Disclaimer: For the love of…We all know who owns Mighty Ducks, and we all also know that it ain't me. Everybody clear on that? Good.

Chapter 4: 'Starting Again'

(Fulton)

I always used to hate Mondays, because it would signal the beginning of another week. The continuation of my struggle against teachers, preppies and Advanced Physics. Now its just another day…the continuation of my struggle against memory. So much has changed, and yet so much is still the same. The corridors are still crowded and noisy, the third locker on the left of the Dean's office still squeaks, that Van Gough reproduction print's still hanging at an angle…

And yet…

The differences are subtle, barely noticeable. Down the trophy corridor a picture of Adam's been hung up, a new memorial hockey cup is up for grabs. A tree's been planted outside the main entrance and there's a plaque up in the school chapel. There was a memorial service as well, but I didn't go. It was too soon after the funeral.

And everyone's already forgotten. It's almost as though he never existed. But in my heart he never left. It sounds crazy, but I still talk to him. Mostly apologising, but the dreams are starting to fade, since I emptied our…my room, and discovered his diary. I understand so much more now. And feel even worse.

The math room's still fairly empty, and as I walk in Mr. Combs gives me a startled look. I'm never early and rarely on time. But that was an age ago, a different Fulton Reed. Everything's new now, every experience without my friend is fresh, replacing anything I remembered before. It's like being a little kid again and going to the zoo for the first time. An experience you never forget.

I take my place at the back of the class and pull out my books, ready to block out all thought and consciousness with the droning greyness of higher math.

And yes, despite most people's opinion that I've got the IQ of a chicken, I happen to be in a lot of the 'nerd' classes. Funnily enough, they don't take that fact into account when they talk to me. Subsequently I get treated like a four year old with hearing problems, but right now I'm not complaining.

I look up as Dwayne shuffles in, blinking wearily in the bright October light. He gives me a small smile when he sees me and makes his way over to a seat next to me.

"You left me this morning." He murmurs. There's an odd look in his eyes that I fail to read. It surprises me, because he's usually such an open person that even Averman can translate his expressions. I shrug.

"Thought you could do with the sleep. You were up pretty late last night."

"Couldn't get settled. Things're still a bit weird, you know?" I nod. Of course I know. "There was a note on the door when I left…hockey practise is at four…" His voice is quiet and as his gaze meets mine I see a shadow of light glimmer around his lids. I know the same tears are in my eyes. "I don't know if I can…"

"Of course you can Dwayne!" I hiss as others start to file into the room. "We both can. We have to. For the rest of the team…for Adam. He wouldn't want us to ruin the Ducks' chance at state finals." Dwayne nods and gives a wavering smile.

"You're right. What would I do without you?" Again I see that strange expression, but ignore it and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're the only one I've got now, and I'm going to look out for you. We're in this together." He bows his head, still smiling.

"Till the end." He replies.

Before I can say anything else, we're interrupted by a couple of voices calling quietly to us.

"Dwayne, Fulton…" I look up to see Julie and Connie in front of our desks, their faces pale and drawn.

"Hey girls." Dwayne answers.

"How you two holding up?" Asks Julie, her quiet eyes concerned.

"Okay…" I mutter, tilting my head slightly in a half-hearted shrug. Connie opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment the bell rings and Mr. Combs calls the class to order. I wonder briefly what she may have been about to tell me…it seemed like it was important…

She glances over her shoulder as she makes her way to her seat, mouthing something to me, but I can't decipher what it is. I shrug helplessly and shake my head, causing a look of disappointment to cross her face. What's so important I wonder?

The class settles, already ten minutes late, but just as Mr. Combs begins the lesson we're interrupted by the door opening and someone sliding through it. I look up in curiosity, only to see Linda, Charlie's girlfriend slipping into her seat.

"She looks really ill." Whispers Dwayne from my right, his expression troubled. I nod, slightly disconcerted, noticing the death-like pallor of her skin and the deadened, lifeless look in her eyes. There's a strange edginess to her figure even when she's sitting down, only heightened by the fact that she's keeping her head low, avoiding anyone's gaze.

"You don't suppose Charlie's done anything to her do you?"

"I…" He struggles to find something to say. "But…"

"He's still dating her you know."

"Yes" his voice comes out small and defeated, and he hunches his shoulders in sadness. "He taunted me about it while we were together. Kept comparing me to her and telling me how much better she was, how much more spirit she had…how hard he hit her for it…"

"Oh God. Dwayne!" I snarl under my breath. "Why didn't you tell me this before? She obviously needs help!"

"I…there was so much going on…what with Adam and all…"

Oh. Yes. That would be a very good reason. "Sorry Dwayne, I just-"

"I know, and I agree with you."

"You do?"

He nods. "We should talk to her, first chance we get. Maybe…maybe she'll understand better…about Adam and everything."

Of course. They're on the same wavelength, Dwayne and Linda. They've both had a relationship with Charlie, both understand far better than I do the violence and what sets him off. A small spark of hope ignites inside me…there's one other person who's seen the true Conway, who knows what he's capable of. With Linda, I might be able to give evidence…

"Taking a break already are we, Mr. Reed?" I surface from my thoughts to see Mr. Combs standing in front of me with a heavy frown and a detention slip. I groan inwardly, sighing. This day is going much further downhill than I'd anticipated. And with the prospect of hockey practise this afternoon, things are definitely not going to improve.