Mal knocks firmly on the heavy door in front of him, and immediately has to lock his knees to keep himself from turning and running. He reminds himself that he's not here to play Ding Dong Ditch. In fact, that's just about the worst thing he could possibly do right now.

Hearing footsteps approach the other side of the door, he takes in a deep breath and tries to control his racing heart. The door opens, and for a moment the two of them just stare at each other.

"Natara's not here," Anita Mansingh says stiffly. She keeps her hand on the door, ready to close it at a moment's notice.

"I know. I didn't come here to talk to her," he says. "I actually came here to talk to you. And Natara's dad, too." She purses her lips, debating with herself, then slowly opens the door wider and beckons him inside. He follows her into the living room, just beyond the foyer. Neha looks up as they walk in, and immediately brightens when she recognizes him.

"Hi!" she chirps, walking right up to him. "What are you doing here? Can you play with me? You can be the red horse, and I'll be the purple one."

"Oh, uh-"

"Or we can play with my dolls instead," she continues, and he's not even sure if she took a breath. "Myra and Sarah are in the middle of planning a rebellion because the evil princess Riya stole all the popsicles in the world and won't share with anyone."

"Well, I mean, maybe we can do that later?" he stammers, glancing at her mom. Anita suppresses a smile, then turns to her daughter.

"Neha, can you go play in your room for a little while?" she asks gently. "I want to talk to Mal for a little bit."

"Fine," Neha says dejectedly. She heaves a huge, dramatic sigh and trudges off in the direction of the stairs. He can hear her dragging her feet until, finally, they hear her bedroom door close behind her.

"I apologize for Neha," Anita says. "Her imagination can be a little overwhelming."

"It's alright," he says with a shrug. "And also thank you for letting me in. I know I'm probably not someone you want to see right now." Anita hums noncommittally, but sits down on an ornate sofa and gestures to an armchair across from her.

"My husband is away on business right now," she says. "He won't get back until Sunday night. I'll admit that I'm a little curious to hear what you have to say, though." Mal takes a deep breath in.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night," he said, sitting up straight. "I know showing up here in the middle of the night was inappropriate, especially in the state I was in. And I know Natara volunteered to drive me home, but I feel bad that she had to in the first place." He peeks up at Anita, but her expression is impossible to read.

"Alright," she says. A brief silence hangs over them, and Mal squirms in his seat.

"I just wanted you to know that I really do feel terrible about what I did," he continues. "You don't owe me your forgiveness, and I'll understand if you decide not to forgive me."

"Can you answer one question for me?" Anita asks, folding her hands over her knee. Mal nods eagerly. "What was so pressing that you decided to come to our house in the middle of the night?"

"What?" Mal asks before he can stop himself. Anita frowns at him.

"Well, it seems like you must have had a reason to show up," she says. "Presumably it was something that couldn't possibly wait for a more respectable hour. I assume it has to do with Natara, and as her mother I'd like to know what that reason was." Mal swallows.

"I was in a really bad place, and I guess I just wanted someone who was stable," he says truthfully. However, Anita's frown grows even deeper.

"That's awfully vague, Mr. Fallon," she says. "Care to elaborate a bit?"

Mal lowers his eyes again. He doesn't see a way around it. "I got really bad news about my mom," he admits. "She's been sick for a while. I didn't want to deal with it, so I got drunk and then got into a fight with one of my best friends. After all that, I think I wanted to see someone who felt safe, and Natara is the person who came to mind. She's the safest person I could ever think of."

When he looks up, Anita's expression has softened considerably. She looks at him with her head tilted slightly to one side, and the resemblance between her and Natara is uncanny. She clears her throat delicately.

"I know it's not an excuse," he interjects before she can speak. "I know I shouldn't have done it. But that's the reason I did."

Anita nods slightly. "I understand," she says evenly. "Even if I still don't approve of the way you conducted yourself, I understand."

It's more than he was hoping for. He smiles tentatively at her, but it fades when she doesn't smile back. "Thank you," he says as he stands.

"I will say this, though" Anita says, rising to her feet as well. "If there's anything you need, let us know. I can only imagine what you're going through right now."

"Thank you," he says again. "I should go. I don't mean to run out of here, but there's someone else I have to apologize to." Anita nods as she walks him to the door.

"The friend you fought with?" she guesses.

"Yeah," Mal says. "Thank you again for listening to me. It means a lot."

"Take care," Anita says as Mal steps back outside.


"What do you want, Fallon."

He grimaces as Blaise stares at him angrily. He knows she has every right to be mad at him. He knows he said some pretty awful things to her when he was drunk. He also knows that just because he was wrong, that doesn't mean she was right. But he does his best to stamp down his resentment.

"Well?" she prompts.

"Listen, Blaise," he says, "about the other night-"

"I don't believe I have anything to say to you." She starts to close the door.

"My mom's going to die," he blurts out. The door stops an inch away from closing. He can see one of Blaise's eyes scrutinizing him and the door swings slightly open again.

"What?" she asks.

"Look," he says, "I'm really sorry about what I said the other night. I know your life isn't perfect or easy, or whatever. You were there to help me, and I was an ass. But I was drunk because the doctors told us they can't do anything more for my mom."

The door's fully open again, now, and he's surprised to see that Blaise looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"Jesus, Mal," she says, her voice wavering. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know," he says. "Anyway, I just wanted to apologize."

"I can't- she- I swear-" Blaise closes her mouth for a second and shakes her head. Mal waits for her to gather her thoughts. "I swear I wouldn't have said what I said if I knew," she finally manages to get out. "You know, the whole dying mom thing. Even I'm not that cruel."

"I know." Blaise steps onto her porch and closes the door behind her.

"How are you holding up?" she asks. "And Cynthia, too? And your mom, obviously."

"I don't know, it's weird." He sits down on the top step and Blaise sits down next to him. "She's all set up with hospice care, so that's good. But I can't wrap my mind around it."

"What's your mom say about it all?"

"She doesn't really say much at all, honestly," he admits. "I think it's because she doesn't want us to worry about her." Blaise's hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, and she gives it a firm squeeze. It's a small gesture, but it says everything he needs to hear from her.

"Who else knows?" she asks.

"Just you, my family, and Natara," he says.

"You told Natara before you told me?" Mal feels his temper flare again at her indignant tone.

"First of all, technically I didn't tell her. My mom did," he says. "She was at my house when my mom decided to tell me when the hospice people were coming by. And second of all, does it really matter who finds out in what order? It sucks no matter what."

"Sorry. I guess I just don't get what you see in her," Blaise mumbles. Mal opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off. "That's not an invitation to tell me."

"That a first," he snorts. "Usually when someone says that, they want an answer."

"All I'm saying is you don't have to explain yourself or defend her, or whatever," Blaise says, nudging his shoulder. "I don't care about that. If she makes you happy then that's all that really matters, I guess."

"Thanks," he says, giving her a grateful smile. "I really like her."

"Yeah, no shit," Blaise laughs. "You act like a total idiot whenever she's around."

"Don't remind me," he groans, burying his face in his hands. "After I left the party I went to her house and woke everyone up." Blaise grimaces at him.

"That's not good," she quips.

"No, it's not," he agrees. "I went to her house to apologize to her parents, but only her mom was there."

"Huh," Blaise says. "I never would've thought to go there. What'd she say?"

"Not a whole lot," Mal says with another sigh. "I didn't exactly expect her to forgive me, but I was hoping for something… more, you know?"

"That might take a minor miracle," Blaise quips. Mal bumps her shoulder with his, but cracks a smile.

"Shut up," is the only response he can think of. They sit in silence for a little while, both lost in their thoughts. Mal's thoughts linger on his mom, then take a darker turn as he begins to wonder what life will be like without her. When Blaise's head comes to rest on his shoulder, he startles.

"I know you've probably had a million people ask this," she says, "but is there anything I can do to help? Cook, clean, stand on my head and sing the alphabet backwards, anything. You name it, and I'll do it."

"Thanks," he says quietly. "I can't think of anything now, but I'll let you know if I do."

"Promise?" she asks, lifting her head and holding her pinky out to him. It's childish and silly, but it warms his heart in a way that he thinks nothing else would. He links his pinky with hers.

"Promise," he answers. "Although standing in your head and singing the alphabet backwards does sound tempting." Blaise shoves his head away from her, laughing.

"The only reason I'd actually do that is if your mom asks."

"I don't know, I think I could persuade her," he laughs. "She'd probably want to see that anyway."

"Whatever, Mal," Blaise says. She stands and stretches.

"Hey Blaise?" he says from where he's still seated on the steps.

"Yeah?"

"You know you're probably the best friend I could ever ask for."

"Damn straight. And you better not forget that."