CHAPTER 73: A LONE WOLF IS A LONELY WOLF

ME: Hey! Where's my welcome back party?

BRAKER: *flies into the room, orange streak behind him* Here! We have a cake, but it's kind of old now. *holds up mushed cake*

ME: Eww… Oh well. I guess it's still cake. *starts eating*

BLISS: Where have you been? We've been waiting forever.

ME: Studying, duh. School's been killer so far.

BLOSSOM: You last updated at the beginning of the school year in September, and now it is nearly the end in April.

ME: Yeah, it's just been really busy. But I finally got to finish it, and now exams are coming up!

BLOSSOM: Good luck, Kuku!

ME: *chomping on cake* Thanks, Bloss!

Chapter 73: A Lone Wolf is a Lonely Wolf

When Vix returned to the cabin from his shopping trip, Damon was waiting for him. The man smiled saccharinely. "So you're back, my son! How did your mission go?"

"It went fine," Vix said cautiously, handing Damon the plastic bags. He frowned as questions raced through his head.

"What's the matter now?" the man asked, already opening the door to the cabin and heading back inside. "You seem a little more…wary, all of a sudden—and here I thought we were getting close again."

"We weren't," Vix whispered quietly to himself, before sighing and following Damon inside.

When the door closed behind him, he was encased in darkness. Damon had headed to the kitchen, and Vix could make out the sound of rustling plastic bags as he started rummaging through the items. He picked up a container of eggs and beamed. "Ahh, good, good! You've gotten everything I asked for."

He didn't say anything to reply, sitting quietly down on the sofa.

"Well, Vix? I asked you if anything was wrong, remember?"

He looked up. "I'm fine, Damon. I'm just worried about Christie. How is she? Is she okay?"

"Her again? She's fine." A snort. "You must care for her quite a lot. I can't imagine why; she's bad-tempered and spoiled—nothing like a proper lady."

"Yeah, she is." Vix smiled faintly, remembering all the times he'd spent with her, exasperated and annoyed, rolling his eyes in frustration as she scolded him.

The two remained quiet for a bit, while Damon fixed lunch and Vix stared off into space, musing to himself about a certain blond, turquoise-eyed girl.

And meanwhile, down below, that very same blond, turquoise-eyed girl was trying to read a book—keyword being trying—to keep her mind off of things.

It wasn't really working.

Break two eggs… She couldn't concentrate. She kept having to read the same sentences over and over again. Groaning, Christie set the book aside and sat down on her "bed", tucking her knees under her chin as she stared at the wall. She was bored and wanted desperately to get out. She'd already been stuck for far too long, and she knew her family would be worried sick.

She wanted to leave, but there were a few obstacles preventing her from doing so. One of them being Damon himself and his watchful, careful eye. The other was the result of his caution: she was trapped, and when she wasn't, she was blindfolded and constantly guarded.

The other was a different kind of problem.

And that problem was Vix.

Christie knew she should be furious at Vix—that she should hate him and want nothing to do with him—and a small part of her did feel that way, but a large part of her couldn't bring herself to leave without him. Despite everything that he'd done to her, he was just as much a prisoner as she was.

Her shoulders sagged. I want to save him too, even if it's impossible, she thought.

Before she could dwell on it any further, there was a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes and called out a muffled, flat "come in". For whatever reason, Damon sometimes felt the need to knock, which was dumb considering she was his prisoner and—

"Christie?" The door opened an inch, and green eyes peered at her. They weren't Damon's eyes, and they weren't on Damon's face, and it wasn't Damon's voice that greeted her. "Lunch is ready."

"Vix…" She swallowed, before she remembered everything that had occurred between them, causing her gaze and her heart and her voice to harden. "What are you doing here?"

He grimaced. "Damon sent me to fetch you. I-I don't know why."

"Okay." She leapt off the bed and walked over to him, holding out her hand as she tugged the red kerchief up to cover her eyes. "Let's get this over with."

He stared down at her open hand, slowly reaching forward to grab it. Their hands fit nicely together, and her warmth immediately seeped into his cold palm. He swallowed as he glanced down at her face. While her eyes were covered, she was still so beautiful. The kerchief pulled the attention from her pretty aqua gaze to her full pink lips—lips that Vix desperately wanted to kiss.

He reached up and tenderly cupped her face with his other hand. "Christie…"

She froze. "Vix?" she whispered.

He froze as well, and quickly withdrew his hand. I never learn, he thought, turning around. "S-Sorry. There was something on your face. L-Let's just go."

As they walked up the stairs, Christie lifted her kerchief slightly with her free hand to watch him. She couldn't see his face, but his red hair flew out behind him. It was still tied in the neat, high ponytail from his mission.

She smiled slightly, squeezing his hand.

Vix glanced back in surprise, but Christie had already pulled the kerchief back down. Her face was blank and passive, and he blushed as he wondered what the squeeze had meant. His heart was racing by the time they reached the top of the stairs.

He led her to the kitchen, causing Damon to look up. "Ah, hello, Christie, my dear! You look like you're doing alright."

"About as 'alright' as someone can be, in my situation," she responded flatly.

Damon smiled back in amusement. "Indeed," he agreed. "I've certainly made sure you're doing at least 'alright'—based on a promise I made to a certain someone." At the last statement, he gave a pointed look to Vix, still holding his smile.

Vix's eyes widened before he blushed and looked away, happening to look down at Christie, who was still standing there with the kerchief over her eyes, with what was available of her expression being blank and impassive. He wondered if she could infer who Damon was referring to.

"Anyway, let's all gather round and enjoy lunch," Damon continued, sitting down while gesturing at the table.

Vix hesitated, wondering if he should move to sit down or try and guide Christie—but he didn't have to wonder for long, because he soon felt her hand in his again. His eyes widened briefly in surprise, and he was unable to hide his soft smile as he helped her sit down at the table.

Damon watched with amused curiosity, and when they were all gathered, he waved his arms over the table. "Today we have a very special meal," he explained. "I cooked us some delicious turkey, like a real family. And I also made scrambled eggs and tomatoes." He paused, grinning. "I even sent Vix out to fetch you some much-needed fresh blood, my dear Christie."

She pulled her kerchief down to raise an eyebrow, staring blankly at the man. "But we're not a family though."

"Like a real family," Damon repeated with a ferocity that neither Vix nor Christie dared defy. His lips had curled back to reveal his sharp canines, but he soon returned to his usual demeanour. "I am more than willing to consider you like a daughter-in-law."

Christie pursed her lips, glancing at Vix. He was now frozen, his back as stiff as a board, with the look on his face being pure mortification. She burst out giggling, and the two males turned to her incredulously.

"What's so amusing, my dear?" Damon inquired. "I do love myself something funny."

Vix said nothing, too embarrassed and flustered to do so, but his mind was racing with questions as well.

"N-Nothing too funny," she responded between giggles. "Sorry. I just…I don't think Vix feels that way about me. Eh, old sport?" She looked up and grinned teasingly, nudging the boy beside her.

His eyes widened, but the smile on her face melted his heart. "Heh. I guess, old buddy," he responded affectionately, with an equally teasing tone.

Damon rolled his eyes, although he didn't appear particularly annoyed. "Young love," he muttered quietly to himself.

When Vix caught the statement with his sharp hearing, he felt his face grow warm all the way to the tips of his ears. Christie, on the other hand, didn't exhibit a change, as she was now smiling calmly while sipping her tea. He briefly wondered if she'd heard.

"Now...how's about we enjoy our meal?" Damon continued, picking up the knife and fork. He began cutting the turkey. "So Christie, mind telling me about your day? Anything interesting happen recently?"

She blinked back at him. "Damon," she began slowly, "you have me trapped in a cellar. I don't think anything interesting can happen, and even then, it hasn't happened."

He chuckled. "Are you sure about that?" He winked at her. "I have a feeling things are about to get really interesting."

She narrowed her eyes at him, while Vix furrowed his brow, both of them wondering what was running through Damon's mind. "...Right," Christie finally said, beginning to dig into her meal.

"Let me know how the blood is," Damon replied, not looking up from cutting his own turkey into slices. "I do miss my old friends Ivan and Gregory. They always sold the best blood."

"I'm sure they don't miss you," she responded sarcastically, picking up the cup of blood and taking a sip. "But yes. The blood is perfect."

"Christie, my dear, your words hurt me so!" He placed a dramatic hand to his chest.

"If only I could hurt you for real," she muttered.

He smiled. "What was that?" There was a hint of warning to his voice that gave her the shivers, but she didn't want to back down.

"I said—"

"Nothing, Damon. She didn't say anything," Vix said quickly. He was suddenly overly aware of their surroundings and the danger they were in, as if they were walking around eggs and trying not to step on a single one.

When Christie looked at him in shock, he didn't look back at her. Scowling, she folded her arms. "Vix, stop trying to treat me like a damsel in distress. I know what I said, and I meant it."

He closed his eyes.

"I said I wish I could hurt you for real," she repeated defiantly.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "You can always try," he drawled.

"I know I can." She glared back at him.

Vix's eyes were still closed. "Like a real happy family," he muttered to himself under his breath.

"No." Christie stood up. "We're not happy. And we're not a family."

"Christie, let's be rational—" Vix tried.

"Dammit, Vix! Stop trying to act like things are okay the way they are!" she cried.

He stood up now too, aware that they'd both stepped on an egg and cracked it open. It was too late to be delicate now. "I'm not, okay! I'm just trying to protect you!"

"I don't need protection! And you've been doing an awful job at it anyway!"

"Which is why I'm trying! I know I did horrible things to you—"

Her face flushed red. "You sure as hell did," she agreed, folding her arms and looking away. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Children, let's not fight now," Damon began, holding his hands up.

Christie spun around and glared at him. "Stay out of this! This is all your fault anyway!" She grabbed the edges of the table and growled out, "I've been too compliant this entire time—I should've done this way earlier."

And before either of her companions could stop her, she flipped the table. The plates and cutlery and cups went crashing down to the ground, and a symphony of broken porcelain sounded in the air, smashing like eggs on the floor. Food and blood and juice and water and sauce splashed everywhere, specks of blood landing on Damon's face. He stayed motionless, still seated as the chaos unfolded. It was only after the items had all fallen still on the ground that he narrowed his eyes.

Christie stood there, panting violently. She looked up and was met with the dangerous glower of a predator. She got ready to fight despite her wrists still being chained together, but before she could react, Damon was already standing in front of her.

Jerking back in shock, she tried to throw a punch, but he caught her fist easily. He grinned dangerously, his eyes wide and filled with amusement. "I was expecting that," he growled.

"Christie!" gasped Vix, rushing forward to grab Damon from the back. "Damon! Let her go!"

"You lost your temper again," he told her. "It's so unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

Indignant despite her fear, she replied, "You know what else is unbecoming?"

And before he could reply, she swung her leg upwards and smashed it into his face.

Damon let her go and she stumbled backwards, away from the overturned table and the broken pieces of glass. She bumped into the kitchen counter and let out a sharp gasp at the jolt of pain in her back, watching Damon also stagger back. Vix was still hanging on for dear life, his feet dangling over the small pieces of porcelain.

Like broken eggs, Vix thought to himself, feeling fear thud in his chest.

"Grave mistake, little girl." Damon ripped Vix from him as if he were a ragdoll, tossing him onto a sofa near the kitchen doorway. The man looked up at her and grinned, his irises having shrunk to small dots.

"I don't think so," she whispered. And as soon as Damon lunged for her, she leaped up into the air and landed on his back, smashing him to the ground.

Letting out a loud hiss, he reached up and grabbed her ankle. "I'm not letting you out of here without a fight."

"Good, because I would've intended to fight you either way," she panted, trying to drag herself free. She stretched toward the knives, but Damon pulled her down hard so that she hit the ground with a loud thump.

"Oh no you don't." He moved so that he had Christie's arm in a lock, preventing her from pulling free. "We're doing this fair-and-square. Without weapons."

"Great," she muttered into the floor, grimacing.

"Damon, let go of her!" Vix cried, leaping over the sofa and diving toward the two. He tackled Damon into the kitchen counter, causing the man's head to crash into the wood. He turned around and gasped, "Go!"

Christie struggled upwards, before her eyes widened. "Vix—!"

Damon grabbed Vix by the face and tossed him aside. The man pulled himself upwards, towering over the two teenagers. "Stay out of this, Vix. This is Christie's fight."

The boy hit the floor hard. He groaned, slowly curling up into a ball before seemingly going limp. He was suddenly as delicate as an egg.

Vix! Shit! Christie took a step backwards, her heart thundering in fear. Dammit! she thought. How the hell am I supposed to get out of this mess? "How could you hurt the boy you keep calling your son!?"

"You need to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Besides, aren't you going to agree with me?" Damon asked, his tone almost mocking. "I thought you told Vix you didn't need him to protect you anymore."

"I don't," she snapped. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking.

He smiled. "Of course you don't." And then he lunged.

Gasping, Christie tried to scramble backwards but couldn't any more, as the glass shards were now right behind her. Damon and her fell to the floor, now wrestling as the two of them tumbled to the side.

"Give up," he snarled, after managing to get on top of her. "Your hands are chained—you can't beat me."

"I refuse!" She smashed her feet up into his chest so that he fell off of her, hacking. "You can't make me give up so easily." Quickly standing up, Christie then slammed the metal cuffs around her wrists into Damon's head, forcing him to fall back down.

The man grunted and grabbed his head, clearly dizzy. There was blood on his hands. "Damn," he muttered.

"You can't stop me," she repeated firmly, panting. She struggled to say her words despite the lack of air making its way into her lungs. "I'm going home."

Damon looked up and smirked, staggering upwards. "You think you can just walk out of here just like that?" he sneered. "You think you can escape so easily?"

"I'm going." She glowered up at him as he got nearer, his brown gaze staring down at her. "You. Can't. Stop. Me."

His fingers curled into a fist and he got ready to throw his wrist, but Christie snatched up a large shard of porcelain and held it in front of her. Damon paused, his fist raised in midair. Christie's hands were shaking and she was still staring defiantly up at him, but he was no longer looking down on her the way he had just been doing. Instead, he was smirking.

And very soon, he was laughing.

Christie slowly lowered her hands just slightly, but kept the shard in her grip. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Damon breathed in deeply, still chuckling as he wiped his eyes. "You win," he announced, grinning.

"What…?" Christie stared at him blankly. "I…?"

"You heard me. You win." Damon folded his arms, his smile never disappearing from his half-burnt face. "I'm letting you go now."

She swallowed. "You're not tricking me?"

He held up his hands, blood dripping down his palm. "Christie, Christie! You always expect the worst from me."

"It's not hard to," she muttered under her breath.

"Look, I'm defenseless and I don't have a single weapon on me. I'm bleeding and scratched up and bruised and I think you've knocked my head into solid objects around four or so times. But honestly, who's counting? My head's way too dizzy from all that smashing, and I'm bleeding everywhere. I'm about as broken and as harmless as Humpty Dumpty right now; believe me."

"You sure don't sound like it," she said slowly, furrowing her brow in suspicion. "You're acting perfectly normal, and your speech is hardly slurred."

"Define 'normal'," Damon chuckled. "You know me. I'm unpredictable, but also nearly undefeatable."

"You're right. You're not normal or right in the head." She paused. "But if you're so invincible, why do I win?" she demanded.

He winked. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out."

Christie peered at him suspiciously before making her way toward Vix, who was still curled up on the ground. "Vix," she breathed, shaking him gently. Her voice cracked. "Come on, Vix—wake up."

He slowly blinked open his eyes, his healing eye misting into white as it attempted to heal his injuries. "Christie…?" he murmured. "Are you okay? Or did...did we just both die and this is heaven?"

Relieved, she fell backwards and almost laughed. "This isn't heaven, silly. You're still alive. You're safe, and you're okay." She paused, swallowing. "I beat him, Vix. I beat Damon. I won."

"Thank God," he murmured, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. He smiled weakly. "I knew you could do it."

"Yeah? You sure didn't seem like it," she responded in an affectionate yet slightly accusing tone. "You kept trying to save me."

"It's because it's my job. And because I care about you, Christie. Surprise," he replied, pulling himself up so that he was sitting, leaning against the kitchen counter for support. "I know you're more than capable of taking care of yourself."

"Thanks, Vix." She smiled. "That's all I ever wanted to hear from you."

He smiled back, before leaning forward. He brushed her hair from her face, as the fight had left it messy and covering most of her features. "And you deserve to hear it," he whispered.

"Vix…" Christie held his hand, which was still cupping her cheek. "Let's go home."

A slow clap sounded just then, causing both teens to look up. Damon was walking toward them. "What a marvelous performance, you two! I could truly feel the love between the two of you."

"Damon…" Vix looked up at the man, his voice turning husky. "What do you want now?"

He only grinned in response, stopping beside the teens. "Nothing. Christie has won. She has earned her freedom."

She turned back to Vix. "Good. Look, I'll carry you and—"

"Not a chance." Damon held up a finger. "You're not taking him with you."

Vix closed his eyes as Christie spun toward him, demanding, "What!? Why?"

He grinned, pointing the finger at her. "You won your freedom. He didn't. And I never said you could take another prize with you, considering how your prize is your freedom."

Christie let out a snarl, getting ready to lunge at him. "I should've known! You piece of shit—"

"Ah, ah, ah." Damon's hand shot out from behind him and a piece of porcelain became jabbed under Vix's chin. Christie froze.

"You wouldn't," she growled.

He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't I? I'm just so unpredictable, remember? And besides"—he grinned—"I only need to scare you off, anyway."

"I'll fucking kill you—"

"Christie, don't," Vix breathed, catching her wrist. "It's fine."

She stared back at him in astonishment. "But it's not fine!"

"I deserve this." His eyes were still closed, but he could clearly sense what was happening. When he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed against the piece of porcelain. "I'm meant to stay here, where the only person who wants me will have me. You deserve to be out there, where the people who want you will have you."

I thought you wanted me. Christie didn't say the words out loud. Instead, she murmured, "But I want you. I want you to come home with me."

Vix smiled slightly in response. A small tear, mixed with blood, dripped down from his healing eye. "Thanks anyway," he whispered.

"Now leave, before I change my mind about this deal at all," Damon told her.

Christie hesitated, before standing up. "I'll come back for you," she promised.

Vix shook his head. "You don't have to."

"You can try, but I guarantee you you will fail," Damon added.

Christie ignored what they'd both just said. "I'll save you. Wait for me, Vix." She turned around and began walking away, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach. For some reason, her heart felt like a cracking egg. She felt like she was betraying herself; she felt like she was leaving a piece of her behind. When she reached the door, she glanced back at Damon and Vix.

The man still had the shard to his adopted son's throat, and it glinted in the sunlight. He was watching her, while Vix's eyes were still shut. When Damon saw her, he smirked and winked.

The wink said, You may have won, but you've only earned what I let you win. At the end of the day, I still have the biggest prize of them all.

Christie swallowed. Then she turned around and opened the door, walking out into the blinding sunlight. And in doing so, she really did leave a piece of her behind.

Vix breathed out a sigh of relief when he heard the door close. He blinked open his eyes, his healing eye still white as it attempted to fix him. "That last bit where you threatened to kill me was a little dramatic. In fact, that whole thing was a bit much."

"It was perfect!" Damon laughed, letting go of his throat. "It didn't completely go the way I was expecting, and sure, I lost some dishes in the process, but at least those are replaceable. Otherwise, things went perfectly."

"You planned this?"

He shrugged. "Just slightly. Mostly I just wanted to see what would happen when she snapped."

Vix said nothing. He stared out the window, imagining the girl of his dreams walking out into the sunlight, with her long blond hair flowing out behind her as she escaped into freedom. His heart warmed slightly, and he suddenly felt reborn and full of life, like a reborn phoenix breaking free of its egg of ashes and smoke. "She beat you," he remarked.

Damon paused, having begun sweeping up the porcelain on the floor. "I let her win what she was meant to win. The ultimate prize is still mine," he replied coolly.

"No." Vix smiled, standing up. He grimaced at the pain that ached all throughout his body, but he was still smiling when he walked to the window and touched his forehead to the cool glass. He could see the forest outside, its trees swaying in a warm breeze. It looked so peaceful. "She won. She beat you. And I knew she would."

Christie… Even if I'm not there, don't think otherwise. You did win, and you won more than intended. Vix touched the glass with his hand, closing his eyes. You even won my heart.

"Do you feel okay? Are you cold?" Braker asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night. He reached over and attempted to adjust the blanket that was wrapped around his counterpart. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine, Braker." Bliss gently pushed his hands away. Then she let her voice soften: "You've already done a lot for me."

He pulled away, looking shy, which was so unlike Braker, Bliss would've laughed if she didn't feel so much like crying. She wished she could say more, but things were so awkward now because he'd confessed his feelings for her not too long ago.

"I'll get you some hot chocolate," he announced abruptly, standing up from his bed.

"Braker, you don't have to—"

But he was already gone. Bliss stared forward at the empty room around her, the darkness feeling like claws reaching too close for comfort. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, trying to ignore her fear.

When Braker returned, he had a mug of steaming hot chocolate with him, just as he'd promised. Bliss noted that he hadn't made one for himself, which was rare indeed.

"Thanks," she said, taking the cup gingerly. She blew on the hot liquid, before remarking quietly, "You don't have to worry about me so much."

"Would you rather have eggnog?" He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head, and he sighed in defeat when she didn't even crack a smile at his joke. She stayed perfectly still, like an unhatchable egg.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he murmured back.

"I know." Her shoulders sagged as she drew the blankets tighter around herself. "And I appreciate it. But I promise you, I'm fine."

Braker fell silent. He fidgeted beside her for a little while, before saying abruptly in a very gentle voice, "I'm sorry you had to see DJ at his worst."

Bliss didn't reply right away. She stared down at her hot chocolate, trying to piece together a coherent, strong, yet reassuring response that wouldn't shove him away. Instead, she blurted out, "You knew, didn't you? That he was a vampire. That's why you were always so harsh on him and his friends. Because they're monsters."

He didn't reply. He didn't even look at her.

"I know they're vampires, but...aren't they human too?" she asked, her throat dry. Her voice cracked the way an egg would. Bliss regretted the words immediately, grimacing at how accusing they sounded. But it was too late—they hung in the air like a string of knives.

Her counterpart still didn't say anything. He was gazing forward at nothing, his hands locked together and his face still.

I don't think I've ever seen him so quiet. Bliss swallowed. "Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean…"

"No. It's okay." He sighed, releasing his hands and letting his shoulders fall. "You're right." He hesitated briefly. "I did know about his heritage."

Bliss blinked in surprise that he would even admit such a thing to her. "So...why…?" she trailed off. She kind of even wanted to ask him how he knew, but she didn't think either of them were ready. So she settled for "why".

"Why was I so hard on him?" Braker smiled slightly, scoffing. He looked up at her. "Have you ever even met DJ?"

"Braker—"

"Sorry, sorry." He put his hands up. "We were rivals partly because of his background, but when you're talking about me and him specifically, it was mainly because of his personality. I just can't stand him sometimes. He's so cocky, and smug…"

"Really?" Bliss couldn't help herself—she snorted slightly, smiling. "You know, you two are more alike than you'd think."

"Ugh! Don't even compare me to that creep!" Braker gagged as he made a face.

Bliss giggled into her hand, which was inside the blanket, so her laughter came out muffled. Braker gazed at her, smiling affectionately. He longed to reach out and hold that hand and lean in close, and make her grin some more so he could hear more of her happy laughter.

Her giggling soon faded away and Bliss smiled faintly, looking down at her feet and the mug of hot chocolate. "Braker… Thank you. I'm…sorry about everything."

"For 'everything'?" he echoed. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"For…rejecting your confession. I hate to be the one making you sad," she mumbled into her mug.

Braker smiled slightly. "Bliss… You don't have to apologize for being honest." He reached out toward her, before hesitating and setting his hand back down. It rested closer to her than before. He gazed out into his room. "I'm glad you told me the truth. I may be upset, but...there's always going to be something or other that will eventually make people upset. You can't stop that, and you shouldn't stop yourself from being happy for the sake of others. That would just be dumb."

Bliss blinked in surprise. "That...was unexpectedly wise."

He glanced back at her, looking mostly amused and only mildly offended. "What? I can't be kind of smart every once in awhile?"

"No, it's not that—you're just not usually so smart—wait no that came out wrong I'm sorry let me start over—"

Braker laughed. "Bliss, it's okay. I just told you, right? I'm glad you're honest." He finally felt the courage to grab one of her hands, both of which had been waving around wildly in her attempt to take back her words. "You wanna know why it sounded so smart?"

Bliss felt her face grow warm. "Why?" she whispered.

"Because it came from here." He took her hand and placed it over his chest. "This is my heart speaking."

His counterpart breathed in. Her face felt really hot now, and she wondered about her own heart and what it wanted to say. When she tried to take a look, it seemed to be jumbled and conflicted and confused. "I think my brain's clearer than my heart right now. It's cracking like a broken eggshell," she admitted.

"We all feel that way sometimes." He let go of her hand, and as it dropped, Bliss realized that she missed the warmth of human contact.

She stared at her hand. "You're very brave."

Braker blinked.

"I wish I were just as brave."

He paused, before pulling a little closer. "You are," he told her. "I can swear on my life that you are one of the bravest people I know, Bliss." She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and his breath puffed against her cheek. "But sometimes we all get a little scared, and that's perfectly okay. What happened to you with DJ was pretty scary, and I imagine it's probably pretty jumbling and confusing and conflicting for your heart."

Bliss rested her head on his shoulder, staring down at his chest. "You took the words right out of my mouth," she mumbled.

He didn't reply, gently stroking her hair.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Braker."

"No problem," he murmured back. "I'm here for you." He also shut his eyes. "And don't worry… I plan on being here for you for a long, long time."

"How is he?" Blossom asked, walking over with a tray. On it was a piece of toast and a plate of scrambled eggs, along with a glass of water. She set it down on the nightstand beside Brick, watching with a sympathetic gaze.

The red Ruff looked defeated, his eyes sullen as he gently pushed his brother's blond hair out of his eyes. "He's finally asleep," he forced out quietly.

"You should eat," she offered softly, gesturing at the tray.

He only stared at it for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

"Brick…" Blossom sat down next to him. "How are you?"

He was silent for a few beats. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does." She tentatively reached forward and placed the back of her hand on his cheek. "I want to know if you're okay."

He closed his eyes and placed his hand in hers, still resting on his face. "I'm not important."

"Brick, that's where you're wrong." Blossom pulled forward and kissed him gently. When she pulled back, she said, "You are important. You're important to me."

He blinked open his red eyes and stared at her.

"You're my boyfriend, and I care about you. And because of that, I'll want to know how you're doing. So I'll ask again. Are you okay?"

Brick sighed softly, turning his head so that he could kiss her hand. "No," he whispered. "I'm not okay."

"...I was afraid of that." She felt her heart ache for him; it trembled as if her overwhelming feelings would crawl out of the fragile eggshell protecting them, and pulled him toward her in an embrace. "I hope Blaster's going to be okay," she told him. "And that you stop blaming yourself soon."

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. He hadn't said anything about how much he felt like he was at fault, and yet Blossom had known.

She'd known, and she'd understood.

Blossom let her counterpart cry for awhile, staring down at Blaster's sleeping form. The boy's blond hair looked soft white in the light, and he looked incredibly peaceful for someone who was causing so much pain to those around him—and he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

She sighed slightly, turning her head into Brick's hair. She wanted to be able to protect him. Brick was independent and strong, and he hardly ever let himself be vulnerable.

But here he was, breaking down in Blossom's arms.

"I love you, Brick," she whispered.

He sniffled. "I love you too."

Blossom knew now. When she had talked to Vincent because the Professor had prompted her to do so, she still hadn't been completely confident and sure of her decision. She had hoped she'd made the right choice.

But now, as Brick cried and let himself fall apart in her arms, something he wouldn't do in front of someone he didn't truly care about, she was confident she'd made the right decision.

He was that right decision.

"Brick?" Blossom asked.

"Yeah?" he mumbled.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"You're my right decision," she informed him, closing her eyes and stroking his hair. "I'm glad I chose you."

He was quiet for a few seconds, before smiling and saying, "And you mine."

Blossom pulled away when she was sure her counterpart was no longer crying. "How do you feel?" she asked again.

"Better." Brick smiled, still holding her hand. "Thank you."

"No problem." She smiled back. "I'm just glad I could help in any way at all."

"Blossom…" He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

She blinked in surprise. "What for?"

"I'm sorry I was…so hard on you for being attracted to Vincent," he managed to say. "Was I… Was it really that unfair?"

She was quiet for a beat, before shaking her head. "No, I think you were perfectly justified. I shouldn't have been getting so close with another guy when I already promised my heart to you."

Brick hesitated. "You can… You can still be friends with other guys. And I get why you were attracted to him. He was really nice to you."

"Brick, don't worry about it. It's fine, and of course I know I can still be friends with guys." She offered a reassuring smile. "You were fair in your feelings and I understand why you were upset. I would've been too, especially since I was giving you so much crap."

He smirked slightly. "Heh. You were kind of giving me a lot of shit, weren't you?"

"Yeah, and I'll willingly admit it. But don't try and remind me too often." She nudged him playfully.

Brick held up his hand. "I won't. Scout's honour."

"Did you ever even join the scouts?" she giggled.

"That's a secret." He winked.

Blossom rolled her eyes in amusement, but before she could reply, a knock sounded on the door. She turned toward it. "Come in," she called.

The door opened and in stumbled Banana, her hair still in the bun that she'd done back at home. "Is Blaster okay?" she whispered.

Blossom nodded. "You didn't have to wait outside, you know."

Banana looked away. "You know what I did. Of course I had to."

Brick gave Blossom a puzzling look, and she quickly said, "That's a secret too. It's Banana's."

"Ah." He nodded in understanding, before standing up. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit." He sniffed, trying to clear the remnants of his tears. "Keeping my brothers company will probably help them just as much as it'll help me."

"Good idea," Blossom replied, smiling. "And thanks, Brick."

"No problem. Anything for you." He bent down and kissed her before standing up and walking off. He passed Banana, who was awkwardly staring down at the floor.

When the door closed behind him, Blossom patted the spot beside her by the bed where Brick had been sitting.

Banana hesitated before sitting gingerly down beside her sister. She stared at Blaster's peaceful expression while sleeping, looking like she was in pain.

"Banana…"

"Don't." Her sister covered her own mouth with her hand, her voice coming out muffled as she said, "Please don't say anything yet."

Blossom turned to look at her. The yellow Puff was shaking, tears appearing in her eyes. "Oh, Banana…" Her shoulders fell.

Banana bent down, still crying into her hand. "I made a horrible mistake, Bloss. I've ruined everything."

"It may have been unfair of you to kiss him when you were already dating someone else, but feelings are often irrational," her sister offered, quoting what Bunny had said to her when she'd been crying over her and Brick's break-up.*

"I said...not to say anything," Banana whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

Blossom said nothing for a second, but noticed how her sister's shoulders were trembling. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't just ignore—"

"And why not?" Banana demanded, bursting upwards and moving so that there was some distance between the two, her back now resting against the wall. "Why can't we just leave the entire thing to rot like it deserves?"

"Because ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away—"

"If Blaster can avoid me I don't see why I can't—"

"Bansy! That's not how things work!"

"And why can't they work that way?" her sister demanded. "It would just...make things so much easier…" Her voice then trailed off, and she collapsed against the wall, burying her face in her hands.

Blossom hurried to hug her sister. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

Banana trembled in her arms, shaking her head. "No...it's not your fault…"

"Let's both calm down before we wake Blaster," Blossom suggested. "We wouldn't want to disturb him."

"No...we wouldn't." Banana glanced down at him, looking so miserable and guilty Blossom felt her pity for her swell even greater. "He hates me. He wouldn't want to see me here."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

"Blossom, he thinks I took advantage of him because I kissed him for attention. Of course he hates me."

"No—ooo…" Blossom did the "so-so" sign with her hand. "More like...he's just really, really mad at you. You betrayed his trust, but...give it time. I'm sure he'll come around."

"He doesn't… He doesn't have to come around. I was in the wrong. I don't deserve his friendship anymore anyway."

"Now that's just the kind of attitude that is self-destructive and does nothing to improve the situation," admonished Blossom. "At least give yourself a chance before you write yourself off as horrible and undeserving of a second chance." She paused. "Everyone deserves a second chance. Wouldn't you say?"

Banana was silent.

"Bansy… If you can't forgive yourself, how can you expect Blaster to forgive you?"

"That's just it, Blossom. I don't expect him to forgive me." She paused, wrapping her arms around herself. "I wouldn't forgive me."

Blossom sighed. "Don't do this to yourself, Bansy. If you accept your fate as someone who can never be redeemed, then you'll never get to move beyond this position of perpetual self-loathing and Blaster will not see any reason to forgive you."

"Don't you get it? I don't deserve to be forgiven! I shouldn't even try!" Banana snapped, glaring at her sister. "Stop trying to turn this into a therapy session! Not everything works out like in the fairytales. Sometimes people are just bad and don't deserve forgiveness, and I guess I'm just one of those people!"

"You don't have to be!" Blossom retorted, equally frustrated. "Forgiving yourself first can lead to you deserving forgiveness because it shows that you're actively seeking redemption and have learned your lesson, so you at least deserve a second chance, even if you didn't deserve forgiveness at first! Why can't you understand that?"

Banana froze, before looking away. She said nothing.

Blossom stared at her, waiting for a response. When she realized that Banana didn't plan on replying, she sighed and let her shoulders fall. "Look, Bansy… I know how you're feeling. And you don't have to keep feeling this way. At least… At least lift the weight of the pain from your shoulders a little by forgiving yourself, if nothing else. And maybe, just maybe, you can then become someone who deserves the forgiveness of Blaster. Maybe that's not you right now, but it can be." She paused, swallowing. Her voice fell slightly as she continued talking. "And wouldn't that be better for everyone? You'd be happier, the people who care about both of you would be happier, and even Blaster would be happier."

Banana closed her eyes.

"It'd be better for everyone than having both of you miserable and wallowing in self-pity," Blossom continued quietly.

"I—"

"She has a point, you know."

Both girls froze at the new voice. They turned slowly to see Blaster's glowing yellow eyes in the dimly lit room. He sat up by propping himself on his elbows. "Ladies."

"Blaster, sorry—we didn't mean to wake you," Blossom said quickly.

"I can tell." He paused, staring down at his blanket. His usually bright, sunny gaze was dark and shrouded in shadows. "You two were talking loud enough that I woke up pretty quickly, but I could tell this was a private conversation." He looked up. "About me."

Banana looked away. "I'm sorry."

He sighed. "You've been apologizing a lot lately."

She squeezed her eyes shut, her arms tightening around herself. "And I mean it each time," she whispered.

He didn't reply.

"I umm...I'll leave you two alone for a bit," Blossom offered. "You two obviously have a lot of stuff to work through."

Before either could say anything, she quickly proceeded to back out of the room and close the door quietly behind her. Then she made her way down the hallway and the stairs, pausing in the living room, where Brick was seated with Bandit, Butch, and Boomer. Braker was nowhere in sight.

Blossom poked her head in. "Hey guys?" she called softly. "Mind if I join you?"

"Babe!" Brick looked up and smirked. "Of course you can join us."

She floated over to him and sat down beside him, enjoying his warmth for a brief second. Mugs of steaming hot chocolate were on the coffee table before them.

"How's Blaster?" her counterpart asked urgently, picking his mug up and proceeding to blow on it.

"He's okay. He umm...woke up. I left Banana and him to talk for awhile."

"What?" Butch practically dropped his hot chocolate. He caught the mug before it hit the ground, but cursed as the steaming hot liquid got on his hands and the coffee table. The curses were bright and colourful, coming out of his throat in a high-pitched yelp, resembling the shocked yip of a small wolf pup.

Bandit immediately began wiping the mess up. "Butch, careful!" he scolded.

"Sorry!" the green Ruff responded, his voice strained. "But you really left them alone? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Blossom hesitated. "What do you know about what happened between them?" she questioned.

"Nothing," he admitted, "but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Blaster is not happy with her. I have no idea what she did, but you know Blaster is. All sunshine and sweetness until you piss him the fuck off."

"Yes, but well…this time things are a bit more…unconventional," Blossom replied slowly.

"What do you mean?" inquired Bandit, pausing in his cleaning.

"Err...that's not my place to say. Sorry," she apologized.

"Hmm. It's okay." Bandit stared down at his now sopping wet Kleenex. "If Blaster hasn't said anything by now, I guess he doesn't want us to know." He tossed the tissue into the garbage can. "But knowing that doesn't exactly stamp down my curiosity any more."

Butch set his mug down and rubbed his hands together, obviously still in pain from the hot liquid. "People here are always hiding the things that made them miserable," he muttered. "It's dumb."

The rest of the group fell silent, everyone feeling rather called out despite the lack of specificity of which people were guilty of the "dumb" hiding of events.

Boomer cleared his throat, having been quiet the entire time. "Well. Blossom, would you like a cup of hot chocolate as well?"

"Oh, thank you, but—"

"Please. I insist," he stated firmly.

Blossom paused. "Umm, okay."

He quickly stood up and then disappeared from the living room.

She watched him go before whispering to Brick, "What's gotten into him?"

"He's been like this for awhile now," he murmured back. "I think something's got him pretty miserable, but like Butch said…no one ever says anything when there's something troubling them."

She nodded. "His behaviour kind of reminds me of Bubbles'..." She paused. "Do you think… Do you think they have anything to do with each other?"

He shrugged. "It's definitely possible."

She wanted to say more, but she soon fell silent, as Boomer had returned with another cup of steaming hot chocolate.

"Here you go." He handed her the mug and sat back down.

"Thank you." Blossom blew on the hot beverage and watched the Ruffs, who were all staring at an object and not at each other.

Butch groaned out loud. "I'm so sick and tired of all this silent moping we keep doing. Why is everyone so fucking depressing?"

"Why are you suddenly so concerned about everyone's well-being?" Bandit took a sip of his hot chocolate, raising an eyebrow as his violet eyes remained hooded.

He hesitated. "No reason. It's just so...gray."

"That's a colour; not an emotional state. How surprisingly metaphorical of you," the purple Ruff commented in a clearly snarky tone.

"Butch has a point though." Blossom put her mug down briefly. "Everyone is giving off this aura of misery, and it does feel pretty 'gray'."

Boomer made a face, putting his own cup back down on the coffee table and looking around. He spotted Butch's nearly empty cup and promptly stood up. "Do you want more hot chocolate?" he asked his brother. "I noticed you have a lot less because you spilled it—"

"Boomer, wait. I'm not trying to start anything, and I swear I'm not probing. You don't have to try and run away," Blossom said quickly.

He paused, gaze shadowed. Then he sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Okay," he said, before sitting down. He inclined his head and raised an eyebrow, silently asking "well?", and prompting her to speak further.

"Well, I just wanted to say that Butch isn't wrong. That's my own point," she repeated. "That's all."

"We've all had a lot of stuff going on," agreed Bandit.

"What, so as soon as Blossom says 'it feels gray', it's fine?" Butch questioned, half-joking.

"Quiet, you." Bandit didn't glance back at his brother as he pulled on his ear nonchalantly.

"Ow ow ow! Hey!" protested the green Ruff. When Bandit let go, he indignantly demanded, "What was that for?"

"For fun." Now the purple-eyed boy turned to look at him, smirking slyly.

Butch rolled his eyes.

As the brothers continued to bicker, Blossom leaned into Brick's chest. He glanced down at her in surprise. "Tired?" he asked teasingly, reaching down and brushing her hair from her face.

"You wish," she responded, stifling a yawn. She closed her eyes and smiled. I missed this.

"Nah, that'd be the last thing I wish. Can't have you falling asleep when you're with me."

"And why's that?"

"Because then who would I get to kiss?" Brick bent down and gave her a peck on her cheek.

Blossom giggled. "Aren't you such a romantic?"

Brick smirked. "It's why you love me, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm." She nestled deeper into him.

"Blossom…?"

"Yeah, Brick?"

"I love you. And I'm glad we worked things out. I know I was pretty hissy and distant for awhile, but I would've been actually really heartbroken if we'd broken up 'for real'."

Blossom sat up and turned to face him. His strawberry-red eyes stared back at her, looking pained. "Aww, Brick—don't say that." She cupped his face with her hand. "I wouldn't have wanted to end it either. I was heartbroken even though we'd only just broken up, so you can imagine how hard it would've been for me if I had let you go for real."

"I'm glad you didn't."

She smiled. "Well, you know. I'm glad you didn't let me."

"More like…I didn't make you," he joked, before turning serious: "I'm sorry I scared you like that."

"You really don't have to apologize so much. You weren't in the wrong. Maybe you were a little extreme, but even that's a stretch. The whole ordeal was my fault anyway."

He raised an eyebrow. "Blossom's admitting to being wrong?"

"Cheeky jerk. I've admitted this over and over again." She shoved him playfully. "I'm starting to think you keep apologizing just so you can hear me blame myself."

He chuckled. "Maybe." Then he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "Can I kiss you?"

Her cheeks warmed but she smiled. It was sweet that he'd asked. "Yes."

So he did. And when he pulled back, he kept his arms around her. "One last thing."

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you and I'll last longer this time?"

She laughed lightly and closed her eyes. "Promise."

Elsewhere in the house, the conversation between counterparts was not quite so smooth or active.

Blaster was staring forward at nothing, and Banana was standing against the wall, hugging herself to keep warm. She felt trapped, and her throat was dry. Her counterpart wasn't speaking, despite Blossom having left the two of them alone to talk, so things were awkward and scary and Banana's heart was pounding like crazy.

She wanted to say something, and yet she didn't dare. She swallowed nervously, slowly opening her mouth. "I—"

"Banana."

She froze.

"I just want to ask you one thing." He slowly turned to look at her, his yellow gaze dark despite their bright colour. "Why are you so hard on yourself?"

She blinked, startled. This is not the question I was expecting. "Because… Because I deserve it," she replied quietly.

Blaster didn't say anything, so Banana felt the need to expand on her statement.

She stepped forward just slightly. "What I did was wrong. And I don't blame you for being mad at me for it. I would be too if I were in your position. It was unfair and unfaithful of me. So I...I deserve any punishment you've personally decided to inflict on me."

He turned to look at her. "And what if I hadn't chosen to inflict any sort of punishment?" he finally asked. "Would you accept it and live on as you've always had?"

Banana hesitated. She couldn't imagine Blaster not choosing to hold the kiss against her. She didn't understand why he wouldn't. "But I couldn't accept that," she tried to say.

He blinked. "No. Maybe you wouldn't have deserved it. But I'm asking you whether or not you would just accept it anyway and live with it."

She stared back at him.

"I want you to be honest with me. Why wouldn't you? Wouldn't most people?" He narrowed his eyes. "I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I...I know it's an easy way out, but I don't think I would've earned it, Blaster."

He scoffed, smiling a small, fake smile.

"What?" Banana asked self-consciously.

"It's not fair," he hissed back. "You shouldn't be allowed to act so high-and-mighty and good and pure after what you've done. And yet, here you are, claiming that you wouldn't be able to accept such a proposal, even after everything, as if you were such a good person."

"I just couldn't bring myself to do that to you," she tried to explain desperately. "I wouldn't deserve to walk free, and you wouldn't deserve that pain."

"It's too late for that now. You've already hurt me."

She looked down. "I'm sorry—"

"So you wouldn't be able to do that to me; just walking away a free person…" Blaster looked up, still smiling slightly, his bright gaze shadowed. "And yet you could bring yourself to kiss me to make yourself feel better, despite you having a boyfriend?"

"I-I know how terrible it was. And…that's exactly why I think I shouldn't be allowed to walk out without penalty. Because what I did was awful and wrong."

"At least you admit it." He stood up and walked toward her. His steps were shaky, but he kept his eyes on her. When he was inches from her, his breath on her lips, he looked down into her eyes and whispered, "But when you say you couldn't live with not being punished, are you really telling me the truth?"

She swallowed, but held his gaze. "Yes."

He placed his hand on the wall behind her head. "Then if I give you a punishment now, you'd accept it?"

"Yes."

"So tell me...what should I do?"

Banana blinked, startled by the question. "I...I don't know."

"If you're so aware of what a bad thing you did, then wouldn't you know best what I should do to penalize you?"

She looked down, feeling hot with shame. She shook her head.

He leaned in closer. "If not, then walk. And get out."

"E-Excuse me...?"

He smiled a small smile that was filled with anger and sadness—a smile that was empty of smiles. "I'm letting you go without punishment. You're free." Blaster raised his eyebrows. "So go."

Banana stared back at him, her shock preventing her from speaking.

"If you really can't go on, and a punishment would alleviate that pain, then I'll let you free without granting that wish." He turned to stare into her eyes. "So you're free. Free to live with what you did."

"Blaster…"

"Get out," he murmured. He pulled away and turned around. "Get out."

"No, Blaster! I told you, I can't accept—"

"GET OUT, Banana!" he screamed, whirling around. "GET OUT!"

Just as he said that, the door opened and Braker poked his head in. "I-I'm sorry… Am I interrupting something?"

Blaster took a deep breath, his shoulders falling slowly. "No… No, you're not interrupting anything. Banana was just leaving."

"I-I heard that." Braker glanced between the two of them. He cleared his throat. "I umm...I have a message for you, Blaster."

The Ruff furrowed his brow. "What is it?"

"Christie's back," Braker said.

Banana winced, and Blaster's eyes widened. "She is?"

His brother nodded. "She wanted to phone you, but you weren't picking up," he explained. "So she called me and asked me to pass a message along to you."

Blaster couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face. He tried to hide it with his sleeve. "Finally, some good news," he murmured.

Banana winced even harder.

He turned back to Banana. "Please leave," he whispered.

She closed her eyes just as Braker tried to step in, saying, "Blaster, why are you being so mean to her? What on earth has Banana done to deserve—?"

"Why don't you ask her?" the yellow Ruff responded sharply. He then paused when he realized how shocked Braker was at the extent of his brother's anger, breathing deeply. "Never mind. I'm leaving if you aren't."

He began making his way to the door, but Braker called out, "Oh no you don't! You should be resting—!" But one look from Blaster's angry yellow eyes and he stepped down.

"I want to see my girlfriend," he hissed out, before disappearing out the door.

Braker turned to Banana. "What's gotten into him? What happened between you two?"

"I-I'd rather not say," she replied quietly, closing her eyes. "I'm too ashamed."

"Umm…okay." Braker now looked incredibly uncomfortable. "I-I'm sorry—"

She shook her head. "You shouldn't be the one apologizing." She quickly wiped her eyes and swallowed, regaining her composure. "I'm sorry. I'll be taking my leave now."

"Banana, if you ever feel the need, you can talk to me," he offered awkwardly.

She turned to look at him just as she was almost out the door. She managed to give him a weak smile. "Thanks." Then she walked out, leaving Braker in the dark—both literally and figuratively.

Ross glanced at the clock on the wall as he fidgeted, flipping a pen in his hand. Damn it, Uncle… You can't call me here for a "meeting" and then be late…

Just as he was about ready to jump up and kick something over, the door opened and his uncle rushed inside. His long black hair was messy, pulled back in a careless ponytail. "I'm sorry I'm late, Ross—something kept me…" He trailed off, suddenly focused on dumping the rolls of paper in his arms on the desk.

He stared back at his uncle in surprise. Uncle Shamus hardly ever tied his hair up. "You wanted to see me?" he inquired.

His uncle nodded. "Yes, yes—my apologies; I'm a little scattered right now."

"Evidently." Ross nodded at the things Shamus was unloading from his arms.

Shamus paused to smirk at his nephew. "Cheeky little smart-aleck," he murmured, before refocusing on his task at hand.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" Ross asked, walking over and beginning to help sort the things on the desk.

"Just wanted to check in on you and your progress. You doing okay, kiddo?"

"I'm fine." Ross frowned, already hoping to tug the conversation away from himself. "What's this?" he asked, gesturing at the papers.

"Poster paper for school." Shamus sighed. "With the war going on, I sometimes forget, but I am still a teacher at Pokey Oaks High."

"A helper," Ross corrected. "You help Mr. Evans."

Shamus raised an eyebrow, smirking again. "Smart-aleck."

"I get it from the best," he replied cheekily.

"Indeed you do." Shamus finally had the papers sorted out in darkest to lightest. "Perfect. Thanks for your help, Rossie."

"Don't call me that." He wagged a finger at his uncle. "That's a dumb nickname."

"What? Rossie? I think it's perfect." Shamus smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Or do you prefer Rosie?"

"It at least sounds more like a real name," he replied, smoothing one of the crinkles in the poster paper.

Shamus was silent for a little bit, before finally asking, "You really feel alright, kiddo? You know you can talk to me."

Ross paused. He drew in a deep breath. "I know. And I'm fine. Honest." He looked up and tried to give a convincing smile.

His uncle stared back, before smiling fondly, almost with a sad tinge. "You know… I'm scared."

The boy paused, startled into silence. He furrowed his brow. "Uncle…?"

"I'm scared of a lot of things right now," Shamus clarified. He turned back to the papers and smoothed one down because it was curling up. "I'm scared of the war. I'm scared of the future and the past. I'm scared of the chasm that's growing between us again." He looked back at Ross, tears in his eyes. "But most of all, I'm scared of losing you."

"Oh, Uncle," Ross said, feeling guilt and sadness flood him.

"I'm sorry. I'm being irrationally emotional." Shamus wiped his eyes.

"You don't have to apologize." Ross rushed forward and grabbed him in a hug, burying his face in Shamus' coat. "I'm the one who's sorry," he mumbled. "I've just been going through some stuff and I—it's all so dumb. None of it has to do with the war or you though—I'm okay, Shamus. I'm just…an emotional wreck and I haven't wanted to bother you."

"Oh, Ross…you'd never bother me by coming to talk to me," he replied, hugging his nephew tighter. "I...I care about you a lot. But…I'm willing to wait for you to come to me." When the two pulled apart, Shamus gave him a sad smile. "Surprised? I'm trying to learn from Raymond and be a little less intrusive."

Ross blinked back his tears, making sure that his smile was as bright and visible as possible. "Wow. I-I don't know what to say, except thank you. I really appreciate it, Uncle."

"I'm glad you do. It's pretty hard," he joked, chuckling hollowly. The sad smile then returned. "But it'll be worth the effort, I'm sure."

Ross sniffed, rubbing his own eyes. "I'm proud of you. For making the effort."

"You know how much you mean to me, Ross. I just want you to be happy—it…it was the dying wish of your parents, and of course my own. It breaks my heart to see you sad."

He paused, not sure what to say. He swallowed. "I know," he whispered back softly, before drawing in a deep breath. "Uncle…could you…tell me again? The story of Dad before he died, from your perspective?"

Shamus froze now, realizing the sudden icy terrain he had stepped out onto, where one crack could threaten to drown them both. He looked around, before patting two chairs that were positioned in front of the old oak desk.

Ross sat down obediently and waited for his uncle to begin the tale.

"Tyrone…wasn't feeling—well—before his death. I'd been concerned for his well-being and wanted him to take some medication and get to bed early. Ty didn't even have the energy to dispute me anymore. He said some words to you, with the sad happiness and extreme love that he often did, before kissing you good night. He then said goodbye to the rest of us—Danes and DJ Sr had been chatting in the corner of the room, with DJ giggling over something in the romance book they were 'reading'. Damon had been reading a different book, fiddling with the necklace that Sylvie and Tyrone had gifted him years ago. I'd been busy with some knitting while watching over you and your father.

"He sounded oh-so-tired then, like the world was on his shoulders and he had so much on his mind, which I'm sure he did. Sometimes it seemed like there was so much stuff going on his mind that he couldn't properly express all of it. His broken heart didn't help—as much as he loved all of us, Sylvie was definitely one of the brightest lights of his life—his true love. Her death had such a profound impact on him, and it often saddened me to see my brother fall so far into depression. His grief made him quiet.

"I'll never fully understand just how much he must have been hurting. He always looked pained, but never seemed to be able to express the pain in words. He'd look back at me with the saddest smiles I'd ever seen, and turn back to whatever he was doing. Sometimes he'd stare into space for extremely long periods of time, and other times he'd mutter to himself. He wrote a lot during those times, although who knows what on earth he was writing down. Maybe he expressed himself better there.

"Anyway, after he'd retired to his chambers, the rest of us stayed up for awhile longer. I finished knitting you a new sweater, and Damon closed his book, looking quite sleepy. Danes and DJ glanced up, seemingly realizing that it was time for bed. I remember all of us shared looks and talked of small, simple things—we were often too reluctant to broach the subject of your father's sadness.

"DJ asked if he could stay the night, and Danes said yes. He always was Danes' favourite, after all. So the two of them headed upstairs together, telling us they'd be getting ready for bed. Damon turned to me and mentioned heading off to sleep too, jokingly adding 'perhaps together'? While he'd been joking, I agreed. And we…we went up together. I took you with me, and we went up with the man who would in a few hours murder your father.

"Maybe if I had known something then, I could've prevented it from happening. But I didn't know.

"We prepared for bed and we…we talked." Shamus paused, turning to look at Ross, who was staring back at him with wide eyes as he listened eagerly. "Damon had always carried a sign of bitterness with him since Sylvie and Tyrone got together, although it was small and hardly seemed to be a big deal. Even when I was worried, he was able to reassure me that he didn't hold anything against anyone, and he often seemed to be so pure of heart it was almost unbelievable. And I suppose…in the end, it really was impossible.

"Damon and you and I parted ways, saying good night. He retired to his room, and us to ours. I tucked you in and things went smoothly—everything was quiet; you even cooperated with me that night. It was later when…when everything else happened, and Tyrone was gone." Shamus finished his story with a pained expression, now hanging his head and burying his face in his hands. His frizzy black locks fell around him, obscuring his face even further from view. "I made a terrible mistake, Ross. I never should've been so willing to trust Damon. I-I should've suspected him more—"

Ross reached out and hugged his uncle, gently patting his back and trying not to tear up. "You couldn't have known," he managed to say. "Don't blame yourself… Damon fooled everyone." He sniffled. "He even fooled me."

Shamus sighed and looked up, collapsing against his nephew. "Ross, I'm so, so tired… I've been tired for so long now. It's as if sadness and worry have become my constant companion. I'm constantly anxious over something or other."

He cracked a small smile. "Part of that's my fault."

His uncle shook his head. "I worry too much anyway. I'm sure whatever you're going through will pass once you figure things out. I believe in you, Ross. And if it doesn't work out and it gets worse, I trust that you'll come find me." He pulled away, looking the boy in the eye. "I just wanted you to know that I'll always have your back."

"Thanks, Uncle. I mean it." Ross' smile was bigger now in response.

Shamus nodded, standing up. "I know," he replied, half-jokingly. He turned to the posters. "Thanks again for helping me with these."

"No problem. I'm happy to be of service." He stood up too. "I still have some…reading I want to do, so I'm going to pop on off now. Is that okay?"

"It's fine. I can manage the rest."

As he was about to leave, Shamus called out for him and he paused, turning back. "Yes?"

"I know it's tempting to keep everything to yourself. And while I don't want to push the issue, as I'm willing to wait until you're ready to talk, maybe finding someone to keep you company will help cheer you up a bit in the meantime."

Ross paused, before nodding and smiling at his uncle. He didn't want to worry him. "Okay," he replied. "I'll talk to Michael. Love you, Uncle."

"Love you!"

Ross then ducked out before Shamus could tack on anything else. The boy sighed, slumping as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He knew his uncle was right, and yet he still felt the familiar prickle of annoyance at being told how to live his life. But this time it was softened by love—much more so than it would have been years ago, when he and Shamus had still been traveling the world. Ross now understood just how hard his uncle worked and how much he really loved his nephew.

Guess I should hold true to my promise and find Michael then, huh? he thought to himself, his lips twisting into a small frown. He began heading to his best friend's bedroom, taking his time as he walked. The mansion was huge, and the beautifully decorated halls, along with his own bundle of sadness, made him more than willing to enjoy the walk in a slow, gentle fashion. He let his mind wander elsewhere as he made his way through the halls..

And that's why he didn't see her.

But she saw him.

She froze, not knowing what to do. She wanted to smile and say hello, but she wasn't sure how he was going to react. She still remembered their last conversation, when he'd cut her off and chosen to explicitly address her as a friend.**

Ross, on the other hand, had other things on his mind. He stopped in front of Michael's door and knocked, but there was no response. Frowning, he tried again. Still nothing.

"Umm…Ross?"

He jumped, looking up at the sound of the feminine voice. His shoulders fell when he realized who it was. "Oh hey, Sydney."

"Hey… Umm, if you're looking for Michael, he went out a few minutes ago," she told him awkwardly.

"Oh." He blinked back at her. His brain now felt like mush, and he couldn't quite think of a way to get out of the awkward situation, even though he wanted to. "Thanks." He offered her a small smile, reminding himself, Baby steps.**

Sydney nodded to indicate that it was fine, before asking, "What were you looking for him for?"

"Just wanted to pester him for a bit. Talk to him about random stuff," Ross explained. "Shamus seems to think I need company to cheer myself up, and I figured Michael was as good a choice as any."

"Well, if that's the case, I'd be willing," Sydney offered. Her cheeks flushed before she added in clarification, "To talk with you…about random stuff, I mean."

Ross' eyes widened. That's the exact opposite of getting out of this situation, he thought, panicked. "I really appreciate the sentiment, Sydney, but—"

Her eyes lowered as soon as she heard the "but". "Oh…of course."

Please don't make that face. He wasn't used to seeing Sydney so quiet and shy and disappointed. It made him feel guilty for trying to step away when she hadn't done anything wrong. All she's done is offer me help. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to say with what he hoped was a grateful smile, "Actually, you know what? We can totally talk."

"Really?" She perked up immediately.

That was kind of…cute. Ross tried to quash the feeling that had entered his heart, nodding. "Yeah—I figure if I want us to be friends again, I should make an effort to actually hang out with you again." Calling her a friend out loud was almost reassuring in some ways, partly because it made him feel like they were close friends again, but also because he felt the need to remind himself that that was all he wanted between him and her now. I don't want a romance this time. I won't let my heart be broken again.

"Right. Of course." Her smile was strained, but she didn't look disappointed. "Where shall we host this…err, meeting?"

Ross thought for a second, before saying, "Follow me." He turned around and led the way, glancing back once to make sure she was following. He tried not to let himself walk too fast, or else it'd look as if he were purposefully trying to walk far ahead of Sydney.

He soon stopped in front of the door that he'd been looking for, pushing it open. "Here we are," he announced.

"Where is here? I wasn't paying attention when we were walking, and this place is huge"—she peeked inside, before her eyes widened and she blushed—"oh! Ross, it's…it's…"

"My room." He felt awkward now, wishing she hadn't reacted the way she had. Now there was a sense that he'd presented her with a place that was too personal. But it wasn't, really. He was fine with his friends hanging out in his room. So why did it suddenly feel so weird? "Come on in," he mumbled, already inching inside.

She followed suit, sitting down politely at his desk while he plopped down on his bed. Sydney bit her lip as Ross lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Umm…"

He bolted upright. "Sydney, how have you been?"

The question had taken her by surprise. She'd been expecting him to want to talk about himself, and she'd been prepared to ask him how he was doing. "I'm fine," she replied. "But—"

"But I want to know more. We're supposed to be talking, right?" he pressed, staring into her eyes.

"...Right." She blinked, looking taken aback, but she recovered quickly. "Really, I'm fine. Sidney and I have been working things out between us pretty well, and I guess…I guess it's safe to say that so have you and I. You said you wanted to be friends still, right?"

He nodded. There was a sense of relief that she wasn't pushing for anything more than that—Although by more I mean more than just friends…well, like she's not expecting more than casual acquaintance-type friends, not more-more like more-than-friends more—

"Ross?" When he returned to his senses, she had her head tilted to the side in concern. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, indicating for her to continue speaking. He was too embarrassed to say anything.

"Well, I was just mentioning that after you and Buttercup got together, I actually talked to and sort of…got to know?—I guess you could say—Butch. He's nicer—and smarter—than expected." She snorted, looking a little amused. "Isn't that crazy?"**

Now she really had Ross' attention. His brain went blank with disbelief for a second. "You talked to Butch? Like…had a normal conversation with him? Willingly?"

Sydney chuckled, seemingly missing the implications of his surprise. "Yeah, I know. Shocking, right? I guess a lot of people wouldn't expect that from me."

I sure didn't. Ross didn't voice his thoughts out loud. He didn't want to scare her off of the topic, and he was definitely interested in learning more about what had been the subject of Sydney and Butch's conversation. "Soooo…" He trailed off, trying to sound casual. He swung his arms slightly. "What did you guys talk about?"

She froze, suddenly realizing where this particular conversation was headed. Her cheeks warmed as the thought it was about you entered her mind, but she kept her calm as she replied, "Err… I just wanted to talk to him about more personal things."

"Oh." His shoulders fell. "I guess you wouldn't want to tell me if it's personal."

She hesitated. "I wanted to ask him how he felt about you and Buttercup being together," she blurted out, before clapping her hands over her mouth and letting out a muffled "dammit".

Ross jerked his head upwards in surprise. Sydney had just mentioned a subject he himself had been constantly worried about. "What did he say?" he asked eagerly, surprising his companion.

"He admitted that he was kind of jealous," she replied slowly, still unsure whether or not she was crossing a line. But there was a part of her that was glad that they were focusing on Butch's "secrets", and not hers. "But he said he's always viewed Buttercup as a friend. So it was kind of weird for him."

Ross slumped, unable to ignore the guilt now wriggling around in his gut. "I was afraid of that. I wasn't sure if he had feelings for BC, but I had a feeling that he doesn't even know how he feels."

Sydney nodded. "I don't think he does," she agreed. She paused then. "Please don't tell him I told you this—I don't know whether or not this is something he wanted to be kept hidden. I told you because it seemed harmless enough, and because…I-I trust you."

He stared at her, before smiling a small smile. "I won't tell him," he promised. "Thanks for trusting me."

She breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing against his desk. "Thank God," she murmured. She still felt bad she'd said anything, but she had a feeling that this would help Butch in the long-run.

"So…um. If you don't mind me asking…" Ross trailed off, causing her to glance at him. He was fidgeting now. "What made you want to speak to Butch in the first place?"

Sydney blanched. This was the question she'd been afraid of. Its answer was too close to her, and not close enough to Butch. "I guess I was inspired," she began hesitantly, "by your own toleration of their kind, and by your relationship with Buttercup. I thought I sensed that Butch was going through some conflicting stuff when he saw the two of you together, and I wondered about his history with her. I just wanted to know."

"Oh." Ross glanced down at his hands. "That seems reasonable enough."

An awkward silence descended upon them, causing Sydney to feel as though she'd fallen into a trap she couldn't fly out of. The tension in the room was killing her—so much so that she spoke…without thinking: "That wasn't the only thing."

He looked up.

Now she felt like a deer in the headlights, her eyes wide. Her heart started pounding out of nervousness. "I-I mean… It wasn't—It wasn't quite the only thing—"

"Sydney…?" he prompted gently, looking concerned.

She felt almost dizzy now, and she felt silly for feeling so. "There was something else too. He reminded me…of me." Once the words left her mouth, she realized she was able to breathe again. She leaned against the desk, trying to ignore her anxiety.

Ross looked deep in thought now, as though his mind had gone somewhere far, far away.

After a few moments of nothingness, Sydney questioned, "Ross? Ross, are you okay?"

"How?" he finally asked, blinking back to reality. He turned his large green eyes on her, and she felt pinned beneath them once more. "How did he remind you of yourself?"

Now it was Sydney's turn to stare off into space. Out of every question he could've asked, she hadn't been expecting this one. "He just did," she finally managed to murmur in reply. "I guess it was because of how awkward he seemed to feel when he saw you and Buttercup together, and I just happened to relate."

He went still.

"Ross?" she questioned, now looking concerned. "I-I didn't mean to insinuate anything—I just meant that we were both in an awkward place because our…friends suddenly had a significant other. I don't mean to make any sort of implication whatsoever. I'm glad that we're friends again, and I don't plan on ruining that anytime soon."

Ross stared back at her, before forcing himself to give her a small smile. "Right; yes. I didn't think you were implying anything at all."

She paused, slightly relieved, before asking quietly, "Are you glad too? That we're friends again?"

"Of course," he replied quickly, looking up. "I…I've wanted to be friends again for a long, long time now."

Sydney glanced down at the floor and murmured something so quietly that he didn't hear.

"Sorry?" he prompted.

She sighed. "It just…it doesn't always feel like that's true," she admitted, with her voice still being incredibly soft. "It hurts."

He stared back at her, not knowing how to respond. He knew her accusation wasn't completely baseless, and yet the statement stung. You can't say that. You can't guilt me—especially not now. You hurt me first! But when Sydney turned her gaze away from him, appearing actually pained by his silence, he realized how selfish and cruel his thoughts were. Calming himself down, he tried to find the words to reply: "I-I'm sorry. I know I'm a little distant sometimes. It's just been…hard for me. You hurt me too, and it's been hard opening myself back up again. I—don't want to be hurt again."

She looked back up. "Ross…I never meant to cause you pain; honest. I've even been trying to change for"—she paused, swallowing—"well, not for you per se, but partly because of you."

This time he had to look away, feeling the guilt weigh down heavily on his shoulders. "You don't need to change for me," he whispered.

"I told you, it's not…it's not necessarily for you that I'm trying to better myself."

"I guess. But I don't want you to try and change if it's not sincere—"

Sydney's face flashed hurt again, before it gave way to anger. "Not sincere? I'm—I'm trying to—I can't believe you, Ross!"

"Wait, no! That wasn't the right choice of words. I just wanted to say you don't have to feel pressured to change, especially if you yourself don't want to." He waved his arms in an attempt to calm her down. "You weren't in the wrong to reject me because those were your true feelings. I know I'm just being petty. I'm just scared of things falling apart again. You were never in the wrong."

"But I was never in the right either," she protested, her ferocity surprising him. "I was a jerk, and I know it. I want to improve, Ross. Even if it's hard for you to believe, people change." Her shoulders fell then as the energy left her. "I still don't think I should've pushed you out so callously simply because I didn't want to…associate with Sidney's friends, and because—because of my crush on Michael. But if you're willing to admit that your pain makes you petty, then why…" She paused, now hesitant. "Why don't you want to change?"

He looked up sharply, causing her to say quickly, "If you think you're not in the right either, then why don't you want to try and improve too? Why keep pushing me out now, if it hasn't worked in the past? If you're so scared of being hurt again, with our relationship being damaged, are you really okay with the way it is now? Because it seems pretty broken to me."

Ross didn't reply. He couldn't reply. He couldn't find the words to form a rebuttal, because deep down, he knew she had a point. But rather than admit it, he instead said, "I have been trying." His tone was colder than he'd intended.

Sydney winced at his iciness. "I just thought…" She trailed off.

Well, you thought wrong. This time, he managed to stop himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out so cold. I have been trying—just baby steps—but you're not wrong. Maybe I should be trying harder." He met her wide-eyed gaze and smiled weakly, sticking his hand out. "So I guess I'll start that now. Friends?"

She gazed down at his hand, before a small smile overtook her lips. "Friends," she whispered, shaking it. Sydney gave Ross' hand a squeeze before letting go.

Neither of them knew for sure if this would change anything between them, but they were both a little more willing to hope that things would get better.

Bandit tossed his headphones down on his bed and sighed, stretching in his seat. His homework lay on the table in front of him, nearly complete—and yet, he couldn't quite find it within himself to finish it. Groaning to himself, he ran a hand through his dark brown hair and looked around. His room was dark, with the only light source being from the lamp at his desk—he'd been too lazy to turn on another light.

He hadn't realized how tired he was until now. Yawning, he stood up and headed out of his room, deciding that walking around might do him some good. While he usually turned the music up on his headphones to drown himself in the sound, he realized now that the house was completely quiet.

Welp. This just isn't right. There's obviously something wrong here. He looked up and down the hall. Where's all the screaming? Did everyone just die or something?

He began wandering down the hall, wondering if he'd find some answers that way. The quiet was an eerie kind, and it sent shivers down his spine that he didn't like. He'd been half-joking, but something really didn't feel right. "Brick?" he called. His voice penetrated the silence as if it were a cracking egg. "Blaster? Butch? Anyone?"

"Hey! Why didn't you call my name?" someone asked.

Bandit turned at the familiar voice, feeling relieved when he saw his brother's orange eyes. "Sorry, not sorry—I was getting to you. You probably would've been last—or just, you know, maybe not called at all."

"Haha, very funny." Braker rolled his eyes and folded his arms, leaning against the door of his room. A smile twitched at his lips, but he managed to quash it. "What's bugging you?"

"I was just trying to figure out why it was so quiet," he answered. "Where is everyone?"

"Hmm. Let's see." Braker looked down at his hands, counting off of his fingers. "Brick went to escort Blossom, Bliss, and Banana back… Butch is…I genuinely don't know; he's Butch, so he could be anywhere… Boomer shut himself up in his room, and Blaster…well, Blaster went to see his girlfriend."

This was news to Bandit. "Since when did Blaster have a girlfriend?" he asked. It felt weird knowing his baby brother (well, he was a baby still to Bandit, anyway) had a girlfriend.

"It's Christie. I think." Braker's lips twisted into a frown. "He hasn't really confirmed it, but he kind of did today."

"Ohh. That makes sense. He's been really hung up about her recently." Bandit paused. "You know, I almost expected him to be with Banana by now."

Braker shook his head. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. No way. Nuh-uh."

"Why's that? I know Banana has a boyfriend, but you're acting like it's—"

"What, impossible?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's because it is. I have no idea what Banana did, but you should've seen Blaster with her when I went to deliver him a message that Christie was back. He was livid—even more so than angry Blaster usually is. And you know how angry he can get. He literally yelled at her to get out of his room; he was that angry."

This was even more news to Bandit. He felt his heart sink. "Uh-oh. This sounds bad."

"You're telling me! I was the one who witnessed it. I felt so bad for the poor girl, but she refused to say anything." He shook his head. "Seems like they're going to keep it between themselves for now."

He frowned in response. There was nothing else to really add to the conversation. Neither of them knew what was wrong. "So what about you?" he asked. "What are you up to? And where are Him and Mojo?"

"Mojo's in his lab. Him's working out somewhere. And me?" Braker shrugged. "I haven't had a lot to do since Bliss left."

"I kind of wish we weren't so quiet these days," murmured Bandit. "It sounds almost like death."

"Aren't you being a little dramatic?"

"Not when you consider that we always seem so out of it now. We almost act dead."

Braker fell silent for awhile, before asking, "Then what about you? What's making you so quiet these days?"

Bandit also turned silent, feeling his face warm. "I've just…I've been figuring my emotions out, you know."

"Girl?"

He didn't reply right away, feeling strained. "Yes," he managed to say. "Girl."

Braker's eyes widened briefly. "Wow. I didn't know you had a crush."

"I… It's a recent development," Bandit muttered in response.

"Want to tell me about it? I bet I know who it is," he pressed eagerly.

Bandit felt even more strained. "Braker—"

"I'll tell you about mine in exchange," he offered.

He sighed, relaxing his shoulders. "It's Bliss. I know you have a crush on her."

"Wait. How'd you know?"

"You're not exactly subtle about it. Especially today; you've been hanging around her all day, constantly making sure she was okay. You didn't leave her side once."

Braker became silent again. "I wish I didn't have to."

Bandit felt himself soften, all of his prickles of self-defense melting away into gentle amusement. He smiled slightly. "I know the feeling."

His brother nodded, before looking up and tilting his head. "So…about this girl…"

He hesitated, rubbing his arm awkwardly. The name was on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn't quite bring himself to say it out loud. But then his mind clicked, and he felt himself relax slightly. "To be fair, I guessed your crush. So you have to guess mine in return."

"Hey, that's not fair—"

"Really? I think that's perfectly fair." Bandit crossed his arms triumphantly.

"Fine. But it's not as hard as you think it is." Braker smirked, and suddenly Bandit felt his confidence vanish again. The orange Ruff let some silence pass for dramatic effect, before saying in a slightly quieter tone, "It's Bunny, isn't it?"

He felt the stability of the world around him slip away. He coughed, croaking out, "How'd you know?"

"Really?" Braker half-scoffed. He sounded exasperated as he replied, "It's not like it's not obvious. You two have been close for a long time now."

"It's a recent development," he repeated almost defensively.

His companion snorted. "For you to realize your feelings, maybe. But she's one of the only people you interact with with actual interest and kindness."

"But that's just because she's so…so fragile. I've always felt the need to be nice to her."

"No." Braker jabbed his brother in the chest, a ferocity entering his voice as he responded. "She's not fragile; she's not a little egg you need to watch over. When it comes to this, Bandit, it's you who's fragile. Bunny's already been coming out of her shell for a long time now—and with you, sometimes you push her back into that shell."

He stared back, eyes wide. "Braker…"

"Talk to her." He pulled away, satisfied that he'd made his point. His tone was softer now, more gentle. "Tell her how you feel."

"She already has someone." He averted his gaze now.

"So does Bliss. But I confessed."

Bandit looked up in surprise. "You did?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "To be fair it was when I thought she was still single, but I still did it. It's a load off your chest, even if you get rejected."

"But I don't want to—" He trailed off.

"What? Make things awkward? Get turned down?" Braker raised a curious eyebrow. "Bro, you two are already awkward. And you know part of it's your fault. At least if you confess, you can relieve yourself of that burden.

"And no one ever said you have to stop loving her right away, if you do get rejected."

Bandit swallowed, unable to reply. He curled and uncurled his fingers.

"At least think about it." Braker patted him on the chest, a faint look entering his gaze as he smiled almost sadly. "You deserve a chance, you know. And no one's going to give it to you besides yourself."

He opened his mouth to try and say something in response, but the ringing doorbell stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look down the hallway at the stairs, where the front door was located. Braker stared too. The noise penetrated the dead silent house, until the door to Him's room opened and he popped his red face out.

He was wearing a neon green no-sleeve with a towel around his neck and a sweatband over his head. "Can one of you boys be a dear and get that door, please?" He fluttered his eyelashes as his voice turned demonic: "It's distracting me from my workout." The faint noise of an exercise DVD sounded from behind him.

"On it." Bandit floated into the air. He was more than willing to escape the loud, cheerful voice calling for Him to "work his thighs". Bandit flew downstairs, with Braker close behind him.

He clicked open the door. "Hey, how can I help"—he looked up and froze, his voice trailing off as his eyes grew wide—"you…?"

Bunny stood before him, smiling weakly and almost sheepishly as she waved and said, "Hi Bandit. Can I come in?"

"Umm...o-of course." He stepped aside, slowly feeling his brain return to his body. He swallowed almost nervously, wondering why she was here.

"Bunny, sweetie! It's so nice to see you," Him purred, appearing at the top of the stairs. He had turned from grumpy to courteous in a matter of seconds.

"Thanks," she replied softly, walking inside tentatively. And as if reading his mind, she clarified: "Could I…talk to you? In…umm, private?" Her voice quieted when she said the word "private", and Bandit's heart started beating faster.

He turned to look at Braker, who arched an eyebrow. Then the orange Ruff smiled slightly. He leaned in and whispered, "Go get 'em, tiger." Then he raised his voice and called, "Okay, we'll leave you two alone then!"

"Oh, but of course! I'll go make you two some cookies. Hopefully we still have some eggs." Him couldn't hide the excitement from his tone as he quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

"Snacks? Count me in!" Braker exclaimed, following Him away. "That sounds egg-cellent."

Bandit turned back to Bunny. There was a beat of silence before he murmured, "Come with me." He led her into the living room, and the two sat down. "What did you want to talk about?"

She looked down, running her hand across the smoothness of the coffee table in front of her and let out a little sigh. "I just...wanted to talk about—umm…" She trailed off, lowering her gaze. It flickered back to Bandit as she whispered, "About Darkai."

"Oh." His mind blanched. "Your boyfriend?"

Bunny grimaced before nodding. "I know how you feel about him," she began awkwardly, her tone soft. "But you two seem to…understand each other."

Oh, if only you knew. He was still staring at her, wishing he could explain that their mutual understanding came from their mutual love of her. I know he'll treat you right, at the very l—

"In a way that I don't."

Here Bandit blinked back to the present, realizing before he could comprehend her words that what she'd just said wasn't quite right. Darkai was supposed to be more open than Bandit was with Bunny. He was supposed to be everything Bandit wasn't; he wasn't supposed to hide secrets the way Bandit did. "What…?"

"I guess I'm just slowly realizing how much I don't know about Darkai," she clarified. "How willing I was to turn a blind eye on his silence. And how…" She looked up, her lip quivering. "How unfair that was to you."

He only stared at her, dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, Bandit."

"Bunny, no…" He reached out and grabbed her face, already regretting the mindless silence he kept presenting her with. She felt fragile in his grip, and he held her like he would an egg, not wanting to accidentally drop it in case it would shatter.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "Bandit?" she whispered.

"I—I…" He gazed back down at her, desperately wanting to tell her how he felt about her. How beautiful and smart and gentle and caring she was. How she deserved the world. How she deserved better—better than him. He sighed and pulled back, dropping his eggshell heart along with her. "You don't need to apologize. You're not in the wrong." He bit his lip as he thought, I am.

"Stop it," she mumbled out.

Bandit turned to her in surprise.

"Stop it!" she repeated, a little fiercer this time. Her hands were trembling. "You and Darkai always treat me as if I'm infallible. As if I'm somehow perfect and innocent and always in need of protection. I wish you would both stop skirting around issues when speaking to me. I'm not just some…some fragile egg in need of protection and warmth and caring." She looked up then. "If you're upset with me, then just say it."

"But I'm not upset with you," he replied quietly.

"Oh." Bunny's shoulders fell as the determination left her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I wish you were."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Darkai's upset but won't tell me why. I tried to confront him about it, but that didn't go well. Maybe if…Maybe if I could have confronted you, one of my oldest friends, I could confront him better."

Bandit felt the words pierce him like an arrow. Oldest friends. He swallowed. "What do you think was upsetting him?"

"I don't know!" Bunny responded, her voice rising an octave or two. It dropped again as she added, "I was hoping you would. Because again…you two seem so…familiar with each other."

"I guess I just kind of understand the way he works. A little bit, anyway." The words felt wrong to him. He and Darkai were nothing alike, were they? All they had in common was Bunny…

"I guess you two are both the stoic elder brother types," Bunny mused, allowing a small smile to tickle her lips. It fell again when she remembered the dilemma she was in. "Darkai and I are so compatible with each other, but lately it seems like we keep falling apart. I can't understand it."

Bandit stared at her, wanting to sweep her up in his arms and promise never to let her feel so lost again. He wanted to promise her that he and she were just as compatible; maybe even more so—that if she asked, he would crack open like an egg and reveal to her all the secrets she wished to know.

But he couldn't.

He shouldn't.

"I don't know what to do." She looked so distraught. So sad. So lost and afraid. So confused.

He could give her answers. He could take her. You only promised not to interfere so long as Darkai is making her happy and is protecting her. But look at her. She's miserable, a small part of him whispered through a crack in the protective eggshell he'd sealed himself in. But even then, he knew the truth. She still loved him. Even if Darkai was hurting her, he was still protecting her. She was still happy with him—she still wanted to be with him. She didn't want to leave him.

I still don't deserve her—maybe I never will. I have no right to take her away.

So I won't.

Bandit took a deep breath before replying, "Darkai's used to bottling up his emotions. It'll take quite awhile before he'd be willing to crack open like an egg. He's got a lot of baggage, Bunny." He couldn't resist adding, "I guess that's just a consequence that's part of the package deal that is Darkai." He eyed her, wondering how she might react to his assessment.

"I guess so," she murmured. "I thought I was ready to deal with his pain and his scars…" She trailed off, tracing something absentmindedly on the coffee table. "All those scars on his back…" She sighed. "I want to help heal him."

Bandit tried to stay stoic and impassive, but he felt a thin crack forming on his eggshell heart.

"I want to be there for him." She turned back to him. "Would you be…willing to give me advice if I ever need it?"

"Of course," he replied through gritted teeth and a thin smile.

She smiled, grabbing his hands. "Thank you, Bandit. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Oh, you have no idea how much this means to me, he thought sullenly. But he was glad that she was feeling better at least. He relaxed his shoulders and tried to feel, or at least appear, genuinely happy.

Him reentered, carrying a plate of cookies that Braker was already munching on. "Oh my!" he exclaimed, setting it down on the coffee table. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Bunny said quickly, withdrawing her hands. She smiled. "You guys are just on time. Thanks for the cookies, Him."

"You're welcome, darling!" Him answered cheerfully. "Turns out we did still have eggs after all."

"You should try some! They're delicious," Braker added through a mouthful of crumbs.

Bunny laughed her gentle, sweet laugh. She picked up a cookie and bit into it. "Mmm, this is great! You make a wonderful cookie, Him."

"Oh, stop it, dear! You're making me blush." Him waved his claw, smiling proudly.

Braker leaned into Bandit, whispering, "What'd you say to her, man? She's suddenly ten times more confident."

"Just the words she wanted to hear," he murmured back.

"Bandit, you should try one!" Bunny offered, holding a cookie out.

He took it, and as soon as his hands touched hers, he remembered how she'd grabbed them just a minute ago. But then she pulled back with a small smile, and he was left hanging there, his hands tingling.

"Thanks, by the way," she murmured, still smiling. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright.

She seemed genuinely happy.

Bandit felt himself splinter like an egg smashed against the counter. The very wall that he had built to protect himself had taken him down.

He was Humpty Dumpty, perched on his protective wall, and he'd just had a giant fall.

And no one, no one, could put him back together again.

"What happened to you?" Sophia asked incredulously, staring at Sidney.

He felt self-conscious all of a sudden, dressed only in a plain t-shirt and shorts. The exhaustion from his fight with Sampson and Harry** constantly threatened to consume him the past few days, so he'd been taking a nap. It had gotten warm, hence his current outfit, but he'd forgotten how many bandages and scratches still crisscrossed his arms. He tugged down on one of the t-shirt's sleeves, despite it accomplishing nothing. There were bandages wrapped around his hands and wrists and arms and legs, and some on his face. He knew he couldn't hide them all.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, still waiting for a response. She was eating scrambled eggs, even though it was already midday. "Well?" she prompted.

Sidney glanced at the clock. "I was—on a mission," he explained lamely. He finished pouring his milk into his bowl of cereal and tried to smile. "So…how are the eggs? It's a bit late for breakfast—"

She raised a hand to stop him. "Had a late night," she responded. They were silent for a while, before she gestured at the seat across from her. "You want to eat your cereal here?"

He hesitated, before managing to say, "Sure." He slid into his seat and awkwardly began scooping the cereal up into his mouth, trying to ignore the growing discomfort settling in his stomach, which was protesting the consumption of the cereal. With a little sigh, he set the spoon down. He knew he was hungry, but his stomach seemed determined to starve at the moment.

"What's the matter? Not hungry?" Sophia asked softly.

Sidney paused. "I am," he replied, considering his words carefully. "But my stomach…doesn't want to eat right now."

"Hmm. Rare problem." She offered a small smile to show that she was joking—at least, he thought that was why.

"Yeah." He looked down into his bowl, where cornflakes floated aimlessly. He was surprised Sophia had been so talkative since she'd gotten back; he'd always remembered her as rather quiet and reserved—a bit shy, just like him. Has she come out of her shell? I guess everyone's changed—except for me. I'm still only a sad little egg.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sophia asked, tilting her head to the side in concern. "You look exhausted."

"I feel like it too," he admitted, trying to ignore the sudden pain in his arms and legs and mind and stomach and heart—everything suddenly hurt. He stood up—a little too quickly. "Maybe I should just go back to—"

Sidney stumbled and almost fell over, with Sophia dashing out of her seat to grab him.

"Sorry," he said meekly, overtly aware of how close he'd been to collapsing.

Her gaze was soft, and she gently helped him back into his chair. He leaned against the table, trying to wait for his head to stop spinning. She watched him as she murmured, "When was the last time you ate?"

"I…I'm not sure. Last night? Yesterday afternoon?" His mind felt thick with cobwebs, and all he remembered was constant sleeping. He couldn't seem to stop feeling tired—even more so than most days.

Sophia scrutinized him, her lips twisted into a frown. "You're definitely in bad condition, Sidney."

He tried to respond, but his words came out like a melted mess of nothingness—gibberish.

"Let's get you to a doctor."

"Where's Mom? Dad?" he finally managed to wheeze.

"Out," she explained. "They took my dad shopping. Your sister's out too."

"Oh…" He closed his eyes, feeling hot and heavy, with his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts.

Sophia glanced at the time and frowned again, before looking back down at him. "You need instant help," she finally decided. "And I know where to get it."

"Where…?" he mumbled, but he was already drifting off into a numb sleep.

When he came to, he could hear faint voices floating around him. He felt heavy after however long of sleeping weightlessness, and he slowly blinked open his eyes. There was a whitish light overhead, and the voices were off to the side. They sounded tense, almost as if the people speaking were in disagreement with one another.

"When did you get back?" a man's voice asked incredulously, sounding as if he were stumped in disbelief.

"That doesn't matter. Right now, I need your help. Or rather, Sidney does."

"But Sophia, that's impossible!

"Please, can't you just look after him for a little while?"

"You know how it is in war—"

"But he's sick!"

"If I'm found housing or nursing him, both of us could be killed…"

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen." A pause. "Please…"

A beat. "You really care about this boy, don't you?"

She said nothing more, and Sidney managed to turn his numb neck toward the voices. His brain hadn't quite registered the identity of the man Sophia was arguing with, but now his eyes widened as the face became clear.

It was Sampson.

Sidney let out a panicked squeak as he tried scrambling away, but his limbs were still heavy from sleep and he teetered like an egg on the sofa they'd rested him on.

Both of them turned immediately to Sidney, eyes wide. "You're awake," they both said in unison; Sophia sounded relieved, while Sampson sounded tense.

"I-I'm sorry—I can tell you're busy…I-I'll just get out of your hair—"

"Sidney, no. You can't. You're sick," Sophia protested.

"Sophia, wh-why did you bring me here?" he asked tightly. He rubbed his his arm, suddenly aware of the pain that spiked his entire body. "He…He…"

"He's a doctor," Sophia stated, as if that answered everything and was a simple enough solution.

"Yeah, but he's also…" Sidney trailed off.

Sophia rolled her eyes. "I'm sick and tired of all this nonsense about the war. It's like we're not allowed to care about anyone anymore, just because they're different from us."

"No…it's not that." Sidney tugged on the blankets that they'd draped on top of him, glancing between the two. "It's not because they're different. I'd be perfectly fine seeing Raymond, but…Sampson and I are on two different sides of the war. A-And he's really strong…and kind of umm…scary…" Sidney trailed off, swallowing. "I have the injuries to prove it. He…umm, kind of cracked me open like an egg."

"Wait." Sophia turned on Sampson now, her eyes narrowed. "You did this to him? I didn't think you were capable of such a thing." There was an underlying tightness in her voice that implied she was upset.

Sampson sighed, flopping down in a chair. "Sophia, you have to understand… This is war—"

"So that's it? You just 'have to crack some eggs to make an omelette', kind of thing? Is that it?"

"I couldn't just… I can't just let my enemies run free."

"And what about me? Aren't I your enemy too?" She glowered back at him. When he stayed silent, she folded her arms. "I thought you were better than this."

The two stared at one another for a few more seconds, with Sidney watching on. He swallowed. "Umm…do you two know each other?"

"Once." Sophia's voice was spiked with ice. "But not anymore, it would seem."

Sampson stared back at the younger girl, looking frustrated and yet also ashamed. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again a second later. He simply shook his head.

"Come on, Sidney—I'll take you to a doctor who actually cares about their patients," Sophia muttered, stalking over to him.

He stared up at her, letting her pull on his hand as he wondered when she had gotten so bold and brave. It was quite the contrast from the quiet Sophia he remembered as a child. "Sophia…"

"Sophia, wait." Sampson stood up from his seat. "He can stay. I'm sorry I was so hesitant before." He met Sidney's eyes. "And I'm sorry about your injuries. I guess I'm just a little scared."

Sophia looked ready to throw out a rebuttal, but Sidney said before she could: "Thanks, Sampson. And it's okay." He offered a weak smile. "We're all a little scared."

Sampson managed to smile back.

Sophia frowned, but then she relaxed with a sigh. "Well, I'm glad that's all settled now." She walked back to Sampson and nudged him almost playfully. "I was starting to think you'd become just like any other of those lame adults."

"Never," he responded jokingly, although he sounded tired and tense.

Sidney felt his curiosity continue to rise—the two of them seemed so familiar with each other, but they were both so different. They weren't on the same side of the war, and one was a teenage girl while the other was an adult man. The very fact that they knew each other was already interesting enough on its own.

As Sampson made his way of the room, Sophia moved closer to Sidney and sat down on a couch, finally relaxing. She sighed deeply. "Thank God that's sorted out," she murmured, running her hand through her hair.

"That was…different." He was struggling to find the right words, and when she turned to stare back at him, he shied away. "That was…bolder than I remembered you…as."

Sophia tapped her chin with one finger, before smiling slightly. "I guess it would be." She paused. "I'm still quiet, just…I don't think it's in the same way anymore. I guess I am more bold. But"—she glanced at the doorway where Sampson had just passed through—"I've also known both of you since childhood, so I can feel more confident around you two."

His ears perked. This was what he was wondering about. "You've…known Sampson since childhood?" he asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

She turned back to him, suddenly looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh! I…umm…"

"Her dad and I were friends," Sampson clarified, walking back inside. He was carrying a medical kit, and he seemed quite tired.

Sidney jumped. He hadn't been expecting the man to be back so soon, causing him to draw his legs closer to his chest in embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pry," he squeaked.

"It's alright." Sampson knelt down in front of Sidney, who grimaced against the couch. When the man glanced back at Sophia, who raised an eyebrow, he turned back to the teenage boy. "Please, try to relax…I'm not going to harm you." He hesitated. "At least, not anymore."

Sidney nodded weakly, holding out his arm so that Sampson could take a look at it. "Would you mind telling me more then?" he asked. When the man's head jerked upwards, he scrunched his shoulders up. "Just…about your history with Sophia. If you want to, that is," he finished in a squeak.

"There's no reason we shouldn't," Sophia added.

Sampson nodded, refocusing on his work. Sidney was overtly aware of how carefully the man was treating him now, as if to make up for what he'd done. He was handling the teenager now the way he would an egg. "Sophia's father was a friend of mine," he repeated.

"My dad still sees you as a friend," she interjected.

He hesitated, before rectifying his statement: "We are friends. We just haven't talked in a long time because…of everything. So I guess we're also enemies now." He paused, as if deep in thought. "We met because of the treaty. At DJ Sr's—your friend's father—wedding."

Sidney's eyes went wide. "You guys go back that far?"

"Yes." He tied a knot in Sidney's bandages. "He's a rather influential banker, and he worked with many of the people that you know—especially DJ Sr's father, hence his attendance at the wedding."

"Why were you there then?" he asked, before quickly saying, "I'm sorry! I-I don't mean that in an insulting way—"

"I was there because I was friends with Damon," he explained. "Childhood friends, actually." He seemed lost in his memories for a second more, before continuing: "I'd…just begun planning to propose to my own future wife, Rosemary, and I wanted to plan our future. That included finding a banker we trusted, and Sophia's father was that man."

"Then you and Dad started doing business together, too."***

Sampson's lips became a thin line as he shot Sophia a look, before nodding. "Then we started doing business together. Providing care for both our kinds. Almost like insurance, but more…specific."

"I grew up with Sampson's daughter," Sophia added.

Sidney turned to Sampson in surprise. "You have a daughter?"

Just as the man was about to reply, the doorbell rang. "I'll be right back," he murmured. "You kids stay here. Sophia…remember: make sure no one sees him."

"I will," she promised.

Then they were left alone in the living room, dead quiet, as Sampson disappeared.

He made his way toward the house's main entrance, peeping outside before brightening. He thrust open the door, immediately wrapping the newcomer up in his arms. "Cassie, baby!"

"Hi, Dad!" she laughed, her feet swinging off of the ground as her father spun her around.

"How was your day?" he asked excitedly.

"It was great!" she said cheerfully. "Can I have some food first? I'm starving!"

"Of course!" He paused then, suddenly remembering the two guests he was sheltering. "Cass, wait."

She paused, glancing back at him in surprise at how serious his tone was all of a sudden.

He lowered himself to whisper, "There are two guests in our living room."

"Oh." She furrowed her brow. "The Rowdyruff Boys again?"

He shook his head. "Two vampire guests," he clarified.

"Oh." A pause. Then her eyes widening. "Oh!" She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Dad, what happened? Why are they here? You didn't… You didn't break them like eggs, did you?"

He shook his head. "No, they're exactly that. Guests."

"Then who…?"

"Sidney." He paused, hesitating. "And an old friend of yours. I'm treating Sidney at her request."

"Oh my God." Her eyes were as huge as saucers, and she ran her hands through her hair, almost as if in panic. He hadn't expected her to be so worried. "Sophia's here too? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…"

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, grasping her by the shoulders to try and calm her down.

She spun back towards him, clasping her hands out in front of her. "Dad, you can't let them see me! Please!"

"What's wrong? What did they do?" Sampson couldn't hide his confusion. "If they hurt you…"

She shook her head. "No, no! They haven't done anything to me! It's just that…" She trailed off, hesitating. A glazed look coming over her eyes as if she were trying to find the words to explain her reason for panicking. "Sidney doesn't know about me, and if Sophia finds out I'm here and if Sidney learns about me…"

Sampson's eyes widened as a realization dawned on him. "It'd go right back to Danes. He'd know." His grip tightened on her shoulders. "He'd know that you'd broken out of your coma like a phoenix reborn out of its egg. He might come back to…to finish things…"

She nodded meekly, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and parched as a million terrible possibilities raced through his mind. No. I can't do this again. I can't lose her again. I can't lose her the way I lost Rose…

He bundled her up in his arms once more, burying his face in her hair. "I'll protect you," he promised. "I won't let them find out about you."

"Dad…"

"Go somewhere else for the day," he urged. "I won't break my promise to Sophia and Sidney, because it's the least I can do, but I won't let you be hurt again."

She smiled. "Thank you," she whispered, giving him one last hug. As she made her way down the steps of the porch, she waved. "Treat them well. I know you will. You're a great doctor."

"I will," he promised. He watched her go, before walking back inside.

"Who was that?" Sophia asked, once she realized there was no one behind Sampson.

"Just a neighbour." He didn't elaborate, instead reseating himself back at the couch where Sidney sat. He was quiet for awhile, before saying softly, "And yes. I do have a daughter." He tied a knot in the bandages a little too hard, causing Sidney to grimace. "One Danes sent into a coma."

Sophia and Sidney exchanged looks, filled with unspoken words of apology and regret.

They were silent after that.

"Your dad had Sidney and Sophia over?" Butch asked in disbelief. He was speaking into his phone, flying through the sky.

"Yeah, isn't it crazy?" Cassandra continued. "I had to half-lie about why I couldn't let Sidney see me. I feel so awful; he looked genuinely so scared over losing me again, but how could I tell him I was trying to befriend Michael…"

"No, I get it." Butch frowned. "It's good that he's treating Sidney though. Maybe there's hope for this war after all."

"Tell Brick for me, okay?" she requested. "I couldn't reach him by phone, but I just wanted to update you guys."

"Yeah, of course. I'll tell him when I see him."

"Thanks, Butch." She paused then. "Where are you? I can hear the wind."

"Flying," he answered. "I was training. To clear my head. But now I'm heading to the café to get a drink before I head home."

"Oh, okay. Did training help?"

"Yeah. Broke a tree like it was an egg today. Made me feel better."

She was quiet for a beat before asking, "What's bothering you, Butch?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, not wanting the truth to slip out of its eggshell any further. He'd only just realized he might have said too much. "Nothing important, anyway. Listen, I'm almost at the café, so I have to go. Talk to you later, 'kay?" The claim that he was approaching his destination was a lie, but it felt like a necessary one.

"Okay, but if there's something bothering you…"

He immediately began descending, letting the wind around him grow louder. "Sorry, I gotta go!" he exclaimed, his voice raised above the wind. "I'll talk to you later!" As he landed, he hung up before he could hear whatever else she had to say, sighing to himself. He felt guilty for brushing Cassandra off like that, but he didn't feel ready to tackle his emotions on his own, much less with someone else.

Butch stood silently in the forest for awhile, just thinking, before he slowly made his way back into the air.

And that's when he spotted her.

There. Buttercup.

He felt his breath catch in his throat, and an awkward feeling settled in his stomach. Do I say hi? Or would it be weird? He remembered their last few conversations, where he'd glared at her because of what Ross had revealed to her about him being a vampire, and how she now thought the Rowdyruff Boys were also vampires. His stomach churned. Yeah. It'd definitely be weird. I better go. He turned to fly the other way, before he heard the familiar chiu!

Oh no. He turned slowly, eyes wide.

It was her.

Arms folded, lime-green eyes narrowed, as she floated in front of him, her light-green streak disappearing behind her. "Butch," she stated flatly.

He squared his shoulders, raising his chin. "Buttercup."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Training. I'm going to the café after." He kept his tone flat and impassive, trying not to let her see past his walls.

"Really?" Buttercup arched an eyebrow. When he nodded stiffly, she pointed. "Café's further away. Why are you stopped here?"

"Talking to someone," he muttered.

"Who?"

"So many questions," he finally snapped. "Don't you think you've asked enough by now?"

"No, I don't." Her tone was equally firm. "If you're going to the café, then let's go." She turned around, missing the look of surprise that crossed his face. "I'm heading there too."

The back of Butch's mind bemoaned what a terrible idea it was to follow her, but he knew he couldn't just suddenly say that he'd changed his mind. She'd know exactly why he'd suddenly have decided to leave. "Fine, but you're paying," he replied snarkily.

Buttercup shot him a sharp look, and he sighed.

"I was just kidding," he muttered.

She didn't say anything, instead flying on ahead.

Butch followed, keeping to himself. He was too busy trying to strategize how things were going to go down between the two of them. A conversation with Buttercup now would be like a landmine, especially because neither was very pleased with the other.

"There," Buttercup said, already beginning her descent toward the café.

Butch's lips twisted into a frown as he also flew down. He landed beside Buttercup, who was waiting for him with her hand on her hip. She wasn't looking at him, instead staring at the building in front of them.

"What are you ordering?" she finally asked.

"Maybe egg coffee." Butch shifted on his feet, remembering the Vietnamese drink that Bat and his brothers had recently added to the menu. "It's pretty good."

"Egg, huh? It's a funny name." Buttercup finally turned back to look at him, and while her voice was lighter, her eyes still seemed steely. "Maybe we should make it the theme. Order some egg tarts."

"And mooncakes. Those have egg in them too." His mind suddenly felt thick, swamped with spider webs. I'm not ready, he realized, as Buttercup made her way inside. But it's too late now.

The bell above the door rang in greeting, and Bat looked up from behind the counter. "Greetings!" He grinned, already skating out to meet them. "You two on a date?"

Butch opened his mouth to reply, but Buttercup spoke first, lightly shoving Bat: "Ew, gross. Just here to chat."

The brown-haired barista smirked, before skating off again. Butch and Buttercup trailed behind him as he led them to a small table for two. "So talk," he said, winking at them as they sat down. He pulled out a notepad. "What will be your orders for today?"

Again, Buttercup did the talking. "Egg coffee for the both of us, and also an order of egg tarts and mooncakes—the ones with the egg yolk in them."

"What is this?" Bat laughed, after having written their order down. "Chinese New Year? Pan-Asia theme? Egg Day? Why not just order some fried eggs, scrambled eggs, and eggnog while you're at it."

Buttercup scoffed, a sarcastic smile on her face. "You think you're real clever, huh? Just get us our order."

"It's our Egg Day," Butch added in clarification, his voice quiet.

Bat stared at him for a few seconds, before smiling. "Alright, no need to get upset. I'll bring you your eggs." He skated off.

"So how's your day been?" Buttercup asked, drumming her fingers on the wood of the table.

"Training," he murmured back. "Punched trees and watched them splinter to"—he paused, remembering how his mention of it making him feel better had evoked questions from Cassandra—"relieve stress."

"Relieve stress, huh? What do you have to be stressed about?"

You, for one. He didn't say it out loud. "Just things." A silence followed, causing him to look up. She was glowering at her, her eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip. "Sorry." He forced a smile. "Nothing against you. Just personal stuff. Not the usual secrets."

"Sure." Buttercup let her shoulders loosen with a sigh. "It never was something against me, huh?"

"No." He held the smile. "I've never had a problem with you, BC. Whether or not you believe it is up to you."

She let out a scoff that almost resembled a laugh as she leaned back, pushing her hands on the wood of the table; the sarcasm was obvious. "And yet, there was always something, wasn't there? I wonder what it was."

His smile vanished.

"Was it something batty?"

"Stop it." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't push any further, BC. I was willing to indulge you; don't try to go beyond your limits."

"And yet you just told me that it was never anything against me, didn't you?" Buttercup's eyes also narrowed as she leaned forward again, resting her weight on her crossed arms. "So why not tell li'l ol' me?"

"Because I can't. These aren't my secrets to tell."

"I know that. You keep feeding me that bullshit. Do you really think I'm going to keep buying it?"

Butch turned away, rubbing his face. "Why do you have to be like this?" he finally asked.

"Like what?"

He stared at her from the corner of his eye, the hand still on his face. "Never mind," he muttered, letting go. "Forget it."

"Like what, Butch?" she challenged. "Tell me."

"No. You're going to kill me."

"I might do it anyway if you act like a fucking coward and don't say anything," she snarled.

"Fine. You asked for this." He faced her, lifting his chin. "Why do you have to act like such a bitch?"

Buttercup laughed, but it was a harsh, scraping sound. There was rage behind it. "Maybe because that's apparently the only way I can get any answers out of you?"

"You don't need me anymore. You have Ross." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he sounded far more accusatory than he'd intended.

This time she didn't laugh—but she didn't glare either. She didn't scream; or shout; or cry… She simply stared, before a small smile curled on her lips.

And then Bat was back, putting down the items of their order. "Here you go," he said cheerfully. "Eggs galore."

"Thanks, Bat." Her eyes never left Butch's.

He stared back, waiting until Bat was gone to ask, "What is it now?"

"What do you think?"

He was silent for a beat before sighing, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to call you that."

"Call me what, Butch? Say it again." She was still smiling, and he could see gritted canines.

He closed his eyes. "That you were a bitch," he muttered quietly.

And in a flash, he felt himself being pulled upwards, causing his eyes to flicker open. His collar was bundled around her hand, and she was glaring back at him now, still grinning in her rage. "Yeah," she snarled, "that. Fuck you." And she threw him back down.

He grunted from the impact, trying not to meet her eyes. They were eggs of hard crystal—crystal forests that vibrated with her anger.

"Now let's enjoy our little meal," she said, clapping her hands together. Her voice quivered, and despite the veil, he could still hear her frustration.

"I'm sorry, Buttercup," he whispered. The words felt awkward and heavy on his tongue, coming out wrong.

She paused in eating an egg tart, staring back at him with her crystal forest-green eyes—they glimmered with something distant, looking almost like jade. She set the egg tart down and smiled, a cold, hard smile that resembled a blade's edge. "Yeah?"

When he nodded, her smile stretched wider and she picked the egg tart up again. "Not sorry enough, it seems." She held out her cup of egg coffee, raising an eyebrow. "Cheers."

Their glasses clinked, and as she ate, he simply watched, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. He was increasingly aware of the distance between them, stretching long and wide like a ghastly chasm of shrieking, silent winds and cold nothingness—and somewhere deep inside it, fire burning.

There were flowers in her hair.

Roses were always her favourite. His grip tightened on the picture frame, and he sighed, before setting the image back down.

He hadn't known her; not the way his father had. She'd died soon after he was born. He'd taken her life from her.

He sat down in the beanbag chair, drawing his legs close to his chest and staring out at the darkness of his room. He was suddenly aware of how bleak it was, with only the black-and-white colours there to greet him.

She'd pointed that out the first time she'd been there.

She'd promised to help him with the interior decorating. He turned slowly, catching a glimpse of the palm tree with the plastic, pink flamingo they'd stuck into the dirt together. There were the fairy lights she'd helped him install, draped casually across his wall. He'd only just started implementing her plan, with her giggling the entire time, when he and she had broken up.

He had missed her so much then, but now he knew that that pain was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now.

"Hey." A gentle knock on the door. "You okay in there, buddy?"

"I'm fine," he said, his voice hard. "Is dinner almost ready?"

"Almost." The other person paused, before questioning, "You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"DJ?"

"No." He drew his legs even closer to himself. "I'm fine, Dad."

"Alright, honey. Just give me a call if you ever need someone to talk to, 'kay? I'm worried about you, and Slicer is too."

"Where were you for all the other painful moments of my life?" he muttered.

There was a long silence on the other end, and he thought his father had left. But then a quiet voice whispered, "Wishing I was here." And only then did he hear the footsteps fade.

DJ forced himself not to get up and open the door. Instead, he sat there, staring at the photo of his father and mother again, where the flowers glowed in her curly black hair.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but he'd fallen asleep to dream of his mother and father. Dreaming of their first meeting in Italy, the way his father had described it: she was wearing a white dress, grinning as she danced under the sunlight of a hot Italian summer day, with all the colourful village buildings behind her. His father had described her performance as captivating, and DJ had imagined it drawing his breath away.

She'd worn those flowers, woven into her black hair, and as DJ Sr watched, dressed in his sharp black business suit, she'd pulled him out into the sunlight and hot pavement, guiding him in a dance.

DJ awoke from that dream of warmth and laughter into cold and silence. He was suddenly overly aware of how empty his room was.

He stood up on numb, aching legs and walked towards his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a very familiar, small red box.**** He opened it and stared down at the object tucked into the soft velvet—it was a ring, carefully crafted and designed to resemble a rose, with petals that curled around the small gemstone glinting back at its wearer—or in this case, its lack thereof.

"Mom," he whispered.

He clamped the box shut again and tucked it into his pocket, walking toward his door. He hesitated before turning the knob and walking out into the hall. Soon he was running down the stairs, and flying past the kitchen.

"DJ!" his father called. "It's so good to see—"

"Not now, Dad!" He didn't stop, whizzing out the front door and taking off down the street.

DJ Sr sighed. "—you," he finished quietly. He turned to look at Slicer, who blinked his emotionless gaze.

Meanwhile, DJ stopped running, now out of breath, outside his neighbourhood. He glanced around before transforming into a bat, flapping his wings into the sky and flying off. He made his way toward the supermarket that his father had sent him and Bliss to just a few days before, despite the fact that the memory now felt like an eternity ago.

Once he'd reached the supermarket, he transformed back into a human and entered the building. He was immediately hit with that commercial market smell, of fruits and breads and something else—something distinctly supermarket.

DJ grabbed a shopping basket and made his way down the aisles, eyeing every object that lined the shelves. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for, but he had a feeling that he'd know it when he saw it.

It was when he was coming out of the frozen food aisle, where the eggs and milk were stored, that he crashed into someone. DJ stumbled forward, falling down onto the ground. He rubbed his sore head before blinking open his eyes, and they turned wide as he realized that the precious red box in his pocket had gone flying into the air.

"Sorry, sorry!" a male's voice apologized. "I'll grab that for you—"

He stared for a few moments, dumbfounded, as the other boy lunged and grabbed the bouncing red box, which had popped open. The ring fell to the ground, and his companion picked it up as well, suddenly mesmerized by the glinting gemstone.

"Whoa," he breathed. "That's gorgeous."

That's when reality came crashing back and DJ rushed forward, grabbing both objects from the boy and quickly placing the ring back into its container, snapping it shut. He whirled on the other person, before realizing that he was kind of familiar.

He was tanned, with blond hair that seemed messy in a windswept way, and he was staring back with golden-green eyes. "Umm…s-sorry," he said, holding his hands up. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's…It's fine." DJ felt himself calm down, now that the ring box was back in his pocket. He fiddled with it as he asked, "I'm sorry, but have we met?"

"Yeah. I work here—although I'm not on shift today. Maybe that's why you don't recognize me; now that I'm not wearing my uniform and my 'smile-big-every-ten-seconds-for-the-customers' smile." The boy grinned. "We met last time you were here. Name's Elias."

"Last time I was…?" Oh. When I was with Bliss. "Ah, right. I'm sorry. My mind is rather scattered right now."

"That's alright. I can tell you've got stuff you're thinking about." Elias glanced back at the frozen food aisle, where containers of eggs stared back. "Well, it was nice seeing you again, I guess. I'll just go—"

"Wait." DJ felt guilty for his bad attitude. "Thank you for…for saving my mom's ring."

A look of understanding dawned on Elias' gaze as he turned back to DJ. "Ohhh, so that's why you were so protective of it…"

He nodded. "So umm, as payment for your help, I'd be willing to assist in your shopping today. What are you looking for?"

"Just grocery shopping for my parents," Elias explained. "I have to get eggs next, which is why I'm here, next to the…eggs." He grinned sheepishly. "Obviously. Sorry."

DJ smiled, deciding that he liked this boy. He seemed friendly and humble enough. "We can shop together then."

"Does your family need eggs too?"

"They do now," DJ said, pulling open the door and reaching inside the refrigerated shelves for boxes of eggs. "So which school do you attend, Elias?" he asked, placing a box in both of their shopping baskets.

"Pokey Oaks High," he answered.

DJ froze.

"Is something wrong?" Elias questioned.

He shook his head. "No, it's just that I go to the same school. I've never seen you before though."

"Maybe we just hang out in different groups? I'm a cheerleader, so I mostly hang out with cheerleaders. I do know Bubbles Utonium and Princess Morbucks though, and some of their friends."

"Ah. So do I," DJ said, still surprised.

"Oh, you know Prinny? How'd you two meet? She has a pretty wide array of friends," Elias laughed, still chatting cheerfully.

"At a party," he explained. "Our fathers do business together." Elias' upbeat attitude was starting to rub off on him, and he could feel himself lowering his walls a bit. Maybe he was just tired of being lonely, but this boy was bringing DJ out of his eggshell.

"What's next on your list?" Elias asked.

He paused to think, before managing a small, sheepish smile. "I don't really have a list," he admitted. "I'm kind of vent-shopping right now."

"At a supermarket?" Elias' tone was teasing. "I don't think this is where most people would go when they want to vent-shop."

"It was more of an impulse than anything, really," he explained. "I guess I'll just know the object when I see it."

His companion nodded. "Alright. Well, in the meantime, since you offered, we can get my list out of the way, I suppose?"

DJ nodded back.

"Alright! Next up, carrots!"

The two continued on their little shopping trip, with DJ accompanying Elias to all the places he needed to go. It wasn't until they passed by the flowers section that DJ felt his attention be pulled away from the golden-haired boy.

Elias noticed him pausing, and asked, "Did you see something?"

He nodded, not saying anything as he made his way toward the different bouquets. He immediately picked out a bouquet of red roses, cradling it in his arms carefully.

Her favourite.

"For your mom?"

He looked up, shaking his head. "For my…" He hesitated, not sure what to call her anymore. "For my girlfriend, actually."

"Oh. Okay." Elias glanced at the roses and then back at DJ, smiling slightly. "I hope she likes them."

"Yeah, me too." As the other boy walked off, DJ glanced back at the flowers and paused. He then grabbed another bouquet and placed it within his basket.

The two lined up to pay, with Elias chatting happily with his coworker.

"I'll pay for your groceries," DJ announced abruptly.

The boy's eyes widened. "There's no need for that—"

"I insist." DJ was already handing the money over to Elias' coworker. "I'm paying for his and my groceries," he told the cashier.

The cashier shrugged at Elias, accepting the payment and saying goodbye. As the two of them made their way outside, Elias turned to DJ.

"You didn't need to do that," he said softly.

DJ shrugged awkwardly. "That ring meant a lot to me," he explained, already walking again. "Consider it a token of my thanks."

Elias hesitantly said, "Okay." He then hurried to catch up with the darker-haired companion, asking, "Is this where we part ways?"

"I guess—" He paused when his stomach growled.

Elias smiled. "Looks like we should grab a snack first." He turned around. "Come on; I know a good place nearby."

DJ followed his companion, and they walked for awhile, jaywalking at one point with Elias laughing as he ran across the road. DJ followed, noting that the boy looked like he could fly—he seemed so happy, it was almost admirable.

They eventually stopped in front of a restaurant, and Elias entered. "Salut, Maman; Papa!" he called, cupping his hands to his mouth.

A woman looked up from wiping down a table, suddenly beaming. "Welcome back, mon chéri!" She wiped her hands down on the towel she was holding, walking over to stand by his side. DJ was struck with how closely they resembled one another; especially with her glowing green eyes. "Who's your new friend?" she asked, her voice coated in a French accent.

Elias tilted his head at DJ, who stepped forward and held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, signora—"

"Please, call me Alice!" She smiled. "Any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

"Mine's Deth Jackson Jr. But you can just call me DJ," he replied. "My full name is a bit of a mouthful."

"'Deth'?" she repeated. "Like la mort? A name that is un peu morbide, non?"

"Oui." He gave her a small smile. "I was named after my father."

"Speaking of fathers…" Elias looked past them to someone emerging from the swinging kitchen doors. "There's mon père right now!"

The man was big, almost as bulky as DJ's Uncle Slicer, but not quite as muscular. He was bear-like, with a bushy moustache and a welcoming gaze. "Bonjour! You must be Elias' friend."

DJ nodded, reintroducing himself. After that was done, Elias' parents seated them at a table. As they walked off, DJ turned to his companion, raising a curious eyebrow. "Any reason why you work at a supermarket when your parents own a restaurant?"

He grinned. "I was expecting that question. They wanted me to get some real-world experience instead of just working here forever. I still help out when I can. I worked here regularly when I was younger, but when I turned old enough to apply for jobs, they urged me to do so." He glanced out at the restaurant. "But my sisters still work here."

"Hey, don't make yourself sound so high and mighty in comparison to us." A girl with big, curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail walked over. She grinned, crossing her arms. "I'm Susan, and I'll be your waitress for today." She reached over and tousled Elias' hair. "I'm also this dork's brother."

"Susan's in college," explained Elias, laughing as he "fought back" against his sister. "She works here because it's easy."

"It's true, I'll admit it. Working for your own parents is much less stressful than working a real job, but I do have another job—don't believe too much of the mumbo jumbo that comes out of this kid's mouth." She winked. "So, what will your orders be today, gentlemen?"

"I recommend the bœuf à la bourguignonne," Elias offered. "It's a traditional French recipe."

"Sounds good." DJ nodded, smiling.

Susan tapped her pen against her notepad. "And for dessert?"

"Crème brûlée?" asked Elias. "Unless you're allergic to eggs?"

"Nah, I love crème brûlée. Two orders of that, s'il vous plaît," DJ said, facing Susan.

She smiled. "So you can speak French too, huh? Cute." She scribbled their order down. "Alright, I've got bœuf à la bourguignonne and crème brûlée. Any drinks?"

"Tea for me, please," Elias said.

"None for me. I have my own," DJ said politely.

"Better not be alcohol," Susan chided jokingly. "Unless you're sharing, of course."

"Not unless you think tomato juice is an alcoholic beverage and you like the taste," he responded equally jokingly, smirking.

"Eww, no thanks." She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, her blond curls bouncing after her. "I think I'll stick to my Bourbon. It's nearly French enough."

As Susan walked away, he pulled out his bottle of red liquid while Elias tilted his head to the side. "I've never known people to walk around with tomato juice in their water bottles."

"It's a…popular drink among my friends and family," DJ said, unscrewing the lid of the bottle and tipping it to his lips.

"You're from Italy, right? I heard you call Maman 'signora'." Elias chuckled, joking, "Maybe it's actually tomato sauce? You guys like pasta, right?"

DJ snorted, his lips curling upwards as he felt his fangs slowly slide out further from his gums. "Yeah, something like that, I guess." He drank down the warm, thick liquid and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You said you had sisters? Plural?"

"Yeah! The other one is li'l Leia. She's over there washing the trays in the sink behind our bar. She's turning 14 this autumn, but she'll always be a baby to me."

DJ followed Elias' gaze, noting the endearment in his eyes. Leia's hair was darker; she resembled their father more than her older siblings did, and she had green eyes that seemed almost golden. Freckles dotted her face, and she was concentrating hard on her task. DJ recalled seeing the girl wave as Elias had called out to his parents. "She seems to be working really hard," he commented, smiling.

Elias nodded. "Leia's a sweetheart. She's a whiz at Math and all the stuff I've always sucked at." He laughed, glowing with pride. "She's also a soccer champ, and does baseball and ballet. I'm more of a surfer-basketball-player-cheerleader-gymnast myself, and I prefer English and History. Susan studies Criminology and French—surprise, surprise haha—but she's really good at volleyball and cooking and cross-country."

"Wow. You guys sound like a very talented family," DJ remarked.

"We like being active. Whether it's hiking or canoeing, we like to have fun." He cocked his head to the side again, something DJ noticed he did when he was asking questions. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Oh, tons of stuff." He rubbed his arm awkwardly. "Dad makes me do violin, soccer, basketball, piano, cello, cooking… You know. Usual stuff."

His eyes widened. "Wow, you sound super talented too! We should play basketball together sometime."

DJ looked the other boy over, noting his toned legs and lean muscles. "That sounds like fun," he said, despite thinking, I don't know if I can beat this guy.

"We have a ton in common!" he continued excitedly. "We're both from Europe and we like the same things."

Do I like those things mio padre makes me do? DJ wondered briefly. "Hey yeah, we are pretty similar." But they're a happy family with three children. My family's the exact opposite of that.

"I'd love to meet your family sometime!"

DJ snapped back to reality, blinking blankly at Elias. He forced himself to smile. "Yeah, no, that sounds cool. It's just my uncle and me though." He hesitated. "And my dad…sometimes."

"Oh, well, that's fine!" he chirped. "Everyone's family's different, right?"

"...Right." DJ forced back the temptation of saying, My family isn't nearly as friendly and open as yours. We hardly ever even communicate with each other.

Susan returned, carrying their dishes and drinks. "Your meal, gentlemen." She slid them down on the table with expertise, before raising an eyebrow.

"Thank you, Susan," Elias said, smiling exaggeratedly with squinty eyes as he took one of the plates from his sister.

"You're welcome, sport," she replied with an equally exaggerated smile, before leaving them.

DJ picked up his knife and fork and began cutting into the beef. "Is your dad the head chef?"

"Oui! Mais Maman is arguably just as good." Elias tilted his head again, raising his eyebrows. "Sooooo…what do you think?"

DJ swallowed the morsel he'd bitten off. "It's really good," he replied, smiling. "I'm surprised I've never heard of this place."

"We're pretty small," he said, shrugging. "But we're happy."

He glanced out at the rest of the restaurant, where the tables that were filled displayed smiling faces and happy chatter and laughter. "I think you guys are doing great."

"Yeah, I guess we are, huh?" Elias was beaming. "Maman and Papa have worked really hard on this restaurant to make it as best as it can be."

"It shows," DJ agreed, eating some more.

Elias leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands with elbows propped on the table. "We've talked so much about ma famille, why don't we talk more about your family?"

"Oh…" What do I even say? Where do I even begin? With Slicer or my father? Or my grandfather? Or… DJ glanced away, spotting a bouquet of red roses on one of the tables.

Elias followed his gaze. "Oh, that's for Susan. She's got a lot of admirers."

He didn't reply, his eyes wide. He could feel sunlight suddenly tingling on his skin, a breeze sweeping through his hair… And suddenly he was picturing Italy, warm sunshine beaming down on multi-coloured buildings of bright pinks and yellows, all beside the seaside with a salt-tinged breeze…

And a woman tanned by warmth and sunshine grinning, grabbing his hands in hers, twirling in a white dress. She was pulling him out of the shadows of the rooftops into open space and onto hot pavement, people around them clapping as the man playing the guitar winked at him.

And he was dancing soon, with her, staring into her twinkling golden eyes and finding himself unable to stop the smile that was blossoming across his face.

Her laughter sounded like a melody that drifted up into the open sea-sprinkled air, radiating warmth and joy, her cheeks flushed pink.

It matched so well with those red roses tucked into her curly black hair.

"DJ…? You okay?"

Elias' voice pulled him back into the present, and DJ turned to him. His eyes were still wide, and he felt almost breathless with the vision. He forced himself to focus, despite feeling like he'd just been tousled by the ocean breeze. He smiled. "I'm fine. It's just that…roses were always a favourite of mia madre. So I guess if I were to start anywhere with describing my family, I'd begin there…with the mother I never met…"

Christie staggered through the forest, trying not to wince as the sunlight pierced her delicate skin. "Shit, I don't have any sunscreen…" She was nearly out of the woods, at least, but as soon as she stepped outside, that meant the sunshine would be hitting her head-on.

She fumbled with her clothes, her hands trembling, trying to find maybe a tube of sunscreen or something. She was still shaken from her fight against Damon, and that goodbye with Vix…

Christie looked up into blinding white light, forcing her to squint. It took her eyes a second to readjust, and that's when she saw the open field and road up ahead, with passing cars that looked like shapeless blurs.

"I'm…free," she gasped, realization dawning. She burst out laughing, letting her glee take over the sadness and pain. She spun to glance back at the looming trees, where she knew Damon's cabin was tucked away. "I won," she breathed.

And that was when she collapsed.

When she came to, she was in someone else's arms. Her eyes widened and she jerked her head upwards to see who it was. It was Jamel. "Hey! Let go of me!" she cried, shoving against his face.

"Ouch!" He skidded to a stop, more than happy to let her go. "Lady, if it weren't for me, you'd be baking in the sunlight right about now!"

"Yeah, thanks, but I can still walk," she muttered, dusting herself off. She looked around. "Where are we, anyway?"

He pointed up ahead. "Going home," he told her. "Come on."

She followed, trying not to let him see any sign of weakness from her. She favoured her right leg, limping slightly as she walked. It took them another twenty minutes or so (a little longer than usual, admittedly because of her), before they saw the familiar mansion. Christie breathed out in relief, nearly ready to collapse again.

The doors immediately slammed open and people came pouring out of the mansion, with Christie suddenly finding herself being fussed over by nearly the entire housekeeping staff of the Hawthorne mansion.

"Are you okay?" gasped Gertrude, the head maid. "Oh my goodness, is it really you? Master Danes and the rest of your family will be so relieved to see that you are alright!" Before Christie even had a chance to reply, she grabbed the girl's jacket. "My stars, look at how filthy this is! I'll have it washed right away."

"No!" She grabbed it closer to herself, bundling the dirtied yellow fabric in her hands. She didn't want to let go of Blaster's jacket—it was such an important source of comfort to her now, and God knew she needed comfort right then and there.

"But Mistress, the jacket is filthy!" Gertrude exclaimed. "We can't have you be seen in it."

Before Christie could reply, the doors slammed open and Michael came running down the steps. "CHRISTIE!" he shouted, loud enough for the entire household to hear. "YOU'RE BACK!" He tackled her in a hug, and the two toppled to the ground.

"Ouch…" Christie sat up, before realizing that Michael had buried his face in her shoulder, and that he was trembling.

"Please don't ever scare me like that again," he hiccuped.

"Are you…crying?"

"So what if I am?" He pulled away and sniffled, tears streaming down his face. "I've missed you, stupid. Thanks for worrying me a shit-ton."

Christie felt herself soften, smiling as she pulled Michael back into a hug. "I've missed you too, dorkwad."

When the two siblings separated, Michael looked her over. "We better get you changed—you'll need a hot shower, but then we can talk about everything."

She hesitated again. She still didn't want to let go of the jacket, but a hot shower sounded like heaven. "But…Blaster gave this to me," she mumbled to her brother.

Michael's eyes widened as understanding dawned. He turned to Gertrude. "Wash this jacket with the utmost care, do you understand? I don't want it lost or damaged at all. I want it returned to my sister immediately. It's one of her most prized possessions."

"Of course, Master Michael." The older woman bowed.

"Thank you." He turned back to Christie and grinned. "There we go. That's all taken care of now, so let's get you inside."

She nodded, slowly taking the jacket off and reluctantly handing it to the maids. She then followed Michael into the mansion. "Where are Uncle Danes and Mom and Dad?"

"Out," Michael answered absently, pushing the large doors open. "Mom and Dad went looking for you again, and Uncle went to visit DJ's dad, I think."

"DJ's dad?" she repeated, surprised. "Any reason?"

He shrugged. "I think he said something about an urgent phone call from the man? I dunno." He glanced back at her and smiled. "But hey, at least you're back now. They'll be overjoyed to see you later. Everyone's been worried sick."

"Yeah…I guess so," she murmured back, following him up the stairs.

Michael was right about that, of course. After she had a shower and told him as much as she was willing about what had happened at Damon's cabin, their parents returned from their mission. Maggie had looked about ready to tear someone's head off, glaring daggers and fire at the maids and butlers who greeted her, but as soon as she saw her daughter, her ragr evaporated. She let out an almost inhumane shriek and rushed toward Christie, scooping her up in her arms and giving her what felt like a thousand kisses.

Chris was more subdued, but he hugged his wife and daughter earnestly, and Christie could've sworn she saw his blue eyes glistening with tears.

After the family settled down, Maggie immediately began ranting and raving and rambling about a million and one subjects, all of which Christie tuned out. But when she heard "a party", she immediately tuned back in.

"No parties for me, please—at least, not for right now," she said, putting her hands up and shaking her head. "I'm absolutely exhausted."

"Of course, dearie. We can talk about all that later." Maggie was beaming. "I'm just glad you're home and safe."

Christie managed a tired smile. "Yeah, me too."

Chris gave her a peck on the forehead, before saying quietly, "We'll leave you to nap, then."

Christie said goodbye to her parents and settled into her bed, but she soon found that she couldn't sleep. She felt like a phoenix just waiting to be reborn from its egg, and she was suddenly too awake to fall asleep, despite feeling like a pile of ash and dust.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her list of contacts. There were the standard friends and family, some from her school—none of whom she wanted to call—and of course, Vix…

She stared at the number for a long while, before shaking her head. She hesitated before scrolling away—back up—and she soon found herself staring at Blaster Jojo's number. She tried calling him, but he didn't pick up.

Again. And again no reply. Again. Again.

Christie frowned. She wanted to see and talk to someone, but she didn't want to appear desperate. She hesitated, before remembering that she had Bliss' number from that time the orange Puff snuck into the Hawthorne mansion to spy on her boyfriend.***** The two had exchanged numbers as a sign of friendship, although she hadn't really talked to Bliss since the event.

Christie hesitated some more before dialling.

It took awhile until Bliss picked up, but at least she did. "Hello?"

"Bliss? It's me; Christie," she said.

"Oh!" Surprise. "Christie, hey! It's good to hear from you again!"

She smiled. At least she's friendly, she thought as they chatted briefly. She waited awhile, working up her courage before asking, "Could you give me one of the Rowdyruff Boys' phone numbers? Besides Blaster, because he's not picking up, and I want to speak to him."

"Uhh, sure. The only one I know off the top of my head is Braker's," Bliss said. "I'll give you that one, okay?"

"Okay." She waited a split second before Bliss began reciting it, and she noted the number down. Bliss repeated it and Christie double-checked, and then she thanked the orange Powerpuff Girl.

"Hey, no problem. Happy to help," Bliss replied cheerfully. "Good luck with your thing!"

"Thanks. Talk to you later, 'kay?" Christie smiled.

"Yeah!" she chirped. "That sounds nice."

The two said their goodbyes and hung up, and then Christie readjusted her position, staring down at the number. She wondered for a split second about her own sanity, before taking a deep breath and dialling the number.

She closed her eyes as she waited for the other person to pick up, and when she heard a confused "hello?", her eyes snapped open.

"Braker?" she asked quietly.

"Speaking," he responded. "Who is this?"

Welp. Here goes nothing. Another deep breath. "It's Christie. Christie Hawthorne."

There was a long, tense silence, before Braker asked tersely, "What are you calling me for? How did you even get this number?"

"Bliss gave it to me," she explained.

Another silence. "Bliss…" She just barely heard the murmur and the sigh. Then his voice returned, this time with resolve: "Okay. But again, why call me?"

"I needed to call someone," she responded, a little frustrated with his tone. She knew Braker had never really been a big fan of her, but she wished he'd be more willing to hear her out. "I want to talk to Blaster."

"And why?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions." She rolled a stuffed animal back and forth on her bed, her cheeks warm. "Can't you just grab him for me?"

There was a tense silence for a few heartbeats, before Braker's tense voice replied, "Blaster is unconscious right now."

She dropped the stuffed animal, bolting upright. "What?"

"You heard me. It seems as though Damon's done a number on him."

Her gaze shot toward the photos Blaster had let her keep so long ago, which were still sitting on her desk. The old photos of Damon and the Rowdyruff Boys, back when they were like a family…

"Christie? You still there?"

She let her shoulders slump, feeling suddenly so drained. "After everything Blaster told me about Damon being like family, he still hurt him…" She paused. "Could you ask him to talk to me when he wakes up then? I…" She trailed off, swallowing. "It has to do with the fact that I told him I like him."

"Oh. Ohhhh." Braker's voice changed into one of understanding. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered. "No wonder you two have been so close lately."

She closed her eyes. "You can understand, can't you? What that's like? How irrational feelings can be?"

Another silence. Then a sigh, and "Yeah, yeah, I know what that's like, alright. Okay. I'll tell him for you. Then it's up to him what he wants to do, 'kay?"

"'Kay." She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all I can ask for. Thanks, Braker."

"You're welcome," he coughed awkwardly. "And hey, Christie?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

He hung up then, leaving her hanging. She felt weird, like she was lighter and yet also heavier—one thing was for sure though—she was no much more aware of her nervous heartbeat. Christie breathed in and out, trying to calm her nerves, feeling the eggshell of her phoenix wings tremble just slightly.

She must have fallen asleep, because there was soon an urgent knocking on her door. "Christie? Christie!" a voice was hissing.

She jumped up. It was Michael, and he sounded panicked. She hurried to open the door, shaking sleep from her gaze. "What's wrong, Mikey?"

"Blaster's here! Floating around outside, demanding to meet you!" he exploded, still hissing. "What is he doing here!? Does he have a death wish?"

Her eyes widened. "He came!" she gasped.

"What!?" Michael demanded, spinning around as his sister ran past him. "You called him here?"

"Yes!" Her heart was thumping like crazy now, and she felt dizzy. She was overheating, her cheeks flushed. "Where is he now? Did anyone else see him?"

"God no! I made sure to keep him safe for your sake, but—"

"Just take me to him! I'll handle the rest!"

Michael rolled his eyes, groaning. "Goooooood. Okay, okay—he's with Raymond right now."

"Thanks, Mikey! Love you!" she called, already heading in that direction.

He stopped running after her, panting. "Jesus. Can't stop someone in love, huh," he muttered, watching her disappear. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against the wall. "Good luck, Christie."

Christie, meanwhile, was almost at Raymond's room, and she soon heard a very, very familiar voice asking urgently, "Is she okay? Was she hurt when she reappeared?"

"Blaster!" she gasped, pushing the doors open. And all of a sudden, sunlight was streaming out into the hall, blinding her…

When her eyes readjusted to the light, Blaster was already rushing toward her. He bundled her up in his arms, laughing in relief. "Christie! It's really you! You're okay!"

She laughed too, letting him twirl her around in his arms. "Looks like Braker made good on his promise to deliver my message," she commented, grinning.

"How'd you even get his number, anyway?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Long story—I'll tell you some other time."

"Never mind. I'm just glad you're okay." He hugged her tight again, before letting go.

Raymond approached, smiling. "And I'm glad you two are able to meet again. I'll leave you two alone to discuss whatever was so important that it required Blaster's presence here."

Christie smiled at him. "Thanks, Raymond."

"Yeah, thanks." Blaster beamed up at him.

The older man nodded, before leaving the infirmary. As he shut the door behind him, the smile left and he sighed, glancing back at the room. This is so dangerous for so many reasons… For Christie and for Blaster, but for Vix as well…

But Vix would never succumb to his feelings the way…the way Damon did. At least, I hope not.

Good luck, kids. Then he moved along, a film of the past replaying over and over again in his head.

Inside the room, Blaster plopped down on one of the infirmary tables and asked Christie, "So, what was it that you wanted to see me about?"

"Us," she replied, turning to face him.

He nodded. "Oh, of course. You'd want an answer—"

"I wanted to tell you I really really like you—"

"—Christie, I now think I feel—"

"—but I don't know if I'm ready anymore—"

"—the same way—" He cut himself off, his gaze blanking. "What?"

"Oh—oh no. You now feel the same—you now like me back…?" She felt shock overtake her as well, and she shook her head in disbelief, resting her head in her hands. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

"But I thought…I thought you wanted this," he said, sounding dull.

"I do!" she cried, looking up. She grabbed his hands. "I'm so sorry, Blaster. I do really like you, I just…I have to be honest. These last few days have been an emotional roller coaster, and I thought I knew what I wanted and how I felt, but things have…changed, somehow."

"But not your feelings for me?"

She shook her head.

"Then who…?" Blaster shook his head too. "Christie, I…"

"I was stuck with Vix for a few days," she admitted, "and I've been confused about my feelings for him for awhile now. When I first saw him there, I thought I hated him, but now…now we've been through so much, and I've seen how Damon treats him—and…I know how protective he feels about me…" She swallowed. "I don't know if he likes me or not, but I do know that at this moment, my feelings are really confused. But that doesn't mean I no longer feel the way I did about you, Blaster—because I still do, but I also want to be honest with you—and with myself, before either of us gets hurt because of this." Christie squeezed his hands. "Please understand…"

He stared back at her, not replying.

"Once I get this sorted out, we can see where to go from there…" She trailed off, pulling his hands closer to herself in a motion. She felt so cold without the lucky yellow jacket she'd received from him, and with his frosty, blank stare facing her. "Oh, please say you'll understand, Blaster. I just—"

He grabbed her in a hug.

"—don't want either of us to get hurt…" Her eyes widened. "Blaster?"

He was silent for awhile, before murmuring into her hair, "I'm happy you decided to be honest with me." He pulled back, smiling softly. "It's better than…rushing into something we'd both regret."

Christie felt relief fill her, and she relaxed. "And I'm so glad you understand," she whispered.

"I do," he confirmed. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I hope things work out…for the both of us."

She nodded. "Thank you, Blaster."

"I should be the one thanking you." He smiled. "Friends for now?"

"Of course." She squeezed his hands one last time before letting go. "I guess I'll…see you later, then?"

"Yeah, I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay. Be safe." She kissed him on the cheek. "Here's to us."

"To us."

And then he was gone, his golden streak trailing behind him. Blaster flew fast and hard, feeling strange and conflicted. He felt warm and happy, but it was a sad kind of happiness. There was disappointment and pain, but also…some form of relief…

He could feel his eggshell heart cracking even more, but it wasn't the same sharp pain that jabbed into his side every time he thought of Banana's kiss, and the hurt look in her eyes every time he brushed her off…

Christie, meanwhile, sat down on the table Blaster had been sitting at, feeling the same way as he did—happy yet sad, pained yet relieved. She looked up at the ceiling of the darkened room, wondering to herself, Was this what it took for me to break out of my egg like a phoenix reborn?

Because I don't know what I feel anymore. She shivered then, rubbing her arms. And it feels off, yet I know it was the right thing to do… But as of right now, I don't have my fire or my sunshine, and it kind of hurts, like this weird numb pain in the back of my heart…

…It's cold.

*(A/N: Reference to chapter 70!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 72!)

***(A/N: Reference to chapter 64!)

****(A/N: Reference to chapter 42!)

*****(A/N: Reference to chapter 63!)

ME: I'm disappointed I missed posting on April Fools and Easter, but I did leave some Easter eggs in here! See if you guys can count them all~ *winks*

BRICK: Well, that's dumb.

ME: *sticks tongue out* You're dumb!

BLOSSOM: Okay, let's close this out before a fight breaks out between you two. Leave a review, everyone!

ME: Yeah! It's 28 500 words or so, so I hope you guys enjoy it!