"She threw back the curtain once more, to ask Drew how he felt about the tank-top, somewhat bemused by the way his blush had gotten darker each time she'd asked for his opinion. 'Joan Jett,' he said, with a nod, before she spoke. 'Very cool.' 'If you're saying it's cool I probably shouldn't believe it,' she mocked. Instead of getting flustered, his eyes went wide. 'You… you don't know who she is?' "

Drew informed her, minutes after they put the groceries away and left the apartment yet again, that she had about twelve dollars to buy clothes with. At least she'd remembered to plunk a toothbrush and some other cheap toiletries into the cart before they left the store. She couldn't do much more than give a nod in response as she tried to mull over how much that would actually be worth.

Ever since she and her brothers had become Team Go her clothes had been designed specifically for her. Even her t-shirts and jeans, which she'd rarely gotten to wear before running away, had been sewn to her exact measurements. Her parents had been adamant that heroes needed to look presentable at all times, which meant wearing her brother's hand-me-downs was no longer acceptable. They'd been furious when she put up a fight against her uniform being a dress instead of a one-piece like her brothers - they only relented when she pointed out that accidentally flashing a crowd of onlookers would look bad for the team. Shea personally thought that putting her in a flowery green and white dress looked bad for the team on its own.

She had no idea how much her clothes were actually worth, but if she had to bet, the cuff of her sleeve probably cost more than what Drew was able to provide for an entirely new wardrobe. It wasn't that she cared about getting the best clothes, but she did have to wonder if she'd be able to afford more than a t-shirt or two.

"Are you even listening to me?" Drew asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She'd been nodding along while he ranted and raved about… something.

She shrugged apologetically. "Not really." She had stopped listening the moment he mentioned the money, too entangled in a vehement debate about how to politely ask how much twelve dollars would get her.

"Well, I was saying," he snipped, "that we should wait until it starts getting cooler out to buy you a jacket. People donate nicer ones when they realize their children don't fit into last years any more."

"I'm not-"

"Teenagers still count as children of their parents, Shea." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching as he added in a mutter, "That's all I meant."

"Fine, whatever," she mumbled back, unsure of why she was getting more and more offended each time he called her a child. It hurt a little, in a way she couldn't quite identify. Not that she assumed getting defensive and angry made her look particularly mature.

She forced herself not to scuff her shoe along the pavement as they walked. The silence between them felt like a pressure pushing on her from all angles, worse somehow, than the silence of the apartment without him. His incessant babbling after he'd gotten back had become some sort of a comfort, especially after having been alone for most of the day. The whole walk back to the apartment after they'd gotten groceries he'd rambled about some new show airing on the cooking channel later that night, practically begging her to watch it with him. Then, while they put the groceries away, she'd listened to him babble on and on about how a bar by his school was advertising a karaoke night on Friday. She'd barely been able to get a word in, but she had actually listened to him the whole time. Of course, he only noticed her the one time she distracted herself.

She lingered behind a step, watching the way he shuffled his feet while he walked, and the way he fidgeted with a penny he'd pulled from his pocket. He must have been annoyed with her, she figured, to have fallen silent for longer than it took to pull in a breath. Did that mean she should apologize? Or was it on him to just get over it? She loathed her parents with a white-hot fury just then… or, well, green-hot, really. If they hadn't pulled her from school and every other social activity she'd been in as a child, maybe she would have known the answer to that. Maybe it wouldn't have even been a question.

Even if she should apologize, she couldn't force the words out without feeling insincere. She wasn't all that sorry, truth be told, she just didn't want him to be angry with her. Which was ridiculous. Normally she delighted in pissing people off - granted they were perverted creeps or weirdos who really thought the entire population of the city should bend to their will. Instead of speaking she slipped back into her place beside him and after a few more steps, snatched the penny from his hand.

"Hey!" Drew protested immediately, trying to grab it back.

Mockingly she asked, "Does the school normally give you your allowance in coins?"

"It's not an allowance it's - nngh! Give that back!"

Ignoring him, she tossed the coin into the air. He tried to catch it, managing only to swipe fruitlessly at empty air as the coin landed heads-up in her palm.

"Heads, you have to answer any question I ask," she said, showing him the coin. He reached for it again, and she slipped it between her fingers as she pulled it away.

"No way!" He shook his head, his hair bouncing. "I'm not agreeing to that."

"Aw come on, Drew." She nudged his arm with hers' gently. "Humor me."

"Humor yourself," he muttered. She stared, unblinking at him until he looked at her. "Nn - fine! Just… You have to agree to answer questions when it lands on tails, first."

"Wanna play would-you-rather?" Shea offered, as she realized he'd probably utilize her saying yes to ask for her last name. Which, if he did, she'd have to hit him for. She didn't love the idea of that - he'd probably start crying again or something, and she didn't think she could deal with it.

"I don't see why not," he sighed.

Shea grinned at him, then looked around to find inspiration for her first question. "Would you rather," she began slowly, as a small bakery caught her eye, "be an average, unknown scientist, or a world-renowned baker?"

Drew hummed in thought, running his hand through his hair. "As a scientist, I'd have no way of making myself known? I wouldn't do anything significant?"

"You could help someone do something, but you couldn't do it yourself. And you could never get recognized for your help."

"Well, I'd like to be a scientist, but given the parameters… World-renowned baker."

"So, what you're saying is, you're in it for the attention?" she teased, nudging his arm again.

"No! I just— I'd like to do something that's worth it, you know? Something that will actually make a difference. And if I can't do that as a scientist, at least I could as a baker." Jokingly he added, "The attention is just a perk."

"I don't think I believe that."

"Believe what you want." Drew shrugged and pointed to a shop across the street. "That's where we need to be."

While they waited for the crosswalk signal to change, Shea flipped the coin again. "Heads. Would you rather… cook breakfast foods or dinner foods?" The question sounded stupid even in her head, but it was the best she could think up on the spot. It was her fault for asking him to play this game. She could have gotten away with pestering him about his past if she hadn't been so scared of him trying to dig into hers.

Drew still mulled it over, as if it were worth the effort to think about. "Dinner, I suppose. Mostly because I have time to cook decent meals for dinner. I normally have to leave too early for a good breakfast. And besides, I can explore more options with dinner."

"I need better questions," she muttered while they crossed the street.

"Flip the coin again, maybe it'll be my turn to ask." Much to her disappointment, it landed on tails. While she was struggling to come up with anything worthy of asking, she worried more about what he might ask her. She expected something goading her into telling him her last name, or an equally unanswerable question. Instead, he asked, "Would you rather drink an entire gallon of iced tea, or eat an entire watermelon in one sitting?" The words left his mouth before she could properly manage to tell him the coin had landed on tails. Surprised by the question, she started to laugh.

"I'll go with the watermelon, I guess."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm just not a huge fan of iced tea. I like it and all, just not enough to drink an entire gallon." There had only been one iced tea that she could have drank an entire gallon of, and ever since the comet struck her mother refused to make it. She'd tried to remember the exact mixture, but the times she managed to sneak the supplies into Go Tower, it had never turned out quite right.

"My father, when I was a child," Drew said, as he held the door open for her, "used to bring home a watermelon on the last day of school every year. We'd eat the whole thing that night, as proof summer had begun."

"I bet you were the kind of kid who got scared and cried about how a watermelon was going to grow in your stomach if you accidentally swallowed a seed."

"I was not! I mean– nngh! I was four!"

"I knew it," she laughed, slipping past him to step inside. Her eyes widened as she took in the interior of the building.

A bell above the door rang as Drew closed it. He chuckled quietly as he saw her expression, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Welcome," he said imitating a game show host, "to the wonderful world of thrift stores." Stuffed into one corner was a stack of movies that rivaled hers and Drew's combined. Next to it was shelves full of books that made her want to sit down and read every single one, and made her all the more grateful for Drew's library card. Knick knacks and toys lined the back wall. The rest of the building was filled up with rows and rows of donated clothes.

"That was terrible," she said, turning to look at him. A billboard on the wall next to the door caught her eye.

"Thank you. Now, come on," he urged, nudging her forward. "Your size is going to be over here.

"Wait!" Shea brushed Drew's hand off her shoulder and pointed out, "Job advertisements. Maybe somebody needs a dog walker or babysitter or something."

Drew glanced behind him, and when his gaze shot back to hers she thought he looked oddly panicked, the way he had during the movie before he freaked out. With unexpected speed and force his hand smacked back down on her shoulder. "Don't— Don't worry about that right now," he said in a rush, jolting her back around and shoving her forward. "Next time, maybe. I um… I have to get back and do work, so let's hurry it up."

"Yeah, but—" She started to protest, but Drew interrupted her with an almost urgent, "Not now."

She threw her hands up, stepping out of range of his insistent shoving. "Fine! Jeez. I was just hoping to pitch in, you know."

Drew made a strangled sort of sound. "And I do appreciate the sentiment, but if we could get going!"

With a huff, Shea made her way over to the section he'd pointed her towards. "What's got you so grumpy?" She muttered under her breath.

He either didn't hear her or decided to ignore her. "Pick out anything you want. There are dressing rooms over there. Just be sure to check the price tag. I'd suggest avoiding anything that costs more than fifty cents, but sometimes you can convince them to bring the price down."

"I'd like to see you trying to haggle," Shea scoffed. In truth, she could picture it pretty easily. After all, it had only taken one flash of his dopey grin and she'd agreed to watch some lame cooking show with him.

He shrugged at her. "I got… um, something, from here for less than a dollar. It was worth eight. I've got my ways." When he winked at her - more smooth than she ever would have expected from him - she felt her stomach twist in a strange way - a way she couldn't decide if she liked or disliked.

She gave his arm a swift punch. She hadn't meant for it to hurt, but he yelped, wincing, and she took that to mean she'd probably hit him harder than she meant to. She needed to watch her strength, she decided, before she hurt him too badly.

"Something?" She teased anyway, "Real specific, Drew. Not at all suspicious." He grunted and shot a glare in her direction but otherwise didn't respond.

She couldn't tell if it was force of habit or the knowledge that it looked best on her, but she found herself gravitating towards anything green. She plucked shirt after shirt off the racks, examining them.

"Oh, that's perfect for you," Drew laughed, as she pulled out a t-shirt bedazzled with a large purple butterfly and tiny colorful little flowers.

Sticking her tongue out she faked like she was going to be sick and nearly threw the shirt back onto the rack. "Am I really that small that kids stuff is going to fit me?" She asked without meaning to.

"Drat!" He exclaimed. "I meant to make you eat some food before we came here."

She'd all but forgotten about the hunger working a pit into her stomach and the temptation to hit him, for real, came on as strong as the hunger pangs did. "I'm not that little," she decided, grumbling to herself.

Drew shook his head. "Yes, you are. You wouldn't be if you'd eat food."

"I eat!"

"Not enough, clearly! You look like nobody has fed you in years! You're all bone!"

"I'm just not normally hungry!"

"You're eating two servings of dinner tonight, at least, since I forgot to make you have a proper lunch."

"Fine! As long as it's good."

"I'm making cantaloupe fruit salad," he teased, then sighed as she glared at him. "Chicken fried rice sound better?"

"Much."

"It's not the most nutritious meal, but it's cheap. And easy to make."

With a snort, Shea started walking in the direction of the dressing rooms, figuring the stack of clothes split between her arms and Drews was more than enough. "I didn't think you'd be into easy to make meals."

"Oh, it isn't easy to make because of me," he said. Something about his tone made her pause, and she turned slowly to face him.

"I'm not helping," she stated, shaking her head. "Nuh-uh, no way."

"Come on, Shea! Everyone should know how to cook. I'll teach you."

"I don't need to be taught how to burn down a building!"

"It's easy and I'll be right there the entire time in case something goes wrong!"

"Yeah, and you'll be right there fighting over the toilet when we both end up with food poisoning. Not happening."

"You know you already helped me with the first step."

"What? No, I didn't."

Drew hummed affirmatively, "Did too. You helped buy the ingredients! So, now we both know none of it has gone bad yet, which means you can learn to cook."

"I'm not doing it," she insisted one final time, snatching the clothes from Drew's arms and marching into the small closet-sized room to try them on before he could argue.

After half a dozen t-shirts were discarded on the floor with increasing amounts of annoyance, she heard a knock on the wall. "Having trouble choosing or did you get stuck?" Drew's disembodied voice teased from behind the curtain.

"I'm too small to get stuck," Shea grumbled, glaring at her body in the mirror. He was right. She'd never really noticed, with how much her parents shoved the idea of the perfect image in her face, but she really was just… far too skinny. Two pairs of jeans, the smallest ones she'd found, both dangled far too loosely around her hips, and the only other pair had slipped right off when she'd finished buttoning them. One t-shirt had been so baggy she looked like a child wearing their parents' clothing, another had clung to her skin, showing off every rib and ridge of her spine. Something wasn't right and she knew it, she just couldn't explain why.

The pit in her stomach seemed to grow, for reasons far beyond hunger. Her parents had done something to her. They had to. Or maybe those creeps at the lab where she had woken up and lived for seven months of her life after becoming a glowing freak had done something.

She was tempted to put her own clothes back on, and tell Drew to keep his money but tears started welling up in her eyes at the thought, and she knew if she actually said it he'd know she was upset. She swiped at her eyes and chucked another shirt - this one with long sleeves that dangled down like loose skin on her boney arms - into the growing stack of discarded clothing.

Another knock on the wall and Drew asked, "Shea? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, snatching up a black tank top from the few shirts left for her to try.

"What's wrong? You sound upset."

Shea dragged in a deep, breath, forcing herself to calm down before she snapped at him again and made things worse. At least the tank-top, while still awkwardly too big on her, didn't actually look horrible. It just looked like it was a little too big. Drews' clothes didn't fit right either, some part of her brain reminded which was dumb but a little comforting. She sniffled a bit, and wiped at her eyes again, reaching for a green and black flannel.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just a lot to try on.". She thought maybe the bagginess of the flannel wasn't so bad if she left it unbuttoned. It still looked like she was borrowing someone else's clothes but… She smirked to herself, as she imagined how the flannel kind of looked like it could have been snagged from a boyfriend, rather than from her dad. That wasn't so bad, she decided. Girls stole their boyfriends' clothing all the time, didn't they? Maybe people would assume she was one of those girls instead of a super- ex-superhero - wondering if her genetics had been tampered with to keep her nauseatingly skinny permanently.

"Found anything you like yet?" Drew called quietly, clearly trying not to upset her again.

"Yeah, I guess so." She spun around trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror. With a sigh, she yanked the too-big jeans up with one hand and pushed the curtain to the side with the other. "How does this look?" she asked before she could convince herself not to.

Drew audibly gulped, as he looked her up and down. "Looks– looks good," he stammered. She raised an eyebrow at him and he averted his gaze, the tips of his ears turning pink. "We can get you a belt so you don't have to hold those up all the time. There's a ton to choose from."

"Okay," she said, admittedly a bit confused by his weird reaction– was he just trying to get her to hurry up? She rolled her eyes at the weak smile he sent over his shoulder and shut the curtain again as he turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

She found three more shirts that she liked, and another tank top with the words, "I love rock and roll" in messy graffiti-style print on the front. It wasn't much but could get her through a week for now.

She threw back the curtain once more, to ask Drew how he felt about the tank-top, somewhat bemused by the way his blush had gotten darker each time she'd asked for his opinion.

"Joan Jett," he said, with a nod, before she spoke. "Very cool."

"If you're saying it's cool I probably shouldn't believe it," she mocked.

Instead of getting flustered, his eyes went wide. "You… you don't know who she is?"

"Drew, my parents got mad at me for reading books. I wasn't exactly allowed a radio."

"But you were allowed a television? How does that make any sense?"

She glanced around and grabbed the front of his shirt. He yelped, stumbling as she pulled him into the small room with her. She shut the curtain behind him.

"What are you–"

"My parents gave me a television to watch horror movies on to train me not to let this," she explained in an almost angry whisper as she lifted one glowing hand up to his face - he pressed himself flat against the back wall, wide-eyed, "flare-up every time I got scared."

"Oh," he squeaked out. "I– I'm… Sorry. I– We– I have some of her music on tape. We can…" His shocked expression faded into a small, nervous, smirk as her hand dropped back to her side. "We can listen while we cook dinner." She realized then how close she had been standing to him. Unnecessarily close, even in the cramped space. She'd had another half foot to step back, and yet she'd decided to take up as much of his personal space as she could.

"You mean while you cook dinner," she snipped and gave him a shove back out of the room.

"Not if you expect a meal I don't," she heard Drew mutter.

"Says the guy freaking out about the fact that I didn't eat a big enough lunch."

He didn't respond until she walked out, back in her old clothes. "Got everything you need, chef?"

"Don't start that," she warned. "And no. Belt, remember?"

"Don't start what?" he asked, feigning innocence as he grabbed her elbow to steer her in the right direction.

"You know what!"

"Well, why not? You are the one cooking tonight, after all."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Four brothers, Drew. I can do this a lot longer than you can. I am not." Actually, she was usually the first to quit those kinds of nonsensical arguments, quick to turn the fight physical, but he didn't need to know that. He fell silent again, and she could only hope that was the end of it.

Drew helped her sift through the belts, pulling ones at random to offer to her. Well, helped was generous. More than anything he picked up the gaudiest, awful belts he could find - a pink one with plastic rhinestones, a Mighty Martian belt, which she was surprised he cared that it was for kids enough to leave behind - she wasn't even sure he was actually offering them to her, or just offering them up for her to laugh at. Which she found herself doing more earnestly with each terrible fashion choice he showed her, especially once he gave in and began laughing along with her.

"Look at this one," he called. She peered around the rack as he flashed a faux-snakeskin belt at her. On its own, she could have seen the appeal, but the previous owner had apparently taken the liberty of tie-dying it with purples and yellows and reds that made her loath having eyes.

"That is…" The word 'repulsive' died on her tongue and she pushed him aside, a neon green belt catching her eye.

"Find something you like?" He chuckled, evidently not at all upset at being shoved. She nodded absently, pulling the belt down. Another came with it. When she made to pry them apart she realized they were meant to be a package deal. The green one that caught her eye was completed with a black buckle, and the slightly larger one attached was a perfect inverse.

She debated putting them back, but decided against it, wrapping the green one around her waist.

She glanced up at Drew. "Thoughts?"

"I think you like green."

"Yeah, kinda got a flare for it," she joked, immediately hating herself for it.

"That was terrible," he said, though his laughter belied him. "But the belt works. You should get it."

"Yeah," she sighed, "but it's three dollars cause it's a package deal. See?" She showed him the other belt.

He shrugged. "So, I'll get the price down. And take that belt. I could always use more."

Something in her stomach flipped at the thought of wearing matching belts, but she found it wasn't because the idea particularly bothered her. She shrugged back and tossed the belts into his arms.

"I guess we're done then?" Shea asked. Drew nodded and she gave his shoulder a pat. "Let's see you work that charm, bargain-boy."

"No, no, no! Stop that. Don't start calling me things like that."

"Aw, but it's so much fun. Is barter-boy better?"

"Nngh! Shea! Just–" Drew sputtered out a series of incoherent sounds at her, until a strangely calm look took over his face. "Would you rather… have to cook dinner with me tonight or stop calling me things like that?"

"You didn't flip the coin, dork."

"Just answer it!"

"Does calling you a dork count?"

He sighed, running a hand through his messy flop of hair. "I suppose not."

"Then I'd rather stop calling you things like that. Cause I'm not cooking."

Drew hummed innocently. "If you say so. Let's go."

Straightening his glasses, he took the bundle of clothes from her arms, placing them gently on the desk of the cashier, an older woman who glanced up at him through glasses almost as thick as his. Her wrinkled face shifted into a smile as she saw him.

"Drew," the woman croaked happily. "How lovely to see you again, dearie!"

"It's lovely to see you too, Lorraine," Drew replied. "How have you been these last few weeks?"

"Busy, busy," she laughed, glancing around the near-empty building. "Not that you would guess right now. I've missed the company of good boys like you. Where have you been?"

"Busy myself," Drew said. "Summer courses have just ended, and now the fall semester has just begun."

"Did you ever find yourself a roommate to split the cost of that apartment of yours?"

Drew pulled her by the shoulder to stand next to him, and she smiled awkwardly at the old woman. "This is Shea," he introduced. "She's taken the second room"

The woman, Lorraine, squinted at her, looking her up and down scrutinizingly. The woman hummed, seeming displeased.

"A girl, Drew? Are you sure that's appropriate?"

"We share entirely separate rooms," he assured her, adding with a shrug, "I'm sure you understand how I couldn't possibly leave her on the streets."

"You always are such a good boy, Drew," Lorraine chortled. "Nice to meet you, darling."

The woman didn't offer her a hand to shake and Shea didn't offer hers either. "Likewise," she managed tersely. Drew squeezed her shoulder. She could only assume he intended to convey some sort of message, and she stared up at him, hoping for some help understanding it.

Lorraine looked back to Drew as Shea floundered to figure out what he wanted her to say or do. "I take it you found everything you needed, Drew?"

"We actually came to find clothes for her," he explained. "I don't think she'd be particularly fond of having to continue wearing my t-shirts."

"Well, I should think not. She's quite the little thing." Being talked about like she wasn't there shouldn't have been comforting, but a sense of normalcy washed over her nonetheless.

"We tried to stay within a twelve dollar budget but… Well, I needed a new belt as well. We grabbed that joint pack, but even that puts us out of our price range…"

"Drew, I never mind giving you a deal, you know that. But most of this isn't for you, it's for her." Lorraine's tone held none of the grandmotherly affection towards her as it did towards him, and she found herself simultaneously wanting to step away and stuck where she was.

She settled on looking down, muttering, "I can put things back." She'd be content to put everything back if she'd stop watching her. She couldn't decide if she was more freaked out by the idea that the woman would suddenly realize who she was, or by how much the way the woman eyed her reminded her of her mothers constant commentary on her every move, be it how she threw a punch in a fight or how she ran six miles instead of seven during morning warm-ups.

"How did you meet Drew?" Lorraine suddenly asked her.

Shea found herself stammering before answering as honestly as she thought worth it, "I met him at a bus stop."

"Are you homeless?"

"If he decides to take away my key, then yes."

"What are you going to do if he does?"

"I'm not going to," Drew cut in, looking almost as flustered as she felt. She didn't particularly appreciate being interrogated over bargain bin clothing.

"Do you contribute to the financial situation?"

"Well, I was going to look at the job advertisement when we came in," she grumbled.

Drew squeezed her shoulder again, far more gently than the first time. "She helps with pretty much everything else, including my work, so yes, in a way she does."

"That's quite nice. But I am still curious as to what you would do if he did ask you to leave… Darling?"

Shea's stomach twisted at the idea. She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Then I leave. If he really wanted me gone, then I'd leave."

"Are you quite happy with having her live with you, Drew?"

His brow furrowed as he watched the woman, the familiarity and comfort gone from his expression. "I– yes?" His gaze darted to her, and she stared up at him, silently begging him to just forget the clothes so they could leave. "I wouldn't have asked you to stay if I didn't want you to."

Shea couldn't help but look away, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she felt her face heat up.

When she next spoke, Lorraine's voice had gone back to the voice of a bubbly sweet old lady. "Very good, very good," she crooned as if she'd just witnessed a spectacular show. "How much of this can you afford, dears?"

Drew blinked, clearly as stunned as she was at the sudden switch. "Twelve dollars worth," he answered, almost robotically.

"How about this dear; you give me eight for all this and spend the leftover on ice cream cones for the two of you, while it's still warm outside? My treat for such a sweet couple."

Shea opened her mouth to point out that they weren't a couple, but Drews nudge - because she couldn't justify calling something so weak a kick - to her shin told her loud and clear to shut up.

"Are you sure, Lorraine?" Drew asked, pulling the bills from his wallet. "I couldn't possibly ask you to drop the price so low."

"Don't you argue with me, Drew Lipsky," Lorraine lectured, waggling a finger between them. "A sweet boy like you doesn't often find a girl like her. You take care of her and don't you ever let her go."

Shea couldn't believe the woman hadn't noticed she was green, with how flushed her face felt. Drew, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink through his hair, was playing it much cooler than she felt.

"If you insist," he laughed, passing over the eight dollars. "We'll even get double scoops, as an extra thank you to you."

"That's my good boy. Lovely to meet you, sweetie!" She waved at them as Drew pulled her out the door, shifting with her to block her view of the billboard on their way. He waved back at the old woman and Shea reluctantly did the same.

"Fifteen dollars worth of clothes," Drew stated as he passed one bag over to her, "for eight. I told you I had my ways."

"You have one way," she protested, laughing, "and that's being a suck-up."

"It worked, didn't it?"

She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Thanks for the clothes. Although, a heads up about the questioning would have been nice."

"I didn't expect that either," he told her. "I've never seen her like that."

"Well, of course, you haven't you're such a sweet boy," she teased.

He glared at her. "Yes, well. Oh," he exclaimed suddenly, breaking into a grin, "guess what?"

"What?" She asked hesitantly.

"Are too," he stated simply.

It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about her cooking dinner with him again - enough time that he'd slipped out of range for her to hit him. "I am not," she protested yet again. "If I'm going to burn down your apartment I assure you it won't be by accident."

"You're going to help if you want a double scoop!"

"Are you… are you really planning on using that money to get ice cream?"

"I promised I would," he said, shrugging as he fell back in step with her.

"What a sweet boy," Shea teased again.

"Be quiet before you get no ice cream at all."

Stifling a laugh, she mimed zipping her lips shut.

He found her silence worse than her teasing. By the time they made it back to the apartment, he had practically begun to beg her to talk again.

She smiled at him but didn't say anything until he said, halfway up the stairs, "Will you talk to me again if I say you don't have to help cook?"

She didn't pause to consider as she blurted out, "Sure."

Drew barked out a laugh, "You spoke! And I didn't actually promise anything yet! You still have to help."

He sprinted through their door as she lunged at him, and didn't stop until he reached the kitchen, clearly prepared to run no matter which direction she came at him from.

She almost gave in and chased him, but the thought of what she would do when she caught him - which she knew was absolutely nothing except tell him again that she would do anything but cook - gave her pause. Instead, she smiled with false calm and composure and sat down on the couch.

"Food poisoning will work well enough."

"You're not going to give me food poisoning!"

She turned her deliberately creepy smile back towards him. "Oh," she chuckled darkly, "yes, I will."

Drew paled but didn't waver as he repeated once more that she was helping him cook and that was that. Damn him. She should have given in and chased him. At least cornering him would have given her something more satisfying. She forced herself to keep up the act, leaning back against the couch to shoot one final eerie smile in his direction.