Sorry this took me so long. I just read over the rest of the story and realized that somewhere along the line, I forgot what the plot was. LOL So I'm trying to fix that. Had to raise the rating, too, for language and sexual situations. No graphic stuff, tho. And there won't be. Could probably change the genre too, for all that suddenly changed in this book. LOL Anyhow. Enjoy. As I've said before, I wrote this a LONG time ago, and I'm not changing much. So there's some young-teen stuff. And oh yeah, I really WASN'T a fan of Titanic. It was just what was going on at the time that this was written, hence all the references, suggestions, and innuendoes. ;)

SARA:

My parents didn't even notice the scar. I wasn't surprised. They weren't interested enough in me, among so many kids, to pay attention to the way my hand looked. "Kyle, Justen, this bedroom is not done," my dad started.

"I just did it!" Justen cried from the living room.

"There's a sock over there, you didn't make your bed like I told you to do, didn't clean up your dresser like I told you to do. I don't think you're going to go with us to the parade tomorrow."

"I wanna go!"

"Well, it's not my job," Kyle informed. "I already did all of my stuff."

"No, you didn't!"

"Well, if you would..."

"Don't argue about it," Dad interrupted. "Just do it."

"That's not my sock, those aren't my papers..." Kyle started.

"Close the door," Dad yelled from the living room.

The door slammed close and I sighed, enjoying the few moments of silence. He couldn't help it though. It only took a few minutes before he was back in the room, giving more instructions. He was like a domestic version of K. "What about all that crap underneath the bed?"

"That's not crap, it's my stuff!"

"Well, need to take care of it. That box doesn't belong there. Pencils on the floor, paper on the floor..."

"Why don't you go clean your room?"

At that point, he got mad. "I go off to work to make a few extra bucks, and I ask you guys to take care of a few chores and you should be old enough to do that! You're not babies anymore!"

He left again for a few minutes. "What kind of mess is your closet in?" he demanded, returning. I hid my face in my hands and leaned on the desk, getting frustrated with this game.

My phone rang, just barely audible from where it was hidden in my pocket. I kept it turned way down in the hopes that my parents wouldn't hear it if I ever got a phone call in their presence. They didn't know I had the phone, and I didn't want to have to explain it. I pulled it out quickly and answered it before it rang again. "Hello?"

"Heya, chica, look outside," J's voice answered.

I stood up and walked over to the window, peeking through the blinds. I saw a thin layer of white on the ground, more snow falling gently from the sky. I smiled. "It's snowing," I observed.

"You busy?"

"Not particularly."

"You mind the cold?"

I laughed quietly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Go for a walk?"

I considered the thought. "Okay, where should I meet you?"

"I'll be at your house in about five minutes, okay?"

"Sure."

I hung up the phone and placed it back in my pocket. I waited a few minutes, then wandered out of my room. "Hey Dad," I called. He was in the living room, in front of the TV. "Did you see that it was snowing outside?"

"That's nice," he mumbled.

Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Magen jumped up to get it and I followed her, knowing exactly who it was. Joshua was standing on the front porch in a leather jacket and jeans, so different from what I'd become accustomed to seeing him in. "Hey," I smiled. "Come on in."

He kicked the snow off of his shoes and stepped into the house. My dad turned and looked at him. "Hello, Joshua," he greeted.

"Hey, Mr. Sales. I was wondering if I could take your daughter for a walk."

"I wanna go!" Magen cried.

"Isn't it kinda late for that?" he questioned, glancing at the clock. It was almost 10:00.

"We won't go far," I promised, grabbing my jacket out of the closet.

I followed J out into the cold night air. It wasn't bitter cold yet. After all, it was only the end of October. I pulled my gloves out of my pockets anyways and put them over my hands. "I understand you have a birthday in a few days," J taunted.

"Yeah," I answered.

"So you're gonna be, what, 22?" he joked.

"Uh, no," I smiled.

He put his arm around my shoulder. "Pretty soon you're gonna be older than me."

I smiled, but said nothing. "Seriously, you're turning fifteen, right?"

"Yes."

He pulled his arm away and shook his head slowly. "You sure don't act fifteen."

"You know how many times I've heard that?" I sighed.

He turned and glanced at me. "I mean it as a compliment, you know."

"I know, but it's kind of overdone."

We walked silently for a few minutes. "I don't know, I guess I just don't get how it could possibly be a bad or annoying thing to hear how mature you are."

"You've never been through it then."

"No, I was always being beat down because I was too young. I always wanted to hurry up and get another year older."

I thought about that for a minute and sighed. "I guess, in a way, I'm like that. I think the problem is that my whole life, people have wanted to put adult responsibility on me without granting me adult privledges. So I've always been waiting for the next year in the hopes that they'll recognize that I'm not a child. Because the way it is now, my age is the only thing they have against me."

He was quiet for a minute. "Well you're obviously not talking about Majestic, so who are you talking about?" he finally asked.

I sighed. "My parents, mostly."

"They treat you like that?"

I shrugged. "I don't really think they mean to do it. They've just always put a lot on me... taking care of younger siblings, cleaning up the house..." I stared down at the ground passing under our feet and tasted the icy air in my lungs. "I'm sure it's all incredibly trivial to you, but it's always been a lot for me."

"No, it's not trivial," he protested. "To lead a normal life is stressful for most adults. I can't imagine having to live the two lives you do and not being able to hide in the safety of being a child in your normal life."

"I'm not a child," I whispered.

"I'm not saying you are," he answered. "But I am saying that you'd like to be."

I thought about that for a moment. "I'd like to be one or the other, child or adult. But not both at the same time."

"You can't tell me that you don't wish you had time to be a normal teenager," he grinned.

I shrugged. "If I had time, my parents still wouldn't let me."

"They wouldn't necessarily have to know."

"I'm not the social type anyways," I informed him. "I've never had friends. I've certainly never dated."

"By choice," he reminded me.

"Not necessarily," I protested. "I mean, not to try and make you feel sorry for me or anything, but I've never been asked on a date. I just not the type of person guys would think to take out."

I felt his eyes burn into me. "I'd date you," he finally answered. "I don't see what the hesitation is."

"You've gotten a chance to know me though. And only because you were forced to, if I remember correctly."

He fell silent. He knew I was right. He never would've given me a second thought if he hadn't been forced to accept me as a partner. We continued on in silence, neither one of us wanting to pursue that conversation.

JOSHUA:

I didn't realize that we had a destination until we got there. And I didn't realize that this destination was anywhere near here. My heart just about stopped when I looked up and saw where we'd ended up. I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of a thousand painful memories.

I had never been able to figure out where this place was. Not that I'd ever gone looking for it. But being young and half-dead, I hadn't paid attention to where I was going. I had no idea what direction I had been pointed in when I finally came to this playground and layed down to die. It had seemed like so much further away than this. That I'd walked a thousand miles before falling down here. But really, we were only about two miles from headquarters.

"You okay?" Sara asked, sitting down on one of the swings.

"Yeah," I lied.

"You look uncomfortable."

I sat down next to her and looked around. The moonlight shot through the light-falling snow, casting an eerie glow over the silent schoolyard. I shuddered, more from the memories than from the cold. It looked exactly the same through the falling snow. My heart wretched in my chest as I forced myself to look at the slide I had sat on top of as a small child. It didn't look so big now. But the memories were far bigger than they had ever been since that night. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the searing pain.

"It's kinda cold out here." A long pause. A stinging breeze. A shiver runs up my spine and I shudder from the cold. "And it's late, too." Another pause. I close my eyes and pray that he'll go away. "Where are your parents? Aren't they going to be worried about you?"

I try to speak, but can't. My vocal chords are as frozen as the rest of my body. Death is so close I can see it looming in the distance. I turn away from the man in black and pray for it to come faster. "If you're lost I can help you get home." I feel the hot tears sting, burning even as they hit the icy air and freeze in the corners of my eyes. I was going home. I opened my eyes and saw a glow in the sky. Oh, Jesus, take me home.

"J are you alright?"

I snapped out of the trance and swallowed hard, turning my face away as I realized that I was crying. "What's the matter?" Sara whispered, sounding concerned. "Are you okay?"

I wiped my eyes roughly, hoping she hadn't seen the tears. "Yeah, I just..." I started. God, I didn't feel like lying to her. But I'd never talked to anyone about the hell I'd been through. Not even K knew all of it. He knew some; enough to get me the medical attention I'd needed at least. But I'd never actually talked to him. What he knew was purely from observation. He could've asked me. I probably would've told him. But he'd never wanted to know, never cared. As far as he was concerned, Joshua died that night long ago and Agent J was born and raised into the Majestic 12 "family". He didn't care about what had happened before that point, before I became J. And I had never wanted to tell him.

I had wanted to tell Deanne a few times, but just to shock her into a realization that I could never be who she wanted me to be. In a way, I wanted to disgust her in the hope that she would fall out of the love she said she'd fallen into. She was so convinced that it was my stubborn nature that kept me so distant. And there were times when I wanted nothing more than to scream the truth at her and watch her love turn to contempt. But I knew that there was also the possibility that she would just cry her sympathies and then tell me to get over it. And she could hurt me with information about my past. Just about anyone could.

I felt the icy pain stab through my heart as bitter hate resurfaced. I hadn't thought about my father in years. Not really, anyway. He'd always be there, in the back of my mind. And these scars would always be on my body, reminding me every time I looked in the mirror. I could never get rid of them.

I glanced at Seta. She was watching me, a concerned expression on her face. For the first time in the year and a half that we'd been partners, I realized that had become attached to her. Not that I was head over heels in love with her, but I cared. For once in my life, I cared about someone. I had never meant to care. I knew it was dangerous. But I... loved her?

The word struck me. I didn't like it. What was love, anyway? A prelude to sex and the beginning of heartbreak. I didn't want either one. I cared, but I didn't like the word "love". It came with too many strings attached.

All else aside, I knew I could trust her. I'd never felt I could trust anyone before. Except maybe for K, and he didn't really care about the problems I couldn't bring myself to talk about. I knew Seta cared. And I knew she wouldn't pry at information I didn't want to give, or use what I did give against me. I just wasn't sure I was ready to face my own demons. And telling her the truth would force me to. But I'd lived my whole life with these secrets...

"Joshua, what's wrong?" Sara whispered.

I swallowed hard and glanced back up at the scene around me. "You ever have a secret that just eats at you until it destroys you?" I whispered.

She was quiet for a minute. "Aside from the fact that I'm an MIB agent, no," she replied, only half-jokingly.

"A secret you've never shared with anyone," I mumbled, turning to face her. I was serious, and her smile fell. "One that you don't even like to think about yourself because it hurts too much."

She stared back at me, the snow falling lightly on her hair. "No, I haven't," she answered honestly.

I looked away. "What about a memory... where the pain never goes away?"

She sighed and I saw a blast of white form in front of her. "When I was younger, my favorite uncle called me a bastard and a mother a whore because she wasn't married when she had me," she whispered. "I think about that every time I look at him now. But I think that's about as close as I can come to being permanently scarred by something in my past."

I took a deep breath. "If I were to tell you things," I started hesitantly, "how sure can I be that they'll never get out?"

"What kinds of things?"

"Just answer me."

"You have to answer me first so I can tell you honestly. Because if you tell me things about other people that they obviously need to know, or if you tell me things that would make me think you're suicidal or something like that, yeah, I'm going to tell someone."

I smiled faintly and shook my head, studying my gloved hands. "Things about me," I whispered, looking up at her. "Things that nobody needs to know, and nobody does."

"Why tell me?"

"Are you ever going to answer me?" I grinned, seeing through her game.

She smiled back. "I'm workin' on it."

"I'd tell you because you're the only one I've ever felt I could trust that I think would care."

"But why tell anyone if it's such a great secret?"

I considered that for a moment. It was a legitimate question, and one I had asked myself. "Because after twenty years, the pain hasn't gone away," I whispered, coming up with the answer more quickly than I would've cared to admit. "And I'm desperate enough to try anything."

She stared at me with a confused look on her face. "You're only twenty years old," she reminded me.

"It's been with me my whole life."

"How do you remember something that happened at birth?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Answer me first."

She fell silent. "Something about you that you don't want other people to know," she whispered, thinking carefully. She turned to me. "I would have to say that would be pretty safe with me."

"Pretty safe?"

"Very safe," she rephrased.

"How safe?"

"Well, I can't say that I wouldn't spill if someone put a gun to my head until I know what it is you're trying to hide."

I shook my head silently, smiling at her answer. "So what's the big secret?" she questioned after a moment of silence.

"Promise me first that you won't overreact," I mumbled.

"What would overreacting be?"

"Just... getting all bent out of shape about it. It was all a long time ago and I don't want you to cry about how sad you are that I've had to deal with it, okay?"

"I promise," she smiled.

I sighed and gathered my thoughts, wanting to put this as plainly and simply as possible. "I've been with Majestic since I was eight," I informed her. "I ran away from home then because my father used to abuse me."

She was quiet for a minute. "Did he beat you or just yell a lot?"

I laughed cynically. "Yell a lot? What are you getting at?"

She shrugged. "Well, different people consider different things to be abuse," she answered.

"What do you consider to be abuse?" I questioned.

She thought for a second. "Punishing to vent anger," she finally answered. "Usually in a non-traditional way."

"Like a barbed wire whip?" I suggested.

She turned and looked at me, shocked. "He used barbed wire on you?"

I nodded and glanced at her. "He used to fuck me too," I continued, looking away as I said it. "That's why I have such a problem with the whole sexual relationship thing."

She was silent for a long time. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered.

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. My heart was beating in my ears and I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't believe I'd just told her that. "Not like there's anything you could've done."

"No, but I'm sorry to see that happen to anyone," she sighed. "Especially someone I care about."

I nodded slowly and glanced at my watch. I was ready to get out of here. I didn't like this conversation one bit. Maybe this was a mistake. "We'd better get you home," I informed her. "Daddy's gonna worry."

She laughed quietly. Just like that, the conversation was over. I was relieved and surprised at the same time, that she'd just let it go so easily. "Funny, isn't it?" she grinned. "That he'd be worried about me now, when I'm sitting in a playground, as opposed to, say, yesterday when I was trying not to bleed to death."

I stood up and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. "Well, I guess it's all perspective," I smiled. "He thinks me to be more of a threat than aliens from outer space."

She stood up and stared at me for a minute, her hand in mine. For just a moment, time stopped. I felt an icy breeze sweep over me and run through her hair, blowing it around her face. She smiled as she brushed it away. "You know," she mumbled, "they want me to cut my hair."

"Want you to or order you to?" I questioned.

"Want me to."

I shook my head. "Don't cut your hair."

"Why?"

I took my glove off on my free hand. The cold air hit warm flesh, heightening my senses for just a moment. I raised my hand to the side of her face and ran my fingers through her hair. "Because," I mumbled. "You have beautiful hair."

She smiled and looked away. "Are you hitting on me, Joshua?" she joked.

I frowned. "Does it have to be a sexual thing to tell somebody that they're beautiful?"

"Doesn't have to be, no, but it usually is."

"You're forgetting," I smiled. "I look at things from an artist's perspective."

She glanced back up at me, her eyes suddenly sad. "An artist," she repeated.

We stared at each other. My hand began to sting from the sudden cold. "Is that a bad thing?" I finally questioned.

"Don't you ever feel desensitized?" she whispered. "I mean, if nudity means so little to you sexually, doesn't that affect you when you try to make love?"

I considered that for a moment. "I don't know, Sara, I've never tried it."

"And unless I'm mistaken in my assumption, you really don't want to, either."

I lowered my hand and pulled my other hand out of hers to put my glove back on. I didn't like where this conversation was going and I was ready to end it. "Guess I'm just weird like that."

But she wasn't ready to let it lie. "Weird or desensitized?"

I stared at her. "You think that the fact that I draw women has an affect on my desire for them?"

"Doesn't it?"

I actually considered the thought for a moment. "No," I answered.

She sighed. "I just look at the fact that... and don't take this as a put-down or anything. If I'm wrong, just forget it because it's really none of my business. Just an observation that I've made. But you seem a lot more comfortable around me than you do around Deanne."

"I am more comfortable around you than I am around Deanne. But that's because I trust you, it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I've drawn her portrait before."

She thought about that for a moment. "Why is it that you don't trust her?"

"She's never given me a reason to."

"And I have?"

"Yes. You have."

"You sure it's not because I'm not asking you for any kind of serious relationship?"

I laughed. "What does that have anything to do with art?"

She smiled slyly. "Well, it could be that the fact that she asks you to draw her and she thinks of it as a sexual thing scares you."

"Enough already, Sara," I sighed. "Forget about the drawings. How the hell did we get into this anyway?"

"She looks at it as the beginning of a sexual encounter and you realize that," she continued, ignoring me. "So it's like she's not only asking you to draw her, she's asking for sex."

"But I don't see it that way."

"But she does."

"Do you?"

The question threw her. Good. Maybe now she'd let it go. I put my arm around her shoulders in the silence that followed. "Come on," I urged, hoping that it would be the end of the conversation.

We took a few steps. "Well, I think that if either person looks at it as a sexual thing, it ends up being erotic."

I sighed, shaking my head slowly. She just couldn't let it go. "That's not what I meant," I informed her.

Her face took on a confused expression. "What did you mean?"

I laughed at the innocent way she was dumbfounded, and sighed. If I wasn't going to get out of this conversation, I might as well at least have some fun with it. "If I drew you, would that be erotic?"

She flushed and looked away. "I don't know, I've never considered it."

"Well, consider it now."

She was quiet for a few moments. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I think the fact that I realize that you don't view it as something sexual would have a big impact on the way I felt about it."

"So it would be different, say, if you thought I was attracted to you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Look at it this way, Joshua. If we were sleeping together and you decided to draw me naked, what do you really think would be going through your head?"

I considered the thought. "Probably what I would be doing to you after I was done with the drawing."

She smiled. "My point exactly."

"But that wouldn't happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Because we're not sleeping together."

She laughed. "No kidding?" she smiled sarcastically.

"So then I could draw you and it wouldn't be erotic," I concluded.

She stared at me, as if she was confused. "Why, are you asking me to pose for you?" she smiled faintly.

"Maybe," I admitted.

She pulled away and stopped walking, crossing her arms over her chest. "Isn't that a little forward?"

"No, forward would be saying something like 'I think you've got a really great body and I'd love to draw you naked sometime.'"

She stared at me, smiling slyly. "I'll think about it," she finally answered.

"For how long?"

"As long as I want to!" she laughed. "Why are you in such a great hurry all of a sudden?"

I laughed and put my arm around her shoulder again, pulling her close. "I'm just kidding, Sara," I laughed. "Come on, it's getting late."