"What look are we going for? Because right now, your hair's giving me Dean Forester from Gilmore Girls." Manna looks down at Gray expectantly in the chair, draping a raincoat material... thing over his body. She clasps the Velcro component a bit too tightly around his neck, before undoing and loosening it a tad.

"Who?" he asks, shifting around uncomfortably in his seat.

"... Hair long. Time for chop, Grayson," she says, rolling her eyes. Manna's in her mid-fifties, with the 90210-esque vocabulary of Karen. She's the oldest of the town gossipers, though you'd likely never guess it. Or, maybe you would; Gray reckons that the injectable botox in her non-existent, plastic laugh lines don't exactly come across as au natural. Saibara says that she's been with her husband (the town's alcohol supplier: Duke) since they were both seventeen, apparently to save face after giving birth out of wedlock to her estranged daughter, Aja. She's nosy as hell, but (similar to Lillia), is a lot more tolerable than Sasha or Anna.

"Whatever. Trim's fine."

Manna gives him a solid once over, reaching for a pair of comically small glasses to the right of her countertop. Pushing them on up her wide nose, she ponders for a moment, before nodding. "You're not really going to just sit in my chair all silent and brooding again, are you? You're about as quiet as Basil when he's here for a cut. Why, years ago, Anna even insisted that she'd start cutting his hair, but I told her that that was just ridiculous. She doesn't even know her gel from her mousse!"

From what he's gathered, the hairstyling chair is a sacred one. You spill secrets that you'd never think you're going to spill. It's probably just as secure as the confessions that Carter offers, but it's not like he participates in that shit either.

So, Gray just says nothing in response, because this works for him. Saying and doing nothing is kind of his forte. Manna simply sighs, grabbing a spray bottle from her granite countertop as she begins to wet his hair. It always goes from a rich copper to a deep brown once soaked. A few spritzes of the liquid concoction stripe their way across the hanging mirror in front of him, causing his image to look as though it's been pelted with raindrops.

"I'll make you look handsome for those horse races, don't you worry," Manna chides. "I know who you dig."

He really hopes that she's kidding. Gray gives another uncomfortable shift in his seat, careful not to make a sound. The one shot of vodka he took before he got here is crawling its way up and around the well of his stomach.

Why did he feel the need to take a shot before something as simple as a haircutting appointment, you may ask? Same reason he did about three before Rick's wedding even began: it helps him deal with social situations. He tells himself that he's fine around those he's comfortable with, but others? AKA, a majority of the people in this town? Not so much.

That's a more detailed confession for later, though. He'll get into it more on his birthday.

"C'mon, Grayson. Give me something to work with here, at least!" Manna exclaims, going to town on his wet hair with her scissors. He hears a million little snips, smells something similar to oxycodone with salon-ready byproduct all rolled all into one, as the tiny pieces of him get cut away, dead and gone on the floor. "I want the hot gossip."

Haircuts with Manna don't really get easier. Nothing about this town gets easier. He's still hating a majority of the social interaction as much as ever. Again: number one reason he steers clear of it.

"We could talk about Claaaire," she adds in a singsong-y voice.

Or we could not. They're mad at each other right now… but what else is new? Goddamn pain in the ass, that one is. He grits his back teeth tightly to keep from breaking this stone-cold demeanor, still saying nothing.

Manna groans in response. "Work with me here, Gray."

"I don't got nothing to say."

"You don't have anything to say," she corrects.

He just shoots her a glare. Another reminder that he's not incorporated into this town? His rough as hell dialect.

Oh well. It's how everyone that he grew up around talks, and it's seriously not going anywhere.

"Mhm," he mumbles.

"So, you hate everyone then?"

"Pretty much."

"But not Claire. I can tell."

Gray simply stares into his reflection, watching the skin on his face morph and pinch all pink. Can't hide behind a hat while he's getting his hair cut.

"Hate her the most," he says, though that's obviously the farthest thing from the truth.

Also, shithead Rick still has his hat. Gray refuses to go get it, he refuses to own up, and both refuse to apologize, so there's… that. Sentimental value of the hat aside, he can honestly hold a grudge for the rest of eternity.

"Oh, Gray, please. I wasn't born yesterday." She arches her pencil-thin brow, skidding the sharpest part of her scissors across Gray's bangs, nipping along the ends of his hair. It leaves a fiery mess on her floor. "I suppose that I can just speak for the both of us, then."

"You do that."

"Well, for starters, listen to what Anna did to Sasha, Lillia and I the other day! The audacity of that woman sometimes, I swear to God! Unstable… menopausal… keeps poor Mary cooped up inside that library all day long. And, she's always trying to change her daughter… she's lucky to even still have a daughter that she gets to see everyday."

Aja, Manna and Duke's only child, ran away from this town almost two decades ago; the year Ann and Mary were both born. She hasn't been back since. Manna will write to her, and she'll write back, but her daughter refuses any verbal or physical contact, apparently due to the fear that she'll have to speak to her estranged father again one day. Apparently, their broken relationship catapulted Manna into a deep depression for quite some time. She finds solace in watching little May for old man Barely from time to time, or chatting up Karen when she's doing her grocery shopping, but it's obviously not the same.

It's because voids aren't meant to be filled; they're just voids, plain and simple. Best left at that.

"Anyway," she continues. "Our VHS set of the Y & R's 23rd season arrived last week. Bless Jeff for calling the city Walmart to order it for us… you know, that Thomas is another one - he needs to just bite the bullet and get this town cable already. I'll start a petition for it, I can promise you that. And I'll go around, collecting signatures like it's nobody's business. That would do the trick, I think. Don't know why one has to go to such extremes to get something as simple as cable, but c'est la vie, I suppose. You would sign it, wouldn't you Gray?"

Oh, great. A yes or no question directed at him – he couldn't be more thrilled.

"If it means I get to watch live hockey again, sure," he mumbles.

Manna seems to give him a nod of approval, before retrieving a razor from one of her drawers to messily slice the ends of his hair. "So, as I was saying, we're ready to watch it, I've popped popcorn and everything, and we absolutely have to figure out if Sharon's kleptomania has gotten any worse. You know, for the sake of her unborn child that she's carrying! And Anna gives me a call, saying that she's been spending her whole week re-watching the final Sex and the City season with her husband. She's got some nerve! Can you believe it?! Lillia and Sasha brushed it off, but I'm not as nice. Between you and me, I don't exactly get along with that broad. It's the menopause, I swear to God."

Gray would like to note that nothing… nothing Manna just said even remotely registered in his brain.

"Did I just hear someone mention Sex and the City?"

Claire gives a gentle knock at the door to Manna's kitchen, holding a basket of deep, plum eggplants while grinning. Gray doesn't bother turning, because he can already see her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, Claire!" Manna says happily, turning her attention toward her. "You're just in time for some hot gossip. Need a trim for your bangs?"

She laughs. "You did them already, silly."

"How about that nice, blunt chop we were talking about earlier? Ready to take the plunge?"

Claire looks sheepish. She's thinking about cutting her hair? "I couldn't. Plus, I gotta get going. I'm only here to give you some of these eggplants for your pasta dish." As if she's just noticing him scowling in the chair now, she shoots him one right back. "Gray."

"Blondie."

"Oh dear," murmurs Manna, focusing back on his bangs. She weaves them between her index and middle finger, raising them to the sky, hacking in a vertical direction now. "What's gotten you two mad at each other this time?"

"Gray won't take my money."

"Told you, I don't need your goddamn money."

Claire crosses her arms over her large chest. Her blue overalls always have a tendency to accentuate her supple curves. It's hard to not notice. "You're so annoying. I ordered a hammer upgrade from you guys, so I gotta pay for my services. Obv."

"Oh, Claire. He's just being a gentleman. Appreciate it, because a lot of men hardly are," hums Manna, moving toward another section of his hair. Gray's left eye and studded barbell is revealed as he arches his brow sharply toward the both of them. Gentlemen his ass.

"Explain the burnt mac and cheese then. And the pan."

"You forgot to set a timer," he says.

"You broke my timer after you kicked Maggie's ball at it like, two weeks ago."

He was dribbling and it was a good kick; he's not even sorry.

Manna looks horrified. "How burnt is your pan now?"

"So burnt! And it's my cast iron, Manna!"

"You don't want to soak it, it'll rust. My genius husband made that mistake." Manna shoots Gray a frosty look. He just blinks, unfazed.

"Men," says Claire, sticking her tongue out at Gray. He rolls his eyes back at her.

"Men," Manna agrees, ruffling up his still-wet hair to make it a little less damp. "Try scrubbing it with kosher salt, hon. That should do the trick."

You learn something new everyday.

Claire chews on her cheek thoughtfully for a moment, before moving the basket of eggplants from Manna's chair to beside her kitchen sink. "I brought the money. Are you gonna take it yet?"

"You talk too much," he mumbles.

"Says you!" She leans on the table, viewing his side profile, before stepping forward to brush off her overalls. "I better get going. The horse races are gonna start soon."

"We'll all be cheering you on!" Manna exclaims. "Right, Grayson?"

Gray just takes a piece of his cut up, fallen hair on his shoulder, flicking it at Claire.

"Ugh," she scoffs. "I really hate you."

"Hate you more."

Manna places her scissors down triumphantly, gesturing toward Gray's reflection. "Like a young Clint Eastwood," she remarks with pride. His dad used to say that too, actually. Probably because he just looks so sharp and goddamn mean. "Doesn't he look like a young Clint Eastwood, hon?"

Claire hides a smile, tilting her head and nodding. "He's alright, I guess."

They lock eyes for a moment, before she's the one to look away. What's her deal now?

Manna grabs a purple Conair blow-dryer, reaching over Claire to plug the long, thick black cord in. She pauses before pressing its button to ignite it on. "Oh! Before you go: how was your evening with the doctor last night? I heard it was his birthday."

Claire freezes, her cheeks deepening from naturally rosy to a pinched pink colour. "Fine… yeah, no, it was uh, good. We always, um… have a good time together."

Whoop, there it is.

Gray tries to meet her eyes through the mirror, but Claire isn't even looking at him. She's not hard to read; he knows when shit has clearly gone down in her relationship... it's not like some kind of unobtainable secret. That's likely why she won't even look at him. Manna simply hums, turning the blow-dryer on to its lowest setting. She runs a large paddle brush through his rough locks of hair, raising them high for the warm wind to dry them.

"I'm gonna… get going," Claire says, offering a less than enthusiastic peace sign. Though she's merely in the doorway, she feels lightyears away for some reason. "I'll see you guys later. Thanks."

"No, thank you," says Manna, gesturing toward the eggplants. She turns the blow-dryer off, placing it down in Gray's lap as she walks over to Claire. His back is turned to them, but he can hear rummaging through the kitchen drawers for something.

"If you see Elli with the same one, it's 'cause I made it for her, too. They're really wonderful," Manna explains. Claire appreicatively thanks her again, and whatever was in Manna's hands gets passed into her own as she turns to leave. The kitchen door closes, and once again, she grabs the blow-dryer, flipping it on its highest setting as she waves it around Gray's hair in every possible direction. The sheer volume feels vivid; Kai was right about him needing a haircut.

With the exception of the loud blow-dryer, everything else feels quiet. He wants to ask her what that thing was that she gave Claire, but this would require speaking, and when it's only him, he sure as hell doesn't want to start any kind of conversation.

Only when he's wasted, he will.

Manna isn't talking... surprisingly, and Gray's simply thinking. Thinking about what happened last night with Claire and Trent… because something obviously happened. That doctor's as good as dead if he finds out that he laid a fucking finger on her.

Manna abruptly clicks off the dryer, lowering it by her side. He wonders if she's done, but it isn't likely, given that his hair is still remotely damp across his forehead and around the nape of his neck. The air feels still around them.

"Sasha, Lillia, even Anna… they all love that doctor," says Manna faintly. Is she even talking to him, or doing that thing where moms make remarks toward themselves? He stares up at her from his seat in the chair, using the mirror for vision. "They says he makes them feel comfortable. Like his professional bedside manner is just… it makes them feel safe."

Gray stays silent, listening. The lack of the blow-dryer is what he'll blame for his skin feeling suddenly cold.

"I'm not convinced, though. I'm not convinced on any of that." She stares into her own reflection in the mirror now, swallowing hard. "He's hiding something. I just know it." She directs her gaze to Gray, tszujing his not-quite-yet dry hair absentmindedly. He doesn't know what to say.

"He'll steal her away, you know," Manna whispers. Her reflection softens at his own. "You're close to her now… you care so deeply for her, I see it. Of course I see it. I notice these things, even from an antisocial young man like you. But I'm telling you that this doctor won't want to stay here… in this little town, forever. She's blinded by love, and she'll do whatever he says, stay at his beck and call… because he's manipulated her to be that way."

Gray stares straight ahead, in the mirror that houses his own icy reflection. "I wouldn't lose her," he finally says, voice stoic and quiet.

"Don't you ever feel… like sometimes, she's already slipping away, though?"

His silence is answer enough as it is.

Manna merely nods. "That's how it was, the weeks before my Aja left for good. I couldn't quite place it… but I knew something felt off. Different, y'know? I still… still don't know what caused her to leave all those years ago. She was only seventeen… but I will bet my last freaking dollar, I will bet the damn winery that it had to do with a boy." She gets a cold look in her eyes. Why is she telling him this? "No, not… not a boy. A man; an older man. The younger you are, the easier it is to get controlled like that. And my Aja was such a good girl, Gray. She had a good head on her shoulders. Until one day… she just didn't."

Manna lifts the blow-dryer one last time, as though she's been awoken out of her trance. She goes back to work on his hair, ruffling through it, watching the chopped tendrils soar from switched direction to switched direction. "Her and her father had a huge blowout… and that was that. One last fight, and she was just… gone. She couldn't even look him in the eyes. That's how I knew it was an older man that got into her head. I don't even know who it could have been, though." Manna shakes her head and locks her jaw, flicking on the dryer's highest setting with such force, that Gray's sure she's broken it.

"Keep her away from that doctor, Grayson." Her voice is surprisingly crystal-clear over the deafening sound of the dryer for this last part. "She's too naïve, she'd never understand. But keep her away from him. You've got to."

That's been the unsuccessful plan all along.

His heart feels like it's in his stomach. This is why… he doesn't do social interaction. Where's the entire fucking bottle of vodka when you need it?


Claire's horse that she affectionately named The Bride after her surprising adoration for the Kill Bill series (which Gray thinks is strange, but she loves Uma Thurman… so there's that) is the first one to register in the races. Saibara's surprisingly closed up shop for the day so that Gray can attend, and even decided to tag along, too.

He'd be lying if he didn't mention the fact that he did another shot after his haircut appointment.

"You're goin' down, Claire," Duke tells her, laughing while leaning back on his horse. The animal walks forward, causing him to fall over.

Karen rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Your ass is going to crush that horse. And you've literally never won shit; drinking contests and horse races alike." She grins, sipping on her beer. "And sorry, Claire, but you totally are going down. I'm placing all my bets on Rick and Cliff."

She just rolls her eyes, brushing through The Bride's thick, dark mane. "Have fun losing all your cash, then!"

"Jeez, I'm nervous," Cliff says with a sheepish smile. He's racing in Barley's place today, since the old kook doesn't even know if he's coming or going.

"Don't be!" Ann exclaims, patting the gray colt. "You're gonna freakin' crush it!" She frowns over at Claire. "How much's the doc bettin' on you?"

"Come to think of it," remarks Karen absently. "I haven't seen him around town square at all today."

Claire just shakes her head dejectedly. "Umm… I'm pretty sure he's still hungover from his birthday yesterday. I don't even think that he's woken up yet." A swipe of disappointment crosses her face, but she just shrugs it away, turning her direction over at Gray brightly. "You're putting all of your chips on me though… right?"

He literally laughs in her face, clutching a beer in his fist. He should also mention that this is his third Heineken. "You're friggin' high if you think I'm betting all my hard-earned cash on you, Blondie."

"Hard-earned," echoes his grandfather with a mutter. He's literally like ten feet away, how the hell did he hear that? Gimme a break.

Claire rolls her eyes. "Your loss."

"My loss, eh? I dunno if you know this, but I'm out here tryna make money, not lose it-"

"Arghh, shut up, Gray. Did this haircut make you even more intolerab-"

Karen buries her head in her hands. "Ohhh, my God, can you both shut up? Like, hello? We're tryna get in the zone here." She gestures toward her husband's light brown mare, like this area qualifies as "the zone."

Gray just rolls his eyes. "That horse has way less hind-leg conformation like Claire's. Do you see how Duke and Cliff's colts have a balanced bone, from the bulb of the hoof to-"

Claire rubs her hand on her forehead. "Gosh, you're making me nervous, Gray. And not like in a 'oh, I'm so worried' kinda way. Like, you're totally cheesing me."

"As if you don't make me nervous."

Claire lifts her hands in mock defeat. "Whatevs. Like I said, your money, your loss. At least cheer me on."

"Duh."

And he places every single last bet on her.

To his surprise, Rick approaches him by the betting table before the races begin, UMA hat in hand.

"Shoulda given this to you sooner," he says somberly, fiddling with his glasses and glancing over at his horse. Damn right. "I wanted to… apologize. I should have known better… than to say those things. I'm older than you, but I don't always act it. So… I'm sorry… dude."

Karen stares at the two of them from far away with half-lidded eyes, watching or commiserating; Gray's not sure.

That suspicious "screw-everyone-'cause-I-can-hold-a-grudge-till-the-day-I-die" demeanor creeps in the back of his mind as he gives Rick a once over. Is he just doing this because he thinks that it'll give him good karma before the race, or because he's actually being legit? He simply nods, the hat back in his hands and over his head in a matter of seconds. So much for showing off the new haircut.

"Thanks, man. Appreciate it." He pauses, not wanting to spit the words out… but figuring it'd be beneficial to his own morale to have Karen off his back. "Sorry too."

Rick just nods, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably once again, before adding: "I, uh, got a postcard from Pope the other day. Her and… Kai are in Los Angeles. Can you believe it?"

Gray isn't going to be mentioning that the postcard he received was printed from Kai and Popuri's first trip to the Hollywood Erotic Museum. Nope, not gonna be mentioning that one to Rick at all.

"Ha, believe it," Gray says. Karen just tosses her beer in a recycling bin nearby, giving a triumphant nod and smile.


Cliff wins the first round out of three, with Claire being in dead last.

"You got this," Gray tells her. He feels like his dad when he used to give him stone-cold advice before all of his rec hockey games. "Don't worry. No pressure."

"Ugh, major pressure, Gray," Claire says, clutching The Bride's reigns anxiously. Clearly, her own nerves are translating onto her horse, so Gray just pats the filly's head, trying to ease it calm. It whinnies and lets out a huff, like a sigh of relief.

"You're golden. Don't worry."

"Don't you want me to stay in last?" she snaps. What a hot head she can be. She's clearly not in the best of moods… because of secretive reasons. Or, perhaps she actually thinks that Gray really didn't bet on her to win at all.

He rolls his eyes, ignoring her. Maybe he's being a tight ass, but oh well. "You're gonna be fine."

Claire sighs in disappointment. What the hell even happened last night? The way that Gray sees it, the doctor not being here is a best-case kind of scenario for her. That may be biased, but he doesn't care. From atop her horse, she sheepishly reaches into her overall pocket to firmly squeeze an item between her fingers.

"What the hell's that?"

"Gray, when are you guys gonna take my money?" she asks him instead.

"We're not. What is that?" he repeats.

Claire unscrews her eyelids, looking over at him. It's a little… bracelet? Anklet? Necklace? Its rosewood red colour burns rich mahogany in the sun, and a small cross dangles from it. "Manna gave it to me."

"She gave you… beads."

"Beads?!"

"… Prayer… beads?"

"It's a rosary, Gray. To keep me safe, and hopefully… hopeful, I guess."

So that's what Manna gave her and Elli. Feels a little obscure, if you ask him.

Thomas announces that the next round is to commence, and she just musters up a positive smile, ready to begin. He decides to share it back with her, even if she always manages to find a way to be a pain in his ass.

In the second round, she ties for first with Rick. And in the final round...

She comes in first!

Claire's gripped her reigns, leaning forward and remaining as determined as ever. The Bride propels each quick step into an advanced run, neighing loudly and driving Claire over the finish line before Cliff's colt gains the speed to do so again. Rick follows, with Duke in last place.

It's a complete and unbiased win.

Karen's mouth hangs open, Ann pumps her fist in the air, and Claire leans over to hug her arms around The Bride, grinning and congratulating her filly on a job well done. Cliff rides over to her and bumps her fist as she jumps off of her horse. Gray uses his arms to steadily catch her, and she holds on to him while he supports the small of her back, laughing giddily.

"I told you!" she yells to him over the noisy crowd. May runs over and hugs her leg, before Rick lifts her up with a smile.

Gray brings his cap over his eyes. "You did."

She shrugs, rubbing her knuckles on her chest all slyly. "Well you missed out big time."

"You're so dumb." He grabs the bet receipt from the pocket of his jeans. Everyone's beginning to crowd around, meaning that he's about ready to duck away in a corner to avoid the commotion. "I put all my medals on you."

She squints, inspecting the little paper in his hands. "You did?"

"Course I did."

"Why?"

"'Cause I knew you'd win. Duh."

Claire looks up at him all wide-eyed, throwing her arms around his neck with a grateful laugh. And although the crowd is circling the perimeter of them, he stays where he is, smiling too.


Worst hangover of his fuckin' life.

And Lord, why do his damn ribs hurt? He groans in pain.

The line rings incessantly beside him.

"Phone for you," Elli calls from the other room. She's humming to herself almost exuberantly… why the hell isn't she hungover? Didn't they drink together?

Shit, he can't even remember.

"Who is it?" Trent mutters, but she's too busy singing to herself to answer him. This pisses him off to no avail.

"'lo?" he manages out groggily, phone lifted and against his ear.

A deep, almost mechanical voice is on the other end. "Happy belated birthday, son."

He frowns, face against the bedspread. His head is throbbing. Who the hell is this? "My birthday's not until next week."

There's a deep pause on the other line. Motorized, robot-like noises elicit-

And dear Lord, it's Hardy! He almost, freaking forgot-

"Aha, ha, ha." There's forced, machine-driven laughter coming from the other line. "Good one, Trent. I keep track of all my student's medical files, and I happened upon yours. Wanted to wish you well yesterday, but I've been swamped here."

Trent clears his throat to get rid of the sleepy sound that hovers over it, lowering it an octave. "Yes, well… I, uh, I understand. Thanks, sir."

"Sir? Come on now, Trent. Why so formal? We've known each other long enough."

Well, that's not exactly true.

"Of course... Hardy." That's what Elli refers to him as, anyway. As well as... others, he presumes. He sits up from his bed, straightening his spine, body feeling worn out and bruised. "Well, thank you for the phone call-"

"You sound different. And you seem a bit... discombobulated."

Well, that's one word.

"You got me, s- Hardy. Drank like a fish yesterday... had to celebrate with this new girlfriend of mine, you see." Change the subject, damn it. "Actually, I was going to have Elli give you a call regarding a scar revision procedure that said girlfriend would like done. The backside of her is hacked carnage."

"Oh, please don't bother Eleanor with such mundane tasks. Just accompany your new girlfriend for that consultation. It's been ages since I saw you, sonny."

Sonny. He's too good to have demeaning nicknames like these. Maybe… others would be okay with it, but not him.

"Oh... Hardy. I couldn't, really. You would not believe how busy we are… as I'm sure you are, too. I'm just going to send her on her own." He tries to further deepen his voice like an act of concealment; he's not ready to face this man. He's prepared in all the other aspects, but hasn't... prepared enough for their "reunion" of sorts. He might stumble on his words, or, the robotic freak could potentially see right through his smokescreen.

"Oh, come now. You wouldn't do that to an old mentor of yours. It's been so long. We must catch up, son. I've been meaning to come by there... but things have been hectic. Lots of drugs in this realm of town, you know? OD's occur once every three days at a time, and-"

"Well, toxidromes caused by a predominant intravenous injection can tend to do that," he responds bitterly. When will these idiots learn? He's got no sympathy for a single soul.

There's a pause on the other line.

Shit, was this the wrong thing to say? He normally condescends because he's well-aware that he's the smartest guy in the room, but around Dr. Hardy especially… and around those who knew him before, he's got to set that aside in order to play the part.

"… Is everything alright, Trent?" Dr. Hardy asks slowly.

He hates that goddamn name. Hates all that it means; all that it represents.

"Of course... I'm just not myself when there's alcohol in my system. Or, it seems, when I'm apparently another year older to the date."

Dr. Hardy chortles out another mechanical laugh. "When it's less busy, I'll come to you."

He finds himself gritting his teeth. "That really… won't be necessary, Hardy. When the time is right… and even if that means seasons upon seasons… upon seasons from now, we'll catch up. The commute is just too long, too inconvenient, and Forget-Me-Not Valley couldn't go a minute without you. Just as Mineral Town couldn't go a minute without me."

"And Elli," Dr. Hardy adds.

He's about to crack a molar. "Yes, of course. And Elli."

He's taken the precautions. He'll be convincing and charming; it'll all be fine.

"She's brilliant, you know. She's like my own daughter," says Dr. Hardy. Something, occurs inside of Trent when he hears this… well, surely not guilt, because he's never felt guilty for a damn thing, but it's more of a discomfort. He doesn't need to feel bad about anything; what he needs is for this call to have ended about two minutes ago. "Keep her okay, and say hi for me. Haven't talked to her in a while."

"Of course." It's because he's demanded her to ignore his number. "Well, thank you very much for the call. I ought to be going now."

"Tending to that old hangover, eh?"

"... Sure."

"You sound colder, sonny. Everything alright?"

One cold sonofabitch I am.

"Right as rain."

"Well, there's a new one from you. Aha, ha. Ha. I'm glad the clinic's hiring committee selected you. I knew I had to put in a good word." A plethora of robotic noises come from the other line, like Hardy is sorting through files. "I know it's been a while since we've seen each other, and even at that, the team's medical academic conference that I hosted only lasted for a year, but every paper you submitted to my thesis was superb. And on the field… your steady hand was just-"

Trent tries to relax his tremoring body.

"There's just so much I'd like to discuss with you, sonny. I wish you Mineral Town folks still visited us daily here. It's simply gotten so bad here."

"Yes, well… yes. We're all quite busy like I said, though." He balances the phone against his ear and shoulder, but he's shaking so bad that it falls to his lap. He lifts it wearily. "Sorry. Maybe in the future, but it's just that right now, you know, we're swamped, as you put it."

"Soon, though."

"Yes, soon. We'll definitely arrange something in advance so that nothing comes up," he says, knowing that organizing something well-beforehand will give him enough time to formulate a perfect excuse.

"Agreed. You know, we don't have to talk medical jargon all the time – we could easily discuss opinions, or politics, or family. I don't have one, this you obviously know, but I have absolutely zero knowledge on your own."

Is Hardy fishing? Stalling? What the hell?!

He grips the phone tighter in his hands. He will not be discussing anything regarding family with Hardy; not now, not ever. His secret will stay a secret until-

"Hardy, you're swell, you've been swell, but someone just walked into the clinic... yes, Elli? Ah, I'll be right there." He readies the phone's hang up. "Gotta jet, Hardy. Chat soon. Shoot me an email, a letter, a fax… you name it, doctor."

Anything non-verbal that won't put him on the spot.

"Well… understood," says Hardy, sounding a bit weary. "Talk soon then, Trent."

And the line goes dead.

Note to self… don't create a party-drinking narrative on your "birthday". Do it solo on the actual day, so that it still gets recognized – by you, and you alone.


Elli clicks her line off, too. Why is Trent so nervous to talk to Hardy, let alone, see him? Why did he sound so... confused? Why did lie to get off the phone?

She must have drugged him way too hard last night.

… Good.

She hears his dwindling footsteps coming closer, and runs from the receiver, pretending as though she wasn't just eavesdropping the call. Elli quickly lifts up Trent's clipboard and pen, as though she's deeply pondering the content on it. He enters the room unsteadily, and she remains completely nonchalant – just as she's rehearsed.

"Oh, good!" She tightens her mouth into a fake smile. "You're up."

Yeah, right. "Good." Fuck this guy to hell.

"What happened?" he mutters.

Elli bats her chocolate eyes, tucking the clipboard in the crook of her elbow. She pushes a tuft of her short hair behind her ear. "What ever do you mean?"

"Yesterday evening," Trent growls.

"You had far too much to drink last night," she explains, tsking to herself. She would have never addressed him like this before… but oh, when those results come back, she is taking him the hell down. "I know you don't like hearing my medical opinions, as I am just a mere nurse, but cirrhosis of the liver is no laughing matter, doctor!"

"I told you to screen his number. I don't want to be speaking to him if I don't have to be."

Elli tilts her head, feigning confusion like she didn't just listen in on the whole call. "But, doctor. You answered without prompting me who it was."

Trent ignores this, because she's right. Obviously. She knows way more about literally everything than him. He's such a disgusting idiot.

"Feels like I got hit by a fuckin' truck."

"If only."

"Hmmhm?" Trent narrows his bloodshot eyes at her sharply. As though this action pains his brain, he grabs his head, rubbing it while wincing.

Elli raises her eyebrows. "If only you didn't fall, doctor."

"I blacked out. I don't remember a damn thing."

She nods, her chin dipping up and down. Even though they didn't do anything together yesterday, she starts to get inventive. "You just went so hard on me last night..."

Trent stares at her dizzily. He grips the countertop to steady his body. "I've never fucked when I'm blacked out."

As if! Just wait till those results come back.

"Yeah, well I'm sure that's not true," Elli says coolly. "Actually, I know that's not true. I was completely sober."

Trent stares at her, callous and hard. "Haven't. And I likely couldn't... as in... physically." He glares at her, but he's still swaying. "Plus, where's the fun in that? I won't remember a thing." He rubs at his sore ribcage. What Elli wouldn't give to dig the toe of her shoe into his skin again. "I remember every lay."

Riiight. Oh, he is in for one rude awakening.

"Claire called four times, by the way, and I think that she even tried to stop by," Elli tells him, trying to end this conversation. He sickens her to her core, and playing nice for this long hasn't been easy. "Something about the horse races."

Trent just lets out a long string of curses. He slams his hand on the counter, before shaking his arm out painfully from the blow. That's the one she drew blood from. Ha.

"Eff me," he snaps. "I can't catch a break, can I?" He storms out of the room, running his hands through his hair and muttering as he paces around.

"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet," she murmurs under her breath.


"How long are you going to be upset for?"

Claire looks up from her plate, fork dwindling in the green salad before her. It's a few days later, and she's still mad at her boyfriend. As a romantic gesture, Trent offered to order dinner for her tonight, even though she told him no, and that she could handle it herself. He still did, and it's only made her even more irritated, because he picked… wait for it, drumroll please: a garden salad ("hold the croutons"). As the great Boston comedian John Pinette once said: "salad is not food. Salad comes with the food. Salad is the promissory note that food will soon arrive." So, yeah, not too thrilled with his dinner selection for her either. Doesn't Trent know her at all?

She simply doesn't bother answering him.

"Claire," he says sharply.

Normally, she'd respond with a, "what are you talking about?" or a, "oh, no, I'm not upset," but her period is coming, and frankly, she's pissed to hell. "For as long as I feel like being," Claire finally snaps.

A vein in Trent's forehead throbs. "Don't you get mouthy with me like that."

"Whatever." She places her fork down, a clattering noise erupting against the ceramic plate. She's honestly more hurt and upset than angry. And now, she's hungry too. This salad takes her back to dieting days in high school, when lettuce was all that she would eat. "I don't understand why you have a hard time comprehending the reason I'm upset."

"Because you thought I'd make an appearance at the town horse races."

"I thought you'd just be there for me. All of my friends were."

"Oh, all your friends were, hm?" She knows where he's going with this. He takes a bite of his own Caesar salad before swallowing and nodding. "How nice. You don't have to rudely smear that in my face, love."

"I'm not being rude. I'm telling you why I'm not happy at the moment."

"Well, I'm glad your friends are the ones who bring you this source of happiness," Trent sneers.

"Do not twist my words," Claire says, blinking back frustrated tears. Just plain frustrated. The sounds of the inn, and other people dining around them elicits in her ears, causing her to realize that she can't just lose it like this in public.

"It's exactly as it's coming out, though," says Trent coldly, taking a sip from his second glass of white wine. Claire just stares at him.

Are some people just absolutely incapable of ADMITTING THEIR FAULTS?

She narrows her eyes cuttingly, leaning back in her seat with a scoff. "Look, I just really thought that you'd wanna support me. That's all."

His voice is bitter and mean. "Support you like a certain someone does."

"Trent, come on. I'm telling you how I feel here."

"You're overreacting. Anyone could have forgotten."

"But you're my boyfriend. And it was on all of the town calendars… and I told you about it weeks ago!"

"Well, I was a little tied up, love."

"Oh, please. You were drunk out of your mind the night before."

Trent's knuckles go white as he grips the wine glass. A dark look spans across his handsome face, making him look horrifically nasty. "Are we forgetting about the times that you have not been there for me? Are we forgetting about the other night? The let down on my… birthday?"

A look of forgotten realization blooms across Claire's face. Her cheeks flame. She's been so busy focusing her irritation on him, that she completely forgot about the fact that she left their night in tatters. "I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to ruin it."

"And yet it doesn't change the outcome of the night." He places his wine glass down hard, and a slosh of it manages to spill out onto the tablecloth. It leaves a light yellow stain on the tablecloth.

She already feels bad enough; why is it when he's done something wrong, he brings up things that she's done to lighten his blame-load? Talk about deflection.

Or maybe, denying him sex on his birthday was worse than him missing some stupid horse races, as he's put it.

Trent takes a brief moment to unclench his jaw, softening his cross expression. "I apologize, okay? We're both… in the wrong, in one way or another. But I'm here to make it better." He reaches for her hand across the table, thumb brushing against her forearm. She stares down at it.

"You don't have to always buy me stuff, or take me out, or spend money to make things better, y'know," Claire says slowly. "It's not about… the horse races, it's about the fact that you weren't there for me. I just want you present in my life more, Trent."

His thumb presses hard against her sleeved arm. "And I want the same thing from you."

She feels so exasperated. Does he really believe that? She tries so hard to be a good girlfriend, and sometimes, the way that he portrays her makes her feel less than ideal. Does she deserve this? "But I am there for you."

"Well, as you like to say, there's no need to invalidate my feelings."

"I'm not," she argues.

"Claire," says Trent sternly. He drums one set of knuckles on the table. "I don't want to fight with you anymore, alright? I've said my piece, and I am done." With an expectant look, he patiently nods at her.

She sucks up a breath, finding it in her to try and relax a bit. "Alright, well… again, I'm sorry too, then." Claire pauses, before glancing down at the table. Ann is wandering around them, pretending to be busy, because Trent denied complimentary bread from her four times prior. She prays that she can telepathically understand that this bread needs to be brought ASAP. "And... thank you for this dinner. You really didn't have to take me out."

Trent snatches her hand now, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "I just need you to always know how serious I am about you."

Claire remains slightly unphased. "Actions speak louder than words, y'know."

He blinks, before gradually agreeing. "A very honest statement that can easily be applied to the both of us." He gives her skin another kiss, lips lingering for a hare too long. "Have you given what I asked of you some thought?"

The colour on Claire's face blushes to a darker crimson. Maybe it is better that they're out tonight, and not cooped up alone inside. "Of course I have," she lies.

Trent releases her hand, flashing her one of his signature, dazzling smiles that could melt through ice. She wills herself to let go of her vexation. "I love you, you know."

"I love you, too," Claire concedes, falling victim to that pearly smile yet again. She cares so deeply for him; she just wants to be loved and handled with the same kind of care as well.

"Isn't that better?" he asks.

"You two sure you don't want any bread?" Ann comes over to them, lifting Claire's water glass up to refill it up with a forced smile. She sets it down, looking at her keenly for a response.

"No," Trent starts with a wave of his hand. "The carb count is far too-"

"Thanks, Ann. Bread would be amazing," says Claire, giving her friend a grin. "With like, marinara or something."

Ann winks, departing.

Claire offers Trent a smile. "Now it's better."

He feebly returns the gesture back. "I don't want to feel you slipping away," he tells her, squeezing her wrist tightly.

Claire's mouth goes into a tight line, but finds her expression softening. Her overworked hands find their way over his own. "Then just don't let me."


A/N: I'm so sorry for the long break everyone. I really needed my time. My dog ended up passing away... and I'm honestly still not okay about it all. I miss him so much. Like, I knew it was going to hurt, but the literal pain in my heart is unimaginable... I just didn't prepare myself properly. Tbh, I don't know if it would have even been possible for me to prepare myself regarding this. What I do know is that it hasn't gotten easier, but the empty ache is becoming more tolerable, if that makes any sense. I was a mess for days; I'm still kind of a mess if we're being real with each other. I know he isn't suffering anymore, and that he's running around doggy heaven with an endless supply of well-deserved Milk-Bones, but holyyy smokes, does it ever hurt. I was so grateful for his love, because he truly was my family. My mind often drifts to the Hamilton lyrics: "I can't wait to see you again... it's only a matter of time" when I think about him, and then I just start crying all over again. But he was weak; and the vet said that it was time. He was such a good boy, the best boy around, and I love him with my whole heart. I just feel like I've lost a really important, good part of me now that he's gone. But I'm so lucky that I got to experience his unconditional love
Thank you all for your patience and kind words and care. If you've ever loved a pet, you'll know they're family. It really means the world to me 3 I'm so sorry for my absence. I'm back to getting these chapters out, and I hope that you guys are still willing to read them :)

Alright, onto the chapter itself. It may seem a bit uneventful, but I think there's a lot unfurled in there. I've been planning Gray's haircut since Kai mentioned he needed one in chapter 29 haha. Manna is a nosy queen, Rick had his moment of redemption, and Trent is a suspicious ********. What's he hiding?

Sidenote: that gaslighting and controlled manipulation he displayed in that last little bit? I HATE writing that shit, it makes me feel so gross, but it's SO easy for abusers to twist people's perceptions around like that. Especially when in relationships. Hate to see it.

Last thing: watch some John Pinette comedy if you're ever feeling down. I'm not even lying with the fact that you will literally laugh out loud from it! He was such a talented comedian.

Thanks again ya'll. I appreciate every single one of you Sorry if I came across as very dramatic in the first bit, it's just how I've been feeling. For so many of us, 2020 is really just ✨not it✨

Get ready for Gray's bday next chapter :)))