"It seems you've forgotten all about me," Trent mumbles in between kisses. Claire's gone over to the clinic just before closing; Elli's already left, bidding her with a short and simple goodbye, as she quickly became pinned under him. She lets her head loll back on the couch, gasping when his mouth trails down her jaw, over her jugular… pulling the fabric of her plaid shirt between his teeth. It's like he's at least hoping that a button will pop off or something. Definitely a different touch than my dream. Can't she just find a way for him to channel her inner thoughts and desires?

Good one.

Claire's eyes fly open, and her body instinctively presses away from his. She crosses her legs, withdrawing her hands from her sides to clasp them in her lap. Coughing, she doesn't meet his gaze. "I so have not."

Trent leans back, sizing her up while frowning. The room is dimly lit, thanks to the small lamp at the corner of his room. "You have. Normally I'm the one to cancel."

"Well, maybe you just got a taste of your own medicine." She's about to go into a long-winded explanation about being there for her friends so that none of them, especially not Gray, will feel abandoned again, when Trent pulls her closer, kissing her forehead.

"Is that any way to speak to me before my birthday?" he muses.

Claire loves being held like this. She would take being held over being kissed any day. Maybe it's because Trent's kisses always lead to something more, and being held sweetly can never get misconstrued like that. And this why she liked the dream; it provided her with the tactile feeling that she craves. There's something about two larger arms wrapped around her body that give off more comfort than mouths mashed against one another could ever provide.

His lips remain on her forehead, but one of his hands snakes up, not to any taboo area, but to the top of her head.

He starts gently prodding it down.

Claire frowns. Is he trying to get her ear closer to his heart or something? That's just cheesy. She doesn't fight it until it drives lower than his sternum, stopping just below the solar plexus. What is he doing? She doesn't want to lie like this, doesn't want her head pushed down either. What's with him? Is he angry about her flaking on their plans during the week?

"Claire," he whispers, the pads of his fingers prodding her crown.

Okay, now it's just hurting her neck because she's resisting it.

Grabbing at his wrist, she pulls it backward to get him off of her scalp. As she raises herself up, she narrows her eyes at his own confused ones.

"What the heck are you doing?" she asks, all perplexed. "Are you mad at me or something?"

Trent blinks, gaze fixed on her hand with his pale wrist snatched in between. Embarrassed, she releases it.

"Where'd you learn that one?" he falters.

Claire tucks her hair behind her ears awkwardly. "Trent... what were you-?"

"I was only… trying to have you lay on my lap, Claire. That's all."

"Then why wouldn't you just say that?"

"I just… um, you get me tongue tied, love."

She arches her brow. What is even going on?

"Okay," Trent clarifies, clearing his throat. He sits upright in annoyance, peering at her closely. "I... wait, where did you get those earrings?"

If Claire could break the fourth wall, she'd be staring at the audience dumbfounded. Are men... are men okay? "… You're just noticing them now? Gray made them for my birthday weeks ago."

"They're… they look… you're just so beautiful, Claire." Trent's gaze is fixed on them, like his mind is working through rusted gears of jewelry knowledge. Open heart surgery? A breeze. Ruby earrings? Um… durr. "Although, they do clash with the pink, though." His thumb brushes against necklace that she's wearing, a heart-shaped pink diamond that he custom ordered for her from Mineral Blacksmith.

She can't help but laugh, pushing at him playfully before getting up to grab a glass of water from his cupboard. Everything in his room, this office, smells medical. Maybe she should get him some candles for his birthday. "Since when do you know anything about colours clashing, or fashion in general?"

He's come up behind her, kissing the top of her head where his hand previously was, brushing the hair off to one side.

"I suppose not much," Trent says. "But I do know that you'd look better in all-white."

And she whirls around, staring at him with heartfelt eyes, positively swooning.

His hands take the cup and place it away from her, his fingers roam around her body, his mouth collides into her own. And Claire's just waiting for that dream sequence to get activated once again.


"You messed it up again. Take a walk," Saibara snaps. He picks up the bracelet, as though not caring that it's scorching hot, tossing it carelessly on the anvil atop his work station. The centred emerald stays put, while the colourful beads that surround it fly everywhere. When is his grandson going to learn that an oval cut means an oval cut, not a damn circle. "Get lost."

Gray watches as the little beads jump across the floor, like an explosion of tiny gems, scowling. "Shut up." He grabs his coat, a brown one that used to belong to his father, getting ready to leave through the front door.

"Why don't you come back when you're not shit?"

His grandson brushes him off rudely, yanking his gloves off and tossing them angrily away as he flips up the middle finger, a telltale sign of his departure.

When the hell is he going to grow up? It should have been a clear indicator that Saibara never had these maturity problems with raising Kurt- only with Joey, so therefore, history/ genetics are clearly just repeating themselves. Why does his grandson have to be such a goddamn twat?

The door bursts open, and before hurling out obscurities, Saibara takes the effort to check who it is.

"Saibara," the doctor says with a smile, walking through their small corridor. "Mr. S. How goes… everything?"

He deadpans, bending down to retrieve a few of the beads. An ache in his scoliosis-ridden spine jolts through his body, but he just swallows and remains upright, placing the few beads that he did collect in his pocket. Why is this twat here?

Trent just starts talking, apparently too busy to wait for a response to his previous question. "Listen, I'm gonna need you to go and fetch me something in the mines. You see, I'm looking to custom order a pair of earrings for a certain someone."

"You are, eh?" Saibara asks gruffly. "Hm."

"Although my birthday is the one that's approaching, I've got no problem showering my Claire with gifts."

"Yeah," Saibara says, ignoring this. "What, you're turnin' twenty-six, huh? And she's just turned eighteen… you know, something can be legal, and still be wrong. This ain't the 1920's. Friggin' sick if you ask me."

Trent's eye twitches. Saibara often wonders what his expressions were regarding his late daughter-in-law's concerns about her health. Did he ever even care? "I didn't ask for your opinion, you old shit. I'm asking you to get your ass to the mines, find me a gem, make me some earrings. I'm paying top dollar. If you find another pink diamond it would be suitable, but I'll pay more for an alexandrite. She'd look fantastic in that."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Of course she would. Don't be a brainless, you old kook."

Saibara just slowly clamours over to his desk, humming as he rummages through an open drawer. "No as in, no, I'm not doin' your order."

Trent lets out a low breath, as though he's laughing in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

"We're a little busy... pressed for time, y'know?" He motions toward all of the beads on the floor. This is their only order at the moment, and it's just a mere bracelet for Manna, from her husband Duke. Easy work, he's just giving his grandson a hard time about it because he knows that he can always do better and improve. "I also got this here new policy: we don't serve sick shits." Saibara smiles. "Now get the hell off my property."

Trent exhales through his nostrils angrily, his face a splotchy red colour. "You're in no goddamn position to be turning away business, old man." Enraged, he gestures toward the shop's beat up floorboard, the walls that need serious repainting, the uncovered wooden beams on the ceiling.

"Hmm, I'd have to disagree with you, doc. I think we're looking mighty fine h-"

"Make me. The earrings. Right. Now."

Saibara just blinks, pulling out a chair for himself as he sits back in it. "We're not makin' earrings right now."

"I need custom-made earrings," Trent growls out.

"Why? 'Cause you think she'll just forget about the pair my grandson made? You're that jealous? What's next, you wanna order a larger, more expensive pin in the shape of a cross for her? What kind of mentality... what's the matter with you?" Saibara scoffs. "You got a lot of growing up to do, my friend."

"You need the money old man. Not me."

"Your last order will keep us comfortable for awhile. Don't you worry." He leans back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I wonder how the residents here would feel knowing their town doctor's in front of me, throwing a temper tantrum."

Trent just chuckles, slapping his knee. His face returns to its angry state milliseconds later, which almost unnerves him. "You think people would believe an elderly shit like you? Or a screw-up like your grandson, over someone with their MD? Don't be dense."

"I bet you just paid your way through medical school," Saibara chortles.

Trent fumes. "H-how dare you."

"You know, buying jewelry for a girl isn't gonna get her to sleep with you. I make it for a living; believe me, I know."

"I am a paying customer just like the rest of the hicks in this town, and I demand-"

"My eyes are too old to get the details of earrings right. I didn't even make those earrings. If you want 'em done," he says, smiling again. "Ask my grandson, then."

"S-screw you," Trent snaps, stomping away. He nearly loses his balance on a few of the beads, eyes blazing as he makes his dramatic exit.

There's someone who's never been told "no" before in his whole life. And who's clearly using money to compensate for... something. When's Claire gonna see it for herself?

Saibara rises from his seat, bending down carefully to retrieve more of the beads still scattered from the floor. His grandson storms back in, throwing his jacket on their antique coat rack. He frowns, getting down on his knees to pick up the mess.

"Why the hell was the doctor here?" Gray asks coldly. His face is bare, and lately, hasn't been hidden under the cap he always wears. Maybe he lost it. "You gonna keep serving him at his hand and fucking foot, Gramps?"

Saibara is about to argue, about to let him know that he just turned away good business for his freakin' sake, but he merely sighs. That's the last time he'll ever be able to take the high road and make a moral decision like that again; money is money. He was just bluffing earlier, they're gonna need some more eventually.

"Don't talk if you don't know shit, kid," he mutters. "Isn't that what you like to say?"

And his grandson just scowls, grabbing his welding tool and getting back to work. He'll never have to know about the sacrifices that people make for the ones they love, 'cause he's one cold-hearted jackass.


"Happy birthday!" Claire cheers again, for what seems to be the thirtieth time this night. "I wish you let me throw you a party, Trent."

"I don't party much," he tells her, pulling on one of the purple streamers that she's hung from her ceiling. There's something on his mind; maybe she'd look kinda sad too if she knew there wouldn't be candles to blow out on her birthday. But he specifically requested that there be no cake.

Claire doesn't get it when people hate their birthdays. Like really, seriously... who could hate a special day dedicated to you being alive? C'mon, let down your front. People secretly like their birthday.

They're sitting in her empty house, on her couch, as Maggie sulks near them. She's moping around the floor because Trent is in her spot... oh well, it is his special day after all. Claire just smiles at him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Well, lucky for you, you're dating a total party animal," she says with a laugh, gesturing toward all of the balloons that she blew up. "Do you like your gift?"

She went into the library... promised Mary that she'd get on that book eventually (she hadn't even had a second yet to read the synopsis), cracked open a very old encyclopedia to find an anatomical heart, redrew it, brought the design to Saibara, and asked if he could make a pin in the shape of it.

But he told her that his eyes were getting worse as the years went on... and it would just make more sense for Gray to do the order.

And her friend made no other comment after she asked; he just did it begrudgingly. She paid him, he wouldn't take her money, but she paid him, left the money with the tip at Saibara's front desk, and picked it up for tonight.

Oh, and she made dumplings with a pan seared salmon... couldn't there be an America's Next Top Model, but for really talented-because-of-their-trauma young adult chefs? She'd freaking crush it.

"Of course," he tells her. "Those blacksmiths are really talented with their hands. You just can't help but... love them. And the detail on that aorta sure is impressive!"

"Umm, right," Claire agrees with a laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"Just mildly," Trent slurs, sloshing the Chardonnay around in his glass. She also went to Duke to get him this super expensive bottle of wine, because he's a total connoisseur snob when it comes to his alcohol. "Why won't you have a drink with me?"

"No, thank you. White wine is seriously nasty."

"You grew up in a church," says Trent. "You were surrounded by a plethora of red wine."

"I never drank it!" she exclaims. Her face goes all serious, and she tries to relax her breathing so that her heart doesn't start racing wildly. "Trent… I've got something to tell you."

Is she finally ready to confess that she's fallen in love with him? Is this really happening right now? Her head is spinning. Something as sentimental as this is the best birthday gift around, in her opinion. Beats out jewelry, or a bottle of wine, or a nice dinner any day.

"So do I," he says.

She grins. "You go first!" Buy me some time... buy me some time, damn it!

"Claire… I know we've known each other for not ter... terribly long, but it feels like... a lifetime." Trent draws in a breath, removing his lab coat. It falls to the floor, the anatomical heart pin on it making a clinking sound. He's wearing a black turtleneck underneath, and if it weren't such a dire moment, she'd joke that he looks like one of those street artists in the city. "I know what I want. And I think you know... that I know what I want." He looks deep into her eyes with his glassy ones. "Tonight… it will hurt at first. I'm not especially gentle with this, and I won't lie to you in saying that it won't be painless... because it won't. It's probably not even going to feel good... for you, anyway. But, if we just… rip it off like a bandaid, get it over with-"

Her smile slowly starts to drop, wilting like a summertime flower in autumn. "It won't be painless", "it's not going to feel good", "rip it off like a bandaid"... The hopefulness in her eyes fades away, and... holy cow... oh gosh- is he dumping her on his birthday?! This is the present that he wants? He'd rather be alone than stay with me another minute on his special day?!

"Are you... breaking up with me, Trent?" Claire's voice comes out like a strangled whisper. Maybe she should have taken his offer on a drink. That probably would have made her feel this a whole lot less, or, made her even more emotional. Who knows anymore? His hands were reaching out to her before, but they've stopped immediately upon hearing her words. His face freezes.

Jeez, oh man. He is dumping me. Her heart seizes, and instant tears spring to her eyes. She furiously blinks them back, shaking her head to stifle herself from crying.

"What?!" Trent stares at her. "N-no... I was... oh, Lord, you thought I was talking about ending it with you?"

She drags her fists through her eyes, her heart soaring once again. He didn't mean breaking up! He didn't- CLAIRE, QUIT BEING SO DRAMATIC, DAMN IT! STOP JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS AND LET THE GUY SPEAK.

Wait, what did he mean, then?

His hand extends, gripping one of her wrists closer to him. Her instant reaction is to pull away due to her training with Gray, but she waits to see what's going on.

Her heart is thumping quickly as he guides her hand... bringing over his crotch. Oh, dear God. She feels the hardness from his trousers, when his other hand covers over hers to curl her fingers around it.

"I meant this," Trent mutters into her ear. It feels like all of the air has been forcibly removed from the room. "For my birthday... I thought we could finally focus on what I want."

His grip is strong, but she manages to rip his hand off of her, pulls away from the erection in lap to look up at him in horror. "I-I-" Oh, God, when he meant pain, when he meant getting it all over with... he meant her losing her virginity! Ohh, dear God, did she lead him on, on his birthday?! Didn't guys want sex all of the time, and on their birthdays, it was like, cranked up to a thousand? How could she have forgotten that episode of The Sex in the City?! What has she done?! "Trent... I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea... that you were thinking... that I- that we were gonna-"

He breaks away from her, leaning backward on the couch, his expression darkening. He grabs his wine glass, chugs it all back, taking the remote from her footrest while swearing under his breath. "So, you're not giving me what I want for my birthday. You didn't think... you didn't consider what I want, Claire? When were you going to let me know that you planned on ruining my birthday? Did you know how this would feel for me?"

She... shit! She doesn't like words like that, but there's not much else that would suffice. Just... shit! How could she not consider this stipulation for his birthday? She feels horrible, no, worse than horrible. Like a literal piece of garbage.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, tears staining her eyes. "I tried to make this all perfect... I thought you'd consider, or remember what I told you... because that hasn't changed. Trent, I still can't. I can't until I'm married, you know this."

He nods, pretending as though he understands. "Blaming me on my birthday. Good job, Claire. What were you planning on telling me? That you get off to teasing me?"

"I don't," Claire mumbles out, biting her lip. She tries to calm down by pulling on a button from her couch, but she ends up unintentionally ripping it off, stuffing it under the cushions. Hanging her head low, she just prepares for a break-up of mass proportion. Maybe, it's for the best. Trent clearly has a high... libido-thing, and she-

She's fallen for him now. And, maybe she might actually want to feel this climax that everyone's talking about chasing after in songs. She doesn't want to be some freak that's been programmed into being afraid of sex... but maybe that's just what she is.

"I'm sorry, I should have reiterated all of this... I didn't mean to ruin your birthday."

"Didn't you think about my feelings, my hopes, my desires, Claire?"

"If you're gonna dump me, then I understand." Her voice gets all low from the tears. Also, for someone that cries a lot, couldn't she be a somewhat okay-looking crier? Why'd she have to be such an ugly-crier? "And I wasn't going to tell you that- I promise. I'm not... sadistic or anything. I don't like making you upset, and I didn't mean to lead you on tonight. I thought you knew that... what I'm not allowed to do... look, Trent, I was just going to tell you that I love you. That's all."

He stares at her through the darkness. The television screen is the only thing that lights his face, but it's just static at this point, so he presses the button on the remote to completely turn it off, bathing them in complete, black shade. Not even the moon is present outside tonight... or maybe it's just a little sliver of a crescent right now.

"You love me?"

Claire nods, even though he likely can't see her in such pitch darkness. Why is his voice so full of disbelief? Does she not convey it enough? "Of course I do... I just don't always love the way you make me feel."

"How do I make you feel? I do everything for you," he snaps.

"I'm not saying that. It's just, sometimes I feel so stupid when I'm with you, and I know you're older and smarter, but there's just stuff I don't know. Like tonight. I didn't ever meant to-"

"Claire... can you blame me for being angry? Here I am thinking that we're going to... make love, tonight, amidst our actual love, and I'm left with disappointment." She feels his hands grab her shoulders in the dark. "Shit, I thought it went without saying. I love you, too, Claire. I'm sorry for making you cry."

She's trying to make out his face through the blurry vision that her tears have caused, adjusting her eyes to the lack of light in the room. "Y-you do?"

"Claire... I'll do anything for you. And I'm a surgeon. I must be patient, because I have patients." Trent forces a kiss on her forehead, pulling the backs of her should blades to bring her closer to him. "Tonight wasn't only about me. I was... oh, forget it."

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"Please, tell me, Trent. What is it?"

"Sex is for two people. I thought that I would be catering to your own arousal as well. Tonight was not just for me." Trent takes one of her hands, guiding it between her legs. He doesn't use his hand; he prods her own. "Don't you ever feel... heightened, there? Don't you ever question what it would feel like to take me inside of you?"

Oh, gosh. Claire thinks back to her dream. "Of course," she whispers. "I think about everything, it's just... I can't."

"What's more important, Claire? A promise you made years ago, or your love for me?"

It's like she is truly watching Trent slip away, like sand falling through her fingers. She feels terrible for misleading him. Her handsome doctor-boyfriend, about to leave her because she's been forced into not giving it up. It isn't like she particularly wants to give it up either, though.

But it also isn't like an actual, tangible thing. What is this metaphoric representation that she'd be "losing?" Why is this dictating her life and relationships? Her mind is racing.

"Promise that you'll take what I said into consideration tonight. And, at least consider alternatives such as foreplay, for now," he says. "Please... for me? For the sake of our relationship?"

Claire nods, letting his tense mouth kiss her again. She's not sure if she managed to be good in the damage control department, or screw it up royally. Maybe a bit of both.

She never meant to lead him on. She knows that his hands roam, and that his mouth prods, and that his fingers work quick, but he's an older guy. And she's just going to have to figure out a way to mature faster so that she doesn't lose what they've sought out to build together. She will not lose her boyfriend, the love of her life who still miraculously loves her back, after she almost completely ruined things for him today.

"Okay, Trent. I promise I will."


"Elli!" Trent snaps, stumbling through the clinic doors. "It's fucking pouring."

And what the hell do you want me to do about that?

She hates his voice, hates his damn accent more. He always thinks that there's a lure to his Southern drawl, like he sounds as sexy as Brad Pitt. Puh-lease, it's just insufferable to her. She listens to him shake out an umbrella at the front as she stands in his backroom, curating a special birthday cocktail.

"Autumn rain," says Elli.

She's been very busy preparing.

There's not much that she remembers about that night. She'll play it back over and over in her brain, like a movie reel. It comes in flickers. One minute, she'll think that she's got it, the next, it's just not coming together. She'll play out the facts in her head, too: she's eighteen, almost nineteen in it, a gifted student prodigy. She's got everything going for her: everything. It's just her, her mother, and her grandmother at home, and they're strict, but she's going to make something of her life. She doesn't need a man; she'll be the one to provide.

Another fact: Elli's grown up in Mineral Town her whole life, attended school in the city, studied with Dr. Hardy in the evenings. She wants to be a doctor when she's older. Her specialization? Oncology, gynaecology, or just GP.

Nothing to do with pediatrics... she was childfree by choice. She hates kids.

Hated kids.

Before he was Dr. Hardy's... damn protégé, she was. And she was just brilliant. Too smart for her own good.

She also had to abide by some pretty harsh rules and curfews due to her upbringing. But, it was okay, because she was always a good girl.

Sometime later, she started to rebel more. Nothing serious, just heavier eyeliner along the lash line, telling herself that she could handle a glass of wine at dinner for the health benefits, doing stuff without getting permission first. And, of course she made some mistakes.

The overnight conference... this was the biggest mistake. One that couldn't be overwritten.

Hardy promised her mother that it would all be fine. They were comfortable with him, and for good reason: he was going to help her accomplish her dreams of medical school. This conference would be the first toe dipped in the gigantic ocean that made up the study of medical science.

But sometimes, sometimes her "rebellion" wasn't always tame. Sometimes, Elli would drink too much. Not because she liked it, but because it helped her let loose a bit. Kept her sane; got her going.

Picture this: big medical conference, held in Texas. Hardy got invited to it every year, because he did his own studying there. And he was, is, nothing short of a genius. He completed his residency in Dallas, and Elli was his plus one for the conference, attending it with bright eyes and a hopeful heart. It was only three days, and every panel, guest speaker, snack was paid for by the university. Mineral Town didn't have this kind of funding; didn't have opportunities like this.

Hardy was up late with a medical mystery on the night before they were set to return... and everyone else was out drinking. Partying, celebrating success and science and all of that shit. Especially all of the young people.

And she should have stayed in.

But she just wanted to have a little fun.

And there he was: a medical prodigy like her. Elli'd already been drinking at that point, was already wasted upon meeting him, and slurred out a hello.

To her surprise, he slurred out one back.

It was messy. But life is messy like that too, sometimes.

She remembers consensual, unprotected sex- she honestly does. She remembers a nod from her, mashed drunk lips against one another, the two of them both drinking underage... but she told herself that could just handle everything thrown at her. She was smart.

You can be smart and still do something very dumb.

When she woke up with the worst hangover of her life the next morning... when she saw what had happened, what they'd done.

Dear God.

She'd never get Hardy involved. This was her dilemma, her problem. How embarrassing would it be for him to just think of her as some cheap slut that couldn't wait to get out of her hick town to fuck someone he potentially knew?

She didn't get the guy's name, can't even recall any of his discernible features. What good would telling someone do? One night stands happened all the time... not to her, but they definitely happened. And Hardy didn't have to know. So she gathered her clothes from the night before, left the guy with his face smushed between the pillows, her exit as quiet as it was humiliating. She never really got a good look at him that night. If you'd asked her to point him out in a police line-up, she'd freeze on the spot.

When she gets a good look at Trent now, she isn't sure what to think.

The guy that night had dark hair… but was it nearly this dark? And he was far more chiseled… God, she's just plain confused.

She needs answers.

There was an aftermath to follow that Elli had to deal with all on her own. She took a Plan B, albeit, kinda late, but she still got it in her system within the three-day window. She was smart; smart girls didn't get in to problems like this. And she was a good girl at that. And, she got a period after this - there was no reason to test for a... for a baby. At least, she thought it was a period. It was a bleed... she later learned common statistics behind implantation spotting in pregnancies, and shit, how could she not know? Gynecology was within one of her options... how could she not know?!

Barley of all people made the comment that she was putting on some pounds. Not terribly so, she'd always been tall, and she managed to hide it well. She just told herself that it was due to stress, and the old man's poor eyesight.

Her mother made a comment, too, just before she died... before everything happened. About her weight gain. But Elli was stressed beyond belief. She had medical school to apply for, interviews to perfect, a guy that she never even got the name of, all on her mind.

And three seasons later, she was sitting with Dr. Hardy in his office, having him explain to her... shit, she doesn't even remember. What she does remember is a sharp pain in her stomach, one so gutted, so agonizing, that she truly thought that she was dying. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Saw all of the blood on the toilet, felt the cutting pain of something inside of her, of cramps, of a contraction of sorts-

No.

Hardy rushed forward when he'd heard her fall in his washroom, saw her in this state... asked Elli with forced-calmness if there were any chance that she could be pregnant.

And Elli shook her head no all offended, because there was no chance in hell.

But this was a lie. Because there was most definitely, even if it were slim, still a chance.

When she got sedated... when she passed out from the pain because it all became too much... she awoke feeling empty, as Dr. Hardy stood by the foot of her cot.

A baby in his arms.

Worse than any horror film she'd ever seen.

"It was a c-section," he had told her, cradling the... the infant. Not her infant, no, it couldn't have been hers. There was no way-

"He's... Elli, do you know who his father is?"

And she just sobbed, buried her head in her hands as she grabbed at her hair, believing this to be some sort of a nightmare, some kinda sick, twisted nightmare that she had to force herself to awaken from. She yanked, screamed, pulled-

"He's yours. He is. You have to breastfeed," Hardy said. He rocked the swaddled little thing more carefully, shaking his head. "Did this happen at the medical conference? All of those months ago? The timeline would be correct... is this my fault, Eleanor?"

"No!" she'd screamed through sobs. Hardy was like her father... her surrogate father. She couldn't have him disappointed in her like this, even though this was as worse as shit could get. But, to let him down like this; to have him blame himself, that wasn't allowed either. "Dr. Hardy, it wasn't. Please-"

He tried handing the infant to her desperately. It was sleeping... it didn't look anything like her. It was far more pale, hair a shock of black, lips full and... no. It wasn't hers. It was impossible.

"He needs to eat. And you need to expel your breastmilk. Or, at least pump it-"

"That's not my child," she muttered hoarsely, feeling like someone had stuffed marbles down her throat.

"Eleanor," he said. She'd never seen a stone-cold man so freaked out like this before. It was unsettling, disturbing. "Did you not know about this? How... how could you have gone without any prenatal care? Why wouldn't you have considered an abortion, or, at least-"

She just shook her head and wept, demanding the pump because she couldn't handle this thing latching on to her... this thing that couldn't have belonged to her.

Her mother came to Forget-Me-Not Valley hours later, after a call from Hardy. She cried next to Elli's cot, body trembling, wondering aloud why and how something like this could happen.

Elli just wanted nothing to do with it- with him, wanted to give him away, to pretend like this never happened. She could lose the excess weight, try a scar revision cream at the sight of the caesarian section, figure it all out-

"We'll raise him," her mother had said through tears. She was at the foot of the bed, nestling the baby in more layers of swaddled blankets. Hardy had stepped out to give them some privacy. "I'll raise him... but Elli... God, Elli. Why? How?!"

And Elli didn't have any semblance of a response.

They returned to Mineral Town days later, with Elli's stomach still in bandages, with her heart heavy, with her breasts sore from producing so much milk.

"You have to get him to latch," her mother instructed. "Elli, please. We can raise him as your adopted brother, but-"

Elli scowled. "Just give him away. I don't want to see him-"

"He didn't ask for this," her mother snapped.

"Well, neither did I!" Elli shrieked.

"You made the choice to have unprotected sex... you made the choice not to pee on a stick, Elli. You didn't confront your problems, and you're in medicine. None of this is his fault. You should have known bet-"

Elli just began to sob harder. And then the baby started sobbing, and she just about lost it.

"An unwanted child," her mother said slowly, rocking the wailing thing in her arms. "Does not have to be an unloved child."

These are the last words that she ever said to Elli before she passed. She went to bed that night, she never woke up. A perfectly healthy individual otherwise... and then, just like that; her mom had a heart attack in her sleep... died without so much as a goodbye.

Elli obviously blamed herself... feared that the stress that she caused manifested in the aortic block of oxygen to her mother's arteries. Her grandmother was already deteriorating at that point, not even able to comprehend the loss, and she had never felt more scared.

Never felt more alone.

She kept having to leave the wake periodically to breastfeed her son- no, sorry, her little brother, and explained that he just needed to be tended to constantly due to the nature of his birth. She had to pad her bra with layers upon layers of cloth so nothing leaked out, had to tell people amidst their condolences that the child was found abandoned in Forget-Me-Not Valley, and that they decided to take him in. And here she was, three days postpartum, picking up the pieces of her shattered world.

"Goodness! A little darling, he is! What's his name?" Anna, Mary's nosy mother, had cooed. She looked up at Elli, frowning. "What happened to your mother is dreadful, Eleanor. How will you ever look after this little mouse now?"

Little Mouse...

"Stuart," is all Elli said.

"Pardon?"

Little mouse... Stuart Little. Her favourite book as a child.

She couldn't just leave this baby now that she'd named it. Him.

"His name is Stuart. Call him Stu, please."

Anna of all people could never find out the truth... she'd just have to keep this dirty little secret to herself.

Ann, Karen and Popuri all offered to babysit Stu. These were her closest friends, but she could never tell them what had happened. It was just between Hardy, her mother, and herself, taking it all the way to the grave. The shame was far too much. Even Hardy simply helping her... she saw the look that crossed his eye. Like she was walking, talking, wasted potential. She couldn't even attend medical school anymore, what with this baby... Hardy had to commute to Mineral Town to teach her how to become a nurse instead. To pay the bills... to support her broken family.

Everyone told her how brave she was throughout the whole thing. If brave meant a constant need to throw up, then she was the most formidable person on the planet.

Stu deserved better. She grew to love him, did what her mother would have wanted. Coddled him, cared for him, found comfort when she rocked him in her arms in the wee hours of the morning.

She needed to know... who helped her to make him?

"Elli, get over here."

She stares at Trent, returning from her thoughts, swallowing the lump back in her throat. She stands by his kitchen sink, readying the cocktail. "What do you want?"

"You. Right now."

She nods. "Okay."

He makes a face. It's dark, with the exception of his medical lamp next to her. His wet, raven hair clings to his forehead. "I don't like when you're so compliant."

Disgusting. "Have a drink with me." Elli forces a smile. "It is your birthday, after all."

He's already wasted. Like he needs another drink.

She hands him the glass, and he's just... so stupid, not questioning where her own glass is if they're "sharing a drink," not questioning where the alcohol came from, and he chugs back the entire thing like she knew he would. Her hands are shaking, but she steadies them on her hips, trying to remain calm. It's tonight or nothing. She's yet to see him get absolutely blackout drunk. What better day to mess him up than his birthday?

The morals don't count right now.

Upon drinking the entire thing in under eight seconds, Trent immediately drops to the floor.

He gave her a concoction like this upon one of his first few weeks in Mineral Town... screw him. He's a vile rapist, and has been blackmailing her for sex since he discovered the truth behind Stu's medical file. When Claire doesn't give it to him, because she shouldn't have to, he turns to Elli. And Elli should fight it, should go to authorities with this information, should drug him every time that he even tries to touch her.

But, he's not that stupid. He'd know; he'd ruin her in a matter of seconds. She can play it off tonight that he passed out due to his overt wine consumption, but this is the only time that this will work. And she's got to protect Stu. Elli needs this job, needs to figure all of this shit out.

She knows that she's got to work fast. She grabs the syringe from the side of the desk, ties his limp arm in an elastic, finds a vein.

Draws the blood.

And she'll get her results soon enough.

Did she really, willingly have sex with this monster seven years ago? Wasn't the guy that night gentle and sweet, or is she curating a false memory in her head to deal with the pain that her mistake has caused? Did Trent remember that night? Upon first meeting, he hadn't a clue who she was. And she didn't know him, but God, he was familiar. Did he just often have drunk, casual, unprotected, blackout sex that he'd never be able to recall? Was it even him?

She can't help but kick his goddamn ribs for good measure. She should do this more often, because she's already feeling worlds better. But that's all she'll allow herself; she doesn't need him waking up tomorrow, playing detective as to why he's all bruised. Elli hopes that she concealed the puncture wound on his skin well enough.

But she'll be the nurse that she is now, a damn good nurse. She'll help him to bed, she'll explain tomorrow that he passed out and fell, help him to speculate where the bruise came from.

And he'll just be hungover with nothing, and she'll be sober, with a sample of comparative DNA to test.

"Happy birthday, bitch," Elli says, kicking his ribs one more time for good measure. Screw. Him.