I honestly think I rewrote this, like, four times. Teenage Mal and Natara kept wanting to say and do certain things, and eventually I just gave up fighting with them and let them do it. The result is this is the longest chapter of this story thus far.


A woman opens the door. Natara's jaw snaps shut as she loses her train of thought. She knows she must look dumb, staring at her with what's surely a confused expression.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks. Her hair is closer to blonde than Mal's is, and her nose is a slightly different shape. But their eyes are the exact same shade of blue.

"Hi," she finally says as she finds her voice again. "I'm a friend of Mal's. Is he here?"

"Mal!" The woman turns to call into the house, then faces Natara again. "Sorry, we've all had a bit of a rough day so far. He should be down in a second though."

"No worries," she says quietly. "I'm Natara, by the way."

"Oh yeah, I think he's mentioned you a few times." She holds her hand out. "Cynthia. I'm Mal's sister."

"Yeah, he's definitely told me about you," she manages to smile. "Never actually told me your name though."

"Typical," Cynthia laughs, shaking her head. She turns back to the inside of the house. "Malachi! Get down here!"

"Relax, Cynthia! My ears work faster than my legs!" Mal's voice calls back. A second later, they hear his footsteps on the stairs. He jumps the last few steps, then freezes as he catches sight of Natara.

"God, you're gonna be the slowest cop in the history of the world," Cynthia teases him. She winks at Natara.

"Still faster than you," Mal mumbles. "Now go away."

"Charming, isn't he?" Cynthia rolls her eyes, but obliges. She bumps Mal's shoulder with hers as she passes, and Mal scowls as he elbows her in retaliation. It only earns him a breezy laugh from his sister.

"Hey," he says, not quite meeting Natara's eye. He steps out onto the stoop with her and closes the door behind him.

"You look like hell." And he does. He's at least changed his shirt from last night, but his clothes are still rumpled. His hair is disheveled, and not in its usual, cultivated way, and the bruise on his cheek is darker. She thinks he might even still have some dried blood hidden in the stubble on his chin.

"Thanks," he snarks at her. "What are you even doing here?"

Natara frowns back at him. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," she says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, because it should be. "A lot happened last night, and I just wanted to check on you.

"Well I did wake up with the worst hangover," he said. "Felt like a goblin was trying to escape my skull with a jackhammer."

"Okay, yeah, there's that," she says, still frowning, "but why were you drinking like that in the first place? Maybe I'm wrong, but you don't strike me as the type of person who would go to a party and drink heavily just because. What happened?"

"I was just having a bad day," he says, avoiding her eyes. "That's all."

He thinks back for a moment. The night is kind of a blur after he arrived at the party. He knows he drank a lot, he knows he fought with Blaise, and he knows he went to Natara's house after. He just can't quite recall smaller details. He's pretty sure there's something important that he's forgetting. But the harder he tries to remember, the more elusive it becomes

"I'm sorry for showing up at your house last night like that," he says. His shoulders slump forward. "It was inappropriate, and I promise I won't do it again. And I'm also sorry if you got in trouble."

"Mal, I just want to understand," she says, crossing her arms. Leaning slightly away from her, Mal crosses his arms as well.

"It's nothing." His defensive pose says otherwise, but she recognizes that he's not about to tell her the truth any time soon.

"Fine," she says. "Then maybe we can talk about a few things you said last night instead?"

Mal freezes, his blood running cold as he glances at her from the sides of his eyes. What did she mean? What had he said? He wracks his memory again, searching, but keeps coming up blank. He knows he has to respond in some way, though, so he settles for a noncommittal shrug.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks.

"Are you serious?" Natara shoots back. "Do you really have to ask?"

Thankfully, he's saved by the door opening behind him before he has a chance to answer. Cynthia pokes her head out, either not seeing or ignoring the tense situation between him and Natara.

"Mal, lunch is almost ready," she says, then she turns to look at Natara. "You're welcome to stay, too. It's nothing fancy, just grilled cheese and soup."

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to, though," he tells her.

Natara narrows her eyes at Mal. She's not dumb, she can read between the lines. He doesn't want her to stay, most likely because he doesn't want to have this conversation with her. Well, she's not letting him off that easily.

"I actually haven't eaten lunch yet, either," she says, never taking her eyes off Mal.

"Great!" Cynthia says brightly. She opens the door wide and beckons them inside. "Do you guys mind setting the table?"

"It's no problem at all," she answers. Mal scowls at her and turns toward the kitchen without another word. She follows him as he grabs utensils out of a drawer and places them on the table.

"I do want to talk to you," she says, trying to keep her tone even.

"Yeah, I got that," Mal says. He motions for her to step aside so he can reach into the cabinet behind her, and she obliges. She watches as he takes some bowls out, then does a double take as she counts them, glances at the table, and then looks back at him.

"Four bowls?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Mal grimaces at the same time she hears more footsteps approaching. She turns, curious, and watches as Cynthia helps another woman walk into the room.

Her skin is so pale it's practically translucent and it looks almost waxy, all of which makes the shadows under her eyes stand out more. Her head is wrapped in a colorful scarf and she's got at least three sweaters on despite the scorching temperatures outside. The one hand Natara can see looks almost skeletal. Despite all of this, her eyes light up when she sees Natara.

"Who's this?" she asks in a surprisingly strong voice.

"One of Mal's friends," Cynthia tells her as they walk over to the table together, the other woman's eyes never leaving Natara's face.

"Mom, this is Natara," Mal says with a vague gesture in her direction. Natara tentatively holds out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she says with what she hopes is a smile.

"Ah, so you're the famous Natara," his mom says. The tone of her voice has Mal's cheeks turning slightly pink. Natara tries to fight back her smile for the sake of his ego. "Mal's told me so much about you. I'm Angela, Mal's mom."

"Mo-om," Mal complains, rubbing a hand down his face.

"I know, I know," Angela says, her smile still firmly in place. "Why don't we all sit down?"

The only words Natara can use to describe eating with Mal's family is warm and inviting. She finds herself laughing along as they all tease each other unabashedly, with Mal getting the worst of it. She has a feeling her presence has something to do with that, and she enjoys it a little more than she thinks she should. Both his mom and his sister also ask her questions, mostly about where she's going to college and what she'll be studying.

"I'm going to Grantmore University to study business," she answers with a small smile. "I'm really looking forward to it.

"Grantmore, huh?" Angela says. "From what I hear they've got one of the best programs in the country."

"They do," she says, ducking her head slightly. She glances over at Mal, but he's looking at his mom.

"I hear some of the students can be rough, though," Cynthia says. "Hoity toity rich school and all."

"Oh, I think Natara can handle them," Mal snorts around a mouthful of grilled cheese. She frowns at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands.

"Just that you're no pushover," he clarifies, holding his hands up. "Don't think I don't remember that time you beat up Ethan Murphy." Cynthia and Angela turn to look at her with their eyebrows raised.

"You beat someone up?" Cynthia asks. "Awesome."

"In second grade!" she says. "We were eight!"

"Still did it," Mal smirks. "Anyway, the point was I doubt you'd let anyone get the better of you."

"Present company included," she grumbles, more to herself than anything else.

The rest of their lunch passes uneventfully, filled mostly with Angela and Cynthia's stories from college. Natara can't help but wonder what kinds of stories she'll end up graduating college with. Mal continues to avoid her eye, and she wishes it didn't annoy her as much as it does. So when he stands up to clear the table when they're all done eating, she follows suit.

"Oh, Natara, you don't have to do that," Cynthia says. "You're a guest."

"I don't mind at all," she says with a smile as she follows Mal to the sink and subtly elbows him in the ribs. He still doesn't look at her, but he does jump a bit, making her smirk grow. Together, they begin washing the dishes.

"Oh, Mal, I meant to ask earlier," Angela calls over the running water. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Not that I know of," he says, handing a bowl to Natara so she can dry it. "Why?"

"The hospice people are coming some time between noon and 3pm, and I think it's important that we're all here."

The bowl slips from Natara's hand and hits the counter with a loud clatter. She can see Mal go perfectly rigid out of the corner of her eye while she scrambles to grab the bowl and continue drying it. She can't help but glance quickly over at Mal before looking back down.

"Oh," Mal squeaks out. "Okay. I'm here all day anyway."

"Sounds good," his mom says. She and Cynthia exchange a glance, then she stands. "I think I'm going to lay down for a while, I'm a bit tired."

"I'll help you, Mom," Cynthia says, and the two of them leave the room rather quickly.

For a while, the only sound in the kitchen is the running water as Mal finishes washing the last bowl. He holds it out to Natara, who takes it without a word. They both search for something to say.

"Are you okay?" Natara asks.

"Honest answer?"

"It would be appreciated."

"I don't know," Mal says. "Kind of a dumb question, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "I guess I just don't know what else to say." Mal runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

"No one really does, not even the doctors." He finally turns to look at her. "All they really said was that there wasn't anything else they could do except send her home, and that they were sorry."

"I'm sure they tried everything they could," Natara says. She startles as Mal slams his palm against the counter.

"They should have tried harder," he seethes. "She's my mom."

Abandoning the bowl and dish towel, she wraps her arms around Mal and presses herself as close as she can to him. She can feel him trembling, though she can't tell if it's from anger or fear. A second later, he hugs her back.

It all makes sense to her, now. His erratic behavior from last night, his strange questions as she drove him home, his reluctance to have her stay for lunch. She can't imagine what it would be like to get that kind of news about anyone she cared about, let alone a parent. On top of that, she's never known anyone else who's gone through something similar. She has no idea how to help him. So, she does the only thing she can think to do. She holds him even tighter, so tight she imagines it must be at least a little uncomfortable.

"I'm here for you," she says. "No matter what, I'll be here."