Chapter 32

A flurry of shuffling paper and a creaky mattress greeted Mickey when she entered D-Tent. An amused smile popped dimples in her cheeks at the sight of Stanley and Zero both trying—and failing—at appearing unbothered. "It's alright, it's just me," she said. She didn't know why they still wanted to keep Stanley teaching Zero to read and write a secret. It clearly wasn't doing Stanley any favors with the rest of their tent but no matter how much they jeered and ragged on him, he didn't waver. She admired his commitment.

After stumbling across a lesson being held before dinner while the other boys were in the Wreck Room, Mickey had been brought into the fold. Everything came with a price at Camp Green Lake but the stakes with this trade-off were clean: she kept quiet about the lessons, and they'd keep quiet about her poking around. Stanley offered to help her with her hole after they were finished digging but she declined. She got satisfaction completing it on her own, especially this far in. It made the daunting reality of having to dig at least 300 more a little more digestible.

"How's it going today?"

"Good," Stanley said, placing paper back on the overturned crate they used. "I need to teach him a few more letter sounds but I think we can move onto two-syllable words soon."

"Don't you think you should go with vowels and consonants first?"

Stanley raised and lowered one shoulder. Next to him Zero's teeth pressed into his bottom lip, brow furrowed in concentration as he drew letters on the paper in front of them. "I'm kind of just jumping around to what makes sense."

Armpit's bed creaked when Mickey sat opposite the boys as she peered at the upside-down words scrawled across it. "Well, his name is a good start," she commented on the slightly too large handwriting. "He should try 'Stanley' next."

"Caveman would probably be easier." At the crinkle to Mickey's eyebrow he continued, "With the two short words I mean. Just have to"—he slapped his palms—"smush it together."

"Maybe. But I like Stanley better." When Stanley locked eyes with her she smiled and a flush rose to his cheeks. Why couldn't more guys like him be in her school? Maybe then she wouldn't have put herself in Brett's crosshairs. Maybe then she'd actually have friends.

"Thanks." He wrote another word down on the paper—crown—and handed the pencil to Zero to replicate. When he looked up, his hazel eyes held concern. "Things going okay in the medic tent? I know you were, uh, having a hard time with the kitchen."

Mickey snorted. That was one way to put it. "It's fine. Pendanski's…Pendanski." Batting away the infiltrating thoughts of their perpetually perky counselor, she rubbed at her shoulder. Maybe if she rubbed hard enough, she could get the touch of his clammy hand off her. "I mean, it's…it's…it's okay. He's just a little…" Her lips vibrated as she blew out a breath, wracking her brain for the right words. "He's a little too much sometimes. But it's okay! I can handle it." Those words came so easily off her tongue nowadays. Dropping her hands, she clasped them together in her lap, thumbs pressing tight on her knuckles. "I can handle it."

"That doesn't mean you have to." Zero took his time drawing out the sharp points of the 'w' followed by the crest and fall on the 'n', only looking up at her after setting down his pencil.

Whether it was the definitive finality of his comment or the weighted silence following, she wasn't sure, but something rocked in her. Her breath stilled and her lips pressed together, and those six words descended upon her; a soft cozy blanket compared to the jabbed barbs thrown at her in the past. Those words stuck. Zero's words struck.

And it sounded so simple, too simple. Her first instinct was to not trust it. Because it couldn't be that simple. Could it? The stance, so pure and with conviction, had to come with some sort of catch. That's how her life worked. Every time something good came around, it wasn't long before reality came along and put her right back in her place. She didn't have to handle it. Okay, then what?

She waited for more, for Zero or the voice of her mom or God or someone to come along and follow it up with that dreaded but... And it never came. He sat back, a definitive period on his stance, with a flicker of something in his eye.

She sucked in her breath at the jolt, at the sunbeam poking through the churning water holding her down. Oh! Stanley offered a smile and Zero's lips lifted in the corners; the movement so minuscule one could be forgiven for mistaking it for the hanging shadows of the thick canvas over their heads.

Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, she nodded too, sending those six words down to settle and rest and be within reach. Just in case. With a loud exhale, Mickey rubbed her palms against her knees, ragged nails digging into the thick fabric. "So, uh, y'know Pendanski told me something about this place."

Zero's eyes slid over to Stanley who shifted on the cot, causing the springs to squeak. "About her family?" She nodded. "Yeah, he told me about that once. Said the Warden's family owned the lake and the town."

"He told me that too. Which means they had to have done well for themselves."

Stanley lifted and dropped one shoulder in a bouncy shrug. "I guess. Though they can't say much now." Letting out a dry laugh he added, "Maybe they're cursed."

"That's what I thought was weird too. If this place is all dried up, it can't be making much money. So why would the Warden want to stay and turn it into a detention facility?"

"To get more people to find Kissin' Kate Barlow's treasure."

"Right, and it made me wonder if she robbed them. The Warden's family, I mean. And that's how they lost all their money. So now she's trying to fix it. Get the treasure, get her family's money back. I mean, Pendanski even told me that it's the Warden's 'duty' and she's continuing the family's 'plans'. So maybe it's personal."

"And we're all in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She snorted. Aint that the truth. Not that she could ever imagine the Warden or the others being hospitable or empathetic. The world would probably implode. Or else they were in an alternate universe. Still, a thought rolled through her mind, decorated in a fanciful whimsy that used to paint her words hopeful and color her world rose. It struck through the black and white drying her view, a technicolor spotlight breaking through the clouds. "You think there'll ever be a right time?" If it weren't for the fact the voice supplying the wistful question sounded like her own, she wouldn't have believed they came from her. So blithe and sanguine. That part of her died back in October, and now here it came back, undead and sincere. What a combination.

"What, of us being here?" Mickey nodded. Stanley shrugged. "Guess that's up to us to figure out." The gentle cushion of silence dipped every now and then with Zero's concentrated scribbling and little sighs. His nose nearly touched the paper. Mickey was almost sure a tiny spot of smudge while be smeared against the tip. Stanley's gaze followed hers, a brief smile lifting his lips. For a moment she imagined they were in school, tucked away in the library, surrounded by stacks of books in varying subjects, protected from the world. Zero would be buried in a math book, or some assigned reading, maybe Stanley would be going over flashcards for government or history, and Mickey would… Hmm. No matter how close she held the book in her hands to her face she couldn't make out the words on the paper. They wiggled and shifting, smoothing from the sharp Times New Roman typeface to something closely resembling her mother's crips loops. "Mickey?"

The shelf-lined shelter dissolved in front of her eyes; the scent of rubbed eraser lingered. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She gave a wry smile. "You just did."

Stanley didn't smile back. She itched beneath his focus, like struggling to free herself from a too-small wool sweater. His eyes crinkled in the corners at his squint and his question came slow and wary, "Are we still talking about being here?"

"Yeah…?" The word dragged out of her mouth, like a stretched rubber band, allowing time to safely tick by. Too bad it didn't count towards time served. "What else could we be talking about?"

"I dunno." The thin mattress bounced beneath the strong pull of Stanley's shrug. He cleared his throat and tugged at his earlobe as he squeezed out, "Something…else?"

"You mean someone else." The pencil tip scritched and scratched along the paper, counting out the beats of startled silence following Zero's statement. Or maybe that was Mickey's heart thumping a bruising stutter against her ribs, setting a pulse to the raid sirens blaring in her mind.

"No he doesn't," Mickey said.

"Yes he does."

Stanley's eyes ping-ponged between the two, resting on Mickey's side of the court beneath the light of realization. "Are you two fighting again?"

Mickey winced. Were they really at the point no one needed to say his name? Were they that typical? She tittered, hand waving so much it may as well have taken off from her wrist. "No, we're not fighting. We're good. We're fine. Everything's fine. Totally fine. It's all…fine." She picked up her canteen. The water sloshed light and easy inside, cascading to her mouth as she chugged. A painful bubble sat in her chest, but she kept chugging. Anything to not have to look back at Stanley staring at her. Anything to quench her dry mouth. Anything to block Zero's scrutiny.

"They're not fighting." Zero placed the pencil down and sat back. Stanley's eyebrows lifted and Mickey held the last bit of water in her mouth. If she didn't swallow, she didn't have to talk. Not that she had anything to talk about. Because Zero had no idea what he was talking about and… Mickey did a double take. Was that a smirk? Zero's face remained blank, but a definite curl sat on the corner of his lips. That little—!

"Um…okay." Stanley scratched behind his ear. "Am I missing something?"

Her loud, rushed gulp could have been heard in China. "Nope! Not at all!" Mickey spoke so fast the words came out nearly jumbled into one, just enough for her to stop speaking so Zero's annoyingly nonchalant "Yes" tacked on at the end, despite Mickey's hardening stare. Seriously, kid, take the hint!

"Oh. You guys are…good then?" Stanley asked.

"Better than good," Zero said, smile widening, stretching across his thin face. His sweet face shifted to mischievous in a flash. The jerk.

Was this her punishment for not eating broccoli as a kid? Mickey turned her head up to the sky, well the thick canvas blocking the sky. Maybe if she prayed hard enough a giant broccoli stalk would land on top of her.

"I don't get it," Stanley said.

"It's nothing!" Mickey insisted. "He's just been in the sun too long!" The mania in her laughter flourished the longer heat crawled up her neck and her stomach curled. Quite different from the kind that appeared whenever she even glanced Squid's way. At least those were sweet, not sour.

"She kissed him," Zero said.

Forget the broccoli, digging her grave was the only option now. She had plenty to choose from. Maybe she could get Zero to write her headstone: Here lies Mickey "Mouse" Mason, she actually died of embarrassment. Contrary to her name, she went out with a bang instead of whimper.

Stanley's eyes had widened so much she was surprised they didn't pop out and roll on the ground like tumbleweed. And when he finally spoke again, it was a quiet whisper, "You kissed Squid?"

"No!"

Stanley looked to Zero. If Zero had a mustache, he'd be twirling the curled ends. "Yeah."

"Zero!"

He gave her a look. "There was tongue."

Mickey's denial came after a spluttering start. "There was no tongue!"

Except there was tongue. A lot of it. Or so she guessed. She had nothing to compare it to. Unless you counted the time Daniel Webster tried to kiss her during Spin the Bottle—Alexis had strong-armed her into playing at her fourteenth birthday party last year—and ended up with his tongue up her nose. At least Squid knew where to put his.

Heat burst in her cheeks, mimicking the fireworks popping in her stomach at the memory of his touch, his taste, the sound he made…

"So you did kiss him?" Stanley asked.

"I, what, no! I…" Abort, abort, abort! No matter how many times she waved her hands in the air, the words didn't go away, and Mickey still sat stuck with them. With a groan, she pressed her heels into her eyes. "How do you even know if I did?"

"I saw you." The simplicity of Zero's response nearly bowled her over.

"What!?" Mickey dropped her hands into her lap, head snapping upwards. "How?"

Zero blinked. "…We're in a desert." Mickey made a face. "You weren't hiding. The shower walls don't go up that high."

"What, were you spying?"

"I was getting water."

Crap, crap crap! Everyone should've been in their tents by that point. Should have been. Were they? She wracked her brain, trying to piece the moment back together before the incident but, well, she couldn't see past Squid and his honeyed eyes, and the earnest sincerity wrapped around his words as if he'd swallowed the sun and its beams squeezed out between his teeth.

Hell, if she were to be extremely honest with herself, she'd never been able to see past Squid.

He'd been enmeshed since the day they met, there wasn't a part of her life he didn't touch. Her dad used to say they were codependent and she always brushed it off because codependent wasn't the right word. It didn't fit. It wasn't them. It didn't encompass everything between them, the good and the bad. And there was definitely plenty of both. A stronger word came to mind, heavy and light at the same time but with the gravitas of a well-known fact.

…Oh.

"Is that why you're not talking to him?" Stanley asked. Mickey's head shake was more for her sake, to rid herself of a path she'd rather not tread at the moment, but Stanley clearly took it for him with his follow up: "Was it bad?"

If only she could properly explain just how not bad it was.

"They looked like they were attacking each other," Zero supplied. His face quickly cracked into a wide grin, allowing a soft laugh to push through at Mickey's combined shushing and spluttering aimed at him. The only way this moment could get worse is if her mom came in, glasses perched right at the tip of her nose, wanting a play-by-play of every minute. Which she once threatened to do the minute Mickey made one tiny comment of finding Jonathan Taylor Thomas cute.

"So, do you like him?" Stanley asked.

"I don't know."

"But you kissed him."

As if it were that simple. "I know. I was just…happy." Stanley stared blankly. "You know that saying, you're so happy you'd kiss someone…?"

"Yeah," Stanley said, "but I didn't think anyone actually did it."

"And this is why they don't!" Flopping backwards, Mickey allowed the bed to jostle her around. Maybe it'd shake everything into place for her. "It just makes everything confusing."

"Maybe if you'd gotten more air, it wouldn't be," Zero said.

Mickey lifted on her elbows, shooting Zero a fake glare and pointed a threatening finger at him. "Watch it, Zero, or I'll kiss you too!"

His nose wrinkled. "No, thank you." She'd try not to be offended.

Stanley's chuckle eased away. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"No. anytime anything happens to Squid he runs." She caught the odd expression on Stanley's face. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Stanley."

"Really."

"Stanley."

"Okay!" He folded faster than wet paper. "It's just…from my view, he's not the one running."

Mickey's stunned silence had Stanley quickly offering an apology and an explanation but the volume around her lowered until all that remained was her skittering heartbeat.

He's not the one running.

He wasn't the one who'd made some excuse about needing to wash her hair to untangle herself from him and the situation.

He wasn't the one she ducked away from conversation the past four days.

He wasn't the one avoiding the Wreck Room or going out of her way to avoid any sort of eye contact.

He wasn't the one claiming she was tired and tried to force herself to go to bed early while the others stayed awake to play card games or chat.

That was all her, keeping her head down and keeping quiet, trying to keep the peace as she moved forward like she was taught. And where did that get her? Ramming her head into a brick wall, swimming towards the deep end instead of taking the easy way out on the stairs nearby, walking a long path around when a straight line would suffice. Shifting the blame to him when all he'd done was stand still. And that wasn't fair.

Volume came back during Stanley's prattling. "My mom used to say this thing when it came to my dad." Stanley's eyebrows crinkled and his eyes turned upwards as he thought. "It only ends…? No…oh! Things don't end until they begin. My dad used to keep things from my mom. Past due notices and stuff." He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. "He always thought he could figure things out himself. And my mom was mad. Not because of the notices but because he didn't tell her. She would always point out the problem wouldn't be solved if they didn't face the problem. It would just be there getting worse."

"I guess ignorance is bliss didn't work for them."

Stanley shook his head. "Not so much."

"Your mom must be really patient."

"My mom just loves my dad that much."

Noted.

Zero sighed. "We need more paper."

Mickey scrambled to her feet. "I have some." It wasn't like she was using it anyway.

Going to her bed, Mickey dug her hand into her pillowcase. After what B-Tent did with her stuff she didn't trust holding anything in her crate. A pillow wasn't exactly a safe, but it was better than nothing, better than being out in the open. Her fingers brushed the cool cover of her notebook. She pulled it out with a quick yank, and something came out with it, fluttering into the floor.

Kneeling, she picked it up, breath catching in her throat as she spied the loopy handwriting with Alan written on the front. It remained as stiff and blemish free as it did when she first received the letter weeks ago, having been tucked away in the back of her notebook ever since. Dragging a finger across the front, she carefully traced the loops of her mother's handwriting.

They were in a desert. She had nowhere to run.

Okay, universe, I get it.

# # #

Squid doubled over, fingers gripping his knees, blowing out a breath. The air, hot and thick around his neck, may as well have been a vice. Even then it was better than the pins and needles shooting up his legs. He tried to shake them out, get a little more blood pumping. It was useless. If running around, dodging Armpit and X-Ray's flailing arms and solid bodies weren't going to do anything to help, standing still certainly wouldn't.

Rising, he placed his hands on his waist and began to pace. His heavy breaths slowed as Zigzag spun the basketball on his finger. Eyes wide and grin large, he held his long branch-like arm up in the air, keeping the ball away from X-Ray who jumped and slapped at him. He got fistfuls of air instead. Armpit rested against the pole of the basketball hoop, pinching the dark patches of his grey shirt away from his neck. The metal had to burn, but even then, it couldn't burn more than the air around them.

"Man, X, I thought you were a baller," Magnet goaded from the ground, legs spread out and tips of his boots clicking together like a bored child. He must have been. X-Ray delegated Magnet to keeping score for their game and he didn't keep quiet about his disapproval.

"I am," X-Ray said, quickly abandoning his attempts to get the ball. Zigzag made a show of rolling the ball across his chest to his other hand, only to turn and take a shot. It bounced against the backboard and landed through the net-less hoop. Armpit snatched it away from him. "You should see all the honeys I got off the court."

"The retirement home folks don't count," Magnet said.

"They should, they're the only ones he's gonna get. They already lost their good judgement," Zigzag said.

"You would know," Armpit commented, lightly punching Zigzag on the shoulder.

Zigzag punched him back, grabbing the ball. He turned and pushed a clean shot through the hoop again. Once the ball bounced back down, he sent a quick chest-pass to Armpit. Armpit glared at him over the ball.

Squid doubled over again, digging his knuckles into his thighs to ease the painful cramp looming. How did he manage to get through so many soccer games with this pain? Then he remembered he didn't have to dig holes in Satan's buttcrack and he had plenty of swim days to offset the damage running around did to him. If only Camp Green Lake had an actual lake. Not that they'd let him use it. Didn't hurt to dream.

"So X, what's our next move?" Magnet asked.

"This." X-Ray took the ball from Armpit, dodged around Zigzag's spindly arms, and scored another two points. "C'mon, guys. You're making it too easy," he said with a laugh. Once he got the ball back, he shot it to Squid. "At least give me a challenge."

Grumbling, Squid managed to grab the ball before it shot past him, gritting his teeth at the sensation shooting up his leg. He spun the bump-covered ball around his index fingers as X-Ray got into position in front of him. Beating X-Ray would surely ease whatever pain he'd have to deal with later. "Keeping your mouth shut should be your first task."

"Aw, Squid, you know you love my voice."

"About as much as I love opera."

X-Ray placed a hand on his chest and opened his mouth wide, allowing a sound that could only be described as a mix between a garbage disposal and a dying cat to fall out. He stopped when they let out a bunch of groans and covered their ears. Eyes sparkling with mischief, he snatched the ball from Squid.

"Okay, I think I'd take a root canal over that," Squid groaned, wiggling a finger in his ear.

"And I'd take a butterface over looking at you punks all day, but we can't all get what we want," X-Ray replied. Squid flipped him off; X-Ray laughed, pushing his hand away.

"Nah, but seriously X," Magnet said, "we haven't done a thing about B-Tent."

"And we don't need to," X-Ray replied.

"What d'you mean?"

"Have they been bothering us?"

"No."

"Sniffing around?"

"No."

"Killing us with their stench?"

"Nah, that's just Pit," Zigzag replied.

"Man, shut up," Armpit said.

"We got 'em right where we want 'em, Mag," X-Ray said. "See, we have something they want. And they know we have it. But they can't do anything to get it without drawing attention, right? So, the longer we have it, the better off we are. I'm buying us some time."

"So you never had a plan at all?"

"Of course I do." X-Ray looked offended. "But I can't just tell everyone about it. Sometimes the best thing is to keep our mouths shut."

"Which you've never been able to do for your whole life," Squid pointed out.

X-Ray waved him off. "Anyway, like I said, we'll have them eating out the palms of our hands. Just wait. We have the upper-hand here. Trust me."

"Anyone else notice everything goes wrong whenever he says those two words?" Zigzag asked.

"Well, he's got a point. B-Tent's been awfully quiet. Maybe they'll finally leave us alone," Magnet said.

Squid snorted. They were playing right into B-Tent's hand as far as he could tell. He'd seen it plenty of times. People didn't go quietly whenever their drugs were taken from them. People got desperate. And desperation was dangerous when people had nothing left to lose.

Besides that, the chances of B-Tent going after them was slim. Even if Mouse decided she wanted nothing to do with him even after having her tongue in his mouth, he kept an eye on her. Not that he cared. Not that it mattered since Caveman was glued to her hip. He wasn't worth the time in B-Tent's eyes, but that protection would only go so far. Indifference was a Band-Aid over a bullet hole.

"Guys, really, relax," X-Ray said. "I'm the chess master and they're my pawns." He took a shot and the ball bounced off the backboard, missing the hoop. It gave a few feeble bounces on the ground before rolling. Squid pointed his toe and let the ball roll up to the laces of his boot, kicking the ball up to his hands with practiced ease. "And who're you lookin' to impress with those skills?"

"You, apparently," Squid said, shifting to move past him, "though you're not my type."

X-Ray took a step to his left, blocking him. "Right, you like them tiny and pliable."

"Dude."

"Oh, speaking of which." Zigzag emitted a loud whistle between two fingers. "Hey! Wanna be our cheerleader?"

"No thanks, Ziggy, I think Magnet's got it covered." Squid faltered at Mouse's voice by his side. He cursed under his breath at his missed shot, the ball ricocheting back at him from the rim.

"Well, then, maybe you want to play. We're doin' shirts vs skins."

"…I noticed." Squid couldn't help it. He had to look. Something in her voice drew him in, he didn't stand a chance. Her gaze swept past him for a second only to double back and it pinned him in place, the impossible blues starting from his head, drifting downward only to snap back upward. His skin blazed beneath the trail of her eyes, but even then a smirk curled his lips, satisfaction blooming like the red settling in her cheeks.

"We'll take you on our side. Right Squid?"

Leave Squid out of this.

"I would, but I don't want to show up X-Ray."

X-Ray snorted. "You dreamin', girl."

"I'm just sayin', from what I've seen, even I can handle balls better than you can."

Squid twisted his mouth to the side as the others hooted with laughter. He cleared his throat and took his shot, turning away from that look of pride flickering in her eye and the wicked smile curling her lips. It curled his stomach the same way.

He didn't know which sucked worse, not being able to talk to her or having her around and not being able to talk to her.

"Do you want to help keep score?" Magnet asked.

"Oh. No, thanks. I just…um." It was only when her fingers fidgeted with something Squid noticed the stark white paper in her hands. It was the most color he'd seen outside the usual, brown, orange, green, and gray from the dirt to their jumpsuits to their food. His heart nearly jumped out his chest when her stark blue eyes shifted to him, pinning him in place. "Actually, can I…we…" The stares of the others burned into the side of his face, but he didn't dare take his eyes off her, even as she stumbled over her words. "I want to—"

"Alan, Mickey, perfect! Just the two I wanted to see!" Squid's fluttering eyelids were the only things keeping his rolling eyes in place as Pendanski approached, taking short, quick steps. Mouse hastily shoved the paper into an oversize pocket as he moved past her. Squid grunted when Pendanski's bright smile pinged in his direction, and he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dinner's coming up soon and you're in need of your insulin. But I have a meeting to attend so I'm going to have Mickey administer it for you."

"Uhhh, I don't think I can do that," Mouse said.

"Nonsense! It's easy! Alan here'll show you the ropes." Pendanski squeezed Squid's shoulder and then gave it a firm pat. "I'm not asking you to draw blood. Now, hurry up you two! You're on a time-crunch!" When Mouse moved to speak again Pendanski clapped his hands together and said, "That's an order!"

Sir, yes, sir. Without a word, Squid grabbed his abandoned shirt off the ground and headed to the medic take. He gave it a strong shake in the air, earning a satisfying snap. Little particles of dust flew off it, curling and coiling in the air before joining the usual dusty haze cloaking camp.

The stairs creaked beneath his loping gait, and he let out a long breath once beneath the shade of the thick canvas of the tent. It was cooler inside, not by much, but it was better than nothing. He tossed his shirt to the bed closest to him, it landed in a light heap on the pillow. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he spun on the thick heel of his boot only to let out a quiet "oof" at Mouse walking right into him. He grasped her elbows when she stumbled, instinctively.

They stilled. His breath lodged in his throat at the briefest touch of her hands on his bare chest in her quick attempt to back away from him. This close he could count every individual thick eyelash, every tiny sun-kissed freckle on her sun-stained cheeks, he could trace the curve of her plump lips, and spot the shadows of the dimples in her cheeks. And then she put space between them, too much his heart screamed, and curled her fingers into fists lest she accidentally touch him again.

"Take a picture." Her eyes flickered upwards, and her eyebrows twitched together. His words slipped past the growing smirk on his lips, "It'd last longer."

Her eyes squinted and she crossed her arms. The tilt of her head caused her hair to cascade to one side, allowing him the space to quickly follow the curve of her neck. "Not if you get rid of the camera." And as quickly as the sass lit the flame behind her eye it extinguished. "Sorry."

"Don't be." His smile faded. "I deserved that."

She didn't answer. She turned to the uneven shelf by the door and rummaged through something until she found the bottles that held control over his life. She picked up a vial and a needle. They almost didn't belong in her small hands. The sight hurt his eyes. He'd kept her and his condition apart so long, if he weren't seeing it in front of him, he'd think he was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Instead he got to live it.

Lucky me.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she muttered beneath her breath, her voice amplified in the thick air between them. She pressed her lips together and set her jaw, lifting her chin. He'd seen that look many times. It always came before they ended up in trouble. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Stick the needle in that and then stick the needle in me," Squid replied.

"How?"

"Y'stick the needle—"

"I heard you the first time. Can't you do it?"

Squid held up his hands. "Not allowed."

"Like those two words have ever stopped you."

"Trust me, if I didn't have to have Mom jabbin' me every day, I wouldn't." Not that Pendanski was the problem. His failing pancreas was the problem. Looking fine on the outside but having something tearing him up on the inside was the problem. Having to bring Mouse into this was the problem.

"Okay." She scratched at her hairline and pushed out a breath. "Okay." He fought the urge to point out she'd said that already. He'd learned early not to upset people with sharp objects in their hands. "Can you, just…where'm I supposed to put this?"

"At an injection site."

"Which is…?"

His pending answer switched from words to a hum. What the heck was wrong with her? She kept her eyes firmly on his face, so round and unblinking, like she forced herself to look right at him. Just his face. Oh. His lips twitched and he strained to keep the laugh bubbling in his chest of being released but, damn, was it hard. The pride coursing through him, meshing a little too well with something else he'd rather not name, buoyed his spirits.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

"I have four. You have to rotate each one."

"And they are…?"

"My arms, but I just did that one so you can't." No he didn't purposely flex, he just had a bug bite he needed to itch. It was a nuisance when not taken care of. The tiniest twitch to her eye made him continue. "And then sometimes the ass."

"No way."

"Relax." He was right, this was fun. Her immediate rejection got a laugh out of him. "I get the feelin' you'd miss on purpose."

"Where else?"

"Right here." He slapped at his thigh. Now her lip twitched and oh man was it worth it! If only he could see into her mind. See what she thought, what made her face freeze as if the little gears had come to a halt. She closed her eyes, nose wrinkling just slightly in the way that always reminded him of a bunny, and opened them in a slow blink, unamused. He was used to that look too. "No? Fine. Then it'll go here." He patted his stomach, noting her eyes following his hand.

She lifted her chin. "Fine."

"Fine." And he took a step forward, reaching past her. Her quick breath ghosted against his chest, causing a swarm of goosebumps to rise to the surface. The heavy fruity scent of her shampoo took residence in his nose, her and he took his time retrieving his glucose meter if only to see how she'd react. For science. The longer he stood, the more rigid she seemed to become. He watched her throat bob when she swallowed and, if he looked close enough, she trembled. Or maybe it was a trick of the light.

Finally giving her a break, he stepped away from her and went through the steps: powered it on, waited for the screen to show the numbers he wanted, pricked the tip of his finger, carefully squeezed the drop of blood in the right place on the strip, and placed it in the machine. No sense in hiding it at this point.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"I'm used to it."

"…You shouldn't have to be."

He fumbled with the machine, scrambling to keep it from dropping to the ground or else he'd have to start all over. Yeah, starting over was his concern. Not the way she looked at him, as if she peered right into his mind, speaking what he'd always wished someone would say to him. And it was her. Of course it was her.

"Thanks," he whispered.

She didn't say anything. He didn't want her to. He took in this silence, needed it. Because he didn't know what else to say to that. And maybe she didn't either. And maybe that was okay. His world didn't end like he always thought it would if he'd let this other part of it inside. They weren't ever supposed to cross and now he was beginning to wonder why, especially as she gave his arm a little squeeze as if to remind him she was there. He didn't need the reminder.

He hummed at the numbers looking back at him. They weren't too bad, not surprising either. But he did still need an inject. Like always. Like he would for the rest of his life. "Not much else to it," he said and cleared his throat, ridding himself of the unstable wobble to it. "Wipe with an alcohol wipe, pinch, stick it in. That's it."

"What if I hurt you?"

"You won't."

"Because you're used to it?"

Hmm, how was he supposed to handle that? It was a simple question but, then again, between the two of them, things weren't so simple anymore. They never had been. "Yeah, something like that," he said.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I trust you."

The ease of which those words came out of his mouth should have been surprising, but they weren't. They were matter-of-fact. Solid. True. And she must have known it with the shake in her hands easing and the nod to her head being one of resolve. She asked him to sit on the bed and he cracked a joke about, which earned him another roll of his eyes and her threatening to stick it in the wrong place if he kept it up. He mimed zipping his lips and did as he was told, sitting and holding still.

He leaned back on his elbows, stretching his torso to give her more space. He coached her through removing the needle and piercing the top of the vial to withdraw the right amount of insulin and waited as she held it above his skin. He studied the side of her face, the look of concentration taking over, the steely focus he used to capture on film when she pushed through a dance move, bringing herself up onto the tips of her toes or performing a perfect pirouette or twisting a clean illusion. The tiny pinch in his abdomen rocketing his mind to the present and he looked down, seeing the needle piercing his skin and her thumb down on the plunger. "See? Not too bad," he said, getting comfortable as she discarded the materials. They had fifteen minutes after all.

No witty remark, not sarcastic comment, instead he was rewarded with a long sigh and Mouse curling in on herself on the end of the bed, tucking her chin on her upturned knees. "That must suck." Her mumbled words were bit off with the quick open and shut of her chin on her knees. Her fingers tugged at the frayed hem of her long jumpsuit.

"I'm used to it."

"Not that. I mean…that." She made a vague gesture towards him and the air around him. "All of that."

He had no idea what to say to that. Suck didn't even cover it. "Well, it aint a walk in the park."

"No, I know. I mean…" She pushed her hair behind her ear. The strands were so short they barely stayed in place, swinging forward a second later. His hand reached her hair before she could correct it. He pushed her hair back, securing it in place, brushing his thumb against her cheek as she pulled away. She let out a small smile.

"I know what you mean," he said.

She pulled her lips into her mouth and tiptoed a little more. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He let out a humorless laugh. How could that even be broached? His throat was coated in barbed wire to keep everything about it inside, nothing got through that wasn't shredded and filtered. And she'd never asked before. Probably because he never let her ask. Never let his mom ask, either. It was his problem, his situation to handle or not handle at some points. His issue to find a sense of control over. But, in the end, it controlled him. And here it was controlling him again. Damn, was he tired of it.

"I don't know."

"You've never talked about it."

"Never wanted to. Figured if I didn't, it wouldn't exist."

"I get it."

He flopped back onto the bed, bringing an arm over his eyes, letting the weight of those three words settle on him. Not like the stack of bricks on his chest that made it difficult to breathe, but like a weighted blanket wrapping around him, protecting him, holding him. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything."

"I know. 'M still sorry."

"Thanks." Silence. Then, "Can we talk?"

"Thought that's what we're already doin'."

"I mean really talk."

"…Okay."

"Okay." More silence. Shapeless colors danced and twisted in the dark in front of his eyes. "Did you ever hate me?"

"Huh?"

"When we were kids. Did you ever hate me?"

"No." Hating her was the furthest from what he'd ever felt for her. What he still did.

"You could be mean."

"Yeah. It made things easier."

"Did it?"

"No. Not really. But it did."

"How was that easy?"

The longer he spoke the easier it was to unstick everything locked up inside him. "Because it was easier to push you away than it was for something to give you a reason to choose to go away."

"I never went away."

"I know. That made it worse."

"I'm…sorry?"

"Don't. It's my problem."

"You were my best friend. I don't think there's anything you could've done to make me go away."

"…You thought I did."

"Right." She clicked her tongue. Or so he thought the sound was. The mattress creaked under her shifting weight. "…Sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah I did." He sat up and forced himself to face her. Forced himself to face himself. "I kept lyin' to you."

"But not about that?"

He shook his head. "Not about that. I told you, I'd never steal from you."

"I believe you."

"Thanks." He breathed easy. He needed that. "I'd never hurt you like that."

"I know. Really, I do." He needed that too. The air between them, once so dusty and mottled, eased and he saw her on the other side. Really saw her. His Mickey. "I think I always did but—"

"I didn't help."

"You didn't," she agreed. "Why did you let me think you did it this long?"

"You were going to leave anyway." At her noise of disagreement, he shot back, "Everybody does. They realize I'm no good and give up. Just figured I'd save you the time."

"That was stupid."

It was. "Yeah, well…never been known for my smarts so…" He dug his thumb into the corner of his eye and then tucked his arms behind his head. "You used to look at me like I was your hero. I couldn't…" it took him a bit to unstick the right word from his throat, "…handle you not looking at me like that anymore."

"Oh." What a loaded word. What was oh supposed to mean? He used to be able to read her mind, now it was as if it were covered in twisted vines. "Things were easier when it was just us, y'know?" The light tone attached to her words carried them away like the look in her eye, as if she were seeing past him. "When no one else stuck their nose in it."

"I liked it that way."

"Me too."

"I like you that way."

"Yeah, well, it's just…" She grabbed at her hair and let out a growl. "People kept telling me I needed to do this or do that or like this or like that or do things this way or do things that way. It just…became easier. Letting people tell me what I liked and what I didn't, who I liked and who I didn't because then I couldn't be wrong. And everyone loved to point out how I was wrong. Or make me feel like I was wrong."

"Yeah, but then you weren't my Mickey."

"I know. After a while I didn't know how to make it stop. Because maybe they were seeing something I wasn't. Like, they kept telling me things so much it had to be right. Right? Like, like Alexis was so sure I liked Brett Walker and, well, that happened. And I never did, not really, not like that, but what did I know? Everything else was decided for me. Everyone else knew better because why else would they be so insistent? And I didn't know how to fight it anymore. It's dumb, I know—"

"It's not dumb. It's just—"

"My life. Yeah. And now I'm here."

He nodded. "Yep."

"Back with you. Right where I started. …Only now I'm a whore."

The word alone sent a sour shot through him. "Shut up."

"Well, it's true."

"No it aint."

She let out a hollow laugh and tugged at a thread. It came off in her fingers. "Might as well be, with everyone else thinkin' so."

"Who the fuck cares? You know what happened! You know what's true and you know you're not that. That's all you need to know." Her lips pressed into a tight line, and he heaved a heavy sigh. "Are you ever gonna forgive yourself?"

Her eyes widened and her head shot up. Maybe he shouldn't have said what he said but, fuck, he couldn't just let her tear herself apart. Especially to call herself something, to believe she was something he knew to his bones she wasn't. "Are you?"

What? This had nothing to do with him. But that fierce look in her eye hit him in the right way it nearly doubled him over. Their standoff lasted in the space between heartbeats and she all but deflated with her sigh, curling into a tighter ball.

"I just…I want to go back. To what we were."

"Don't think we can."

"I messed it all up," she said.

He did his best to hide his wince at the pain in his chest. She had to be talking about when she kissed him. So that was that. He supposed her avoiding him for days should have been an answer, but this made it clear. It was nothing but a mess up. A mistake. Great. "We both did," he corrected.

"Sounds about right for us." She clapped her hands together, the sharp sound making Squid jump. "Okay!" She waved her hands in the space in front of them, as if wiping away dust on a chalkboard. Wiping away all the bad air between them. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. He was still getting used to this hope thing. "Let's just…start over. All over. But we just…talk this time. Actually talk. We're not that good at it but starting is better than nothing, right?"

"No." He hadn't meant to be so blunt, hell habits die hard, but he hated the way she recoiled at the word. "I mean talking, fine, sure, but starting over won't help." His mom used to say the sign of insanity was doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Trying to go back was insane. Trying to pretend things weren't different was insane.

And he couldn't forget what they did. Couldn't forget the way she grabbed onto him, the way she kissed him, the way she filled his lungs with so much air for the first time he didn't feel like drowning. Even if she wanted to forget it.

"I don't…" He stumbled, trying to piece together the right sentence. He was rusty, not just sharing his feelings but what he needed. How did people do this? The more he tried, the more pressure built in his chest until the only thing that cobbled together came firing out in a gross ball of honesty: "I'm not a problem for you to fix."

"Is that what you…?" Her eyes squinted as if she were in pain, and she shook her head. "Squid, I never thought you were!" Sincerity oozed out of her and he still made a face of disbelief. "Really." He didn't take pity and he didn't take charity and maybe that's all this was. But hope still switched on in him, like a solitary flame, and he curled around it in the tiny chance he was wrong. "All the things I've done—okay, yeah, in hindsight it could look that way—I was just trying to help. You have so much talent, like with your art! But you never saw it or thought it could work out. And I know it can! You just needed to believe it too. You're gonna go far. You just need a push. But I get it. I'll stop." She blew out a raspberry, the sound cutting straight through the world they steadily build up around them. "I'm sorry. About everything."

"I'm sorry, too." Twice in one day. That's more than he'd ever said in his life.

A warm breeze passed through the tent, rustling the flaps. Shafts of sunlight squeezed in through the window cut into the walls, lighting up the dust mots as if glitter hung suspended in the air. Her hesitant smile squished against her knee though it didn't stop its full affect of sucker punching him. She reached out and lightly drew her fingers over the thin cords wrapped around his wrist. His skin ignited beneath her touch. She looked at him from beneath her lashes. Man, he was a goner. "So…am I your girl again?"

He cupped her cheek, rubbed his thumb against the curve of her smooth skin as he guided her head to lift. "Darlin', you always have been." Her skin stretched beneath his hand and his eyes dropped down to her lips to watch her smile, to keep it as a photograph in his mind. He lifted his eyes back to hers. "What now?"

"We move forward, I guess."

His fingers slid down the curve of her neck. Her pulse beat against his fingertips. "Just like that?"

Her tongue swiped against her lower lip. "Just like that."

Move forward.

Okay. He could do that.

And he did.

He moved forward until he couldn't move anymore, and he accepted this sweet resistance with a soft grip so as not to break the delicacy cradled in his hands. He breathed deep, let his lungs fill with the familiar billowy scents and carry him along the current charging through his body. It sparked at his fingertips, thrummed in his chest, and buzzed between their lips and had him continue searching for that connection, for that which set him alight like a livewire and crashed into him like a tidal wave.

He was the one to come up for air first, letting her fill his lungs this time, her presence, and the way her closed eyes slowly fluttered open, dazed, and the bashful smile lifting her lips and the way she turned her face into his palm on her cheek as if hiding away from him.

He lifted his thumb, lightly tapping the tip of her nose with it, earning him a soft giggle. He could bottle up that sound and live on it forever.

She turned back, just slightly, to peek at him, showing him the deep dimple popping into her cheek and the sparkler lighting up her eyes, so bright and blue as if a cloud hanging above the still waters had finally lifted.

"Hi," she uttered shyly, hands reaching up to wrap around his wrist, resting on his pulse.

He beamed. "Hi," he said back.

a/n - hi all! it's been a while. things got crazy in my life. i went to a cousin's wedding, got sick, got busy at work, got sick again (just mild colds, no Covid for either thankfully), got a new car, and am preparing to move. so it's been a lot! just like how long the wait has been for this update so please enjoy this long chapter and mickey and squid getting their shit together so they're finally in a really good place. thanks for being so patient with me! please read and review! i promise the next chapter will not take this long.

~CM

Also, Shawny, please let me know if I included anything wrong with the diabetes scene. I don't want to present false information on the experience.