I just want to take a quick minute to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews!

Quick – I meant to say before that I watch CSI: LV, but I don't remember ever seeing the actress you mentioned… I'll have to pay attention to those reruns (I swear, we have 180 channels and sometimes the only thing on is bloody reruns…) ;)

Merrie – thank you! Yes, I've made myself right at home in Sheldon's head… but look at all those voices I have to keep me company there ;)

And yes, he really has gotten "under my skin" as it were… but there are worse guys to have dancing around my brain… which is probably why my husband is dreading the sequel that I'm already starting to work on, at least in my head.

Everyone, thanks again! It really is going to get just a little bit worse before it finally gets better… I'll be ending with an even fifty chapters.

Chapter Forty Eight:

Everything changes Everything

The details of the rest of my day don't bear repeating, other than to mention that after having my fill of Tonto being – well, Tonto – I put a bullet in the floor about three feet in front of his tootsies and we finally managed to find a way to make this working together thing work. I gave him plenty of warnings before actually pulling the trigger, too. I mean, really, you'd think a guy like him would take a guy like me seriously the first time I point business end of that Browning my little muffin packed for me in his general direction… but like I said, after pulling the trigger, we were able to get down to business. And don't sweat it, I screwed on a silencer first, so security didn't come running… I do so hate awkward explanations, don't you? Oh and I should probably add that with the way Tonto yelped (what a satisfying sound it was, too), I was honestly almost afraid there for a couple of seconds that I might have missed floor and ruined his shoes – not to mentioning getting blood on the carpet. But I didn't ('course I guess the carpet is still kinda fubared anyway because of that bullet hole… oh well.) I did get my little assistant to swear again, though. Heh! (All he said was Holy crap, you really are insane!– but I'll take what I can get. Maybe I even get double points for that "holy," if he's really the good little choir boy from Mayberry I imgaine him to be…)

Other than that little bit of entertainment, however, the day pretty much sucks. I get a brief reprieve from it when Bernie Haskle comes into my office around two – he's the family law guy Eddas has sent my way. We go over the wherefores and whyfores and whatfores and he basically tells me not to sweat it, he's spoken to the Dawson's attorney and they don't have squat, even though they think they do. (Their big issue is my being absent for the last three months – not to mention the all those years prior – but all I have to say is that it was job related and the details are classified, just practice that little line Eddas taught me and I have nothing to worry about. Add into it the fact that Em is fifteen and the judge is going to listen to what she has to say, and the apparently swell job I've done with her since I got her – guess we'll be leaving out the little detail about what I did to Danny-Boy Collins right in front of her… yeah. Anyway…) Bernie takes his leave of me after about an hour, letting me get back to work. Yippie-skippie. Tonto has had enough time to get ahead of me, giving me nothing to snarl and snipe about…

The day only gets that much worse when I find myself with no other real viable option but to accompany my little assistant and the girls back to his place for the night. The condo is being treated as a crime scene and is still being processed. I'm a wee bit disconcerted about that whole "crime scene" thing – but as far as I know the only crime on record is Collins breaking in, shooting Beth and threatening to shoot me… I hope… because I'm really not flying solo any more and I know it.

And – you know, I'm not sure that sucks so much, I'm just not sure – I'm not sure of much of anything. I just cannot convince myself that Beth is ever going want to stick around the way I want her to, not after this, and that just makes those little knives I've got dancing around my gut twist and churn that much more, kinda killing whatever apatite I might have had (pizza. Yum. Yep – sarcasm.) Although I do manage to go through about half of that fifth of rum I insist we stop for – much to Tonto's chagrin. (Yeparooni, there Buckaroos, give yourselves a bunch of little gold stars if you figured out that not only doesn't he smoke or swear but he doesn't drink either. It's just like I said, he's a choir boy from Mayberry – I have no idea how it was we both fell off the same apple cart.) And yes, we picked up rum. I'm really sick of fucking tequila. At least for a little while…

After a brief hashing out of the details, we (that is I ) agree that the girls could stay in Tonto's bed (that's where the slept last night). Anyone else but my little virgin there and I might feel slightly different about my girls in his bed – I know, I know, it makes no sense, but there's just something about the thought of my girls sleeping in sheets that have seen the ol' horizontal mambo that just gives me the woogies. Yes, woogies is a word. The last time I played scrabble and someone tried to tell me it wasn't – well, I settled the argument my way. And you know, I have the darnedest time trying to get people to actually play scrabble with me – guess that isn't so much an issue these days… oh well, in the grand scheme of things, there are things that I'm going to miss a whole lot more than a stupid game.

At any rate, Tonto tries to get me to take the sofa (where he slept last night) but I finally win the argument and end up in the recliner. (Use your imaginations about how I won that little argument, because in case you haven't picked up on it, I'm just in a real fuck of a mood today.)

"It's not the first time I've slept in a chair," I tell my little assistant, by way of consolation. Yeah, my tone is pretty surly, too.

"It isn't?"

"Don't you ever go to the movies?"

"What?"

By now I'm sure the poor boy is convinced the wind is blowing North-North West because when my mood is this sour – well, you've been around me long enough to get the idea. I just smirk at him, "You know, all those flicks where the hired gun sleeps sitting up in a chair just so's he won't be taken lying down when the good-guys – or bad guys depending on the script – come crashing through the door."

Silence.

"Christ on a crutch," I mutter at him, "You really need to lighten up, Kemo Sabe."

"That's not very easy to do with the mood you've been in today."

"You're the one who wanted to share in all the brotherly love," I think my tone's gone from surly to sarcastic – or maybe sardonic is a better word. It's pretty fucking scathing, anyway.

"And here I thought it was just the rum making you so – difficult."

Hmm… he's kinda pissy sounding too. Disapproval over my drinking habit, I wonder? (Because Christ, half a fifth? You've seen the way I drink, I'm barely even feeling it.) "Nope. I'm like this all the time. Didn't you pick up on that on our little road trip?" (I'm going about the business of arranging my chair – fluffing the pillow, figuring out just where the best place to stash my pistol would be… you know, the usual stuff…)

"I just – thought that was – situational."

"What – being stuck with you personally or just being on the road period?" Satisfied with the state of my 'bed', I light up a smoke and park my ass to enjoy it a minute before getting to the rest of the nightly routine. Hey, gotta have one last smoke before brushing my teeth.

"Do you really dislike me that much?" Tonto asks – and I swear the boy actually sounds hurt.

I take a nice long drag off my cig, hold it a second, and then let it out real slow. Maybe I am being just a little harsh the kid, because I kinda suspect that maybe there might be more to this whole blood-being-thicker-than-water thing than I've wanted to admit (on his end, thank you, very much. I just do not give a flying fuck. Go ask my sister about all our warm fuzzy moments, if you don't believe me.) "You really need to grow yourself a thicker hide, there Buckaroo – or you're never going to be able to hack working with me, because I am an asshole. Get used to it."

I think it takes him a couple of seconds to really digest that… "I suppose I can work on it."

"Good. Now – give a blind guy a hand and direct me to the head, because I haven't really been paying much attention to the floor plan." I stamp out my smoke and gather up my personals. I really wasn't planning on being here more than for that shower earlier, so I didn't do a very good job of counting my steps – and I swear, his furniture is out to get me, because every time I think I know where I'm putting my feet something jumps out and kicks me in the shins…

Oh yeah – and Tonto has clearly never had to lead a blind person around. He doesn't bash me into a wall or anything but I think next time I need to get from point A to point B here, I'll just try my luck on my own. I may end up black and blue from the knees down, but I'll get to my destination a heck of a lot quicker.

I lock the bathroom door and – hmmm… ok, sink – swell – comode – yep – towels – always handy to know where those are. Let's 'see' – ah – medicine cabinet. Yes. I'm about to go snooping. Do you know how much you can tell about a person by what they keep in their medicine cabinet? Of course, it helps if you can see but… let's just do the best that we can, shall we?

Toothbrush – new – not brand spanking new, but new enough – floss – toothpaste? Ok, I'm brave, I'll sniff it – yep, gotta be. Plain ol' mint, too. Boring. Mouthwash – that harsh crap, the mediciney stench nearly bowls me right over. Pee-yew, let's get the cap back that baby right now. Next… Aftershave – the offending Aqua Velva – and a razor. Electric. Figures. Made mostly of plastic. Cheap. I'm gonna have to teach the boy about the finer points of a good old fashioned blade – nothing pricy, but not some piece of disposable crap, either. Ok – what's on this shelf? Bottles. Probably painkillers, maybe vitamins – it's over the counter stuff – but – what-ho? A prescription bottle, I can tell by the way it feels… what I wouldn't give to know what the boy is on. (Of course, for all I know he had a cold and it's nothing more interesting than antibiotics. Still – it gives my mind something to ponder.)

I get everything back into place – I'm getting better at that – and I lay my stuff out carefully – I'm getting better at that too. I remove the glasses and rinse my face. I still find this part more than a little disturbing; I am never going to get used to those two gaping holes… but I manage to get past it enough to go about my business, brush my teeth and slid on that mask. Tonto's kindly lent me a pair of sweats to sleep in – we're damned near the same size (I think he has a little more meat around the middle than I do) and – and I guess I'd better get my butt back out there before he starts to worry about my ability to take a leak on my own... although I know that I was dawdling for a reason. More than just curiosity, that is.

See, I'm not I'm looking forward to trying to sleep in the same room as my little assistant. It's not like I'm really expecting to do much sleeping – but I'd rather toss and turn in private. And if I do manage to fall asleep, I'd rather wake up in a cold sweat in private, especially if end up tearing the mask off my face again in the middle of one of those nightmares. I mean, I know he's seen my face – but – yeah. I'd rather not have an audience when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. And – I don't know why, but somehow that little bombshell he that Tonto landed on my ass does make a difference in my head. I don't know why – but it does. And – Christ, was that really only yesterday? Fuck me. It's going to be a long week.

By the time I get back out to the living room, Tonto has already settled onto the sofa. He's still awake (I can tell by the sound of his breathing) but he doesn't say anything to me. I guess we're not going to do the Walton's good-night role call after all.

I settle myself in in silence (I'm not sure if I prefer this to his chatting at me or not. Coming from Tonto, silence just seems so unnatural.) And of course, I can't sleep. It's not the company I'm in. It's fucking everything. I've wanted to call Beth all day – all evening. Right fucking now. I want to hear the sound of her voice more than anything else in the world – except maybe if I could have her here next to me. But I don't think I could take it if she told me she didn't want to talk to me. I'm sure she's spent most of the day sleeping, but if she'd wanted to hear my voice, she would have called, right? Only she didn't. So it's just me and the darkness getting reacquainted again… and you know, I'm sure if I had eyes to shut I might just be able to sleep…

"Do you need anything?" Tonto asks quietly after about ten minutes or so.

"Nothing anyone can give me, there Buckaroo."

"You know – if you ever want to just – talk – "

I roll over to give the illusion that I'm 'facing' him – you, know that I can actually see him instead of just all this darkness in front of me – in front, behind, to the sides, above, below... "Kid – the only things I'd have to talk about would curl your toe nails."

"If it was really that bad – why did you stay with it?"

"What – why didn't I get out of the CIA while I was ahead?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Well – I never quite figured on having my eyes drilled out of my skull, if you know what I mean." I'm honestly trying to keep the edge out of my voice, here – really, I am. "I kinda didn't see that one coming."

"I guess – I just get the impression that that was the worst thing – but not the only thing – "

"Noticed the ol' tootsies, did you?"

"I went to school with a guy who had a box of metal parts fall on his foot at work – he was supposed to be wearing steel toed boots, but he wasn't."

Yeah, I imagine his friend's foot looks about like mine do. "I had a hammer fall on my toes. One at a time. Over the course of a couple of hours, I think." That's just a guess on my part – but – ten toes and just enough time in between to almost recover – that's about two hours, right? I hear poor Tonto wince. Hey, he started this.

"Why – ?"

"Fun and games with the American spy," I shrug. "In case you're wondering – no, I didn't break. Real damn close – but – for reasons that seem to escape me at this point in the production, I've never betrayed my country."

"But you still went back to work."

"I took a couple of months off after that one – I figured it was the least the Company owed me. But yeah, after my little vacation, I was back up to my short and curlies it it."

"Why?"

"You know I really can't give you the details," I tell him.

"That's not what I'm asking. To be honest – and no offence – but I don't think I want to know where you were or what you were doing."

"Knowing me can make it hard for a kid like you to sleep at night, huh?" I smirk. Yes, I take a certain perverse glee in this knowledge. I like being the Bad Guy.

"Not exactly the way you mean it. Knowing that – that stuff like that really happens – it's hard to believe, that's all. This is 2003."

"Here in the good ol' U S of A – yeah, it's the twenty first century – at least in most places. But in most of the places I've been, the locals would call this cramped little tin can apartment of yours a palace. Your second hand furniture would be a luxury."

"Wait a minute – how can you – "

I favour Tonto with one of those cat that ate the canary grins, "Educated guess, Kid. One that you just confirmed."

"But – how –?"

I really can't help chuckling, "You – unlike myself – don't place much value on the little luxuries. I'll bet the only reason you have a dishwasher is because it came with the place. You only have a microwave because although you can cook, you don't usually bother – or maybe you're one of those people who makes up a bunch of something all at once and then freezes the left overs because the price of single serving dinners doesn't fit into your budget – and you do have a budget. You're budgeted down to the penny. How'm I doing so far?"

"I'd like to know how you figured all that out."

Heh – kid sounds down right incensed. "Elementary my dear, Tonto. You told me."

"I – no. I didn't. I've barely spoken about myself – "

"You never shut up about yourself." I tell him in a bit harsher of a tone than I quite mean. And – yeah, he's sulking. "Remember what I said – I'm an asshole. Get over it."

"I just – I try – pride is – "

"One of the Seven Deadlies," I grin at him some more – bet he thought I didn't know that."

"Well – there was that movie –"

"Nail on the head, Buckaroo," I just keep on grinning. "See, everything you say – everything you do – it tells someone like me one more little thing about you. You budget carefully – but when it's important you will spend the extra dough, because I just do not see an upstanding boy scout such as yourself going Dutch-treat when you took that little fiancée of yours to New York or Toronto. And if you're not knockin' boots, you had separate rooms, just to avoid the perception of impropriety – and I'll bet you didn't know I had such an impressive vocabulary, did you?" I'm almost having fun now. Damn, I really needed this – I needed to vent a little steam without killing someone – not that I'd care about killing someone, but I really think it would seriously tick off the Boss Lady if I pumped some so-called 'innocent' bystander full of lead just to get rid of a little pent up frustration. "I'll also lay odds that you didn't book yourself and that little lady of yours into some cheap-ass roach motel, either, but not because you think you have to impress her – she's like you in nearly every respect – although maybe just a wee bit more cultured. Probably not from a town like Mayberry. That probably makes you nervous – or at least it did in the beginning."

"How – "

Ha – I really do still have the knack for reading people. "You said you'd never been to a play before you met her – but the only things you've taken her to are the big name productions. Andrew Lloyd fucking Weber. Chances are she dug the shows – but you'll knock her socks off if you take my little suggestion. I can honestly recommend some good productions to you, because like I said, Broadway is amazing – but there's still something to be said for a house that only seats a hundred people. Now, when I chose a motel back on that little road trip we took out West, it was 'just pull over to the first place you can find' – when I left it up to you, it was at least a higher-class roach motel. When I told you to rent a vehicle, you rented what was probably the second or third cheapest car within the parameters of your assignment – but it was also one of the safer models available, because you are a very safe little boy. You do everything by the book – I'll bet you never even so much as fudged a tax return. And, when I had you procure airplane tickets, you put us in business class instead of coach – no doubt for my comfort because for yourself you wouldn't have cared. And you've never flown first class in your life. Your apartment is a tin can – but there's a doorman, passable security and it's in a reasonable section of town. You use cheap aftershave and a cheap razor – something we're going to work on, by the by – so of course your furniture is second hand. You're saving for a house, probably in Maryland or Virginia – when you get it, you and the little misses will go out and pick out new stuff together because you already specified that you're going to buy a house you can raise a family in – i.e. you don't have your eye on starter home. You want a real house. A dream house, complete with dream furniture and dream kids. Just watch your luck – you've met my little muffin – there's no telling how much of that is genetics."

"What – how – and what's wrong with my aftershave?" he sounds seriously offended. Not to mention startled right out of his jockeys. (Although I'd bet good money he wears tidy-whities – I know, I know that was a mental image neither of us needed…)

"Grown men don't use Aqua Velva, there, Buckaroo, I don't care what the ads say. And you, my boy, have just become my new pet project – we're going to turn you into a man if one of us ends up dead in the process."

"What?"

Why, was that honest to gosh-darned-goodness fear in that little yelp? I just smirk, "Question for you."

"Yeah – " is his very weary reply.

"Just curiosity, really. Did they ever get hitched?"

"Did who ever get hitched?"

"The old man and your mother."

There's a moment of silence – yeah, I change gears too fast for some people and I know it. That's half the reason I do it. "No," Tonto finally says. "He was married to Joyce at the time they were – together."

And – and holy crap Batman – it might just be his mother I snapped pictures of knockin' boots with the old man – you know, those photos I used to convince the Greggy-Boy to pay up some of that back child support he owed my mother. Oh holy fuck, this is just too tripped out. I never did bother to find out her name – but – yeah, I think she did work in the old man's office (and that is his usual MO.) Oh fuck indeed. I may well have captured Tonto's conception on fucking film… "How long did it last – the old man and you mother – do you know?" I actually have to struggle to keep my tone nonchalant.

"Mom never said. She really doesn't like to talk about – any of that. Do you – remember anything about him?" (Yeah, he's real hesitant to ask me that.)

I shrug, "Bits and pieces. I never saw him after he split, not fact to face anyway," what the Hell, it won't kill me to satisfy some of Tonto's curiosity, not after he just satisfied mine. "He smoked. He swore. He drank. Not to excess – at least not to a six year old's reckoning. But I remember the routine. He'd home from work around six – Mom had his martini waiting – he read the paper for an hour with the television on – but I wasn't allowed in the room with him. Alison was usually asleep during that first hour home – I don't know how Mom did it, I just remember that by the time six o'clock rolled around I was to be bathed, changed into clean cloths and playing quietly somewhere other than where he was going to be."

"Why?"

"I imagine he didn't want to be bothered by his offspring. At seven, we ate dinner. My mother was a terrible cook, by the way. I was in college before I realized that a pot roast wasn't supposed to look like an old football."

That gets just a bit of a chuckle out of my little Tonto – sad thing is that I'm not kidding here. That woman could not cook to save her life… "After dinner he vanished, not to be seen again until the following evening – not real sure where he went. I can make a few educated guesses though."

"His second wife?"

"Yeroonie, give that boy a cookie. He left us flat broke to go play house with her – and as far as I know he left without ever looking back, either. I don't imagine he did her any better when he split to go play house with Number Three." I do honestly refuse to call them by name. To give something a name is to give it meaning – and as far as I'm concerned they were all meaningless little hussies. I might maybe give Tonto's mother a wee bit more credit for not marrying him – maybe. Hopefully I'll never meet her, so it won't much matter.

"What makes someone like that?"

"Dunno. I guess from a little first hand experience, I could say that it's easy to get bored, long for a new flavour – you know what they say about the colour of the grass on the other side of the fence." Of course, I never promised anyone anything. Well – almost no one… hey, if you can't keep your dick in your shorts, you just have no business getting hitched. Ergo, I am a bachelor.

"You – ?" he stops himself – probably doesn't know quite what to say (or how to say what he wants to say, especially given that I'm sure he saw me tuck that Browning under my pillow.)

I offer up a bit of a smile, although I don't think it helps the poor kid relax any. "I've been around the block a couple times – more than a couple really. What can I say – there comes a time when you just want to sample the fruits of the little lily next door."

"Why?"

"To try something new."

"But – "

"Why don't I just tell you so you can stop squirming. I'm not a nice guy. Never claimed to be. But when it was me and Holly – Emma's mother – it was me and Holly. Period. I didn't know she was pregnant when she left me. When I found out – I stepped up to the plate with the dough, but I was already a spook, so playing daddy wasn't an option. Course she never got around to telling me she had fucking lupus – that might have changed things. Maybe. I know what they say about hindsight being twenty-twenty an' all – but well, from where I'm sitting it's all pretty much black, backwards and forwards and side to side. So maybe knowing she was more aware of her mortality than the average Joe would have changed things – and maybe it wouldn't've. I'll never know," I shrug. That is something I keep wondering, though – if she'd've told me, what would I have done differently – if anything?

"When did you find out?"

"When I found Em at Alison's – you remember her, that charming little sister of mine."

"I assume you're being sarcastic?"

I almost laugh out loud at that one, "What gave me away?"

"That must have been – wow. I mean – you had no idea – ?"

"Nope. So tell me about Mayberry," I roll back over so I'm 'facing' the ceiling. Mostly I just want to change the subject – I really don't talking about myself, even if it's to a guy who isn't half as sharp as I am. No, I'm not being mean, Tonto is smart, he lacks a certain worldliness. I've got that in spades – which is probably why I'm such a cynic.

"Miamisburg."

"Say again."

"Miamisburg."

"Miamisburg," I repeat. Christ on a crutch, what a name for a town. Miamisburg, Ohio. But – listening to him chatter on about his place of birth, I do believe I doze off, because the next thing I'm aware of is something moving – and Tonto snoring. Softly.

But it's the something moving that has my attention – it's not Spencer, he's laying next to my chair. And he's not reacting to the something moving – and I think I recognize those footsteps, too. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" I ask Cicily – she's hanging back a little… yeah, she knows me well enough to know that startling me in the middle of the night is a bad move. And Beth expects them to live with me…? Or at least – she did. I'm not real sure what she wants now… what I am sure of, however, is that Cicily is crying. I hold my hands out to her and she crawls onto my lap and just snuggles into me. I manage to arrange the blanket over her – although I don't think that shaking she's doing is because she's cold. I fold my arms around her and hold her close for a bit. "It was just a dream, Sweetheart. It wasn't real." Yeah – I don't need to ask to know that she had a bad dream. And – honestly, I'm not sure I want to know what it was anyway. I mean – yeah – the shit she saw the other day – the shit she has to know I did… the fact that her mother is probably never going to walk again… the fact that it's all my fault… But here she is – my little angel, holding onto me in the dark. I wonder if I have any kind of chance of Beth being even half so forgiving…

And – another set of footsteps comes out of the bedroom just a few moments later.

"Shelly?" Emma asks quietly.

"Yeah – I've got Cicily."

"Ok." She seems to hesitate.

"C'm here," I motion her over towards me – and – she's not afraid of me either. I know she should be – but she really isn't.

Emma settles onto the chair with us, on the other side, kind of on top of me… damn, who would ever have thought that – that here I would be with two kids coming to me in the middle of the night. I mean – I'm the cause of the nightmares and I know it. And – it hits me that Emma's crying, too, just real, real soft like.

"Em?"

She just shakes her head and adjusts herself a little so she's laying with her head on my chest; I manage to get one arm around her because – because I remember how good it felt when Beth held me in the dark. I remember being scared out of my mind and how having someone there to hold me made all the difference in the world, even though I still don't understand why it should. I can't take away the things Emma and Cicily saw the other day any more than Beth could give me back my eyes, but having her hold me like she did – it made me feel like there really was going to be a tomorrow and it would be better than today.

What am I really going to do if she leaves me?

Cicily's sniffle brings me back to the here and now, "Sweetie – it's really going to be ok." I tell her – I'm still not sure I'm telling her the truth when I say that, but I know it's what I want. What I'll do anything to make happen. Please, I don't want to lose this – I know I don't deserve any of it – but – but I can't let go now… I've had just a small taste of the things I never thought I'd have – and I want to keep it. I want this and I was an idiot to think I could ever walk away from it, it's just too late. I'm hooked. And that, my friends, is a mistake I'm sure I'm going to end up regretting some day – probably the day she tells me to take that long walk off that short pier into some deep, dark, shark-infested waters...

I feel Emma reach over to Cicily, "It's gonna be ok," she says in a voice that is so reassuring it amazes me. "We both just have to tough it out a little, that's all. Besides – we have each other too y'know."

"Please don't ever go away again," Cicily whispers quietly in my direction.

"I have to go out some times – I have a job to do –"

Cicily shakes her head against my chest, "I don't mean it like that. I mean – I don't want you to go away – please, Sheldon. I don't want you to ever go away."

Oh Christ – I can't tell her that I'll never leave, because it's really all up to Beth now. If she tells me to get lost – I'll just – I'll get lost. I'll be lost, because I let myself get this attached. I set myself up for this – for getting hurt. And – I'm not sure, but I don't think Emma much cares for the way I'm not answering, not telling Cicily that I won't ever leave. "I don't want to go away," I suppose – I suppose she needs to hear something, I just have to be real careful here. I don't want Beth to ever be the 'bad guy' (that's my job.) "But – but it just isn't that easy." It's as easy as you not getting back on a plane… isn't that what I said to Beth…? Boy, was I wrong.

"Why?" Cicily wants to know.

"Because – life is complicated." Yeah, Sands, you're doing a real bang-up job here…

Cicily muffles a sob into my chest.

"Grown ups don't always make a whole lot of sense," Emma tells her.

Swell – it's true – but – but yeah. I love Beth. I would do anything to get to spend the rest of my life with her, and it hurts like Hell to not know if she'll ever feel the same way – or if after this, she'd even ever consider the possibility. I warned her that my life was ugly, but she just wouldn't listen… and they could have both died yesterday… and let me tell you, every time I think about that, I just freeze up inside, right to the very core. Maybe if I was a better man I wouldn't give her the choice, I'd just leave before she or Cicily end up dead… but – I can't. "How about if I just tell you that I'll stick around just as much as I can," I tell Cicily. "But – it's something me and your mom are gonna have to work out." And there go those knives dancing around inside my gut. I mean – if she tells me to get lost, how much chance do I really think I'll get to – to 'see' Cicily ever again?

"How come?"

"That's just the way these things work – now come on, you should really try to go back to sleep." Because I don't think tomorrow is going to be any less long than today – or yesterday – or whatever… I have no idea what fucking time it is.

"Can I stay here? Please? I promise I don't snore or kick – much."

At which point I'm trying very hard not to laugh, because I don't think she'd understand that I'm not laughing at her, it's just – something about the request makes me want to chuckle. "If you're sure you want to – I might snore, you know." Or scream…

"I don't mind."

"Ok," I give the top of her head a little bit of a kiss – and I can feel Emma shifting to get up – to go back to the bedroom… "You – don't have to run away either – if – unless – you want to."

"You sure?" (And I swear, she really does sound hopeful, there.)

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Thanks," Em settles back in. And real, real quiet, "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too," I manage to get my throat working after a little longer than I would have liked – I really never thought she'd call me – that. (I like the way it sounds – I just never expected to ever hear it.)

"I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen," Emma continues, still real quiet like. "This is really why you wanted Alison to hang onto me for a little longer, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But – it doesn't matter. I'm glad to have you – I'm just sorry – you know. Shit like the other day. I wish I could tell you you'd never have to see anything like that again – but – it's gonna get worse before it gets better." I'm not even sure it is ever going to get better – but I don't want to tell her that. The kid has some right to hope for a normal childhood… yeah, I know, dream on. It wasn't normal before she came to live with me.

"I'm ok with it," Em tells me – she's not a very good liar, but I guess I she deserves brownie points for trying. "He's the one, isn't he," she continues, "The one who – you know – is responsible – ?"

"He set it up. He didn't know what was gonna happen – but – he set it up." Set me up – even if he didn't know exactly what they'd do to me, Collins knew it wouldn't be pretty. And – Christ, Emma's shaking. "You know they're going to lock him up and throw away the key, right?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I'm sure he'll squeal like the little yellow-bellied piggy that he is, but I believe Eddas when she says she won't deal with him the way she did with me. She might cut him a little slack, find him a room with a view somewhere – damn. I don't regret what I did (except maybe not getting to take his both his fucking eyeballs out), but – damn, I can't quite believe I did that right in front of my kid. There's a lot that I want to say to her right now about that – but – I'm just not sure how much Cicily's digested, figured out – and she's having nightmares enough as it is. "Look – what happened – I told you I wasn't a nice guy. But – I mean – you get it that that was because – because he set me up, right?" You get that I'd never hurt you…

"I get it. I – I'm probably going to see that every time I – every time I close my eyes for a long time – but – " she falters a little – but I can hear it in her voice. At least she has eyes to shut – Collins took that little luxury away from me and she doesn't regret that little bit of pay back I laid on his ass. "I don't feel sorry for that bast-er – guy." Emma pulls in a little closer and drapes her arm across my chest, touching Cicily and holding onto me. I feel her eyelids slide shut against my shoulder…

I want this, all of it, and I'll do anything I have to, tobe able to have it... if Beth willonlyhave me.

…………………………..

Find me here,
And speak to me
I want to feel you
I need to hear you
You are the light
That's leading me to the place
Where I find peace again

You are the strength
That keeps me walking
You are the hope
That keeps me trusting
You are the life
To my soul
You are my purpose
You're everything

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

You calm the storms
And you give me rest
You hold me in your hands
You won't let me fall
You still my heart
And you take my breath away
Would you take me in
Take me deeper, now

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

Cause you're all I want
You're all I need
You're everything, everything
You're all I want
You're all I need
You're everything, everything
You're all I want
You're all I need
You're everything, everything
You're all I want
You're all I need
Everything, everything

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better any better than this

And how can I stand here with you
And not be moved by you
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this

- Lifehouse -

http/ www . lifehouse - lyrics . com / lifehouse - everything . html

(Cut, paste, take out the spaces and hear the song)