Chapter 34

A/N: Hi, guys! Sorry I'm uploading just tonight, I tried typing this last night, but as I was almost done the browser deleted everything and shut itself down….. I was MAD. But apologies, anyway. I might be uploading a little less in the next few weeks, my co-writer and I have play rehearsal every day, getting later and later, and so we'll try to upload as much as possible! I also uploaded this story on Quotev, if anyone's interested in reading it on there.

By the way, I cried when I found out about the birth of Buzz Michelangelo Fletcher! :)

Blink's POV

I sling my bag uncomfortably on my shoulder, now weighed down by a set of push blades, an old sharpener, and some of the largest coffee pots I could find. I look up at the night sky, guessing it's about 8 o' clock, and start thinking about who I could mooch some bullets and new daggers from. I'm thinking about this, crossing an abundance of streets, and walking down several blocks before I hear a voice a ways away.

'Blink!'

'Huh?' I call as I turn around to see none other than the four guys of McFly standing outside what looks like a fancy restaurant, waving to me. I flash a smile at them and start walking towards them.

'Hi guys,' I say casually, shifting the bag on my shoulder a bit nervously.

'What's happenin', Blink?' Danny asks, his usual friendly self.

'Oh, I'm just running a few errands,' I look at them, hoping Dougie wouldn't notice I had used that excuse 50 times before. They nod, but don't say anything.

'So…' I try to make conversation, 'what are you guys doing out?'

'Oh, it's the last night before tour starts,' Tom explains, 'so we thought it would be good to get out of the house.' Dougie's face suddenly lights up after Tom finishes.

'Hey,' he comes closer to me, 'why don't you join us for dinner?' My face goes behind a wall of shock, but accompanied by warmth and a kind of niceness. I look at the other three, who seem to be agreeing.

'Yeah, why not?'

'We could use another friend for dinner.'

'Wouldn't hurt to have one more.'

My smile gets bigger, but I also feel a little more nervous. I've never really been out with Dodger and Sheen before, let alone other people. I look a little behind the guys at the front of the restaurant, which has large windows and a navy awning with a fancy French name written in loopy cursive. I then turn my eyes down to myself, looking at my tattered, muddy jeans and worn, thin sweatshirt. There's definitely more of a noticeable difference before me and the building. If we were words, we'd be used as examples for antonyms. They look towards the door and back at me, making me feel even more nervous. I've only been to a restaurant one or twice, and even then it was only places comparable to McDonalds. I rarely say yes to going out in the first place, even those ratty clubs, and now I'm under pressure to answer to a high-end French restaurant. Not to mention I'm dressed like a hobo – well, I am one – compared to guys, and probably every one else in the restaurant.

'Blink, you okay?' Dougie asks, sounding slightly concerned. It appears I've gained a worried expression, and I've zoned out for quite a while.

'Oh, yeah,' I reply, snapping out of my thoughts, 'it's just that... I'm a little underdressed for this place, don't you think?' Dougie's concern disappears and is replaced with a smile.

'Oh, not at all! It's only dinner!' And I'm pulled inside the restaurant, teeming with busy waitresses swarming around hungry, happy, and fancy customers.

'Table for five,' Tom says the hostess at the counter. She smiles quickly before leading us through the elegant maze and setting five menus down at a round table in the corner of the restaurant. We all take our seats, me flanked by Dougie on my right and Tom on my left, Danny on Dougie's right and Harry on Tom's left. I'm still adjusting my sweatshirt, and still clinging on to my bag.

'Miss?' The hostess asks. I shoot my head up warily. I'm too nervous and dirty for my own good. I nod. 'Yes?' She smiles and points at me. '

'Would you like me to take this for you?' It takes a few moments to realize she's not actually pointing to me, but more so my bag. As soon as this registers, I grip the duffel tighter and closer to me.

'Uh, no thanks,' I smile awkwardly. She nods before returning back to her station.

'Hey, what's in the bag, Blink?' Tom asks curiously. I drop the parcel on the floor.

'Oh, just clothing and stuff,' I kick the load under my chair. There's no way in hell I'm giving any hints that I have an assortment of fucking combat knives in a restaurant like this – or any place, for that matter.

We chat with each other, talking about tour ("I'm getting a laptop" "Great! Now I can see you every day") while various waiters come around to pour water, ask for drink water, and serve baskets or bread. Danny is munching on a sweetbread when our waitress floats over and… 'smiles' at us. She looks a bit off, like she doesn't belong in a French restaurant… kind of like me. I look her up and down as she takes out her notepad and pen, noticing many covered-up tattoos all over her, and multiple piercings left open due to the dress code. Even so, her black dress shirt's sleeves are rolled up, and it looks like she gave her pencil skirt… well, former pencil skirt a manual trim. In fact, she definitely did, since when she shifts her legs to balance her stance, I can see the bottom of some black garters, also not something most French restaurant waitresses wear. But she moves her leg again, and I suddenly catch a glimpse of...

No. Not in a restaurant like this, surely. She moves her leg again, and...

Sure enough. She has a silver J-Frame strapped to her garter. I snap my head back up at her impatient expression, trying to neutralize my own, hoping she hasn't noticed her mistake and my observation. Luckily, who doesn't and starts speaking to us like she's reading off a card.

'Hello,' she says, monotone, 'My name is Elizabeth, and I'll be serving you tonight. What would you like to order?' She looks at us impatiently. Even so, we take our orders ('Blink, you should get more than just that!') and she glides away, a sour air around her. Harry leans into us.

'Look's like Elizabeth's got somewhere to be,' he mutters in a light manner. 'What do you think she's up to?' Despite what I just saw, I decide to play along.

'Oh, definitely planning something,' I say.

'An evil plan, perhaps?' Danny chimes in.

'I bet you murder,' I say jokingly. ''Table Five must be exterminated immediately,'' I say, imitating her voice.

'Get the Turkey Basters ready,' Danny says sinisterly. We laugh at his comment, and are suddenly launched into a make-up story all about Elizabeth and her murderous whereabouts, with a side conversation between Tom and Danny about the different types of kitchen appliances and how to use them to your advantage when planning murder. It's a bit of a dark subject, but nevertheless quite fun. I've stopped adjusting my sweatshirt, and my feet aren't fiddling with my bag. We talk about all of these things until Elizabeth, the Turkey Baster Murderer, comes scowling along with our food, dropping it off and quickly leaving. We smirk at each other, dropping little jokes and giggling as she glides back into the kitchen; and then we turn to our food.

I've ordered nothing big or special, and I've gone for the cheapest option on the menu; I never knew simple Penne à la Vodka was so good. In fact, I barely really knew what it was. It did remind me of Sheen though; she would jump at the chance to try some just because it has the word "Vodka" in it, when it really doesn't have anything to do with the drink. Nevertheless, it was good.

'Are you sure you had enough to eat?' Dougie asks, 'You got a really small dish.' I brush off the comment with a wave of my hand.

'I'm fine,' I reply while stuffing in a mouthful, and leaving out the fact that I'm used to going days without food.

The seemingly (and probably actually) evil waitress comes back with the check, and I start to feel guilty that the guys are paying for my food, even though I couldn't even pay for it if I absolutely hhad to.

'Thanks for this guys, I promise I'll pay you back,' I assure them.

'No way!' Danny exclaims, 'We've treated you to dinner, you don't owe us anything.' This comment, though probably very self explanatory, confuses me. I've always thought you were supposed to pay someone back after they pay for you...

'But–' I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

'No buts,' He says mock sternly, playing a waggling finger at me. 'You're going to be treated and that's final!'

'Yeah,' Tom adds, 'We wouldn't make you pay for an unexpected meal. We invited you, anyway.'

I smile at the group. I never thought friends could be this great.

'Thanks, guys.'

After we pay and walk out of the restaurant, Danny sighs and says, 'finally out of the clutch of the Turkey Baster Murderer,' sending us into a fit of giggles and laughs.

'So, were you planning on going anywhere else? I ask. I love hanging out with the guys, but I really need to finish my errands.

'Nah,' Dougie says, 'We were just gonna go hang out a home, get rested for tomorrow. Want to come with?' He offers.

'No thanks,' I decline politely, 'I have–' I stop myself halfway through my own sentence, realizing this would probably be the 50th consecutive time I've told Dougie I have errands to run. Besides, it's getting late, who does that kind of stuff at 9:45 at night?

'I have to go home,' I finally finish before hugging each of the guys in turn, and getting a kiss on the cheek from Dougie. Walking away hastily, I call a 'bye' over my shoulder. I fiddle with the bag straps as I walk away to steal more things. I feel kind of guilty lying to Dougie all the time. Relationships are supposed to be about truth and trust (I think), and Dougie has basically broken down everything about himself to me, but I still don't have a better excuse to tell him when I have to rob.

I push the thoughts out of my head and focus on my task before I am too overwhelmed with guilt, and turn onto a route leading to a bank about 20 minutes away.

I have to start stealing again sooner or later.

I decide sooner.

Dougie's POV

We watch Blink walk away from us, playing with her bag, and as soon as she turns the corner, Harry leans in to me.

'I don't trust her.' I blink before snapping my head to him.

'What do you mean?' I ask, probably too urgently than intended. He shakes his head.

'I just think she's not telling us something about her, or something that she does...'

'Like what?'

'Well, uh…' He trails off, but I continue to push.

'What wouldn't she tell me?'

'That she's the Smiler,' He blurts out before even realizing that he even opened his mouth. I widen my eyes at his accusation. He blinks, anticipating my reaction. I take a breath. A big, deep breath.

'Are you serious?' He blinks again, obviously not expecting that reaction.

'What?'

'You're kidding, right?' I start to raise my voice. 'I mean– I mean, you can't actually be serious, right? Blink? The Smiler? Really?'

'Look, it's just too suspicious not to at least suspect her, Dougs!'

'How?'

'Well, for one, she knew the Smiler was a girl at that New Years Eve party–'

'That was ages ago.'

'She still knew. And she stopped in the middle of her sentence when she needed to 'go home'–'

'What is she was?'

'Oh, come on, Dougie, we both know she wasn't. And whenever you two were hanging out, and she had to leave; how many times did she say she had to go on an errand?'

'Well–'

'It just makes too much sense. She turned right when she walked away from us, she's walking, and a bank isn't too far from here, maybe twenty minutes… I gotta make a call.' I roll my eyes, grandly annoyed, and start walking towards our car.

'You're too paranoid, Haz.' But he doesn't respond – his mouth is full of words into his phone, saying 'increase the surveillance in the banks.

Right Now.'