That girl was just like her baby sister.

The braid, the smile, the chill, chill vibe of a hand on the passenger door, riding waves of wind in the sunset of Virginia. Abbie was jazz and style and a knowing smile, always one step ahead- always had too much going on under that hat of hers. Jodie, her cute little niece, was victory against pursed lips, raised to the sky with two fingers and a smile. Where Abbie was solo blues and lounge sitting under the starry, infinite sky, her daughter was frosty like blades against ice. But they were both the backseat of a car, a hand reached out to the steering wheel when the road got rough and the idiot up front couldn't see where they were going anymore.

She watched Jodie piece together some 2x4 contraption, and she remembered Abbie's tears.

Teenagers were nasty, full of hormones, pimples, self-absorbed and swallowed by the confusing new rules, too busy to listen, just trying to navigate. She wanted Abbie to stop stealing her CDs, wanted her favorite hangout spot in a heart-shaped diner to stay pink and pretentious, and anybody with a brain could tell a kid with no sense of romance would muck the place up. Kids were annoying. Kids were bratty. Kids were self-righteous and sloppy- and kids were young. Kids didn't know any better. Kids were loud and uncivilized and that was how they should be, how some adults could stand to be.

And Jodie wasn't wearing a red hat or black shorts or even blue, but she had Abbie's smile, and when she looked up at her from that- rocket? Swing? Missel?- she saw only love there. No fear, no yearning, no eyes like a hand reaching out, begging for some middle ground. It was the way Abbie looked at her before she hit thirteen, like the world would bend underneath her feet if she wanted it to. She shot her a smile, and took a sip of her ice water.

"Aunt Cree! Wanna see my newest invention? I call it The BLASTO! Blast Lighting Adults Straight To Orbit!"

She guessed, in some ways, Jodie was the cool, smooth operator the little dork with the aviator always thought he was. Still, wasn't what she saw, not when she held her. The little twerp had her wrapped around her finger the moment she took her first step. She'd hated it, swore up and down she'd never have kids, that she'd hate 'em all until she was buried in the ground- but her? That brat with the blubbering and the tugging hands that explored everything those starry eyes could see? She loved her, loved her more than she thought possible. It was like the universe and all its subsets had collectively decided to shoot her a middle finger, give her a chance to make what she did to her baby sister right .

Cree swallowed a chunk of ice, one bite, three, and laughed. "Hah hah, that's great, kid. You've got a real talent, there."

She might have been able to hide it from her little friends, but her Auntie knew every nook and cranny of her face, had spent hours staring down at it as she rocked her to sleep. The kid blushed. "Maybe! I'm not as talented as Hoagie is with all the chemicals and the test tubes and the splashing and the explosions and- you know what I'm on about."

Hoagie P. Gilligan the Third, the brat born without the Lincoln name attached because Abbie's slimy husband just had to carry on the family name. She loved him, too, of course, but anybody could see he took after his father. Brilliant, sure, charismatic, even. Mature. She got along with him well enough, could hold a conversation with the kid, and she'd die for him- but she never had to. Little preteen twerp never joined the Kids Next Door. He kept to himself, his experiments, kept his memories. She didn't need to worry about him. But Jodie?

That girl was just like Abbie, just like Maurice, and just like Abbie's stupid little friends. Passionate, considered herself a foot soldier in a war nobody should ever have to fight. Another cog in the machine that ate childhoods, and she hated it. She hated that Jodie looked at the number thirteen and felt sick, felt scared. She hated that every waking moment of her childhood would be spent protecting the innocence of other kids who got to keep their best memories, their best friends as they moved on up in the world. She hated that Jodie looked at the great, fantastic things about growing up- first kisses, independence, individuality- and was scared of them, because instead of evolution, they meant change, they meant forgetting .

And she'd always thought that she couldn't wait for the day Abbie turned thirteen, that she'd make a TND soldier outta' her the moment she blinked red and blew out her candles. Instead, Abbie's thirteenth birthday was a hamster-sized punch right to the gut. It was watching her baby sister shed tears, watching her friends crowd their kitchen, hearing the promises- they'd always love her, always be there, even if she didn't know it, even when they didn't know it. It was her best dreams becoming a reality, and realizing she'd affirmed in her mind, in the corporeal world, the death of her sister as she was.

Because when Abbie came home with her hair down, lips red with wax, and no underlying tension… something broke.

Was it her? Was it Abbie? Was it the weight of a thousand memories she had to carry for both of them? She couldn't look her in the eye for a month, couldn't stomach that her little sister walked into that chamber feeling like she'd lost a game she could have never won. And it was her fault. If she'd never joined the Kids Next Door, heck, if she'd swallowed her decommissioning like a champ instead of the coward she knew she was, maybe it wouldn't have been so scary for Abbie. Maybe, turning thirteen wouldn't have looked and felt like the end of the best part of her life. Maybe, having an older brother who never joined the Kids Next Door would make the world of difference to her little niece. Maybe, she could help make her world a safer place.

"Get over here, ya little brat! Don't tell your mom, but I bought us a whole cheesecake, and you and I are gonna tear into it while we watch that R-rated horror movie-!"

Jodie's eyes got big, clean, waxless lips peeling into a big, honest smile. "You are the best Aunt Cree!"

Jodie rushed up the front porch steps, skipping two at a time, tucking the BLASTO away under her arm. She set a had on her head, ruffled her hair and smiled. "Don't you forget it."

"So, are you just gonna sit there and watch me work all day? Or are you going to talk?"

Numbuh 7 blinked. "I… wasn't aware you welcomed distractions."

"I welcome company," Jodie tilted her head to the nearest chair which- she was pretty sure- was the desk chair. "Sit," Admittedly, she hadn't cleaned her room in the treehouse in awhile. She wasn't sure what was a seat and what was a heap of metal hidden away under trash and blankets. Numbuh 7 quirked an eyebrow, but found himself a seat not at what she thought had been the desk chair, but atop the desk itself next to her workshop station. She nodded again to the helmet. Put it on, for your safety. He waved a hand.

"Can you talk and work at the same time?"

"Dunno', worst case scenario I chop a limb off and Numbuh 488's gotta work his magic on my mutilated body, right?"

Numbuh 7's nose twitched the slightest, but his lips kept their straight, ambiguous lines- telltale sign of amusement, in him. "Not funny."

"Who says I was joking?" Jodie paused for a moment, then reached up to slip the helmet from her head. "Never seen you so scared, Ace. What's boggling around in that huge head of yours?"

"Scared?" His nose wrinkled. She'd insulted him.

Jodie smiled. "It's not like you to keep watch at my door like some kinda' bloodhound." Numbuh 7 was much like his dad, from what she'd heard from Numbuh 21. He was to-the-point, fearless, unapologetic, all of what Numbuh 21's mom called Numbuh 274's worst traits . The kid was as prim and proper as one of the delightfuls, save for the earth-shattering ego. He asked for nothing, let alone attention- it was a given if he walked into a room. She nearly rolled her eyes. She knew their little Tim-Tim, though, and the twitch of his thumbs in his lap told her there was something amiss in his perfect world. Usually…

She glanced around. "Is this about Numbuh 21?"

His hands ceased. "No."

"Then…?"

"I'm just checking on you."

She reached for a towel, wiped her hands clean of grease, smile itching across her face. Ah, one of Tim-Tim's more favorable traits- brotherly devotion. It was endearing when it wasn't clocking you over the head unexpectedly- unwarranted. "Checking on me? What have I done to make the great bloodson worry?"

"Jodie," Numbuh 7 set a hand at her shoulder, squeezed once. "We're all worried about you. I know that Numbuh 1212 is still missing, and I know you-"

She waved him off, crossed the room to her bed, took one, two running steps at it and bounced off her back. He watched her with thinner lips, eyes that flitted between her face and her hands, busy pressing against her mattress. "Don't even worry about it. He's the furthest thing from my mind, right now." Her fingers tangled in the sheets.

"If you say so…"

"I do! So, tell Claire to stop worrying her pretty little head over me, annnd make sure to tell her to never send a soldier to do a squire's work." Numbuh 7 tensed; he'd been caught. But they both knew that he'd have never pried if he hadn't been egged on. He kept to the shadows like the right hand he was, left pick-me-ups and affirmations, never stuck his nose directly into the pile- which was why he'd been nervous, of course. She'd known that from the start. He wasn't used to being a shoulder to cry on, he was used to being the hand that tucked the sheets to her hypothetical chin when she'd gone and worked herself to exhaustion. "Tell our girl I'm fine. I'll get through it."

Small smile, amusement again. A tilt of his chin as his body inched to the door. "If you're sure."

"Without a doubt."

And maybe he didn't believe her, she could see that narrow in his eyes, the set of his jaw, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he listened. "You're not alone, Jodie."

"Never am," she smiled. "Never will be."