-
UNSPOKEN
A Dreamworks Trolls Fanfic by C. Prince

Hurricane Heart

It didn't work.

Branch swiped away sweat beading on his forehead, thinking of his gem back in its lockbox for safekeeping. A bundle of sturdy tree limbs scraped against the worn fabric of his stained tank top. If he had to replace one shovel handle he may as well make extras.

When he held Poppy close he couldn't feel her pulse. Three weeks of kisses and trysts and competing to sneak trinkets of affection on each other had not changed that. They'd gone so far as to ask Peppy and some of the older trolls for heartbreak stories, even make a nervous visit to Dr. Moonbloom. The rhythm of love still slept.

Liquid trickled into an eyebrow and he wiped again. Late afternoon sun shone through the tree canopy above the bunker. The atmosphere was heavy. Thick humidity clung to his skin and unusual heat permeated the air.

After he dropped the bundle Branch scaled one of the taller trees for a look at the storm's direction. Perfectly clear blue skies and a wet breeze greeted him. The weird weather made his flocking stand on end.

On instinct he went inside and hurriedly moved traps and dangerous tools into a room he could seal off. The timing couldn't be worse. A disorganized mess greeted him on the bottom floor. He shoved piles of goods up against the walls. It didn't matter where things went since he was in the middle of rearranging his entire life anyway.

He tried not to lose track of time while he prepped best he could. Unease crawled over his skin.

A huge thunder crack rumbled the walls, making him freeze. Wait, no, that was a knock. Really?

He flipped the hatch open. A blanket of oppressive moisture smothered down.

"Sorry," Biggie said, wind ruffling his hair, Mr. Dinkles cradled in his arms. "I didn't think you could hear me. I did try knocking politely."

Branch looked out at the queue of trolls happily lined up as if waiting to get on a caterbus for one of Tug's tours. He had planned to run to the village and beg Poppy to move everyone as a precaution. Here they were.

Dazed, he went into autopilot and supervised trolls hopping down the elevator shaft. Wind flapped at his patchy old work clothes. Not once had King Peppy evacuated the village, much less for a storm. Queen Poppy would never be this cautious. Yet here Branch was, opening up the alternate entrance with the fireman's pole so a pack of giggling trollings could slide down.

A pattering rush over leaves hissed its way toward the bunker. Branch fanned his hair out as an umbrella. Cold drops stung his skin, one at a time, in random places. The wind picked up and he could see a wall of rain coming down the trail. A couple of blurred shapes inside stomped through soaked grass with leaves above their heads. Cooper and Smidge herded stragglers.

Chilly rain coupled with uncomfortable hot, sticky atmosphere smashed into Branch. He hurried the last trolls underground and gratefully yanked the trapdoor shut behind him. Dripping all over the landing, he reached for the box of old towels. Water drizzled in a steady stream off Cooper's drowned fur. Smidge slapped several towels over the fuzzball before he got it in his head to shake.

"Poppy should be here soon," Cooper said, lifting up his hat and sending a cascade of water over the floor. "I think we got everyone though."

"What's going on out there?" Branch asked. Poppy must've known something about the storm he didn't. That was the only explanation for this.

Smidge shrugged. "She had a bad feeling and said, 'Better safe than sorry!'"

"Poppy said that."

"Weird, right?" Cooper laughed.

Concerned now for multiple reasons, Branch checked the surveillance periscopes. Poor visibility due to the rain haze made them useless. Cracking open the trapdoor wouldn't be much better. "What's keeping her?"

"Double checking a couple pods," Smidge said. "She had everyone reel them in so the wind wouldn't catch."

A noisy gust crashed over the boulder aboveground, whistling around the edges. Hard drum of water over rock announced sleet rain. It was dangerous to go outside and if Poppy and Branch missed each other, he'd be the fool wandering the woods. He forced himself to be patient. Fifteen more minutes.

The elevator clicked into motion. Two ladies came up on the platform, huddled close together. One of them reached for the latch holding the hatch closed. Smidge beat Branch to the punch. "Gah, are you two nuts? That's not party weather out there."

The purple hand on the latch trembled, fearful but determined. "We have to go back. One of us has to."

Distraught, the second troll picked at her wispy orange bangs. "We weren't at home when Poppy started the cowbell. She said she'd check our pod for us."

"In this weather I'm afraid she's still there."

"Our pod… the wind is so strong…" The mention of this, plus the torrential noise above, stressed the two trolls to the point their colors began to fade. Together they unhooked the trapdoor.

Branch said, "I'll go get her. Stay here."

"But—"

"Stay. Here," he commanded. The village was a thirty minute walk. These two trolls were not prepared to deal with the gale howling outside. Typically everyone would be holed up in their pods right now, playing party games and eating snacks.

The couple wanted to argue with him, but a deafening thunder crack pressed them close together. The orange haired troll crumbled, mashing her face to her partner's chest. They embraced, defeated, trying to console each other. Why were they so upset?

He'd better hurry. Maybe they'd asked Poppy to do something ridiculous. Leave it to his queen to take unexpected precautions and attempt something crazy in the same breath. He couldn't help but feel irritated about it. She'd said she would be more considerate before rushing into danger, and he hadn't really expected her to keep that promise, but he didn't expect her to break it, either.

Didn't matter. He still loved her.

Branch tugged at the heavy weighted boots. "Doubt we'll be back tonight," he told Smidge. "Finding shelter nearby beats struggling all the way to the bunker."

He flipped his hair under the rain jacket's hood and pulled the strings taught, tying them. A familiar hard exterior flattened against his skull. Gary's tricks were inoperable in dangerous weather, but Branch didn't dare leave him behind with the other trolls. From beneath the hood Gary complained that he should've been built as a toy so he could stay. Creating joy was as important as protecting it.

After years of hearing that Branch was starting to believe it. What good were defenses without anything to defend?

He exited the bunker with a purpose.

Sideways rain spat all over his face as soon as he stepped out. Wind ripped at every fold in his clothes, pressing the waterproof fabric flat over his body. Hefty boots kept him stable but each step took extra effort. This was going to be a long walk.

Fallen logs obscured the pathway. The storm shook every dead twig out of the trees and plenty of living ones too. Several times Branch took detours and all the while water and wind roared at him. Wiping at the cold liquid running off his nose was pointless. He let it run. Through scrunched eyes he slogged to the village.

Pods tucked high into the troll tree swayed like colorful punching bags. Their support vines were fully retracted. Though the homes were spared the full length swing, people would still be picking up their belongings off the floor once the storm let up.

He remained on the ground, trying to scout out the specific pod. He must've misheard the directions because no homes hung in the area. Din from the storm drowned out his hearing and darkening skies filled him with dread. A large leaf smacked into his side. He batted it away. Pieces of the wild ripped up and scattered, dangerous projectiles too unpredictable to avoid. He couldn't stay outside much longer. Where was that pod? He squinted at the troll tree. Cracked wood splintered where a bough was supposed to be. Freshly torn shards spiked at the break.

The whole thing had snapped off, houses and all. Including Poppy.

Hot panic flooded his guts. His chest was on fire and he sweated in the waterproof clothes. The fallen tree limb came into view as he thudded over the lawn. Tangles of leaves and crushed mushrooms and twisted wood stretched the violent display. One pod in the row was speared on a sapling, the others hidden by destruction.

He roared at the top of choked lungs into the gale. "POPPY!"

"Over here!"

He could barely hear her over the noise, but it was enough to know where in the wreckage to look. Branch navigated through the twisted structure that rolled over the ground like a gnarled root.

Poppy was caged inside, sitting soaked on the grass, her hair completely used up to hold a section of the tree in place. So much hair. Hot pink fibers vaulted above her in a sheet, tendrils wrapping around the fallen timber. She was an anchor at a balancing point. If she moved the whole thing would come down on top of her. There was no way she could hold that weight alone.

His hair shot out and wrapped around her waist.

"BRANCH, NO!" she screamed. Every muscle in his body locked up at the sheer panic in her tone. As if she'd die if he pulled her out.

"Hurry, inside, I can't reach," she said, thrusting an arm at the purple-pink pod sitting on top of a crook further up.

What could possibly, possibly be inside that was worth this? Nothing. He needed to pull her out. Now.

"Poppy, I won't—"

She snapped her head down and scrunched her eyes shut, anguish creasing her face like he'd betrayed her. Pink fingers clutched at the fabric above her silent heart. The untested royal crown sat heavy upon her brow, shocking him with its presence. Further argument would cost him something. He didn't know what. Poppy – his lover – The Queen – expected him to trust she could hold the timber long enough for him to get in and out of that pod before it fell. She wouldn't spare time to explain why. He wasn't worth fifteen seconds.

Time ticked. Letting go meant leaving her in extreme peril. Waterlogged periwinkle felt twisted, twisted around her heart. Wind flapped the crown's large central flower petals. His instinct or her command. Choose.

Furious and terrified, Branch unwound his hold on her. His mind went completely blank. He dashed under the cracked tree limb and hot pink ceiling, up the crooked wood, and scrambled to where the pod was lodged – and slipping – between a fork in the limb, its support vine severed. A single snaked tendril of Poppy's hair had managed to get this far and was desperately, pathetically, trying to keep the pod from falling.

Unthinking unfeeling adrenaline pushed him forward. He teetered over the brink of the fork, wet wood scraping at his bare hands, and tore the pod's window open to peer down into it. The floor slanted at an extreme angle. Furniture slid toward the back wall where cubbies on his window side had already dumped all their contents: scrapbooks, games, jewelry. With each passing second the weight moved closer to the end. A dining chair tipped over and slammed into gathering clutter. The pod shifted.

Branch ripped his hood off and rubbed rainwater out of his eyes, fanning his hair to keep his vision from clogging. He scanned the interior of the pod. Hard wind blasted in his ears.

"Heart stone!" Poppy was shouting repeatedly in the background.

He couldn't see any treasure boxes to hold one from here. A fall wouldn't crack a heart, though, so why?...

The pod slipped again. Puffy sitting cushions raced to the growing clutter at the bottom. One of them pulled at a silk sheet draped over a table trapped on the far wall. Within the silk a glint of purple light caught his attention. There it was. The heart-shaped jewel was slowly sliding across the silk. On top of the gem's flat face, a large lotus flower blossomed. Its center petals wrapped over an egg-sized bud: very late stages of a very new troll life.

Branch was in the zone. He couldn't go inside the pod without tipping it. He had a few minutes to extract the jewel. There was no way to do so without injuring the fragile petals sprouting from the heart. But if he did nothing, the unborn baby would be crushed under the debris.

He swished his hair through the open window and split the tips into four prongs, working at the silk to untangle it from all the other items. A sudden lurch of the wood beneath him sent the flowered jewel skidding to the table edge. Branch jerked the sheet up to catch it. Fabric pushed hard into white petals and one of them tore off, falling away. He saw the damage and felt nothing. He wasn't thinking about how his actions might kill the developing life that wasn't supposed to be moved at all. It was either this or a guaranteed end.

Now holding one edge of the silk up to keep the jewel in place, Branch tugged carefully at the last corner trapped under a dresser. It was then that the bed near him began to move. The heavy frame inched away, headed straight for the area he was trying to protect. The whole pod was moving now. Walls deformed where they pushed past the fork holding them in place. He was out of time.

With all his might Branch wrenched the silk corner free, jiggling the stressed blossom. It shed more petals. Quickly he maneuvered all four hair tips together to form a bundle around the heart. Unable to see what was happening to it, he retracted his hair and grasped the silk bundle's neck with a free hand, trying to feel down far enough to make it secure but no so far the petals squished in his grasp. He didn't have time to feel sick about what he was doing. Not yet.

With as much care as the situation allowed Branch hurried back so he could pull Poppy out. It wasn't necessary. Once he crossed the threshold to safety, she stood and bounded away, releasing her hair behind her. Squealing twists pierced the air while the old tree path collapsed.

Poppy came to his side and sheltered them in as thick a hair shell as she could make, but it wasn't enough. He added his own to the inner barrier. It still wasn't enough. Furious wind and rain penetrated the fibers. They huddled together, trying to shield the bundle Branch held out, afraid to set it down, or bump into it, or disturb its upright position. It was so dark they could barely see each other in the dim blue glow he fed into his hair. Damp cold sank into his exposed ears and fingertips. His endurance for insanity was coming to an end. Adrenaline sputtered and died. His hands trembled. How long would they be stuck here? How long could they hold out? What if something fell on them? Blew into them and pierced through their shield?

"I don't think we should stay here," Poppy announced loud enough to be heard over the tempest.

"Black Rock. How far?" Branch said.

"Doesn't matter. Who's carrying the heart?"

"Don't think I can let go."

"Okay."

Poppy exited the hair bubble, leaving one strand of her own behind to guide him. She led the way and maintained the outer defenses at the same time. Darkness prevailed. They trudged through unending torment. The slashing sword rain was cold. The hot weather was sweaty. Blinding lightning split the sky and deafening thunder roared.

By the time they made it inside the rocky cavern he was mechanically marching. It was over. He could stop. The outstretched arm supporting the bundled jewel screamed with strain. A raw path from his incessant running nose burned the top of his lip. His eyes watered. Poppy and everything in the tunnel sounded dull and far away, the equivalent to spending too long at one of Suki's raves.

They descended stairs into the underground game changer's club to put one more layer of security between them and the weather. The spacious cavern was not as good as his bunker, but it was a decent, more accessible option closer to the village. Dim lamps at each of the game tables spotted abandoned darkness with islands of light.

Unaware of anything but what was in his hand, Branch stood at one of the booths along the black rocky wall. The booth seating formed a semicircle around a round table. He stared at the flat, smooth surface lit by an overhead acorn lamp. Finally he convinced his shaking arm to lower the irreplaceable bundle onto the table. He carefully unfolded the silk corners without touching the flower.

It was upside down.

He'd ruined it.

He'd.

The blossom, squished flat beneath the heavy heart gem.

No.

Expectant parents, waiting in the bunker. Not parents anymore. He'd have to tell them. He couldn't do it.

"Branch!" Poppy snapped, worried. He noticed she was standing so close her soaked arm pressed to his sleek rain sleeve. She'd been beside him all along. Each time she shivered the slight vibration echoed through him.

Feminine fingers curled around the purple heart and lifted it, turned it over, set it back down. The blossom on top fluffed up. Long, delicate white petals separated from the flower's body and fell onto the silk, some of them sliding to the floor. Teardrops for what could have been.

Failed. He'd failed. A million ways today could have gone differently filtered through his conscience. A few seconds sooner. If he'd climbed to the pod right away he would have had enough time. If he'd been in the village. If he'd built his bunker even two minutes closer. If he'd...

Poppy's voice quavered. "It's okay. Look."

He expected to see life oozing out of the center bud, but it was clean. Whorled petals held the soft egg shape inside.

Branch was on the floor, sitting with his head tucked into his knees and his hands in his hair. A single feeble whine snuck past his defenses. It looked like the egg might be okay. After what he'd done the trolling might survive with a permanent scar. He groaned. It was too much, today, this, everything, the sweat sticking clothes to his skin, fevered chills racing up and down his spine, bedraggled hair draped everywhere, panic at the broken tree, a tiny life in his hands.

His back hit the ground, his arms spread to the sides, and he made noise. "aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" He dug the heels of his hands into tightly closed eyes as his brain spiraled, overwhelmed. Boots scraped the floor because he needed to move his bent legs, a repeated slow motion furl and unfurl that dragged on stone. Anguished sounds tumbled from his throat. Beside him Poppy fared no better. She collapsed on folded knees, buried her face in her hands, and broke down into a fit of distressed sobbing laughter.

How long had she been waiting in the storm? Vivid imagery of her calculated sitting position beneath the timber flashed through his mind: prepared to wait as long as it took in a spot she could escape if no help arrived. She evacuated the village before, rather than after, the danger appeared. He'd never, ever seen her act this way. The crown on her forehead spoke volumes. She hadn't been comfortable wearing it before.

He banged his head into the stone and howled again. Recollection of how her hand twisted over her heart seared. The choice he almost made to yank her out would have cost him everything. Their relationship. The child. On the other hand, Poppy could have been crushed. His head rocked back and forth on the ground. So soon after the last scare. Would they ever know peace?

A beloved face hovered above him. Poppy knelt at his side. "Can I do anything to make you feel better?" she asked, hiccuping a wet laugh and rubbing away a few tears of hysteria. They were both exhausted at the end of sanity, she was the one who needed to be tended to, and here she was caring for him. She'd protected him the whole way here. Poppy had protected him.

"Some space for a little while," he whispered.

She left. He cried for a solid five minutes before his energy ran out.

Drained of all emotion, he lay on the floor spread eagle and stared at the black ceiling. Low yellow lamp light barely reached the starless surface. He closed his eyes. Either his life would come back or he'd fall asleep.

Clumsy picking at his boot startled him to consciousness. Poppy undid the boot's top buckle and strap. Then she pulled at the laces. Undressing him was surreal enough, but she also happened to be doing so in a different outfit. Damp hair cascaded over a purple velveteen tuxedo vest and a pair of black slacks.

"Don't laugh, but there is an emergency costume party box here."

He wasn't laughing. Silver buttons held the barbershop quartet vest closed but there was nothing underneath. The pinstripe long sleeve shirt that should go with it draped over a stool. Cool air settled over his bare toes. When had his boots come off?

Aware he was a tired wreck, Branch sat up and pulled his feet away before Poppy got any further. He shucked off his rain outfit and hung it over nearby seating. An unflattering ragged tanktop and shorts remained, salty dried sweat crusted his skin, he smelled, and his dull attitude was the cherry on top. He didn't feel like a troll anybody should be around. Especially not Poppy.

She didn't abandon him to his sorry state – quite the opposite. Each phrase she uttered made yearning for physical contact pool in his crushed soul.

"I got some water and a fizzy stoutberry from the bar for you," she said. "If you want to change I tried to pick what you'd be okay with. And I found these. For playing picnic checkers, but I think they work pretty well as blankets. See? I made beds for us."

Poppy draped one of the sheets over her shoulders. The other spread out over booth seats, with a sitting cushion as a pillow. A second pillow occupied the opposite seats. Branch discovered he had a single huff and a few words left in him. "When did you become a survivor?"

"Party 101. Never leave home without some fun." She kissed his nose before tiredly shuffling to the booth with the flowering heart and sliding far in. She pulled her feet up, folded her knees to her chest, and rested her chin on them. The picnic sheet bundled around her. Eyelids drooped while she watched over the blossom growing from the love beneath it.

Defeated as he was, his gaze drifted to the neighboring booth and its makeshift cot. Maybe on any other day that is where he would go. Tonight, his walls were beaten down, his spirit battered and flat. There was only one place he wanted to be.

In silence Branch crawled onto a stool at the table next to him. Costume pieces and drinks were arranged neatly on top. The sweet fizzy juice felt good on his throat. He picked up the pinstripe shirt and pawed around the rest, settling on long suede pants with fringes up and down the sides. Then he trekked to the bathroom at the far end of the club, stripped off his tank top, soaked it, and used it to give himself a sponge bath. Tepid water slicked away grime, refreshing his fuzz. While he dried he squeezed his hair out and groggily combed fingers through tangled strands. Better. Not ideal, not by a long shot, but better. He donned the fresh outfit.

Cold on the outside and empty inside, Branch trudged back to indoor camp. As much as he wished to kiss and touch and love, none of those activities came to mind. What he wanted right now – no, what he needed – was to be close. That's all.

The queen's crown sat on the table next to the mock bed. Branch put Gary beside it. Then he went to the following booth.

Wordlessly he scooched in. He sank into the cushy deluxe fabric and kept moving. Maybe she'd push him away. Quiet rose eyes watched him approach, but he was too tired to tell if that was a good or bad sign. Before he could touch her she moved. A slim arm unfurled the blanket and invited him in. She helped him get as close as possible, squished against her side. It wasn't enough. He buried his face in the tuxedo vest and wrapped his arms around her waist. This was good. Uncomfortable on his twisted upper body, but it made him feel safe.

Poppy laughed softly. "Branch… here, lie down."

Pink hair brought a cushion onto her lap so he could rest his head there. Then she covered him with the other picnic sheet. She welcomed him completely. His heart ached and he curled into a stiff ball at her side. The table's edge divided his field of vision, shadows below and lotus bud above. Its heart glittered in two-toned purple pink radiance. Curling colors and stars inside swirled together, the mark of two troll hearts joined for a long time.

Poppy's hand smoothed the pinstripes along his back. "I didn't know Layla and Amethyst were expecting until they told me during evacuation. If you hadn't come when you did… thank you."

He grunted, disappointed in his performance today and grumpy he wasn't the one with the energy to take care of her and rub her back.

The fingers stroking him arched and pressed hard and fast, scratching spots he couldn't reach. His exposed ear shot up and he huffed as intense rivulets of satisfaction scritched all over his spine. The sensation spread up his nape and tingled behind his ears. It was almost frustrating how good it felt. Poppy scratched harder. Blissful buzz enveloped him. He growled. She was grinning; he knew it even though he couldn't see.

The teal hand not trapped under his curled body sought out her leg beneath the cushion, some part of her to hold on to. Smooth slacks sailed under his palm. Branch gripped lightly and grrr'ed into the lap pillow while she etched between his shoulder blades.

She slid her rough touch into the back of his hair and massaged deep into his skin. Pleasure flooded his brain. Branch went limp. Poppy threaded fingers through his hair, stroked and petted.

"...feels good," he breathed.

Life was the most important person in the world brushing his hair with bare hands. Weariness dragged his eyelids down and his thoughts dropped away. Pleasant strokes rippled along his head.

"I used to dream this would happen," Poppy said, drowsy.

"Hrm."

"That one day you'd finally give in. You'd be all gray and grumbly, but you'd storm up, and give the biggest bear hug ever."

"Like this better," he mumbled.

"Me too."

She kept giving him attention until his heart was fit to burst. He wanted to look at her, but his body weighed him down. Soft cushions sucked him in. He snuggled to the warm troll close by. This was important. Important words, or maybe a song, but he was so heavy, the words were thick, and affection flowed through his hair with a sleepy lull.

Tomorrow they'd be back to banter and kisses, but this night… what he wouldn't give for more nights like this.

x x x

He'd fallen asleep.

Stiff muscles protested when he tried to unravel himself. He shouldn't have dozed off curled in a ball like that. Poppy was half on top of him, wedged in nook between his back and the seatback, sleeping on her side as if he were a mattress. Her legs were no longer under the cushion. Instead they folded somewhere above his head. None of this was comfortable. His movements popped his hip and he groaned. Poppy stirred and grumbled his name while he tried to escape. What time was it?

Four o'clock.

Wind howled dimly through layers of black rock above, pierced by a boom of thunder. For all he knew the typhoon could go on for hours.

Wobbly pink arms supported a barely awake Poppy granting him enough space to slide out from the cage of limbs. She mumbled and lowered herself down, picking at the bang strung taught over her face since it was trapped under her chin. Branch pulled it free. Even her hair had that rebellious streak.

He rubbed his eyes and observed the pile of troll, velvet, and cotton. "You'll be sore if you sleep like that."

"Mmmnh."

"Come on." He coaxed the cushion under her head and then dragged it forward. She followed, her body stretching out in the extra space left behind. A happy murmur was his reward.

He looked hopelessly at how narrow the booth seat was. Unless he was planning to spoon Poppy there was no way he'd be able to be near. Were sleep snuggles too much physical contact? Why did he want to touch her so much when he wasn't a touchy-feely troll with anyone else? That was a dumb question he already knew the answer to. Lethargic fog in his brain obscured rational thought.

After a bathroom break Branch recovered his blanket and lay down on the opposite seats, careful not to bump the table and disturb the fragile flower. Behind closed eyes all he could see was the image of Poppy cocooned in the sheet, guarding the shimmering heart crested in white petals. It gave him a lot to think about.

By midmorning the storm blew over. Side by side they stood before the table and the injured bloom. There was no denying it. Well, Poppy might deny it – or at least gloss it over with hope for a miracle.

But she didn't.

"They'll be born different," she said.

When the trolling hatched, would he be haunted by his failures? Or be reminded that he and Poppy worked together to save a life?

Poppy stayed behind to wait for the parents. She knew he wouldn't be able to leave the flower without a guardian after all it had been through.

It was muggy outdoors. Condensation from the sticky, hot air trickled down Gary into the curve of Branch's fingers. It was just the two of them again, like always. Only not really. Things were changing.

Branch spoke once he put a fair distance between himself and Black Rock.

"Gary… you wouldn't be jealous, would you? If I started a real family." He pushed aside a torn leaf, picking his way along the trail. "Not that you're not real, it's just… you know..." Branch paused, hesitated, squeezed out the difficult words in a pinched voice. "...you're not."

Gary already knew that. And why would he be jealous?

"It feels like I'm leaving you behind."

Everybody went their separate ways eventually. That was part of life. Besides, hadn't Gary been the one encouraging Branch since the very beginning? He wasn't going to stop now. He'd stay for a little while longer, even though he didn't think Branch needed him anymore.

This goodbye was a long time coming. That didn't make it any easier.

Branch clung to the remote and pretended the firm hold was enough to keep Gary from slipping from his mind, too.