Whenever Montague had something on his mind, he went for a drive.

No, seriously. It really helped. All he had to do was get into his vintage Thunderbird, turn on some Linkin Park, and boom. His mind went absolutely clear. After that, it was surprisingly easy to think deep thoughts.

And this evening, he had a lot on his mind.

Like his newly-expelled kid brother for one. Montague's forehead creased, once again struck by the absolute impossibility of the situation. Romeo. His brother. Sure, the little twerp could be annoyingly passionate about things (mostly girls and poetry), but Montague had never thought he might get into fights. One thing, at least, that he hadn't thought he'd needed to worry about.

And it wasn't like he minded Romeo giving some snobbish Prep a good kick in the rear. The thing was, Romeo hadn't just done that. Montague had seen Tybalt's face, and he'd almost felt sorry for the kid. Almost.

Montague punched the steering wheel angrily. Dang it, Romeo! Why the heck you'd have to do it? Just wait 'till Mom and Dad find out you've been living in my friend's brother's house! Their parents - out on some cruise somewhere - hadn't yet heard of the trouble their youngest son had gotten himself into. Montague doubted they'd be very happy, finding another school that met their expectations. Plus, they'd chew him out for "not keeping an eye on Romeo." Again.

Hang on. What was that?

Frowning, Montague turned down his music, and slowed the car. Somebody was walking down the sidewalk. Some girl, about his age. The emo's eyes widened, as the figure moved into the light of the street-lamp.

Slowing the Thunderbird to a crawl, he eased the car close to car. Lip curling in a smirk, he leaned out. "Hey, Capulet."

His rival raised her head. She looked exhausted, but she still managed to give him the evil eye. "Well, well, well. Look who's escaped from the freak-show."

Montague raise one pierced eye-brow. "Look who's talking. You look awful, princess."

Capulet's face flushed in the dark light. She seemed to be wearing pajama bottoms, over a pink sweatshirt. It looked oddly thrown together, a rarity for any prep, much less their ring-leader.

Capulet's eyes swept over her insulter's clothes, searching for a come-back. "Say's the guy who's wearing eye-liner. Tell me again how that's supposed to look good."

Annoyed, Montague ignored her question. "What're you doing out here, so far from you fan club?" He scanned the side-walk to make sure that his statement was correct. He hadn't seen anyone else, but you never knew with Capulet's kind. They could be hiding in the bushes, waiting to jump out, or something like that.

"My friends aren't here," Capulet said, pointedly. "And no, they didn't abandon me," she added, as the Emo opened his mouth. "I just need time to myself. You know, to think."

For the first time, Montague got a really good look at her face. The prep wasn't looking at him; her eyes roamed along the grey pavement. There were worry lines along her forehead, and she wasn't wearing make-up. Well, not as much as she usually did, anyways. With a jolt, Montague remembered what the news had been at school.

Capulet's little sister, Juliet, had been found unconscious in an ally. Montague never paid attention to gossip, but you'd have to be deaf not to hear about this. Heck, the deaf probably had heard about it, it was that big.

The Junior hadn't given the whole thing much thought - it wasn't his problem. But seeing Capulet now, without her friends, and looking so rumpled, he was suddenly struck by the reality of the situation.

"Your sister?", he asked softly.

Startled at his tone of voice, Capulet looked up. A thousand jabs raced into her head, ways to trip up her rival. But for some reason, she couldn't get them out. Instead she swallowed, and looked down. "Yeah. Julie."

There was a silence, broken only by the sound of Montague's old car, and his strange music. Capulet scuffed her toe across the pavement, the tips of her short boots scraping against the grey surface. Finally, she said, "I never expected it, you know? I mean, she always seemed so put together. I mean, she seemed kind of depressed after what happened to Tybalt, but I-I just...never..."

"Well, uh, she might not have. I mean, somebody could have done something..." Montague trailed off, as Capulet squeezed her eyes shut. She looked suddenly like she was about to cry. Dang it! Why'd you have to say that, idiot?

"I just don't know!" Capulet's voice was soft, but cracked. Her face looked like it was about to break. "I don't know why anyone would want to hurt her, and I d-don't want to think sh-she...she'd want to..." She broke off, swallowing, leaving an uncomfortable gap in the conversation.

Montague sighed. Leaning over, he shoved open the door to the back seat. "Get in."

The prep looked up, startled. "Excuse me?"

Montague could already feel his face start flaming. What the heck was he thinking? What would his friends say? Still, he didn't shut the door. "I said, get it. We're wasting gas."

He watched Capulet's face shift from disbelief to suspicion. Good. Now she was acting more like the Capulet he knew and hated. Watching her almost break down in front of him had unnerved him more then he cared to admit.

"Why?"

The emo turned back toward the front. "We're going to pay your sister a little visit."

Capulet's eye brows shot up. "What? Why'd you want to do that?"

Uh... Montague didn't really know. But he couldn't tell his rival that. "Wouldn't want you to kill your nice boots, walking all that way."

Her expression hardened, and her sadness receded deeper inside her. They stood for a long moment, two bitter enemies, staring each other down. Just as it had always been. Only this time, the conflict was something deeper then different interests.

Then, quite suddenly, Capulet swung herself through the car door, and arranged herself elegantly on the faded back-seat. "Nobody must know about this, understood?"

Montague gave her a look in the review mirror. "Honestly, Princess, what makes you think I'd want people to know?" He spun the steering wheel, and the Thunderbird pulled away from the curb. "How do you feel about Linkin Park?"

"Never heard them. Why?"

The emo didn't answer, just turned up the music. The song Breaking the Habit spun though the air behind them.

I don't know what's worth fighting for
or why I have to scream.

I don't know why I instigate,
and say what I don't mean.

I don't know how I got this way,
I'll never be alright.

So I'm breaking the habit, breaking the habit,

Tonight.