaving it on the Post-It note I left for him the day before. My fingers twisted around the small scrap of paper in my hand with ten numbers scrawled out on it. I found it in one of the outer pockets of my suitcase the day I got home from camp, when I was checking every inch of it to make sure I hadn't brought any roaches home. I figured he must've slipped it in there the night he stayed with me in the cabin, and I had kept it tucked away in a box deep under my bed, along with the skull he had carved for me and my boxed set of Total Drama DVDs that had been sent to me when the show finished airing, complements of the producers. I had fished the paper out with the intention of calling him over half an hour ago, and I had yet to pluck up the courage to do so.

I spent most of Sunday, the day before, getting a head start on the week's homework and practicing violin – there was a brand new one, the same make and model as my old Strad, sitting on my bed waiting for me when I had returned home. That was the only acknowledgment my parents had given me that they watched the show. Each time I worked Bridgette into a conversation or mentioned any slight detail about my time on the show, my father would grind his teeth and my mother would cluck disapprovingly. It was clear that in their eyes, I had wasted a summer pivotal to my college applications and brought the wrong kind of attention to our already well-known family. So I gave up trying to talk to them about it, and resigned to speaking only when spoken to about grades, extracurriculars, and country club gossip.

Maria, our housemaid, was a different story. She was around the house every week day from nine in the morning until seven at night, typically when my parents arrived home from work. When I returned home from the show, she was quick to tell me that she'd watched every episode, and proceeded to describe them in detail, despite the fact that I had actually been there witnessing the events as they happened. She had also pressed me in detail to talk about Duncan, asking if we were still together and how I felt about it all. When I told her it was a summer fling and asked her not to push, she eased off, but it did take a few weeks.

I came home from school early on Monday – lacrosse practiced had been cancelled due to half the team and both coaches out sick – and Maria was there to greet me per usual, wiping down the stovetop.

"Hola, chica. I made chocolate chip cookies, on the counter if you want some."

"No, thanks," I replied casually. My stomach was still in knots thinking about two nights before.

At this response, she perked up and sauntered over to me, placing one hand on her hip and grabbing my jaw with the other lightly, analyzing my face with scrutiny. "No galletas? But you love chocolate chip!"

"I'm just not hungry," I said hurriedly, moving my face out of her hand with a slight turn of my chin.

She dropped her hand, but pursed her lips. I refused to meet her gaze.

"Okay, mija. Sit." She pointed to the couch, and I sighed, doing as I was told. She took a seat beside me. I could have walked straight into my room, but Maria was stubborn; she would pester me about it for weeks if I didn't tell her what was going on. And we were close, too. She had partially raised me, and had been a motherly figure to me in ways that my own biological mother was not. I trusted her. "Que paso?"

I looked at her for a few moments before answering, trying to figure out if I wanted to tell her a complete lie, a half-truth, or everything. I settled for the second. "Duncan's here."

Her head whipped up as she looked around quickly. "Here? Now? Ay, dios mios, I should have made more galletas . . ."

I contained my urge to laugh, as my hands moved to her wrist, bringing her attention back to me. "No, no, not here here, God. He moved here. He lives in Carleton Place now."

"Oh, I see. So you know this how, mija?"

I hesitated before answering. "I saw him Saturday."

"Oh, mija!" She smirked and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop that!" I smacked her arm lightly.

"Si, si, okay, okay!" She smiled. "You know what this means, si?"

"What does it mean, Maria?" I asked, fighting an eye-roll.

"Fate is pushing you two back together!" She exclaimed excitedly.

This time I did roll my eyes. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is, mija. You wait and see."

"Fine, whatever," I responded, getting up and preparing to head to my room.

"Ay, don't you 'whatever,' me!" she said sternly, standing up as well.

"Lo siento, Maria," I apologized sincerely. She always appreciated when I spoke Spanish back to her. I wasn't totally fluent, but between growing up with Maria as a nannie and getting a 5 on the AP Spanish exam the previous Spring, I was very comfortable with the language.

She grabbed my face in her hands and kissed my forehead sweetly. She pulled back and fixed my bangs a bit before letting me go.

"So when will I get to meet him?" she asked, just as I was turning the corner of the hallway that lead to my room.

I scoffed, and turned back around to face her, an incredulous look on my face. "If you think I'm ever bringing him back here, you really are loca."

She let out a little 'Tut' accompanied by a smile, and returned to her housework.

-/-/-

"Come on, Courtney, just do it." I picked up the phone, but paused my attempts to call him again. Was it completely foolish to put out so quickly? What if that was all he wanted, to get into my pants, and now he was onto the next conquest? Though my heart told me it wasn't true, the paranoid voice in my head was much louder.

I took a deep breath, then tried again. What's the worst that could happen? I thought. He blows me off, and I never see him again. Isn't that what I wanted at one point? After a few more minutes of running over my thoughts again and again, I thought, Fuck it. And with that sentiment, I dialed and hit the call button.

It rang three times, and just when I was beginning to freak out about whether or not to leave a message, he answered. "Hello?"

He sounded aggravated, and I reminded myself that he would have picked up to an unknown caller, and that his annoyance had nothing to do with me, before I could chicken out and hang up.

"Hey, it's me." I was surprised at how casually the words fell out of my mouth, considering my heart was racing a mile a minute.

"Princess!" His tone of voice changed entirely, and I beamed. Memories of meeting him in the fish cabin on Wawanakwa sprang to mind, and I closed my eyes to momentarily relive them.

"You're lucky I cleaned my suitcase out so thoroughly, you know? Otherwise I'd never have found your number."

He scoffed. "You're lucky it was my number. What if Harold or Tyler had slipped theirs in there? Then you'd be in real trouble."

I laughed, and he spoke again. "What took you so long? Another day and I would've looked you up in the yellow pages – and I don't think 'Ottawa's most esteemed city councilor' would have exactly appreciated a call from me."

"Wow, somebody knows how to use Google," I joked, but my heart swelled in my chest. His voice was still teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity to it. The black hole comprised of nothing but fear and doubt in the pit of my stomach exploded into a garden of butterflies. I pushed past it. "And I'm shocked that you even know what a phone book is."

"What can I say, Dad's a dinosaur," he said. I was about to respond, but he cut me off. "Hey – what are you doing right now?"

"Right now?" I bit my lip and looked over to my alarm clock. It was nearing six. "I don't know, I'm supposed to practice my violin, and I have this AP Macro project I should work on, not to mention – "

He cut me off again. "Come hang out with me."

I scoffed. "It's official. You never listen to me."

He sighed. "You're a great violin player, you don't need to practice, and I bet your school project isn't due for another week. So come hang out with me."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, you know."

"But I'm right aren't I?"

I bit my cheek and stayed silent.

He took this as a yes. "Okay, so, come hang out with me."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Okay, want me to meet you at your place?"

"You know, I can practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone," he laughed.

"Well, you're wrong because I didn't –"

"And now you're pretending you didn't because you don't want to admit I'm right for a second time tonight." I could picture the grin he was wearing as I fumed, wondering why I had fallen for the most annoying person on the planet. "You're way too easy to read, Court."

"Do you want me to meet you at your place or not?" I asked aggressively, ready to take my bat home.

"Definitely not," he responded, but before the shock set in, he added, "It's not a real date unless I pick you up."

I glanced at the clock again. 5:55. "Okay, but you better book it. If my dad catches a whiff of you even a mile from here, you're a goner."

"On it, babe. See you in thirty." And then he hung up.

After twenty-five minutes of trying on my entire wardrobe, I settled with part of what I was originally wearing: a grey tank top and skinny jeans. I swapped out my flats out for a pair of combat boots I found in the back of my closet and threw on an old blue and grey flannel I had dug up rather than the blush sweater I was wearing over the top beforehand. I left the flannel undone and surveyed my reflection.

I looked much grungier than I was used to and smiled a little as I teased my hair a bit. I looked . . . cool. There was no other word to describe it. It was unsettling in one sense; I didn't really feel like me. But in another, I would fit with Duncan. We would still look a little odd, no doubt, but the space between the two of us would feel smaller. And if we went to another dive bar, I wouldn't stick out half as much.

The doorbell rang, and I jumped and ran to it before Maria could answer in my place. She raised her eyebrows at me, and before I opened it, I turned to her. "Don't tell."

"Ay, mija, it's not my place to know." She winked at me, and disappeared into another room.

I opened the door and there was Duncan, smirking as he looked me up and down. He opened his mouth to say something, but I grabbed his arm and dragged him to his car. "No time, but I'll assume whatever you were about to say was especially witty."

We were out of the neighborhood and flying down the highway in minutes.

"Dressed more like the pauper today, princess. What gives?" he said smugly, his eyes drifting from the road to look over at me.

I huffed as my cheeks turned red. "Using a literary reference, ogre? What gives?"

He grinned. "Seventh grade English, babe."

"And you actually read it? I'm impressed."

"Well, if reading the Spark Notes counts . . ."

"And . . . impression revoked."

We continued driving, him going much too fast, me nagging him to slow down, for a good twenty minutes before he pulled off on the side of a back road. He got out of the car, and I followed suit, crossing my arms as I approached him. It was dark out, but he left the headlights on.

"Where are we?" I asked, a little irritated that I was once again completely at his own disposal.

He ignored my question and walked a good twenty meters ahead, me tailing him the whole time – until he sat down on a set of train tracks.

"What are you doing?" I half-yelled. This was certainly no place to stop for a breather.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Sitting."

"You can't just . . . just sit on a train track! That's so dangerous!" Here I was on a so-called 'date' with the most idiotic person on the planet.

He rolled his eyes. "No, it isn't, princess." And then he proceeded to kick back, throwing his hands behind his head.

I unconsciously moved closer. "Oh yeah? What if a train comes?"

"Then, I move."

"What if it comes fast?"

"Then, I move fast."

"What if you can't hear it?"

"You know, I'd have a much higher chance of hearing it if you would stop your yacking for two seconds."

I gasped. "Really? I'm trying to save your godforsaken life, and there you go, once again, and – ahh!" He leaned up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me down on top of him, trapping me in his embrace. "What the hell, Duncan?"

"What?" he asked, batting his eyes and attempting to feign innocence, all the while keeping his grip ever tight around me.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I squirmed in his grip looking for a way to break loose.

"Relax for two seconds, princess, and just go with the flow for once. It's exciting. Like a mini rush." I could feel his warm breath on my face. It smelled of Listerine with a hint of metal. It was so him.

"I'll go with the flow the minute you stop acting like a crazy person." I didn't give up my efforts to get him to release me, however futile they then seemed.

"One minute of relaxing, and I'll put you down. Promise."

I stopped squirming. "Fine." I said curtly, and began counting in my head. If a train came in the next sixty seconds, I made my peace with the fact that it probably meant this was my time to go. It was what I deserved for being so completely stupid as to trust a convict.

Over the next minute, however, I found myself really and truly de-stressing. It was quiet enough that I could hear crickets chirp, so the possibility of not hearing a train coming was slim to none. And it was kind of a rush. Adrenaline shot through my veins both as I took in my surroundings and my compromising position with Duncan. He noticed my attention lock in on him, and he moved to close the gap in between our lips, his arms falling slack around me.

"And sixty." I finished the count I had long forgotten and rolled off of him before he could make contact. I turned to sit cross-legged in front of him, moving off the train tracks, but choosing to sit in the middle of them rather than on the outside.

He groaned, but sat up and mimicked my position, his whole body mirroring mine, with the sole difference being that he was on top of the tracks. "You're missing out on the experience, Court."

"I'm fine right where I am, thank-you," I replied curtly, but I couldn't help but smile.

"Do you ever get tired of running away?" He asked the question quickly, teasingly, but even I could hear the exasperated truth behind the words. The accusation. My face dropped, and he blanched, realizing what he had just said. "Courtney, I didn't mean – I don't –"

"I'm not." I whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of the nature surrounding us. "I'm not running away."

We looked at each other intently for a few moments, until I pressed my mouth against his. We stayed like that for a while, him letting me lead for once. My lips kissed his lightly, delicately, softly. The kiss wasn't hungry or passion-driven, like most others we had shared, nor short and sweet, like our first. It was a dance of trust and uncertainty, assuredness and vulnerability. His lips followed mine in a subdued veneration. A stark contrast in our dynamic from my usual role of response, I was taking the lead, letting him know that this was okay, that I was okay, that I wanted to move forward, despite my reservations. I was treading shark-infested waters, but it was my own choice. And his compliance in that moment was his unspoken promise not to attack or take advantage of my vulnerability. He understood my fears, my doubts, the position he was putting me in, the choices I would have to make, even in the smallest degree. And all at once I was taken aback by how wonderfully and perfectly we were suited to each other at our cores, far underneath the superficial layers that surrounded us that could not have been more different.

When I pulled away, my head was spinning, and he had a dazed look in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes to his pocket, but the smile on his lips didn't fade. "I, um, I got you something."

I tilted my head curiously, and he snuck a glance at me before looking back down and speaking more quickly. "It's not much, I know you're probably used to diamonds and pearls, but the skull was kind of a placeholder until I could get back home to give you this."

His palm returned from his pocket, and he opened it to reveal a silver heart shaped locket. I gingerly lifted it, and brought it up to my face for closer inspection. In the top left corner, it was engraved with a tiny letter D, so small it was barely visible. "It was my grandma's. My grandad gave it to her when they first came over from Italy. Her name is Donnie, hence the 'D,' but when I turned fifteen, she gave it to me." He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, as I twirled it, watching the heart catch different beams of light. "She said something about wanting me to give it to the right girl . . . I don't know. I didn't really think about it for a while. Until I . . . met . . . you." His voice trailed off at the end; he was not used to being so sappy.

When I flipped the locket open, I gasped softly. It was a tiny photo of the two of us, our backs pressed up against each other, the night we stood on the deck of the Bass cabin, right before I turned him around and pulled him into our first kiss. The intimacy of the moment was striking, and for the first time, I was glad that we had it caught on camera, even if we had to share it with the entire viewing nation.

"You don't have to keep it if you don't want it, I mean, you don't really wear a lot of jewelry, and –" He was stumbling over words now, but I cut him off.

"Put it on me," I instructed, as I undid the catch and leaned in close.

He did as I asked, reaching both hands around my neck and closing the clasp. It fell in the middle of my cleavage, just long enough to be tucked away, but keeping it hidden was the last thing on my mind at the time. He dropped his hands to his lap, and I moved mine to touch the heart delicately. I looked up to see him watching me intently, and smiled.

"We match," I said quietly, running a finger over his eyebrow ring. "It's your favorite color, right? Piercing silver."

His smile that followed was the most starry-eyed I had ever seen.