She sat in her inventing room, unable to focus on anything other than the tangle in her throat. She held her siblings' letters in her hands, feeling the signatures with the pads of her fingers, allowing herself to feel the pain that seared through her with each one, watching Sunny's signature change from a scrawled shape to carefully traced letters. This would be the hardest part-the before. She imagined it would be like pulling a tooth; once she pushed through the horrific pain, she would be able to move along and begin to heal.

She folded the letters back into a neat pile, staring at them, realizing suddenly that at some point she would have to pack, decide what she was going to bring with her. She glanced about the room emptily. The only other thing she cared for was the garden, and she couldn't take that with her. She pulled her ribbon from her hair, resigned to complete ineffectiveness for the rest of the day. She was too turbulent to achieve anything.

She didn't want to begin following him again, but she felt desperately lonely. She walked out of the room quietly, searching him out. She found him exactly where she had left him, in his chair in the entrance parlor. She walked up behind him, peering over his shoulder.

"Are you spying on me again?"

She paused, surprised he had known she was there, "No. I mean, I mean no, I-"

"Calm down, I don't care." There was a smile in his tone. She hesitated then walked around the chair quietly, still looking at the papers in his hand.

"What are those?"

"Papers." His tone was distracted.

"Yes, but about what? What are you always working on?"

He looked up at her, "Why the sudden interest?"

She shrugged, feigning indifference, "You're always working on something, I figured it was about time I learned what."

He raised his eyebrow but managed to avoid the nagging glee from overspilling his countenance. Gingerly, he shifted over, gesturing towards the arm of the chair. She perched upon it, balancing her weight with her arm across the back. He held the papers up, gesturing to to the one on top.

"How much of this makes sense to you?"

She glanced across it. It was similar to the letter he had given her for the Quagmires. It seemed to say a lot, but at the same time, everything it said seemed like nonsense. She hesitated.

"I mean, I understand all the sentences separately, but together they doesn't seem to have much coherence." He nodded slowly, watching her expression.

"That's because you don't know how to read it."

She paused, taken aback, "Did you just accuse me of being unable to read?"

"No, look, it's like this," he placed the paper down, holding his hands in front of him as if to grasp an invisible box, "almost everything you encounter has been encoded in some way. You can know it has meaning, but that doesn't change the fact that you are unable to garner that meaning unless you have the key to understanding."

"So those papers, they're all… in code?"

"For the most part, yes. Not all the same code, but they all have coded aspects."

She lifted the papers hesitantly, waiting to see if he would rebuke her, but when he didn't react she continued, sifting through them.

"This one is a play." She lowered the papers to meet his eyes.

He smirked at her, something close to pride in his gaze, "Correct."

"So…" she paused, calculating, "all of those plays-"

"I knew you were dangerously clever." He took the papers back from her, a conspiratory contentment in his voice.

"So you're… not an actor?"

He scoffed, taken aback, "Well don't take it that far. I'm still a handsome and talented thespian. Just because it happens to be a convenient method of information sharing doesn't change that."

"Why are you telling me this now?" She felt nervous, no, not nervous, terrified. How could she know him for four years and only be gaining this information now? He shrugged, indifferent to her internal panic.

"How was I supposed to trust you? It's more convenient for me if you to find out information in the least helpful order possible. It keeps my skills relevant."

"Then why tell me at all?" He paused, thinking.

"I've made the executive decision to trust you with this particular bit of information. Don't flatter yourself, there are still libraries worths of information you don't have yet, but I am giving you this bit-"

"As a gesture of goodwill, I know." She had lifted the papers up again and was skimming them, trying to make head or tail of it. He nodded, reclining back, watching her expression. Her eyes were black holes as they darted across the paper rapidly, trying to soak it all in. Silly girl, had she really not realized before now that he wasn't a complete imbecile? Even after all this, she still underestimated him. He smirked to himself, somewhat amused by that. No matter, she would come to recognize his genius in time.

"So you can read this?" She held the paper up, incredulous. He cocked his eyebrow.

"Are you asking me now if I can read?"

Her expression fell in annoyed disbelief, "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I can read that."

"Then what does it say?"

"It says 'Be careful, your wife is short and nosey.'" She glared at him.

"There's no need to be an ass."

"It also says to watch you language," he trailed his finger across a random line, "or else your husband might cut out your tongue."

"Empty threats." He resented her cool tone.

"Are you sure? It says it right there." He gestured at the paper again.

"You wouldn't cut out my tongue, you're much too fond of it." He cocked his head to the side, nodding, yielding the point with a shrug.

"Oh my god, I meant talking, you heinous man!" She shoved him roughly. He straightened up again, snatching the papers back from her.

"A freudian slip, perhaps."

"That is not how freudian slips work."

"Are you certain?"

"I am positive."

"Why don't we take a look at yours, just to be sure." He grabbed her, a lilting smile in his voice. She shoved him again, knocking herself to the floor in the process. She stood up with a huff.

"You absolute bastard."

He clicked his tongue, "Language. And here we are, come full circle. Care to join me for another round? See what comes up this time?"

She lifted her hands to the sides of her face, tremendously agitated but unable to formulate a string of words biting enough.

"So when were you planning on telling me about all of this?"

He raised his eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"The coded letters, when were you going to tell me?"

"Oh," he looked down to the papers, "are we back on these now?"

"Yes we're 'back on those now!'" She gestured towards them, exasperated.

He shrugged, "Quite frankly, I wasn't going to."

"You weren't WHAT?"

"I didn't consider it information you needed."

"So why tell me at all?"

"Well, you asked."

"What else is information I, quote unquote, 'don't need'?"

He shrugged again, obviously bewildered, "I don't know, the finer points of microeconomics? Literally any one of those stories you insist upon reading? How to change a tire? Listen, I don't know what information will become relevant in your life."

"And let me guess, it's all relevant to yours?"

"Well yes, otherwise I wouldn't have it."

"And me marrying you doesn't entitle me to that?"

He scoffed, "First of all, I married you, let's get that straight. Second of all, no, not at all."

She threw up her hands, "Fine. You know what? Whatever. You keep your damn secrets and see if I care." She turned to leave but then pivoted back to face him, "This has been a tremendous waste of time."

He didn't look up, re-immersed in his papers, but raised a single hand to wave goodbye, "Alright, well then, see you again in ten minutes when you get bored of not spying on me."

She didn't reply, too busy stalking off in an angry huff.

..

...

..

AN-

And we're back after a brief Easter hiatus!

If I'm doing my job right, the amount of questions you have now should be distinctly disproportionate to the amount of answers.

Almost there, dear Heathens. There's not much further now...

Cheers.