Everything Has Changed

Dedication:This story is dedicated to my lovely Teen Titans buddy and fellow BBRae writer MelissaVampGrrl whose birthday it was recently. Thank you for being a supportive and generally all-round lovely individual, Melissa! I highly recommend you all check out her stories, she's a truly wonderful author.

Author's note: Right, I'll keep this short and sweet my lovely readers. I am going to play around with this one. Please bear in mind this is an AU, therefore the characters may appear slightly different from their comic book counterparts. That being said I will absolutely try my best to give them the flavour of themselves inasmuch as I can. Rest assured, there are plenty of TT Easter Eggs for you! If you don't like AU fanfics, I completely understand and respect your opinion. Please go and read some of my other TT stories; they are all centred (mostly) in the real TT world. This was about me growing and developing as an author and I really wanted to give this a go. FAIR WARNING: There are swear words and cussing as well as mature themes throughout. No flames please, again if this is not your cup of tea, you're welcome to check out my other fics which are a different rating!

TL;DR: Though I'll try my best, this is an AU fanfic so there may be some vague OOCness. If you want a more realistic TT fic go and visit my other stories or look to other authors on the site.

Thank you for your support as always!

-Chibi

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or any characters from the DC Universe. This story is not suitable for children or young teenagers.

Chapter One

The morning started out much as any other in their unusual household. Rachel was coiled on the couch in an upright foetal position, willing her eyes to stay open as the fumes from her morning tea hit her nose. She braced herself as she heard the footsteps behind her. She knew what was coming and it was far too early to deal with his shenanigans.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Gar, you're a nightmare."

"And you are not a morning person."

"Neither were you until recently, as I recall."

"Yeah, well sorry to break it to you but things change, Rae-Rae."

"Don't make me punch you before noon."

The young, blond man standing behind her snorted in amusement before gently ruffling her hair and scuttling towards the kitchenette. Rachel turned around and fixed him with her darkest glare as he busied himself preparing his morning cereal. He was humming. She tilted her head, a smirk appearing on her lips.

"Hey, isn't that 'you are the sunshine of my life'? You don't listen to Stevie Wonder," she remarked, the warm tea hitting her mouth and generating a relieved gasp as the caffeine finally hit her veins. Rachel blew her fringe out of her eyes, frowning at Gar. "What's going on?"

"What, I'm not allowed to hum now? You really are grumpy this morning," replied Garfield, not bothering to turn around. He continued to purr his melody and tap his foot as the cereal hit his bowl, letting out a tune all of its own. Rachel stood up, her smirk growing into a sarcastic smile as she snuck across the room and leaned on the breakfast bar. She waited patiently until he turned around. Gar instinctively jumped in fright at her sudden close proximity.

"Jesus Christ, Rae!" he breathed, clutching his chest with his spare hand. "How do you freaking do that? I swear you can float across the floor or something."

"It's a skill," replied Rachel, dryly. "You're deflecting. Spill it."

"Spill what?" asked Gar, innocently. He evaded her keen stare and gazed at his cereal with a sudden and intense interest.

"Drop the act, Logan," snarled the dark-haired woman, seating herself opposite him. "You've been trying the same ploy since we were sixteen years old."

"Aw, come on!" moaned Gar, placing his hand on his forehead in frustration. He looked up at her imploringly, his green eyes shining. "You know what the problem is, Rachel? We spend far too much time together."

"A fact that can be easily remedied," jeered Rachel, playfully. She placed her tea down and reached over to poke at his arm. "What's gotten into you? You always tell me everything."

A pause.

"Well. Not everything," protested Garfield, weakly. He put his spoon down clumsily into his soymilk and glared at her. "I mean, we do have some secrets you know."

"Like what?" asked Rachel, both amused and genuinely curious as to what his answer would be. Gar stuck his tongue out in concentration; a habit he had displayed since he was a young child.

The truth was that Rachel Roth and Garfield Logan had been best friends since middle school. They'd shared their lunches, their secrets and even their fears. Now they shared an apartment in the centre of Jump City. But this morning for the first time, Garfield was hesitating to tell his best friend of over a decade what had him so chipper.

The mystery was driving the young woman nuts, and both she and Gar knew that she was not going to let this go lightly. Her tenacity was one of the many traits that Rachel prided herself on. She looked at him hard, her blue eyes narrowing. "Tick tock, Garfield."

"Oh, all right. I can't think of anything. But there's no reason we shouldn't have secrets."

Suddenly a lightbulb went off in the young woman's head, and the realisation of what was likely creating her friend's hopelessly optimistic mood made her groan inwardly. The clarity that came the truth was painful. It wasn't a secret; it was a fear of judgement.

"It's Tara," sighed Rachel, her head dropping onto her arms as she closed her heavy eyes once more. "Oh, Gar. I haven't had enough caffeine for this conversation yet."

"But—"

"You always get weird when you're dating her again."

"Stop reading my mind. It's creepy how you can do that," shrugged the blond, continuing to eat his breakfast. He crunched for a few beats then swallowed before speaking again. "It's no big deal, Rae. We just agreed to give it another shot. I mean, what's the harm in that? We're both adults now and...what are you doing, idiot?"

As the young man had been speaking, Rachel had raised her arms up and was miming something with her hands. At his question, she repeated the mime with a smirk on her face. It resembled knitting or weaving of some kind. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just making an invisible safety net to catch you when you inevitably fall in too deep again and predictably get hurt by that delightfully crazy woman."

"Hilarious," growled Gar, his green eyes flashing as he picked the empty bowl up and dropped it off at the sink. "I think I preferred the grumpy Rachel over the sarcastic one."

"Be careful what you wish for," smiled Rachel, pushing herself to her feet and following him over to the sink. Gar turned to look at her sideways, as he cleared up.

"You meant that in multiple ways, didn't you?"

"Hey, he's learning," laughed Rachel, reaching up and ruffling his hair just as he had done earlier to her. He grimaced before glaring at her mischievously and rubbing some soapy bubbles onto her nose. She scowled at him, reaching for a dishcloth. "Be very careful what you wish for."

Gar let out a genuine laugh, grabbing the dishcloth from her and wiping his lathered hands. They fell into silence for a moment. Rachel followed his eyeline towards the fridge. There were a series of photos pinned up there from their school days. Her eyes roamed over the familiar faces, and she let a small smile pass over her lips. Folding her arms, she allowed herself a moment to inspect the images.

They had both changed a lot over the years. The first one was of their whole friendship group, most of which they didn't see anymore. But the familiar faces of her closest friends always made her smile. Kori, Richard and Victor. She reached out and touched the picture fondly. They were some of the best times in her life. And the worst too. Her childhood hadn't been savoury, to say the least. Her mother died when she was young, and her father was an abusive addict who often neglected her. Overlooked by social services, she was often left to rely on the kindness of others; a seemingly impossible task. Yet she found it in abundance within her friends. Even simple acts like sharing their lunch money, offering a safe place to sleep or a listening ear meant the world to her. They would always have a special place in her heart.

Her fingers rolled down to the next picture; one of her at a coffee shop with a redheaded woman who was almost glowing with excitement. Her green eyes practically shone out of the page and hit Rachel in the chest. Her fingers slid lower to a picture of Gar and two other boys. One was dark-skinned and handsome, wearing a football shirt and holding a ball aloft. The other was a smaller attractive boy who could have been mistaken for Rachel's brother with his piercing blue eyes and mop of dark hair. The three of them were grinning so hard it appeared their faces might break from the strain. It was pure, unadulterated, youthful joy. Rachel had taken that photo; she recalled the moment vividly.

Her fingers found the final picture – it was one of her and Gar together at school. He had wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a friendly embrace and was smiling as though his life depended on it. Rachel's own smile was much smaller back then, but a ghost of it was present in this picture; her dark hair sticking to his shirt and her cobalt eyes gazing at the camera from beneath her favourite blue hooded sweater.

"Good times," came the voice behind her. For a moment she had forgotten that Gar was standing right next to her. She turned to face him, her thoughts breaking from the past and finding their way to the present.

The years had changed them both since the last photograph was taken by Kori's eager hands. Rachel's dark hair now extended down her back and curled at the ends. She had grown taller, more mature; she had lost her skinny frame now that she was eating properly and exercising well. Puberty had helped too. Despite her pale complexion, Rachel was often the source of attention when she entered the room. Her gothic appearance was captivating to more than just a few optimistic admirers. Gar still had his boyish charm, but he had grown like mad during high school and now towered above her. He had also found puberty; it had filled out his lanky frame and set his bone structure differently. His green eyes and freckled face were still familiar to her, though. In honesty, she often she forgot how much time had passed.

Rachel blinked, suddenly realising that she had been staring blankly at him. "They were good times, Gar. I wonder how everyone is. It's been far too long since I saw them."

"I saw Vic about a month ago at that game, but it's been ages since I saw Rich and Kori. I miss them," admitted Gar, rubbing his blond hair gently. "We should do something. Meet up."

"Yes," replied Rach, nodding vehemently and meaning it. "Can we?"

"Sure," smiled Gar, wrapping his arm around her as he had done many times before. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I should go get ready for work. See you later, apartment wife."

Rachel rolled her eyes and gave him a shove as he left the room, humming once more. Since their decision to move in together two years ago, Gar had taken to calling her his 'apartment wife'. It was always an interesting quirk to explain to her visitors when they came over to their home. Her friend from work Jenny was convinced there was more to it.

"He calls you his wife?" she had remarked, after her last visit to their home. "He's definitely got a thing for you."

"His apartment wife. Look, don't be ridiculous, Jen. We're best friends. We've been best friends for twelve years. I'm twenty-five for fuck's sake, not some dumb kid anymore who takes statements like that literally and goes to write about it in my diary. Gar is just a jokester; he always has been. You get used to it," Rachel had replied, pragmatically. "Our relationship is strong. We've been through a lot together. He gets a free pass to talk to me like that. And I get a free pass to be moody and sarcastic with him. It's just the way it is between us."

"Hmm. I don't buy it. You definitely act differently around him," shrugged Jenny, flicking her pink pigtail in thought. "I mean it's not like I haven't seen other men proposition you, Rach. You send most of them off with a flea in their ear."

"Right. Men who I've known five minutes," defended the young woman, dipping her head forward. Her eyes closed, and she felt pain hit her body. "Besides, after Mal is it any wonder I don't trust anyone?"

Unsurprisingly, Jenny had shut up after that and let the subject go. Malchior, or Mal as he was better known, had been Rachel's only real boyfriend to date. Her childhood had scarred her in so many ways, but the greatest part had been her struggle to let men close to her. So, as the others experimented with their sexualities and beyond, Rachel had always appeared withdrawn and clinical around most of the world. But in particular men. All men, in truth. Somehow, Mal had been the one man she had let in and it had led to disaster. It didn't bear thinking about. Never again. Fun, free and easy was better for her. Relationships were far too complicated.

Her head flicked back to the present moment as she noticed the red light of the clock in their small kitchen and realised with horror that she was running behind. Sighing, she took another wistful look at her fridge before downing the rest of her lukewarm tea and dashing for her room.

A building loomed into sight as Rachel started to pick up her pace. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes. She broke into a light trot, grasping her bag on her shoulder tightly to stop the contents from falling out onto the street. The doors jammed as usual as she tried to push through them. A swift kick to the base unstuck it, and as she rammed her shoulder hard into the glass, it finally swung open. The reception desk's clock read 8.58am.

'Made it,' the young woman thought as she rushed to sign in. 'Thank God. I wouldn't want Miss Wilson on my ass again this week.'

"Yo, Rachey-baby," came a feminine shout from behind her, causing her to turn swiftly. Jenny was running towards her, pink pigtails bobbing in time. "Thought you weren't going to make it by nine. Again."

"Zip it, Jen," muttered Rachel, slamming the pen down onto reception and heaving her bag towards the locker room that was behind it. "Don't you have anything better to do than to hassle me?"

"Ooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning," said Jenny defensively, leaning against the lockers on the opposite side of the room. "What's wrong, sis? Have a tiff with lover boy?"

"If you're talking about Gar, then no," grumbled Rachel, feeling the colour rising in her face as she managed to force the ancient locker closed and twist the key. Swivelling the keyring round her finger she rested her back on the locker and looked up towards the ceiling. Her eyes fluttered closed. "Just not feeling it today, Jen."

"Yeah, well that's Mondays for ya!" shrugged her companion, walking over and leaning against the adjoining locker. "Wilson's put you with the brat brigade today."

Rachel felt her stomach drop. "You're kidding me. Again? That's five times in the past two months!"

Jenny shrugged again, a sarcastic smile pulling at her lips. She wrapped her arm round Rachel's shoulders easily. "What can I say? You must be a natural with them!"

"Maybe. But facing the brat brigade on Monday morning? Really? Wilson always saves that shift for the people she doesn't like."

"I'm saying nothing, grumpy pants," smiled Jenny, poking her friend on the nose and stepping away. "I've just about had my fill of Monday Rachel for today."

"Look, Jen...I'm sorry. I just got to looking at some old photos this morning and it made me think about the past. Feels like my head is stuck there somehow and won't come back."

"Hey, your frown lines are showing," remarked Jenny, gesturing to Rachel's face. "It's never a good sign when that happens."

Rachel closed her eyes again, her mind's eye seeing the images of them all at school. So happy and carefree. Loving life. Or perhaps that was rose-tinted glasses.

The youth centre wasn't all bad. She'd been a youth worker for the past two years since she'd moved back to Jump City. There were a lot of underprivileged kids here, and Rachel felt that she was doing good work most days. But it took a little piece from her every single time. It brought back some dark memories on some days. Yet, it was fulfilling and rewarding beyond belief on others.

Making something good from something bad. That was what Gar called it. Maybe he was right. But this morning, she was struggling to believe him. She sighed and opened her eyes again. Forcing a small smile onto her face she pushed herself away from the lockers.

"Come on, Jen. We'd better scoot. The brat brigade waits for no woman."

"Well said, my raven-haired beauty," laughed Jenny, linking arms with Rachel as they hot footed it towards their respective rooms. Rachel snorted.

"Raven-haired beauty?"

"On account of your dark hair, sis."

"You've been reading gothic poetry again, haven't you?"

"Only a little," smirked Jenny, releasing the young woman from her grasp and stepping dramatically towards the door to her room before bowing. "You know you love it, Rach."

"If you say so, piglet," remarked Rachel, folding her arms. Jen looked at her blankly, her hand still poised on the doorknob. Rachel gestured with her head, her words mimicking her friend's. "On account of your pink hair, sis."

"Very funny," replied Jen poking her tongue out and waggling it. She turned to enter the room before shooting a remark back over her shoulder. Her familiar smirk was still on her face. "Oh, and Rach? Good luck. You're gonna need it. That group is a real jinx."

The youth centre had a programme on a Monday morning for young children from bad backgrounds; a playschool of sorts, so that the parents could get a break at no extra cost. It was pegged as an outreach project for an underprivileged group, and it was highly popular within the community. Every week a different worker was assigned to the group to try and manage the children. Alone. It was the most hated group of any that were run within the youth centre, and as such was known amongst the staff as the 'brat brigade'. Everyone avoided the shift where humanly possible. It had become such an issue that their manager had to assign the shifts. Rachel ground her teeth as she walked towards the room. She could hear the cacophony of noise from down the corridor and had been bracing herself for impact. As the door opened, the variety of smells and sounds hit her ears. It was sensory overload.

Ten children were tearing across the room at varying speeds; some were still in their diapers; some were in romper suits and some were older but still clutched at comfort blankets. The energy level was the only constant; high and rampant.

"Hello everyone," tried the young woman, but her voice vanished into the discord of the room.

'That's it, I am never ever having children,' Rachel told herself, sternly. 'If I ever think I may want children, I will just remember this image in my head.'

A small child ran over and grabbed onto her knee, breaking into her thoughts. He had a pacifier in his mouth and sucked at it relentlessly. His blue eyes looked up at her imploringly, a tuft of blond hair peeking out from his forehead.

"What's up?" asked Rachel, looking down at him. She had tried to soften her tone, but it must have come out sharply. The child looked a momentarily terrified as she reached down to ruffle his hair tuft. "Sorry, little man. Nothing personal. I don't like Mondays."

Behind the pacifier there was a small smile, and the young boy's grip on her leg tightened. Unsure what else to do, Rachel patted his head again and waddled over towards the front of the room where the craft materials were kept. Inspiration had struck at last.

"Alright boys and girls," she shouted loudly. "Who wants to make some mess?"

There were cheers, and the attention of the room was hers at last. Rachel let out a deep sigh, as they all helped themselves to the different materials in the boxes and began to make some 'art'. The small child had finally released her knee and tottered off with dummy in hand to find some glitter glue and paper.

"Mmm, miss?"

"Rachel," replied the young woman, turning her head towards the voice. A redheaded boy was standing by her chair, holding up a packet of crayons. He had a blanket cradled in his other arm and looked a little tearful. "You can call me Rachel. What do you need?"

"Miss Wachel. Can you help, pwease?"

"Oh, you need me to open these for you," smiled Rachel, reaching over and pulling the crayons open with ease. She offered the packet back to the young boy, in a friendly manner. "Here. My favourite colour is blue. What's yours?"

"Mine is bwue too!"

"Good taste, kid," said Rachel, giving him a thumbs up as he clutched onto the crayons tightly. "Go and get stuck in."

"Timmy," replied the young boy as he turned and tottered away. "M'names Timmy."

Rachel watched him as he wandered back to the group and settled himself with some plain paper and the crayons. He had started to draw, face fixated on the page. He stuck out his tongue in a way that wasn't all that different from Gar's own expression that morning. The young woman stifled a small laugh, as jokes about Gar's brain being akin to that of a two-year-old entered her mind. But then a pang of sadness hit her chest, and for a moment Rachel couldn't work out why.

'I wonder what Gar's kids will be like. He always said he wanted them someday. If he settles down and has kids, I guess that means we won't live together anymore,' came a quiet, musing voice from the back of her mind. She considered this for a few moments, as she toyed with a small tube of PVA glue. It was true, she had never really thought about the fact that her living situation with her best friend wasn't permanent but...

...now she came to think of it, Rachel realised that the idea filled her with dread. Living alone wasn't so bad, she had done it before. But what they shared at home was so comfortable, so familiar. A strange sensation shimmered in her chest, and she felt her cheeks flushing. Then as soon as it had arrived it went, leaving her feeling confused and strange.

Before she could contemplate this further, she was interrupted. The young boy with the pacifier had returned, his glitter glue masterpiece in his eager hands. He offered it towards her, looking proud of himself. Jackson Pollock would have been delighted. It was abstract expressionism at its best, except it glimmered in the morning light. Rachel gave a small smile, then raised her eyebrow towards the young man.

"Did you do this?"

The boy nodded, suddenly appearing slightly shy. Rachel looked back at the picture nodding, mustering up her most impressed look. "Wow. It's definitely something."

The toddler gave a toothy grin, his pacifier popping right out of his mouth and landing on the floor. His lip wobbled slightly, as Rachel reached down and picked up. She grabbed a wipe and cleaned it for him, before popping it back in his mouth.

"There you go, kid. Don't forget your masterpiece too," she added, handing him the piece of paper. He shook his head and pointed to her. Rachel shrugged.

"You want me to have it?"

The boy nodded. Rachel gave another smile, slightly more genuine this time. "Well thank you, that's very kind."

Suddenly, a buzzer sounded alerting the young woman to the time. It would be picking up time soon, and she needed to get the children into a more presentable state for their parents return and give them some snacks too. She placed the picture down on the desk and busied herself with wipes and packing things into boxes, as the young children munched the snacks in relative silence. It seemed the creative session had elicited the desired effect. As the doors opened and parents began to file into the room, Rachel let out a relieved breath and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She had survived the brat brigade with no injuries, and nothing broken; not even her spirit. That had to be a record, right?

One by one the children were collected and signed out in an organised manner, until only two remained. There was the young boy with the pacifier, and the self-identified redhead Timmy. Rachel turned towards them.

"I'm sure it won't be much longer, boys," she tried, gently. "Do you want another cookie whilst you wait?"

"Yes!" squealed Timmy, grabbing one from the box eagerly. He began to speak with his mouth full. "M'love cookies."

"So I can see. I prefer waffles," said Rachel stepping back to avoid the boy's spit. She offered one to the smaller child. He shook his head, still intent on his pacifier and Rachel placed the box down slowly. The door made a sound and she turned expecting to see a parent. To her surprise, a young girl with blonde pigtails entered the room and marched towards them. Her blue eyes looked determined, but she betrayed her age by a teddy that she dragged at her side. It looked bedraggled and worn, but clearly very loved. Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you-"

"Melvin," replied the young girl, her tone beyond her years. "Yes, I'm here to pick my brothers up."

"Your...brothers?" replied the dark-haired woman, her eyes widening slightly. "Timmy and this little guy are your brothers?"

"Teether," smiled Melvin, reaching out to the tot with the pacifier who waddled over and wrapped his arms round her waist. She returned the hug and smiled at Rachel. "We call him Teether on account of the fact he chews everything in the house."

"I see," replied Rachel, folding her arms and leaning back against the desk. "Where are your parents?"

Melvin's expression changed, a frown lining her face. "They're busy, Miss. I don't mind coming to get my brothers anyhow."

"Shouldn't you be in school?" asked Rachel, surprising herself with her maternal tone. Most days she barely felt old enough to look after herself, but the youth worker training appeared to be kicking in. "It is a weekday after all."

"Um, well, sometimes my parents don't like me to go, Miss. 'Cause I usually look after Timmy and Teether," replied Melvin, her blue eyes betraying some deeper emotion. Rachel felt she could almost touch that familiar sadness with her hand it was so tangible in the room. However, as if on cue, Melvin gave another well placed smile and held her teddy up. "Bobby helps."

"I see," repeated Rachel, shaking the bears hand in a friendly manner. "Well, it seems like the two of you are doing an amazing job. But I really do think you should be in school, Melvin. It's important to learn at your age."

Melvin looked down, the sadness returning to her eyes. Rachel remembered her younger self and touched the smaller girl's shoulder gently. "Because by the time you get to my age there's no hope for learning anything. My brain is like jelly most days. Especially Mondays."

Melvin's sadness evaporated, her blonde hair bobbing as she smiled again. Tommy broke his silence, walking towards his sister with his blanket dragging behind him. "We goin' home, Melvin?"

"Yeah, we're going home Timmy," replied Melvin, ruffling his hair affectionately. Teether was still pinned to her chest. Her mature voice returned. "Say thank you to the nice lady."

"Thank you miss Wachel," said Timmy, handing her his own picture timidly. "I did bwue for you."

Rachel looked down at the picture and saw that he had drawn a rudimentary stick man and stick woman both in blue. She could only assume it was meant to be the two of them. Her heartbeat escalated as a realisation hit her; these children weren't brats at all. They were kind of sweet in their own way. She gave a small smile and looked up. "Thank you. That's very kind, Timmy."

The redheaded boy grinned from ear to ear, clutching his blanket to his blushing cheeks. Melvin smiled at the young woman, offering her a small wave. "Thank you for looking after them, Miss Rachel. See you!"

Without another word, she stuffed Bobby into her back pocket and held hands with both her brothers as she walked out the room with purpose. As the door slammed behind them, Rachel felt the sadness hitting her chest once more. She found herself wondering where home was for them. Whether they would get another meal today. Whether they would be safe. Whether their parents ever gave them a hug or spoke to them with kindness.

'You're getting soft,' came a strange voice in her mind. She batted it away as she finalised the clearing up. Checking the clock, she realised it was almost lunch, and wondered where Jenny had gotten to. As she hoisted the craft box back into its usual position, she heard the door clang behind her. Turning with a smile as she anticipated her friend had come to find her, Rachel spoke. "Hey Jen, I was just thinking about—"

Her thoughts clanged to a standstill as she realised that the person in front of her was not Jenny at all. A woman with white hair pulled back into a bun and a business suit was standing in the doorway. Her dark rimmed glasses shone in the light of the room, and she had a small amused smile on her face. "No, not Jenny, Rachel. It's just me, I'm sorry to say."

"Miss Wilson, I—"

"Don't worry about it, you seemed very distracted. Something on your mind? Anything about this morning's session I should know about?"

Rachel swallowed, wondering whether to divulge her concerns or not. Rose Wilson was a strange woman; one moment she seemed to be your best friend, the next she was out for blood. It was difficult to know which one to expect at any given moment of the day. Unsure what else to do but be truthful as she was caught on the backfoot, Rachel shrugged and folded her arms. "I was just talking to that young family; Melvin and her two brothers Timmy and Teether."

"Ah, yes. The Johnson family. Was there a problem?" asked Rose, her grey eyes looking blank and vague. Rachel shook her head slowly.

"No problems. I was just worried about them. I thought perhaps Melvin should have been in school at this time of day. It didn't seem right for her to be collecting her brothers and—"

"Miss Roth, you are a youth worker not a social worker. It is not our role to deal with such issues. The Johnson's have a caseworker who is managing them, and if she is satisfied that their care is sufficient then it is not our place to question it."

Rachel felt her temper flare. "But how could the social worker know about this if we don't tell her? Melvin's attendance at school may not be good which in turn—"

"Rachel, that is not our concern. I wrote my report on the Johnson's when they became part of this programme. All I want you to do is look after the boys when they are here and send them home with a full belly and some good memories of their time at the youth centre," responded Rose, firmly. She had folded her arms and was staring darkly at the young woman over her glasses. "That is the purpose of this project. Do you think you can do that?"

'It's not worth it,' said a calming voice in Rachel's mind. 'Don't do something you'll regret later.'

"Yes, ma'am," replied Rachel, albeit slightly facetiously "I do."

"Good," responded Miss Wilson, her face brightening for a moment. She appeared not to have noticed the tone behind the young woman's last sentiment. However, the amused smile still played on her lips. "Because I'm assigning you to 'brat brigade' duty for the foreseeable future. You are now the official overseer of the Monday Morning project. That is all."

With that Rose turned on her heel and clicked back into the empty corridor, leaving a stunned and frustrated Rachel in her wake.