Sorry for the late update, y'all...and even more, sorry for the upcoming drama you'll be seeing in the next few chapters. It's gonna hurt...ALMOST as much as the continuous headache I had for going on three weeks. (Hopefully that'll calm down now that I've hacked off almost all my hair again. Went from waist-length to chin length, so that's a lot of weight to lose with it.)
Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter (filler-ness aside...) and look forward to hearing from ya! As promised, this chapter dedicated to AmelessUnderworld for posting the 100th review on this story! Thanks, Hon! :D

A Helluva lot of Suggested Listening: My Chemical Romance "The Light Behind Your Eyes," Plumb "Don't Deserve You," The Beatles "In My Life," We are Harlot "Someday," The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus"Your Guardian Angel"


49: The Only Constant is Change

Wednesday, October 26th

Date: 11.9.2016

Time: 17:45:05

A. O'Brien had a restless night, woke hourly from night terrors, and could not bring herself to discuss them. Over the past 5.5 weeks, she has experienced a drastic increase in symptoms, including several that were previously improving. 57% increase in night terrors and nightmares. 49% increase in panic attacks. 74% increase in intrusive memories and flashbacks. 60% increase in anxiety and depression, and 74% increase in survivors' guilt-related symptoms. At this time, there has been no increase in alcohol or caffeine consumption, but she has been experiencing increased fatigue due to nightly dreams of the world she left behind.

Donatello stared down at Amber's chart silently, contemplating the words before him in resignation. Many years had passed since he last felt so useless—so helpless—and it wasn't a feeling he liked reliving. A faint whimper at the darkened end of the lab drew his attention. The exhausted woman tucked into the Lab's spare cot thrashed in her sleep, mumbling incoherently at what was surely another dream of her loved ones falling apart.

She was already sleeping poorly to start with, thanks to all the caffeine and anxiety. Now, she was lucky to get an hour or two between nightmares of the world she left behind. Donnie's eyes softened in regret, taking in the weariness evident in his lover's sleeping face; only 5:45 in the afternoon and Amber was already so exhausted she didn't even have the energy to argue when he insisted she take a nap. If she were anyone else, this mightn't have been cause for worry, but Amber was stubborn at heart when it came to her own well-being. It was something they had in common, but like her, he was a bit overprotective of those he cared for—he'd rather tick her off than let her drive herself into the ground.

"Aar'n," the sleeping brunette muttered thickly, thrashing back and forth as though fighting something her ninja lover couldn't see. "No—no, gi'way—com'way fra ther—com'way a'reddy!"~ Without hesitation, Donnie abandoned her chart for the moment and crept over to the cot, gently brushing her hair out of her face and trying to soothe her. The sleeping brunette latched onto him for dear life, still arguing in sleep-thick words with someone she left behind. In all his life, Donatello had rarely felt more useless than he did at that moment.

He could protect Amber from herself, but how could he protect her from her dreams? How could she conquer her fears when those fears were so closely tied to her lost loved ones—loved ones she would never see again? No matter how he searched and scoured, the silence had no answers.


'Wilson's Creek' has run through the heart of Willsdale since before the town even came to be. Never more than waist deep during the dry seasons and remarkably clean, the 'crick' always been a favorite for local youth wanting to cool off in the summer heat.

It is not summer…it's late winter in Willsdale and Wilson's Creek is a death trap. After a short rainy autumn and even rainier early winter, the creek is at its deepest, nearly six feet deep in places. Ice covers the surface of the water, but a scant half-inch below the surface, the water is still running, sluggish and barely above freezing. Every local with half a brain knows to stay away from the creek in Wintertime—knows that the muddy banks freeze and grow slippery and that the slightest pressure would cause the ice to shatter and send everything atop it into the swollen and freezing waters. Many a life have been claimed by the creek in the winter time, and many are those who've chosen that route out of despair.

Knowing all this only worries Amber more…after all, Aaron Willis has no reason to be out on the banks of Wilson's Creek in winter, much less alone. The woods around the creek is silent, still, and the blond's halfhearted mumblings seem loud in the silence. "I've been tryin', Amber," he admits aloud staring into the murky green water below the ice. "I swear, I' been tryin'…it just—it ain't gettin' any better…it's jus' gettin' worse." He reaches up to his overgrown and unkempt blonde curls and harshly ruffles them, heaving a sigh. "I lost you…I lost Ross…you two were—were everythin' to me…how can I keep going on like this?"

"You have to try, Willis," Amber urges softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder but flinching when her hand just passes right through it. "Please…ya gotta keep goin' on—ya gotta keep livin' without us!"

"Yer Mom says it's my fault, ya know," he adds without any sign he heard her…after all, he can't hear her. "She says I should'a kept a closer eye on ya—that I should never'a let ya out'a my sight, should'a made ya go home to'er—"

"Mum's full'a shite, Willis," Amber snaps trying with everything she has to get her hands on something, anything, just to show him she's there. "Don't listen to'er—My death wasn't yer fault, it was all mine." Her fingers pass through another slimy rock, and she huffs in frustration.

"Sometimes…sometimes I feel you," Aaron admits weakly, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Sometimes it's like I can hear you—can feel your presence or the way you used to smack me upside the head when I talked shit." What she'd give to be able to smack him upside the head now… "Are you still here? Are you really here with me, or am I—am I losin' it?"

Amber turns to unleash another reprimand he won't hear but freezes…his eyes, bright blue and never trained on the same target, are swollen, red, and brimming with tears she knows he'd never have cried before. Old salt stains trail down his unshaven cheeks and vanish into his coarse reddish winter beard. No…Aaron Willis wouldn't…surely he… No matter how she argues it with herself, she knows the truth. He lost both his best friends—both his partners in crime—and as if that wasn't enough, he may even have lost his home in the same storm that destroyed hers. This Aaron is nothing like any other she ever saw before because he has suffered more than the Aaron she knew ever did. He's depressed, heartbroken, lost, and unpredictable…The Aaron she knew would never lose himself so completely that he'd never find his way out.

The only ones who go to Wilson's Creek in the winter time go there because they don't want to leave. Now, Aaron Willis, heartbroken and desperate, stares down into the murky water below the thin ice, his bloodshot eyes resigned and his knuckles white on his legs. Amber protests—pleads for him to see sense—flails about trying to get her hands on anything to prove her presence and fails every time. As the world fades into stabbing shades of black and grey, Aaron slowly stands, reluctantly shuffling away from the half-frozen river. He is safe…but for how long will he remain so?

The living never hear the demands of the dead…the dead can never defend the living, not even from themselves.


By the time Amber realized where the screaming was coming from, she was already tucked into Donnie's arms and sobbing into his shoulder. It took a while before she could fight off the tears—before she could get out a single word that wasn't a sob—but finally, she managed. He didn't ask what happened—this wasn't a new situation, after all—instead, he did everything else he could. He held her, shushed her, petted her mussed hair and rubbed her back, and whispered promises that she knew he couldn't keep. He couldn't make this better, no matter how he tried…nothing could make it better.

"Are you alright now?" he asked softly when it became clear she couldn't speak. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Amber's eyes burned, and she shook her head.

"No," she admitted hoarsely, "I'm not alright…and there's nothing anyone can do." The genius struggled to swallow back his helplessness, fought back his despair at the emptiness of his lover's eyes. He heard the name she woke up screaming—heard plain and clear that she was dreaming about Aaron Willis again and saw just as plainly how torn apart she was by the dream. If this dream was like so many others of late, he was sure Aaron was falling apart, perhaps even in danger. What hurt was that Amber wouldn't tell him about it—she never really confessed her dreams about Aaron, only the ones about her family, and though he was sure it was nothing, Donnie wondered what that could mean. She met him less than a year ago…but she grew up with Aaron Willis. A lifetime was plenty of time to fall in love with someone…

"There's no burnin' there." The unexpected statement startled Donnie back to himself, and he found Amber staring him down seriously.

"Pardon?" She scoffed at his confusion, gingerly reaching up to cup his cheek; he reached up to cover her hand with his own, searching her eyes for answers.

"Aaron and I are friends," she explained seriously, "nearly family…he an' Mercy an' I were almost inseparable…now he's all alone…he never did well with bein' alone. I love'im, Dee, jus' like I love Mercy, an' Mikey, an' Leo, an' Dahd…" She wrinkled her nose. "…maybe even Raph…jury's still out, I might just wanna hit'im."

"You love my family and your friends," Donnie repeated slowly but decided to leave his question unasked. She was a mess right now…she didn't need to be pushed. After all, he'd never told her as much in words, either…she'd tell him when she was ready…

"…an' you too." Three small words—only three tiny, insignificant words—how those three words made his heart stutter! Eyes wide in astonishment, fingers trembling against hers, he searched her expression for any reason to question what he thought he heard. His lips felt dry enough to crack and his tongue dipped out to wet them but it did no good.

"A-Are…are you…" He shook his head, forcing a swallow and trying not to get his hopes up. Finally, after weeks of being tormented by near-constant dreams and disasters, Amber smiled—granted, it was a small, crooked smile and her eyes were watering, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Donatello, ya silly braw speccy,"~ she teased gently. "Do ya really think I'd be so stubborn about ya if I didn't love ya? If I didn't, I wouldn't be here—I wouldn't be tryin' so hard to do this right…" She winced, turning to stare down at the rumpled sheets and releasing his cheek. "I told ya before," she reminded, ashamed, "I made some mistakes in my other life. I had a lotta exes, an' I didn't really love any of'em—it was just physical, emotions were a deal-breaker from the start…when your heart's already taken but yer hormones drive ya crazy, you can make some pretty big mistakes." She nervously met his eyes again, seeming to consider her words and carefully arrange them before she spoke them. "You're worth takin' it slow…sometimes I wonder if ya grew out'a spores like a mushroom, but yer everythin' to me…I love ya, Donnie."

Grew from spores like a mushroom?! The phrase stunned him and his teeth clacked shut in surprise. Granted, it sounded like just another of her odd, off-the-wall teases—they both had many equally ridiculous teases and nicknames for one another after all—but something about the phrase sounded familiar. He was sure she'd never said that since she arrived in January…but something about the words tickled from the litany of forgotten—then remembered—dreams about her. Instead of acknowledging the coincidence, though, he bent to steal her lips in a slow, tender kiss, forcing away the realization until he could more closely examine it.

"Te quoque amo, Dearest."* Sure enough, she stared up at him in confusion, one eyebrow arching up almost to her hairline. "No? Perhaps ti amo anch'io?"* A sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips at her complete and absolute befuddlement. "Je t'aime aussi?* Watashi mo anata o aishitemasu?"*

"English, Donnie," Amber grumbled, "or so help me, I'll start spittin' Gran'Da's Gaelic at ya so fast ya'll spinbloody smart-arsed polyglot." He wasn't intimidated—she already confessed once before that her memory of Gaelic was spotty at best and her grammar obnoxiously flawed. Content that he'd sufficiently teased her for the time being, he laughed low in his chest, bending to rub noses with her.

"I love you, too, Amber O'Brien…my crazy little Celt."


Another time, in a world that isn't really a world

"It's jus' sex, Dee," the tired woman insists bitterly, her tired eyes still trained somewhere beyond the fog filling the valleys below. On the other side of their favorite worn crazy quilt, Donatello stares out across the misty hollers as well, his every sense trained instead on the confusing woman beside him. "If'e ain't you, love ain't got nothin' to do with it—it's just scratchin' an itch, nothin' more."

"I don't like it, Amber," Donatello admits quietly, studying her askance. When they first met, they were children—barely old enough to have lost all their baby teeth—now he is twenty-five but Amber has been visibly aging faster than him. She is in her early thirties, half-crippled, mostly greyed, and for the last few years, beyond curvy and into obese…she is tired, broken, seemingly little like the child he met long ago in these strange shared dreams of theirs…but his feelings remain unchanged…he loves her just as she loves him, for who she is not what she is.

Still, he can't be there with her outside this strange dream world. He was the one to push her to find someone else, anyway—someone who could be there for her more than in dreams. He loves her, she loves him, but what good is love you can't act on outside dreams? "Did you even give him a chance? What happened with this one, anyway?" he asks seriously, no longer pretending to admire the scenery. "Matt, wasn't it?"

"Mort," she corrects sourly, "He asked me to marry'im. No warnin', bought a big-ass man-ring, told all'is buddies we were gettin' hitched, then'e dragged me to the cemetery an' took a knee in front'a 'his mama's grave.'" Donnie blinks in surprise, but that surprise becomes a cringe at the last sentence. "His mama's name wasn't 'Bubba Brown.'"

"Well, that's weird," he remarks dryly. Maybe losing this one wasn't such a bad idea.

"He's weird," she corrects sarcastically. "I told'im from the start emotions were a deal-breaker, but'e was sure I didn't mean it 'cuz I'm female. Apparently, anythin' with a uterus can't know what they mean 'til someone tells'em what they mean. Who'd'a thought?" Donnie face-palms at the sarcastic revelation; yep, this one was better dumped than kept, if only because Donnie couldn't kick his ass for being a pig. "D'I~ tell ya he thinks he's a werewolf an'e hatched out an egg?"

"Hey—I hatched out of an egg!" he counters in mock-offense instead of remarking on Mort's obvious psychotic delusions. "Mammalist!"

"Aw, here I thought ya grew from spores like a mushroom," she teases, but her face quickly grows serious. "I love ya, Dee," she reminds him solemnly, "an' I ain't settlin' fer no one else…it's one thing to scratch an itch but I won't marry anyone I don't love, anyone who can't set my heart on fire like you do…I just…" She sighs, turning back to the misty valleys below. "I just wish we could someday get past this—that somehow we could really be together, not just in dreams, but in real life."

"I wish, too, Braids." The genius wraps one long, lean arm around her back and pulls her into his side, nuzzling nose-first into her coconut-scented hair. At one time, he wasn't crazy about the sickly-sweet smell of coconut; now, anytime he encounters the fragrance, it reminds him of her. "Maybe it'll happen someday," he suggests with a small smile. "New York was invaded by an alien warmonger last Halloween, so maybe there's hope yet…?" Hesitant grey-green eyes drift up to meet his.

"What if you've forgotten me, though?" she asks weakly. "What if—God, what if we've forgotten each other when that happens?"

"If that happens, then we'll have a chance to do everything all over again." he points out cupping her full, round jaw and brushing his thumb along a spattering of freckles along her cheekbone, then ducks down to brush a tender kiss on her still-parted lips. "How about this…if either of us forgets, the other can remind them, can share something we would never tell anyone else as proof. Hm?" Amber hesitates, unsure of how such a thing could work. "Let's see…what would work…"

He thinks it over hard for a moment, scrounging his memory for something so absolutely horrifying he'd never willingly share it with anyone, and finally comes up with a viable option. "You know my brothers and I were all assigned a specific weapon based on our strengths, weaknesses, and temperaments, right? Raph was assigned the sai, Leo was assigned the swords, and Mikey was assigned the nunchaku…but I was the only one of the family assigned a single weapon instead of a pair." Amber blinks in surprise, clearly wondering how she never realized that before. "We didn't start serious training until we were about nine or ten, but Dad started us on light training years before. Originally, he thought I'd be a better fit for Tonfa, another weapon used in pairs…First time I used them in practice, I gave myself a concussion. Every time after that, I continually managed to injure myself with them." An embarrassed giggle-snort bursts up through his throat and SHNERKS out his nose. "That's how we figured out I have hyperopia and can't see an inch in front of my face without glasses."

A pregnant pause stretches between them, and finally, he works up the nerve to look over at Amber; she's smiling but not even looking at him. "For what it's worth," she points out, "far-sighted or not, your eyes are marvelous…" She glances up at him, her smile widening to show a few poorly-aligned upper teeth. "Besides—I'm near-sighted, you're far-sighted—even if we both lose our glasses at the same time, we're set so long's we're together, right?" Her smile fades and she turns back to the distant horizon—dusk is falling over the hills and hollers around them, and shades of grey and lavender streak across the dimming skies.

"You know I don't exactly hide embarrassing stuff like that," she reminds seriously. "Gran'Da taught me if ya get caught with yer barn door open, it's better to tell'em 'go catch the cows' than get embarrassed.** I don't have any embarrassing moments I can share that I can swear no one else'll ever hear of…there's only one thing I know that might work…somethin' I've never told anyone, not even my Gran'Da, an' honestly planned to take to my grave." She leans closer into his side, subconsciously reaching down to rub her right knee, remembering. "I've told you about the accident—about the drunk kid who clipped me with a van…but I didn't tell ya 'bout Clayton Gregory."

"Clayton…Gregory?" Amber nods, her eyes weary.

"I wasn't the only one that guy hit…I was just the one who survived it. Clayton Gregory was a business student in his last year—he came from a pretty poor family an' got in on scholarship—we dated a few times but nothin' came of it, obviously." She pauses, collecting herself. "I was walkin' home after a shift at the campus library an' wasn't payin' enough attention—the van clipped me, sent me flyin' a ways—I survived, but with permanent damage to my knees, spine, an' some other fun shite. It wasn't 'til I got out'a the hospital that I found out the driver hit someone else first—Clayton…" She chokes up, shaking her head and shuddering. "He never saw it comin'…never even made it to the hospital. A bright kid like him, with so much promise, an' a complete mess like me…an' I'm the one who drew the long straw."

Donnie isn't sure what to say. Finally, he settles for "You never told anyone?" Amber shakes her head.

"I knew the driver, Dunnie," she admits in an almost whisper. "He was a spoiled rich kid an' my most frequent challenger in that runnin' 'outdrink the crazy Celt' bet…challenged me almost weekly an' I drank'im under the table every time. I never even considered he might'a had a drinkin' problem or that'e might'a been drivin' home afterward…I must'a made three hundred bucks off'a him the last time, but when I found out about Clayton, I couldn't keep it—I had someone get it to'is parents for the funeral." Haunted eyes meet Donnie's. "I held that challenge to keep the cabinets stocked with somethin' other'n noodles, but if I ever thought it would'a hurt someone, I'd'a been happier starvin' an' livin' in a box. No, I never told anyone…they already pity me too much, and if they knew about this, it would only get worse."

All around the hills and hollers stars wink into view as the sky goes dark. The couple on the hilltop soak in the cooling breezes, each wondering what to say and each finally coming to the same conclusion. Silence can be sweeter than the sweetest conversation if only it is shared with the right person…after the painful confession before, this silence they share is the sweetest yet.


Brooklyn, the Hardys' loft, shortly after Sunset

For a while, all he could do was stand there, staring at her, and wondering how on earth he got so lucky. Even so, he couldn't come up with a satisfying answer.

Leonardo hovered in the open doorway of the dark bedroom lit only by the flickering of the muted television and the dim glow from the hallway, eyes fixed on the lovely dark-eyed woman dozing upright tucked in her bed. He and Mikey promised yesterday to come visit this evening, but when they arrived, the loft was practically dead—the only light came from the hallway's ceiling fixture and the only sound outside Bree's room was Bosco's snoring. A mere few weeks ago, Leo would have been disappointed, maybe a little hurt that Beverly wasn't awake to greet him. That, however, was weeks ago—now, he was content just knowing she was there—just admiring the flickering light dance across her olive-toned skin and dark hair. She was tired and weak, granted, but she was alive…alive, recovering, and his.

"Please close the door." The sudden address startled him from his mushy musings about the flash of bare shoulder peeking up from the neckline of her tunic. Her voice was quiet and more than a little hoarse, and her eyes scrunched shut behind her glasses.

"Did I wake you?" Leo asked softly, and she shook her head. He hesitated, debating whether going along with what she asked was a horrible idea or a possibly good one. After all, he'd been in her room before, but never with the door closed. A few months ago, the idea wouldn't have bothered him, but now…

"Oh, for Seurat's# sake, Leo," Bev grumbled, her eyes cracking open just enough to shoot him a bleary hairy-eyeball glare. "My head's splitting—I'm hurting too much to steal your virtue." He winced, turning to gingerly push the door closed as requested.

"Mine's not what I'm worried about," he remarked under his breath.

"I'm blind, not deaf," she reminded dryly as he approached and cautiously, tensely sat on the very edge of her mattress, visibly blushing. "Fortunately for you, mine's safe, too, thanks to this bloody migraine."

"You have a migraine?" Leo blanched, already connecting dots that needn't be connected. "Have—"

"It's not a relapse, Hon," Bev countered, her sarcasm fading into a softer reassurance. "I just had my monthly scan done last week, the abscess is still gone. I've had migraines since I was a teenager—that's why the abscess went unnoticed so long—that's all this is, just another migraine." Leo sighed, turning away. "I could no more expect you to stop worrying about me than expect you to pluck down stars from the sky, but please trust me to keep on top of this, alright?"

His eyes drifted to hers again, pupils blown wide from the darkness of her bedroom, and he reluctantly nodded. She offered him a small smile and scooted further toward the opposite side, then patted the spot beside her invitingly. After a moment's consideration, he complied, kicking off his shoes so they wouldn't dirty the linens. Without any of his hesitation, she curled into his side, ducking under his arm and laying her cheek on his collar. "Comfy?" he teased grinning down at her.

"Quite," she answered simply, fixing her eyes on the television screen again. Once he was able to pry his eyes away from the lovely woman tucked into his side, Leo took in the show as well only to grimace in horror. Onscreen, a group of people crowded around an autopsy table bearing what looked like either a very juicy mummy or a slow-roasted human.##

"What are you watching?!" he demanded in disgust, glancing down at the captions at the bottom of the screen. 'Fourteen kills,' the text read, 'all women—drugged, strangled, left to rot near rural, interstate highways. Every one of them missing the toes on their left foot. They were gnawed off.' Leo turned back to the fascinated brunette in absolute disbelief. "A serial killer who eats toes?! Seriously?!"

"What?" Bev asked as though not seeing anything wrong with the picture. "They found that guy in a furnace chimney with a gut full of toes. Good episode, the plot twist actually caught me by surprise the first time." She finally looked back up at him, one elegant black eyebrow arched pointedly. "Some people enjoy romantic comedies and soap operas—I enjoy a nice violent crime drama." Still cringing, Leo turned back to the grisly scene playing out on the screen—now the mummy's severed head was being projected in gruesome detail on a computer screen in a lab that would probably make Donatello weep with joy.

'I've been rehydrating Smokey the Bear's head since yesterday—it makes it easier for identification.' "That's not weird at all," Leo remarked dryly, unable to turn away from the train wreck before him.

"Oh quit whining," Bev grumbled at him. "No one's making you watch it. If you're that squeamish, I could just throw on something less gory—maybe we can find something with talking animals and smiling flowers." He scoffed in offense turning to fix her with a withering glare but found her smirking up at him over her glasses. "…then again," she suggested playfully, "Netflix just added a new season of Space Heroes." His irritation fading, he chuckled, urging her closer and rubbing his palm up and down her far shoulder.

"Now you're speaking my language," he grinned down at her. "How's this—we'll finish this one, then alternate. Sound good?" She nodded, reaching up to tuck away a lock of hair fallen in her eyes; he beat her to it, letting his fingertips linger at her temple then trail down to cup her jaw. A fetching blush bloomed in her cheeks at the gesture, driving him to lean down and steal her lips. After a slow, chaste kiss that ended far too soon, he drew back and turned back to the television, but instead of watching, found himself staring right through it for the most part. Naturally, Beverly noticed.

"What's on your mind, Hogosha?" she asked softly, cupping his cheek and turning his eyes back to hers. "You're tense—more so than usual. Are your family not well?" Not for the first time, the ninja was unnerved by how easily she managed to read him.

"Things at home…" he admitted with a sigh. "…well, they've been rough. Something's happening with my family—something to do with Amber and Mercy and the world they left behind—and I have no idea how to even begin to understand it."

"Amber and Mercy came from another world," Bev remarked blandly, recalling their conversation so long ago about just that. "Are they happier here? Are they wanting to return? –or could they return even if they chose to?" Leo shook his head, subconsciously tugging her even closer as though afraid she would be snatched from his arms.

"They both died, Koi…the dead don't rise once they've fallen. For them to even be here at all makes no sense—it's completely against everything we've always been taught about mortality and spiritual existence." Suddenly recalling the rest of the question, he steadied himself and answered, "From what they've said, they're happier here—Mercy's past life was an absolute nightmare because of abuse and Amber was partly crippled from an old injury. I don't think they want to return, per se, so much as they're worried about the loved ones they left behind." Bev made a wordless sound of understanding, focusing on the dusky brown of his exposed plastron. "Things are changing back home, Bev…and I'm worried how everything will end up when they do."

"You know," the solemn woman pointed out gently, "a wise man once told me that change is the only constant in life, and that's neither good nor bad, entirely amoral and faultless." Leo gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

"You sure he wasn't actually a wise-ass?" he asked with a wry smile, but fell silent at the thumb tenderly tracing the very edges of the paler skin spreading outward from his lips and muzzle.

"He is that," she admitted with a gentle smile, "but his heart and mind are much wiser than his temper and mouth would have you believe. I know you can handle this, Leonardo…you know you can handle it." Comforted, he reached up to cover her hand with one of his and turned to brush his lips against the tender skin of her wrist. "There's that smile," Bev teased echoing his version with a much wider one. "Don't let it fade away again so soon, hm?"

"If I do, I'll be sure to call you," he promised, then shot a pointed glance at the screen, still flashing with unfamiliar characters. "So. Who's your favorite?" Clearly recognizing the question for what it was—digging for information—she smirked, snagged the remote, and scanned forward in the episode. When she stopped again, a silver-haired man and an exotically lovely woman stood out in the foreground.

"The woman's name is Ziva," Bev explained simply. "I identify with her, most, but Gibbs is my favorite—he's the older man beside her." Leo studied the actor curiously, searching for clues to explain her preference, and Beverly slyly filled in the blanks for him. "His character is strong, sturdy, and incredibly stubborn, but he's a natural leader—he has a remarkable intuition about people and those he leads, even though he tends to be stern and unyielding with them. Underneath all the bluster and bravado, though, he's just as human as the rest—he swallows his pain and throws his everything into protecting those he cares for, even though they don't always understand or appreciate it."

Leo startled, realizing the connection. He studied the actor on-screen—from his rugged, unsmiling face to his pale blue eyes—and turned to Beverly with a question in his own. "Being a leader isn't easy," he stated slowly, and her spreading smile confirmed his belief.

"Nothing worth doing ever is easy," she reminded with a sly smile, "but the outcome is always worth it…and you, my dear, are worth it."

Later that night, Leonardo woke with a start when the innuendo in her statement finally hit him like a sucker punch. Eyes fixed on the warped steel ceiling of his train car bedroom in a wide, panicked stare, he tried to ignore the obvious and struggled not to wonder how she knew. He loved Beverly…and the simplest antonym for easy was HARD.


Poor Leo—I just had to! XD
A note regarding the dream-sequence in this chapter because I'm not sure it came out properly. That scene was meant to illustrate the last year of Amber and Donnie's long-distance dream-sharing and the way that dream-sharing changed over time. If you've read the first part of "Dream Lover" in the Gallery of Memories, you'll have a pretty good idea of the beginning and middle of their shared dream connection already, and this just fills in the blanks of the end.
In short, Amber's in her last years of life - she's crippled from her accident and getting weary and bitter - but Donnie's still in his prime and still has some hope left. Amber's given up on the possibility that they might ever be together outside of dreams and has never been able to love another the way she loves Donnie. Because he wants to see her happy, even if he can't be the one making her happy, he's been pushing her to find someone in her life who can love her the way he would. Amber's stubborn, though, and has essentially been self-sabotaging her attempts to find love like he asked her to. By the time of this passage, she has become convinced that she'll never find love outside dreams and has, instead, decided to simply focus on impersonally 'shutting up her hormones' in real life. This decision was made so her time with Donnie can be more focused on their love for each other than slaking her rampant libido. Donnie's not very happy with that decision, not because he sees it as 'cheating on him' but because he realizes she's killing her only chance for finding love in real life. Since he tried pushing her to find someone, he expected her to slowly drift away and was aware he'd have to watch her living her life as someone else's lover, but it upsets him to see that she's completely disinterested in finding someone else. He wants to see her happy, wants her to live her life to the fullest instead of waste it waiting for him, but he's not really ready to let her go if she DOES find someone to love her, and she's not ready to let go of him, either
TL:DR - those two are a complete friggin' mess, they're losing hope that they'll ever be together, and Amber's making some pretty bad decisions in hopes of coping with the distance and their no-win situation.

WORDS

~ "Aar'n—No—no, gi'way—com'way fra ther—com'way a'reddy!" – Sleep-slurred relapse. 'Aaron—no—no, get away—come away from there—come away already!'

~ Braw – Scottish slang for beautiful or good-looking. If ya don't remember what Speccy means after all this time it just means he wears glasses.

~ D'I – yet another awkward improper conjunction you might hear in the deep Midwest and Southern Missouri, and like so many others, it sounds pretty smooth IRL but looks like butt when written. Simply means "Did I," sounds like 'die' with the –I slightly shortened. Sometimes with those with a very thick drawl or twang, it may have a negligible (read 'you'll only notice it if you really look for it') nasal 'silent syllable' right after the 'd.' (another similar silent syllable occurrence would be the nasal nh at the beginning of 'nless'n, an elaborated and Southernized variation of 'unless.'


NOTES:

* According to the online translator I used, these ALL translate into English as "I love you, too," but I can't guarantee their accuracy. The only language of these I'm truly familiar with is French and I'm not even halfway fluent with it. (I tend to mix it up with Spanish…a LOT.) Pretty sure the French statement is correct, but I can't shake the feeling that 'aime' is a bit weak, meaning 'like' rather than referring to the sort of love one would have for their romantic partner. ["Te quoque amo." – Latin] ["Ti amo anch'io." – Italian] ["Je t'aime aussi." – French] ["Watashi mo anata o aishitemasu." – Japanese] …yes, Donnie's showing off his big-ass brain, lol.

** If ya get caught with yer barn door open, tell'em go catch the cows'getting caught with your barn door open' is an odd slang term for having someone point out that the fly of your pants is unzipped. 'Tell'em go catch the cows' can mean anything from 'make it awkward' to 'joke it off and be a goofball' or even 'make it EXTREMELY awkward by pointing out that the person who noticed it wouldn't have noticed if they weren't staring at your crotch.' As mentioned before, Amber got her 'make it awkward' habits from Glen Devon. XD IN THIS CASE, Amber's saying she was taught 'it's better to laugh off embarrassing moments and joke about them than to hide them and let them become ammo to be used against you.'

# Georges Seurat – A French Neo-Impressionistic artist known for his work in a style known as "Pointillism." One of his most well-known works is "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte."

## The show described here is an episode of NCIS—"Smoked" from Season 4.