Hey y'all. New chapter! And, it's the 20th chapter. Can you believe it? I can't. Anyway, for this chapter, I sort of fused two requests together, I hope it works out fine. As such, this chapter is dedicated to MilkNcookies (Guest) and ZanzibarGirl (Guest) for the request(s). They were kinda different, but I figured, why not make two people happy at once? I hope I succeed!

As always, enjoy! Happy reading!

In the past week, Logan had developed an intense aversion to Palm Woods Park. It started off as purely coincidental, because it was a public park. Of course, NCSI guy would be there at some point during the day if he wasn't at the pool.

Logan, the first time, had been with Kendall, which was enough motivation for him to keep walking forward.

The second time, he had been with Carlos, and walked forward.

The third time, he had been with Camille, and walked forward.

The fourth time, he had been with Katie, and walked forward.

The fifth time, he had been alone, and, miraculously, walked forward.

The sixth time, he had been with James. This was when he couldn't walk forward.

NCSI guy had simply coughed. "Nerd."

Logan froze. He had been using up so much of his energy not to move, but, somehow, his hands were balled up into fists. He shook his wrists out, and tried to walk. But he couldn't, all he was doing was ticcing, muttering, balling up his fists again. He blinked, trying to focus his gaze anywhere else, also impossible.

He was staring right at the ground, unmoving, unmovable.

James intervened somehow, he's not sure exactly how.

But James has an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and the NCSI guy is out of view.

Logan walks forward.

—

"This guy is really screwing Logan up," James said.

He was in the middle of undressing for bed. With his shirt half-pulled over his head, he can't see what Carlos is doing, but he can hear him climbing into bed, flipping open his phone, punching in someone's number.

"Carlos, who are you calling? It's midnight."

"It's not midnight in Minnesota," Carlos refutes weakly.

His shirt is off completely. He sits down on the edge of his bed, raising his eyebrows up at his friend. "No, it's two in the morning there. Who are you calling in Minnesota?"

"You said that guy was screwing Logan up, so I thought I could call my dad and—"

"Carlos, it's two in the morning over there."

Carlos sighs, his arms crossed over his chest as he exhales loudly again, lying down on his bed. Hastily, he pulls the covers over himself and turns away from James. "Well, I'm not going to call him now. It was just an idea."

"It was a good idea, man."

'Then why can't I?"

"Because it's two in the morning."

"No, it's not."

James presses his face into the pillow, groaning. Sometimes Carlos was exhausting, but sleep-deprived, excited, idea-man Carlos was worse. "I mean in Minnesota."

"But it's not. It's two-oh-three. He's supposed to come tomorrow anyway, though, isn't it tomorrow now?"

James groans again. Carlos isn't going to let this idea go, or this train of thought. And, as a result, he's going to keep James up all night, which is not allowed. He needed his beauty sleep.

"Call him now, then. See if he answers. Goodnight."

"'Night, James!"

—

"Hi, Papi," Carlos was saying.

James refused to believe that Carlos had called his father, and in the span of only, like, eight hours, Mr. Garcia had flown in.

"You didn't," James said, opening his eyes, rubbing away the exhaustion. "Carlos, you didn't actually—"

"Shut up, James, I'm on the phone!" came Carlos's reply. He went quiet for a minute, letting the person on the other side speak. Then, embarrassed: "Sorry, Papi, but James was talking and I couldn't hear you."

James shortly went back to sleep, or, at least he tried, but now Carlos's excited talking with his father kept him awake. Reluctantly, he stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen, where he nearly crashed into Logan, pressed up against the doorframe.

"Was that Mr. Garcia on the phone?" he asked. James knew he was trying his best to appear nonchalant, but it was a basic fact that Mr. Garcia was one of Logan's favorite adults, favorite people. So, James decides to have a little fun and tease him.

To start off, he shrugged as casually as possible, watching Logan's face. His mouth turned up in one corner, threatening to break out into a smile, about to ruin the whole trick. Logan looked similar, but his smile was already there. And it was genuine. "I don't know, you'll just have to ask him."

Logan's face fell, his expression contorted into one of confusion, as he tried to figure the simple statement out. "Ask him?"

James nodded. Logan smiled once again.

"Can I go—no, Carlos is talking to him, I shouldn't."

Logan's face settled into a deep frown, already convinced, as he returned to the toaster, preparing himself two plain slices of toast. His diet really needed more variety. He was the one who knew about nutrients, proper diets, all that health stuff. And yet, he wasn't even following clinical advice. His sleep schedule too, was definitely not recommended by any and all medical professionals. How was Logan supposed to be a doctor if he couldn't follow their rules?

That's what they were. Rules. Which Logan loved.

James was smart enough (maybe not smart enough, intuitive, possibly?) to know that the combined effects of yesterday at the park, Logan's lack of sleep, and his lack of food (what was that called—mal, mal something) was causing him to be all weird and sensitive like this.

That, then, needed to be corrected immediately. At least James knew he could do that right.

He joined his friend by the toaster, just in time to move Logan's hands so he wouldn't burn himself. He was totally out of it. The toast was charred black, looking barely edible. He got a plate for Logan anyway, and sat across from him at the table.

Logan used a dull plastic knife to scrape away at the charred bits. By the time he had finished scraping the first piece, there was hardly any toast left.

"Logan, you can talk to Mr. Garcia when Carlos is finished, okay?"

Logan nodded, pretending to focus on his still inedible toast.

But James could tell how his eyes flicked around the room, waiting.

—

"I'm not good at talking on the phone," Logan complained to Carlos quietly, as he passed over the phone a few minutes later. His fingers coiled around the small device, wrapped around tightly. His hands were shaking, he would drop the thing if he loosened his grip.

Carlos shrugged. "That's okay, Logan. He knows that. I already told my dad pretty much everything, so he'll do most of the talking."

Logan wondered what exactly Carlos knew, and what Mr. Garcia knew. But he didn't ask this. Instead, he held the phone to his ear. He, at the bare minimum, knew how to start a phone conversation.

"Hi, Mr. Garcia."

"Hi, Logan." he said, in that firm, assertive voice of his. It was comforting to talk to someone who always knew the direction of the conversation, and how to get there. "How are you?"

This was usually the point where Logan floundered for an answer, because he knew how he felt, but how to put that in words was a different story, and it was even more difficult when he had to decide what to tell or not.

"Um."

All that he could do was say um, droning on the same syllable until Mr. Garcia cut him off.

"Carlos told me that someone's been bothering you?" Mr. Garcia prompted, the perfect question. It had a right answer. Logan could do right answers.

"I don't know his name," he admitted. "But, yeah."

"What has he done?"

Mr. Garcia had taken sensitivity training nine separate times. Logan knew he would never let his temper get out of control while he was on the phone, but he just wanted to be careful. Mr. Garcia had never gotten angry at him before, even though he had gotten angry at other people. Logan had seen the anger.

It made sense why he had taken sensitivity training nine times.

"Logan?" Mr. Garcia asks, and he realizes he's been dwelling on his own silent thoughts for too long.

"He, um, called me names."

He paused. There was more, unfortunately.

"He's beaten me up before, too."

And soon, with only the occasional careful redirection from Mr. Garcia, Logan tells him everything.

—

It's later that night that Mr. Garcia walks through the door of Apartment 2J. Carlos intercepts him, and the pair immediately participates in a loud father-son bonding ritual thing. It involves some type of loud exclamation, some jumping. It's a lot, very elaborate and chaotic.

As soon as it starts, it's over.

It's Logan's turn, he's too shocked to move, so Mr. Garcia moves towards him to make it easier. They hug, and Logan almost forgets to let go.

Mr. Garcia greets James next, who is looking at Carlos, eyebrows raised.

"You actually—it worked?"

Carlos shrugged. "He was going to come soon anyway."

Mr. Garcia nods, giving Kendall a firm handshake/clap on the back/hug thing. His gaze falls on the otherwise empty areas of the apartment. "Where's your mother?"

"She's out at the gym," Kendall said. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Garcia smiles easily, the answer obvious: he just wanted to see his boys.

—

It's early afternoon the next day, after James, Carlos and Kendall have decided to hang out in the park. Logan promised he would join them later, but that is most likely a lie. His aversion to Palm Woods Park hasn't disappeared, in actuality, it's just increased as the days go by.

So he settles for reading, catching up on some homework, at the kitchen table.

He's halfway through his hand-written English essay (why did Ms. Collins insist on hand-written essays? It was much faster to type, and his hand was cramping up, and he's already snapped the tips off three pencils) when Mr. Garcia clears his throat from behind him.

He doesn't turn around.

"Logan."

But now he has to turn around, because someone's just said his name. He turns.

Mr. Garcia is standing, so Logan stands too, stumbling over his chair. Then, Mr. Garcia sits in the chair next to Logan, the chair he just tripped over. Logan sits as well.

"Do you know why Carlos called me?"

Logan nods: the answer is simple, he can answer. "He wanted to see you. You wanted to see him. See us, too."

"Carlos also told me about your bullying problem."

Logan's blushing. He doesn't understand. There was no need to talk about this anymore. They had a semi-efficient phone conversation on the subject matter just a few hours before. Yesterday. "I told you about that already."

"You did. But, Carlos told me something you didn't."

That could mean several different things. At this point, Logan isn't even entirely sure what he said.

"What's that?"

It was everything. Somehow, Logan had told Mr. Garcia everything on the phone, and yet, at the same time, nothing. So Mr. Garcia, via Carlos, still knew everything, and recited it all back to him. Logan nodded, constantly affirming each thing Mr. Garcia said.

How did Mr. Garcia know more about this than he did?

It was his problem, the knowledge of it wasn't supposed to spread like this, from James, to Carlos, to him. It was supposed to be a closed matter, it was supposed to be solved quickly.

That's what he's after. Just an answer.

And, Logan realizes, Mr. Garcia is the one who has it.

Last night repeats itself once again. All Logan has to do is keep talking.

Maybe soon, he'll be able to walk in the park again.

—

Obviously, he wasn't thinking correctly when he came up with the plan to walk through the park the next morning. James is with him as a safety precaution.

Just seeing the guy sitting harmlessly on a nearby bench is enough for Logan to tense up and start turning around. He can't do that though, since James is with him, and they've only got to walk a few more yards. Then they'll be out of this guy's sightline, and Logan can relax.

It was not part of the plan for this guy to stand up off the bench and approach them. It was not a part of the plan for this guy to stare at Logan, two seconds away from cowering, giving up, turning around.

The plan's already been foiled, been abandoned. Logan doesn't expect anything to get him back on track, to give him the motivation to walk just ahead. Certainly, he doesn't expect the guy to cough, just like last time James was with him.

"Nerd."

James already has a hand on Logan's shoulder, mid-step, ready to punch out the guy.

But, even Logan can surprise himself. He copies James's motion, stepping forward while pushing the taller boy behind him. "I got it."

"Logan—"

Logan's talking already, walking right up close to the guy. He has to get it over with or else he's going to lose his nerve.

"I know I'm a nerd," he starts off.

The guy is silent, shocked.

"I know I'm a nerd, I don't—I don't need you to keep telling me that. I just—I'm sick of you telling me that, and you beating me up, and I don't understand why you need to keep doing that, because you've already gotten your point across. I'm a nerd, yes, I'm aware."

Logan is losing his nerve. He's balling up his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching. Not like that will matter if this guy punches him, or sacks him in the stomach.

"Your more creative insults aren't much better. They are actual derogatory slurs, and, in case you didn't know, while Hollywood is addicted to scandals, this isn't a scandal, it's just ignorance. They'll hate you, and you won't ever get a job anywhere. You'll be blackballed, wiped off the face of all the tabloids."

He's shaking now. He knows he's shaking.

"And, I—I know I probably can't punch you to make a point. You can."

It's funny, because he remembers he almost punched James in the face once, so he's lying. He probably could punch this guy in the face, if he did it at the right time, hit him in the right place. He just needed to angle his hit properly.

His fist connects with face easier than he thought it would.

The guy is cradling his face. He's got a bruise that's likely to develop into a black eye within the hour. Quickly, he's out of sight.

He can't believe it.

"Logan!" James exclaims. "Whoa."

"I punched him in the face. I punched him in the face."

"I know!"

"He'll be fine though," Logan muses. He doesn't feel all that bad for punching the guy, but he doesn't feel great. "Yeah, it's just a black eye."

"It's impressive. I'm proud of you, buddy."

"Why? What? For punching some guy in the face?"

James actually laughs. "No, I–-that was impressive, I already told you. But I mean standing up for yourself."

He smiles. He did it. His plan worked out, basically. The plan was to walk through the park again. Which he can do. It just required him to administer a well-deserved punch in the face. Mission technically accomplished, even though the plan got derailed.

"I can walk in the park again."

"What?"

"Nothing."

It really is nothing. There's no more problem. There's no more NCSI guy to deal with.

He can finally relax.

He can finally enjoy a simple walk in the park.