Wow, everyone, it's been awhile. At first, I was just totally swamped with a major research paper(if anyone ever wants to know anything about local color or Kate Chopin, email me) but then I wasn't too sure about where I was going or where I wanted to go with this. I'm still not certain, but I really want to see it through, so please stick it out.

Thanks for reading/reviewing.

Disclaimer in part one.

Sara threw her keys on the counter and stretched. Shift had been boring; no new cases had come in so she had helped Nick on his. She had talked to Grissom, who seemed surprised at her compromise but readily agreed to talk to Ecklie about the reduced-hours plan.

Jules walked into the kitchen. "Morning." She said. Sara felt like an idiot, because it felt so late for her, but she mumbled a reply. "Where's Nick?" Jules pulled a glass from the cabinet.

"He's still at work. Grissom's theory that the sons might not be the husband's biological children panned out. The youngest son was the result of an affair with a coworker. He didn't know. They're interviewing him right now."

"Freaky." Jules commented. Swallowing her orange juice, she continued, "Anyways. Swim practice, tennis practice after school—yada yada yada. Are you getting all this down in your BlackBerry?" When she saw Sara's guilty look, she exclaimed, "Sara! You need to start doing that. It will make everything a lot easier."

"Yes, ma'am." Sara said, scouring the cabinets.

"Okay. Also, Ethan called, and he's coming over tonight at seven to get a schedule and stuff set up. Anyways, when Grace was talking to him—turns out he's friends with her tennis friend Charlotte, too, so we're all doing Karaoke Saturday night."

"When did he call?"

"Last night. After you left."

"I left at a quarter till ten."

"We're in high school, do you think we abide by a set bedtime?"

"If I'm leaving you home alone I think that you do. And at least no phone calls past a certain hour."

"Please, Sar. We don't go to bed until past eleven, and no other high schooler does either. And anyways, we'll always have our cell phones charging by our beds, so that people can call us."

"You think people will call you at 2 AM on a school night?" Sara said skeptically.

Jules shrugged. "Anything's possible. We're being communication Boy Scouts."

"Always prepared?" Sara questioned wryly.

"Pretty much." Jules rummaged around for a banana.

"Where's Grace?"

"In the shower."

"Okay. I'm going to call up Margaret today to make you two an appointment together, what time would you like it?"

"An appointment together?" Jules sounded mystified, which annoyed Sara—hadn't Jules been present at that argument?

"Yeah. So you two can work on stuff together. I'm also going to talk to her about local support groups. I think you need to get involved."

Jules shook her head. "We'll be fine, we were just fighting."

Sara shook her head with more force than Jules. "I still think you two need to do some joint stuff. You're both feeling isolated, but grouped together, and alone. It's freaky-feeling. I think you just need some reassurance before you do some permanent damage."

"No, I really don't think we do. Look, Gracie and I will fight—we're just different people, twins or no twins—and right now we're both really stressed and stuff, but our relationship won't be permanently damaged—we can get mad at each other because we love each other, and everything will turn out okay. We don't need to go to Margaret, and have our hands held, and hug each other to know that."

"But it wouldn't hurt, so you're going. And you both still have individual appointments."

"Whatever." Jules broke eye contact.

"I'm serious Jules, your mother was very specific about that. And didn't you hear me say this last night?

"Well, yeah, but I thought it was just you yelling and stuff. And Mom said If we needed it, and right now it's too soon to tell if we need it."

"Never too early." Sara said. She briefly thought back to all her time on the Couch. She personally hated therapy, the intrusive questions and gazes loaded with meaning. But if she had started earlier, maybe she wouldn't be so screwed up. That was Lilly's thought process, too; Sara was going to bank on it. "Jules, please don't argue about this."

"Why?" Jules said curtly. "Why not?"

"This isn't something you can help. Right now we're taking every instruction Lilly left and treating it like it was written on Moses' tablets." Sara suddenly felt very tired, and had a maniacal, almost animalistic urge to cry.

"I'm serious. Therapy is ridiculous. You made it fine without therapy, and your mother killed your father!" Jules' voice escalated into a crescendo before cutting off immediately, leaving a ringing, loaded silence.

"Look behind you." Sara said flatly. Mute, Jules twisted in a circle. "See that line? The one you just crossed?"

Jules's face twisted as she tried to explain, but Sara cut her off. "This is one of those things where I'm trying to do what is best. Maybe—much as I hate to admit it—maybe some therapy would have helped me. You don't want to end up like me, Jules. Dysfunctional, anxious, married to work, constantly chasing inappropriate men whom I know I don't have a chance with, just to purposely screw something up? Unable to have a steady, personal friendship; unable to invest myself into something like a healthy relationship? Not being able to accept something that's good—instead, having a raging compulsion to make it go bad? Here—with you and Grace and now, weirdly, Nick—is the first time I haven't fought or flown in a very long time." She stared at the stricken teen and licked her lips, "Things have consequences, really, truly. You say something or do something because you're willful and you feel like it and it seems okay, because someone will always be there, but that's not what always happens. Maybe it's in the path you're supposed to take, or whatever you and Grace believe, that this relationship shouldn't last, because that's life, but you need to realize things before the little things turn big and then they are too big, because maybe it's not the right path—maybe you screwed yourself, and using the excuse that it wasn't on your path is honestly just a cop-out. You and Grace are traumatized right now—I know trauma, sweetheart, don't deny it. And you need help. Accept it; take it when it's offered. Because one day it won't be, and by then you will have needed it." She looked away. "Just go with it. I'll set the appointment up. And you're going."