Picket glanced around the Savoury Den, struggling to see if his sister or Emma or somebody that he knew was there, but no one appeared. Shrugging, he turned back to his bowl of stew. It wasn't his fault if they were all late to eat, he certainly wasn't waiting any longer. Digging in hungrily, he didn't look back up or even stop to breathe until someone sat down across from him. He looked up to see his Uncle, Wilfred. Swallowing with a gulp, Picket got a sudden sensation that he was in some sort of trouble.

"Uh…. did I do something? Uncle?" He asked after a moment.

"No." Wilfred's reply wasn't exactly reassuring. "I simply want to talk to you." Oh, That's so much better. He thought irritably.

"About what?"

"How about you try and guess?" A glint of amusement had returned to his uncle's eyes-which set Picket's mind at rest that he had done anything. But that made him wonder what was so bad that Wilfred was trying to dispel it with humor.

"Does….it have something to do with Heather?" Wilfred nodded. Picket felt quite silly guessing, and that half-annoyed him. "Heather and…. the prince?" Probably. Most likely. If something interesting was afoot, it was probably those two. Something that'll cause a new wave of gossip, that's for sure. He added in his head. Wilfred sighed. Here's your answer.

"It…It does. But I'm afraid, Picket, that it also has quite a good deal to do with you."

"Me? What in Natalia does this have to do with me?"

"You are Heather's brother." Picket grimaced. And I'm wishing I wasn't, right now. "I'm certain that Smalls would appreciate…. appreciate knowing that he can get along with you." Picket resisted letting out a snort of laughter.

"So basically, what you're saying is that Smalls-the prince-wants my permission to court my sister?" Wilfred rubbed his forehead and chuckled.

"Well, actually, he doesn't know that I've addressed this." Seeing the confused look on Picket's face Wilfred sighed and elaborated. "One of Smalls' greatest difficulties is the fact that he tends to dodge uncomfortable situations. Or situations he thinks will interfere with duties as the crown prince. While that sense of honor and duty is one of his most admirable traits, it also tends to cause…. Issues.

"I've told him several times that if he refuses to do anything about this himself, then I will get involved and he won't like it. He ignored me; this is the consequence."

"Getting me involved? You do realize that this has a very likely possibility of badly ticking Heather off, right?" Wilfred smiled.

"I am aware of the risk."

"Uh, have you seen Heather angry? Not just annoyed, but actually angry?"

"I remember enough of her mother's temper to know how bad her's might be." Picket grimaced. He certainly remembered his mother's temper.

"What if I don't really want to get involved in my sister's love life?"

"I was under the impression that you and Smalls still had some unresolved issues." Annoyed, Picket was forced to agree.

"Do I have too?" He sighed, resorting to last-ditch methods. Wilfred raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, I can't force you to do anything, you've made that quite clear, but I know it would help make your sister happy." Picket gagged.

"I don't need to think about that, thank you." Wilfred's lips twitched in a smirk.

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to not break the code of chivalry and let Smalls know that you aren't going to turn hostile if he starts courting Heather." Picket sighed. Would it kill him? Probably not. Would he die of awkwardness? Maybe.

"Alright uncle," he said reluctantly. "But only if no one tells Heather." Wilfred chuckled.

"I wouldn't dream of it, and neither would Smalls, for that matter."

Picket was regretting everything by the time the door opened. Smalls looked exhausted. So much so that Picket now felt bad about bothering him on top of his previous apprehensions. Smalls figured out what was going on in about five minutes, probably from the extremely awkward way that Picket was standing outside the door. He muttered something not-so-nice about Wilfred and moved to close the door, mumbling something about work that he could talk tomorrow. He really does have a bad habit of dodging things. Picket realized.

"Listen, I really didn't want to come over here and just the fact that I did deserves more than a door slam in my face." He said. Either Smalls was so tired that he was only half-aware of his manners at the moment, or he really, really didn't want to talk about this. Probably a bit of both. Either way Smalls realized what he was doing and, reluctantly, he opened the door again.

"I'm sorry." He sighed. "I…. Haven't slept in a while." Picket wondered exactly how long a while was. "You can come in if you want." Picket did. Smalls didn't say anything or attempt to start a conversation. He just turned back to the papers on his desk. For a few awkward moments, Picket simply stood there, trying to think up something to say. Finally, Smalls broke the silence. "I know that Wilfred talked to you." He said, sounding resigned. Apparently, he had discovered that Picket wasn't going to leave of his own accord and that he, himself, wasn't exactly getting out of this one.

"Uh…. Yes." Picket conceded. "So at least you can know that this wasn't my idea." Smalls let out a short huff of laughter. Clearly, he didn't find anything funny at all about the whole situation.

"And…" Smalls started somewhat reluctantly, "I guess that what he was talking about was…. Heather." There was just a barely noticeable change in Smalls' posture at Heather's name. Some of the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed.

"Yeah." Picket agreed. "I'd already…... mostly guessed what he said. He just confirmed it for me." Smalls let out a noncommittal sound and picked up his pen. "Heather thinks she isn't obvious, but she is." He concluded carefully. That got Smalls' attention. He looked up from his writing. While a silent voice inside chanted, This is a bad idea! This is a bad idea! This is an absolutely terrible idea! He continued. "Emma teases her. Uncle Wilfred does too."

"Of course he does." Smalls muttered, pressing the pen onto the paper a lot harder than he needed too. There was a pause. Picket, suddenly frustrated with the prince, asked bluntly,

"So why don't you do anything about it?" Clearly surprised, Smalls looked up.

"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice taking on a nervous tone that Picket wasn't used to hearing from him. Smalls had always seemed so sure of himself, he always seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe on a battlefield. Picket thought. But not around Heather. The thought would have made him laugh if the circumstances had been different.

"Why don't you court her? You and I both know that you want too."

"I…." He started, apparently losing the ability to speak. "I didn't want to disrupt anything." He finished pathetically. Picket took this to mean that Smalls hadn't wanted to re-ignite the rivalry between the two of them. He sucked up his pride.

"I was a brat." He said. "I was-well, I was a lot of things. I let my mouth run one too many times and I shouldn't have." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't just you." Smalls admitted. "From the way you saw it, I must have looked condescending." He had. He had seemed quite condescending.

"That doesn't matter now, it's the past." Picket said. "I just want to know what you'll do about Heather." Smalls' face seemed to grow even more tired as a half-wistful look replaced the apprehensive one that had been on it before.

"I don't know." He admitted. "…...It's complicated, Picket. More complicated than you know." Kyle. Picket thought, mentally cursing him. He would much, much rather Heather be with Smalls than with Kyle. "Believe me, if I thought that I…." Smalls didn't finish that sentence. There could have been a million reasons for why Smalls wouldn't-or couldn't-start a courtship with Heather at that moment. But Picket thought a bit of it was fear. A fear of being rejected, but more importantly a fear of loss. Picket didn't know everything that Smalls had lost, but evidently it was a lot. He probably couldn't stand to lose Heather too. Picket suddenly felt a wave of sympathy. He and Smalls would probably always argue. But they'd also probably always be friends. And on that level; Picket felt a great deal of pity.

"I know she cares." Picket finally said. "More than you see." Smalls simply said,

"And I do too." And that was it. Picket decided to leave him to his work. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to come from the conversation-a straight answer wasn't it, it was still Smalls after all-, but the surprising honesty showed how much trust his friend had in him. Picket hoped he would live up to it.

Idk. I kinda like this but I feel like the characters are slightly off and idk why.