Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived
Author: Kimberly21570
Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children
Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca
Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia Rivera, and Maureen "Maury" Reardon are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters Bianca Montgomery and Lena Kundera are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The original characters of Bella, Marissa, and Ariana Spencer-Rivera, Jordan, Lexie, Tori, and Katy Montgomery-Kundera, Jen, Tracy, and Dylan Jackson-Morgan, and Jake Morgan are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, or any other person or entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
Rating: Overall, Chapter 8 is rated R, though this particular update is rated PG for some mild language.
Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…
Author's Note: Pay particular attention to the transitions in time, as this chapter contains flashbacks within flashbacks.
While I wouldn't exactly call this update "comforting," I thought we could all use a little something to distract us from all the chaos in our world right now. Stay safe, healthy, and hopeful for a better future, friends. I hope you all enjoy.
Kim
Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived
Copyright September 2012
"No one would have crossed the ocean if he could have gotten off the ship in the storm."
Charles Kettering
Chapter 8.5—Showers and Thunderstorms:
The Jackson-Morgan Household, Springfield—Saturday, December 25, 2021, 2:15 a.m. Central Standard Time
A raucous pounding on the front door ripped Jen from peaceful slumber, catapulting her into a state of pure panic. Jarred into awareness, her sleep-addled brain sluggishly registered the blinding flashes of light that assaulted her through the curtains that draped their bedroom windows. The pitch-black of night only served to illuminate the harsh intruders as they reflected off the freshly fallen snow, and a moment later, reality struck her like a bolt of lightning.
And suddenly she was wide awake, living out her worst nightmare.
Again.
She knew these lights.
She knew them all too well—especially this late at night.
Instantly her mind conjured the memory of that night—the one that had so heartlessly stolen her husband Jake from her and their sons. The frigid dampness in the air, the flashing lights, the urgent banging on the door that echoed not only in her ears, but in her mind like a relentless harbinger.
Terror filled her anew, and she cried out for her wife Tracy, reaching aimlessly for her in the night—to no avail…
The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Friday, December 31, 2021, 7:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
"It's been a week, Mama," Jordan said uneasily, her dark eyes practically begging Lena to do something—anything—to assuage her growing fears as she wore a hole in the throw rug in front of the fireplace. "A whole week, and still, nothing from Emma. Not a word."
"I understand that you are worried, Sweetheart," Lena empathized, edging a hip onto the arm of the sofa. "But I talked with Olivia just this afternoon. She made no mention regarding anything of concern."
Reaching for her daughter, she smoothed a comforting hand across Jordan's back as she paced nearby. "She would have told me if…"
Restless and unsatisfied by the response, Jordan shrugged away. "You don't understand, Mama," she sighed, knowing there was no way her mother could understand the weight of what she was feeling, because Jordan hadn't shared the details of their last conversation with anyone, not even her mothers, whom she usually told everything.
Lena surveyed her eldest daughter with eyes of compassion. "I would like to understand," she said gently. "Would you be willing to tell me what happened between the two of you?"
"I'm not ready to talk about it yet," Jordan responded distractedly.
"Well, at least tell me this," Lena ventured. "Did you and Emma have a fight?"
The irony of that question stopped Jordan in her tracks, drawing a sharp laugh in response as she turned toward her mother. Yes, she had felt bewildered by the abrupt ending to their conversation, but even that couldn't dampen the sense of hope she experienced as she reflected on Emma's words, her declarations of love and longing. Those words meant everything to her, even now as she worried about the lack of communication from Emma since that night. "No, Mama," she answered, shaking her head as she fought the giddy grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth, lest she give away too much too soon. "Exactly the opposite."
Lena gave a resolute nod, acknowledging that she understood Jordan had said all she planned to say on the matter—at least for the moment. Her motherly instinct had been telling her for days that something big had happened—first good, and then, uncertain—but so long as Jordan was safe, she was willing to bide her time.
"Okay, I will leave it be," she said, gently squeezing Jordan's shoulder as she slipped past her. She paused at the entryway to the kitchen, resting a palm against the doorframe. "But I'm willing to listen, whenever you're ready to talk. So is your mom."
Jordan turned toward her mother, a crooked smile on her lips and gratitude in her dark eyes. "I know, Mama. Thank you," she said softly, before turning back to the fire in the hearth, where she got lost in the flames as she contemplated what she should do next.
Rhapsody, The Beacon, Springfield—Tuesday, June 12, 2029, 6:15 a.m. Central Daylight Time
Sliding into the corner booth at Rhapsody, Jordan set a rare latte on the table, and propped a sneaker-clad foot up on the seat, as she settled against the back of the upholstered seat, loosely draping an arm across her knee. It was the crack of dawn on her wedding day, and she had returned from her morning run filled with a sense of joy and excitement, coupled with the lingering touch of nostalgia that beckoned to her, drawing her in, even as she longed to move forward with this next phase of her life.
How many years had it taken to unpack the repercussions of that singular moment of weakness, of sheer honesty, she and Emma had shared that Christmas Eve?
More than anything, she wished that none of them had borne the weight of that shared history. She had been thinking about that journey for days as she prepared for her wedding. Not that she was dissatisfied with the way things had worked out—she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be, about the marry the one person in the world she couldn't fathom being without. Still, she wished that they could have all been spared the pain—especially Emma and Dylan, who had borne the brunt of it all.
The days leading up to her wedding hadn't been completely fraught with angst. On the contrary, they been mostly filled with joy and discovery, about herself and her intended. So much so that she'd basically walked around in a state of dumbfounded giddiness at the thought of how blessed she felt to be marrying the love of her life.
She had barely slept the night before, a sense of nervous excitement rattling her in a way it never had before. So she had distracted herself with Lexie and her college friends, talking and laughing late into the night until her steadfast posse had all fallen asleep. And then she sat alone, staring out the window of her room in the penthouse suite, wondering whether Emma was having a similar experience in her bedroom at the farmhouse, where she knew Payton and Maury were gathered close around her.
And then, unbidden, her thoughts drifted back to the past, as it had so many times in recent weeks, and she found herself reliving one of the most devastating nights of her life…
The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, January 1, 2022, 2:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Just hours after that conversation with her mother, Jordan found herself staring at the answer that had alluded her the better part of a week: A text from Emma, ending them, before they could even begin…
Happy New Year, Em. I love you and I can't wait to see what this year brings for us… she had texted to Emma the moment the clock struck midnight in Springfield—an hour after she had welcomed the new year with her family at the Cottage where their family had celebrated New Years' Eve since before she was even born. At this point, she knew calling would be futile—Emma hadn't answered her calls since the one on Christmas Eve. Still, she couldn't possibly bring herself to lose hope when she was finally so close to having it all.
I love you, Jordan, Emma responded nearly an hour later. She had spent that hour worrying about what she should say, how she could go about undoing what she had so heartlessly done the weekend before. She had agonized and sobbed, raged and blamed herself, begged, pleaded, and bargained with God, but in the end, she only one conclusion remained: She had to end it before she caused anyone else any pain. But I had no right telling you that, she texted. It was selfish, and I'm so incredibly sorry…
Why are you sorry? Jordan replied, feeling anxious and perplexed. Those were the most beautiful words you've ever said to me.
But I had no right to say them, Emma replied with a heavy heart as she sat silently beside Dylan's hospital bed, watching the rhythmic movements of the machines as they breathed for him, sustaining his body even as she worried that he would never be the same again.
You had every right, Jordan insisted. Because they're the truth.
I can't do this with you, Emma responded. Life it too complicated, and… I need to focus on med school. It's the least I can do now.
What are you talking about, Em? Jordan texted, feeling more disconnected and confused than ever. I don't understand…
When her text went unanswered for several minutes, Jordan tried one final time. Please call me so we can talk about this, she entreated.
But her entreaty went unanswered. That call never came.
A few weeks later, she would learn of Dylan's accident. Soon thereafter, Emma would reach out, rekindling their friendship with the promise that she would always be there for Jordan—and a caveat that they could never have more than that, no matter what. But it would be years before Jordan learned of the devastating series of events that transpired in the wake of their shared declarations of love.
The Penthouse Suite, The Beacon, Springfield—Tuesday, June 12, 2029, 5:15 a.m. Central Daylight Time
Finally, as the sun peeked out from behind the horizon, Jordan gave up on sleep, wiped the tears from her eyes, and dressed for a run, wishing that Emma was there to join her. Following their usual path through the Beacon grounds and into the park nearby, she felt a sense of oneness with her despite her absence, and as the minutes ticked by, she lost herself in memories of their times spent playing in that park together, their mothers keeping watchful eyes on them, and of the countless times they run along that path together when they were older.
It turned out to be a relaxing, rejuvenating run. And now, an hour later, she lounged in the booth, leisurely sipping her latte as she contemplated the unexpected twists and turns of life that had brought her to this place and time…
The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Friday, April 18, 2025, 7:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
With Jordan's twenty-first birthday just a few days away, the Spencer-Rivera clan traveled to the Vineyard to celebrate with the family, Emma accompanying them for the first time since her trip there to celebrate her own twenty-first birthday more than three years prior. It was one thing to talk with Jordan on the phone or over video chat. But seeing her in person was another story entirely, especially given the decision she had made—the one that finally brought her back to the Vineyard after having avoided it all these years. As a result of that decision, she found herself a quivering ball of anxiety, a hot mess if ever one existed, as they entered the cottage, being greeted by a crowd of excited of Montgomery-Kundera's—everyone except Jordan, who was uncharacteristically standoffish, at least with her.
Even as Emma coveted the hugs her family was receiving from Jordan, she knew she had no right. She deserved the distance, and she knew it. So she plastered a smile on her face—one that reflected Jordan's own—as she greeted everyone, her heart feeling heavy even as she hugged people she was genuinely happy to see, if not for the fear that everyone there knew the horrible things she had done, and secretly hated her for it.
It was awkward and disheartening, but thankfully the moment passed quickly. Once the pleasantries were out of the way, they adjourned to the kitchen and adjacent dining room where Lena and Bianca had dinner waiting for everyone, and soon Emma's worries were absorbed by the chaos of laughter and conversation amongst children, teenagers, and adults alike.
"Omigosh, Auntie B, I can't believe you made lasagna!" thirteen-year-old Bella exclaimed as she settled in her seat next to Katy, who was only a year younger than her. "It's my absolute favorite!"
Bianca smiled. "I know!" she said, matching the newly minted teenager's excitement.
Wide-eyed, Bella blinked twice. "Is that why you made it?" she asked, thrilled by the possibility.
"Sure is," Bianca answered cheerily. "I thought we'd celebrate your birthday this weekend too, since we didn't make it to Springfield for your party."
"Wow, thank you," Bella said. "That's super cool."
Bianca smiled. "It's our pleasure," she said sincerely.
"Did you know that I was named after Bella Mia's where Mom took Ma for their first big date?" Bella asked, delighted to be the center of attention—for once. It sucked being the middle child. "They didn't have lasagna that night," she added as an afterthought.
Chuckling, Bianca answered that she knew all about the origins of Bella's name, and asked if lasagna was her favorite because of it.
"No, I just really like all the cheese," Bella answered, her face and tone both deadpan, which drew laughs from around the table.
"Our birthday was last weekend," Ariana chimed in, effectively ending Bella's moment in the spotlight—as usual.
Not surprisingly the comment was met by a scowl from Bella, earning a triumphant grin from Ariana in response.
"Yeah, we just turned eleven!" Marissa provided.
"You sure did," Lena agreed. "And we have something special for you, as well."
"We get to celebrate too?" Ariana asked, voice filled with astonishment and anticipation.
"Absolutely, Sweetie," Bianca answered. "Aunt Lena made your favorite desserts."
Ariana let out an excited squeal, and Marissa's eyes lit up. "You know our favorites too?" Marissa asked Lena, amazed that it might actually be true.
"Of course, Darlings," Lena said sweetly. "You love confetti cupcakes with pink icing, and Ari's favorite is chocolate cupcakes with vanilla icing and purple sprinkles."
"Does the pink icing taste like strawberries?" Marissa asked, practically salivating.
"Is there any other kind?" Lena asked playfully.
"Yay!" Marissa exclaimed, drawing a chuckle from Lena who was thoroughly enjoying the child's exuberance.
Bella muttered something about spoiled brats, and Ariana made a face at her.
"Isabella," Olivia said sternly, drawing a sigh from the moody teenager as Natalia simultaneously issued a gentle reprimand to Ariana. Both girls settled then, and dinner continued, this time uninterrupted by their nonsense, much to their mothers' shared relief.
Bianca passed the breadbasket across the table at Jordan's request a few minutes later, and caught a glimpse of Emma's uncharacteristic edginess. "How are things going at Stanford, Emma?" she asked, hoping to engage her in conversation. "You're about to finish your second year, aren't you?"
Tentatively, Emma glanced up from her plate where she had been pushing a random piece of sausage around for the past few minutes, not bothering to eat it. "Yes, ma'am," she said politely. "I'm crazy busy, but it's goin' well, thanks."
"How are you liking California?" Lena asked.
"I don't miss the Midwestern ice and snow," Emma answered pointedly, her tone devoid of emotion as she surveyed the table for any sign of an adverse reaction. The response drew her mothers' attention, their concern for her reflecting in their eyes, but no one else seemed to notice, and she relaxed in the safety of realizing her mistakes hadn't been fodder for conversation over dinner and drinks. "But it's not home."
Lena nodded. "I understand," she said. "I enjoyed my years in London with your mom when we were at Oxford, but I missed my homeland."
"Do you still miss it now, Mama?" Lexie asked, curiously. Ever since she was a small child, she had been curious about the world, and had always been drawn to travel, exploring other places, other cultures, other times, and it fascinated her that her Mama had come from a faraway land.
Lena glanced around the table, taking in the family, the life, she and Bianca had built together, and smiled as she met her daughter's gaze. "I will always have fond memories of Poland," she said, her rich accent still intact despite the passage of time, "but this place, these people, and all those who will gather here with us this weekend, they are home now."
Lexie smiled as her dark eyes filled with tears. "I'm glad you found your way here," she said in a rare moment of unguarded sentimentality.
Arching that trademark eyebrow, Bianca leaned forward catching her daughter's gaze. "You ought to be," she said with a playful grin, "without her, none of you would be here."
"Way to ruin a moment, Mom," Lexie groused, drawing laughter from around the table.
Dinner continued, and somewhere amidst the clamor the inevitable question was asked: "Can the girls stay over with us tonight?"
Historically, that question had begun with Jordan when it was only Emma there to visit, but as the years passed, and their families grew, the tradition had been passed down from Jordan to Lexie to Tori, and now, to Katy who sat there, eyes wide with anticipation of their answer—as if it would ever be anything but a resounding "Yes!"
Olivia continued their tradition by grumbling, "I swear I don't know why we bothered buying a house up here. No one ever sleeps in it with us!"
"We'd be happy to trade places," Bianca was quick to offer.
Olivia made a face at her. "Yeah, no thanks," she politely declined. "Your house comes with a toddler who doesn't sleep through the night. Thankfully, we're finished with those days."
Grinning, Natalia leaned toward her wife. "Except when we agree to keep the grandkids overnight," she reminded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. As much as Olivia loved their grandchildren, Natalia knew how much she detested being reminded that they were now grandmothers.
"Oh, you hush, now," Olivia chided playfully, drawing an amused chuckle from her wife.
"You'll be staying over as well, won't you, Emma?" Lena asked probingly, earning an elbow to the ribs from Bianca, and a scowl from her eldest daughter. Neither deterred her. "We can't imagine a visit without you here."
Nervously, Emma glanced at Jordan, receiving a noncommittal shrug in response. It was better than any alternative she might've anticipated, and she grabbed onto it tightly. "Yes, ma'am," she answered with a crooked smile, grateful for the unexpected opportunity. "Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else."
The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Friday, April 18, 2025, 11:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Alone in Jordan's bedroom a few hours later, the mutual façade quickly crumbled, leaving both Jordan and Emma exposed and vulnerable. Silence loomed between them, an unwelcomed stranger, and the click of the door pierced the stillness as Emma pushed it closed behind them.
Instinctively, she reached for Jordan's hand, and catching it easily in her own, she tugged gently. Suddenly, her only awareness was the rushing of blood in her ears, and the sensation of Jordan's hand in her own as she prayed the gesture wouldn't be rejected, all the while knowing that it likely would be.
A swell of emotions, bottled over time, rose in Jordan's chest the moment she felt Emma's touch, and slowly, she turned toward her. The rush of her pulse left her dizzy, and the weight on her chest made it impossible to breathe. A moment later their eyes locked, tears of hurt and remorse formed between them, and the jumble of words, both tender and harsh, she felt surging within her, died on her tongue.
"I can't stand this distance between us," Emma said softly.
A part of Jordan wanted to scream. Another wanted to rush into Emma's arms. She stilled both urges and didn't pull away, instead choosing to stare into those eyes. "Whose fault is that?" she finally asked, an unexpectedly sharp edge to her tone.
"Jordan, please…" Emma beseeched, eyes pleading. "Just let me hold you."
"It's been more than three years, Emma," Jordan spat, emphasizing the passage of time. "Do you really expect me to welcome you with open arms?" God, how I want to…
Eyes downcast, Emma felt the weight of her shame pressing on her shoulders. "No, of course not," she said quietly. "Jordan, I'm so sorry. I…"
"You what?" Jordan snapped uncharacteristically. She wouldn't yell, but no longer would she hold her tongue—or Emma's hand. Releasing herself from Emma's grasp, she moved further into the room, turning to look at her with demanding eyes. "Are you finally gonna tell me what the fuck happened back then?"
Head snapping upward, Emma looked stricken. "I can't…"
"You mean you won't," Jordan shot back, emphasizing Emma's willingness… or lack thereof. It wasn't the time they'd lost, so much as it was Emma's repeated refusal to explain what had caused her to run scared after being so certain that night.
"I don't blame you for being angry, Jordan," Emma said reasonably, as she dared to step closer again. "I'm angry with myself for the choices I've made. But I can't undo the past. All I can do is hope we can find a way to start fresh."
A sarcastic laugh fell from Jordan's lips. "Are you fucking serious right now?" she asked, even as her heart begged for exactly that.
"I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life," Emma said with quiet conviction.
"You told me you loved me, Emma, and then you walked away like it meant nothing," Jordan sobbed, the weight of her pain crushing her anew. Not one living soul knew how deeply that pain bore into her, and no one ever would.
"It meant everything, Jordan," Emma said, her voice tender with emotion. "I walked away because I love you so…"
Jordan barked out a laugh. "You left me because you love me?" she said, sounding incredulous. "That's rich, Em."
"It's the truth," Emma quietly insisted. "I love you so goddamn much," she whispered through newly formed tears. "I thought walking away was the only way to protect you…"
"Protect me from what?" Jordan pleaded in exasperation.
"From myself," Emma cried.
"Emma, I don't understand." Jordan was more perplexed than ever. "Being with you would never hurt me," she reasoned. "It's being without you that nearly broke me."
"God, how I love you," Emma whispered almost like a prayer as she dared to reach out, gently brushing Jordan's face with her fingertips. "I love you, and all I wanted to do was protect you, and I… I ended up hurting you in the most unforgiveable way." I hurt you in ways you don't even know yet.
Within the span of a moment, she'd felt her heart soar at Emma's repeated confession of love, then crash at the memory of the pain that followed, and now she was so confused she didn't really know what to do, or how to feel. "And yet, here you are, expecting me to forgive you," she said, her voice soft, but edged with pain.
"Not expecting," Emma gently countered. "Hoping… Praying…"
Swallowing hard around the lump that had formed in her throat, Jordan fought back both tears and the returning urge to throw herself into Emma's arms.
"I didn't come here for absolution, Jordan," Emma said sincerely. "And I didn't come here to ruin your birthday, or to hurt you any more than I already have."
"Three strikes—"
The sharpness in Jordan's voice felt like a blade piercing Emma's heart, and she winced from the pain of it, her bluish-green eyes filling with tears once again.
Immediately regretting the harshness of her words, Jordan's heart softened. "Why did you come?" she asked, her voice gentle now, yet still demanding.
"Because I miss you. God, I ache for you," Emma answered, leaving herself exposed, vulnerable, and yet somehow… free. "And I realize what an idiot I've been."
Jutting out a hip, Jordan planted a hand against it as she arched an eyebrow. "You're just now realizing that?" she asked, emphasizing the timing of Emma's revelation.
"You used to be nicer," Emma accused lightly as she sniffed back tears.
Jordan shrugged. "I used to be naïve."
"I hate that my choices changed that about you," Emma said softly.
"I needed to toughen up," Jordan shrugged, trying to sound aloof. But Emma was looking at her with those eyes, and she felt her resolve slipping.
Stepping dangerously close, Emma reached out again, gently stroking Jordan's cheek with the backs of her fingers. "No, you didn't," she whispered. "But not surprisingly, even the sharper edges are perfect on you."
Rendered motionless by Emma's touch, by the warmth of Emma's breath on her face, Jordan said nothing. She barely breathed. She simply stared into those eyes that could both infuriate and soothe her in a single glance as she fought the urge melt into them, into Emma and those arms that beckoned so insistently to her.
"I think I should go," Emma said quietly as her fingertips slipped from Jordan's face in the silence that settled between them again. They both mourned the loss as she turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. And then she stopped and turned back again, meeting Jordan's gaze squarely. "But don't think for a moment that I'm running away or giving up, because that will never happen again. You have my word on that." You waited so long for me. I'll wait forever for you…
Before Emma could leave, Jordan finally found her senses and reached for her, grasping her hand and holding it firmly. "I don't want you to go," she whispered.
Emma's heart gripped in her chest, and she felt a wave of relief flooding over her as fresh tears began to fall. A gentle tug followed, her heart soaring even as Jordan's head warred with her heart, waging a losing battle as Emma fell into her arms. And they stood there, clinging together, both sobbing uncontrollably for longer than either of them would recall.
Finally, as the tears began to subside, Jordan took Emma's hand into her own, this time entwining their fingers, and they walked together in the muted light of the moon that filtered through the curtains, toward the bed they had shared since they were children. And sitting on the edge, she pulled Emma down beside her.
"Tell me what I can do to make it right, Jordan," Emma quietly entreated, her hand still clutched in Jordan's as she searched that familiar gaze. "How do I get us back to where we were before I fucked everything up?"
"I don't know that you can," Jordan replied, her soft voice edged with pain that reflected in those onyx eyes.
"I'll do anything," Emma promised.
"Except tell me the truth…" Jordan said, speaking the truth with sadness, rather than anger or judgment this time.
"It hurts too much to even think about it," Emma explained, her tone begging Jordan to understand, even as she acknowledged to herself that it was selfish to expect that of her.
Jordan reached up, tucking a wayward lock of chestnut hair behind Emma's ear as she gazed into those eyes. "Then you have unfinished business to deal with before we can even consider that fresh start," she said softly, but in a tone that brooked no dispute.
Terrified, yet determined, Emma held her gaze squarely. "Then I'll deal with it," she said with conviction. "I'll go back to Springfield and face my demons—for you. For us."
"And then you'll come back to me?" Jordan said, her tone sounding hopeful for the first time in what felt like ages. A moment later her breath caught when Emma's fingertips brushed against her face, the warmth of her hand coming to rest against Jordan's neck.
A soft, knowing smile teased across Emma's lips at the sensation of Jordan's heartbeat thrumming beneath her palm, and struggling to wrangle her own pulse, she steadied herself. There would be plenty of time for that… later. But for now, she had a promise to keep. "Always," she whispered, a reverent pledge, as she searched those eyes earnestly, her thumb gently caressing a tearstained cheek. "Wherever you are, that's the only place I ever want to be."
TBC in Chapter 8.6…
