Happy Wednesday, everyone! I'm glad you liked the first part of this story. And yup, you all guessed correctly about Tasha's news story. There's going to be quite a bit of Bree-Tasha bonding in the next two chapters. Originally I was going to have a chapter for each family member to comfort Bree, but I realized that I didn't really want to write all that. So it's mostly just Tasha-Bree here.

And real quick to the Guest who asked me about an alternate ending to Mission Mania: Mia-Teresa-Davenport told me she wanted to do a story about that. I do have a few ideas for something original I could do with it, but we'll have to see. I'm pretty busy with other projects too. Who knows, though? Thanks for the suggestion!

Not sure there's anything else to say. Part Two moves a bit fast, I'll admit, but I didn't want to drag it out. (Also, fair warning, I'm awful at naming streets. And I don't know much about reporting.) I don't own Lab Rats. Enjoy!

* * * Part Two: Breaking (the) News * * *

Tasha gathered herself together and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She clutched her umbrella tightly in her hand and hurried to the spot she was supposed to be. Her cameraman pulled the equipment from the van.

A quick glance over at the wreckage nearby made Tasha feel a bit sick. Still, it was her job to cover disasters like this. The firemen, policemen, and paramedics were everywhere. Bits of metal were strewn across the road. Several cars had crashed in the forest nearby.

Tasha regained her composure and turned back to face the camera. She plastered a smile on her face and got ready to do her job. "Good evening, Mission Creek. I'm Tasha Davenport, here with the breaking news about the massive crash on West Appleton Freeway this evening. Here with me is Police Officer Carl Shue." She walked over to the man in the blue uniform. "Tell us what happened here, Carl."

"Well, Tasha," the officer said politely, "from what we can gather, it seems that one of the drivers spun out on a patch of wet road from the downpour this morning. He was completely out of control, and unfortunately, many other cars weren't able to get out of the way in time."

"That's too bad, Carl," Tasha said. Anchor lady face. Don't look sad.

"It really is. Seven people are being rushed to the hospital as we speak. Two have been proclaimed dead. A woman named Bethany Baker and a teenage boy named Ethan Harper."

Tasha felt her blood run cold. "I'm sorry, officer, did you say Ethan Harper?"

"Yes ma'am, I did. We've already contacted his family, and Bethany's too. It's a sad scene tonight. This is one of the worst car crashes in Mission Creek history. Um, Mrs. Davenport?"

"Oh, um, I'm sorry, Officer Carl . . ." Tasha trailed off. All thoughts about keeping an anchor lady face left her mind.

"Tasha, is something wrong?" the officer asked. Tasha could see the weird look the cameraman was giving her.

"I'm sorry," she said again. Without another word, she dropped her microphone and ran to her car, ignoring the calls for her to come back. She hopped into the driver's seat and started the car, heading in the direction opposite the crash. "I hope I don't lose my job," she muttered to herself.

Adam and Leo were finishing up their final rendition of "Let It Go." Mr. Davenport was standing at the counter, attempting to peel a banana while holding his ears. Bree was finishing up the popcorn, licking the remaining salt off her fingers. Chase was removing the DVD from the player, hoping it would discourage his brothers' singing. It didn't.

That was the scene when Tasha ran in through the front door. Everyone looked up at her, and Adam and Leo quickly finished the last note of the song. "Were you guys watching the news?" she asked frantically.

"Well of course not, you were reporting," Adam said.

Tasha ignored her stepson's comment. "There was a big accident on West Appleton Freeway this evening. People . . . died."

"That's very sad, Tasha," Mr. Davenport said from across the room. "But that kind of thing happens every day."

"Was it someone we know?" Chase asked.

"Bree, sweetie, would you come with me?" Tasha asked.

Bree looked at her brothers and her father before standing up to follow Tasha. As they were going upstairs, Leo called, "Should we come?"

Tasha motioned for Bree to keep going. Then she said quietly, "Let me tell Bree first. Just be patient."

The two girls went up to one of the guest rooms. The boys stayed down in the living room, looking at each other with confused expressions on their faces.

No one would ever know exactly what was said in that guest bedroom that night. Later on, they could guess. Surely Tasha was gentle; that was her nature. She was one to let someone down easy. She was a mother, and she knew how to talk with children. As overbearing and overprotective as she could be, she was a good mom. So there was no way she had an easy time relating the news to Bree.

The screams from the bedroom would be all the world would ever hear of that conversation. The yells of "You're lying!" and "Please, please, tell me you're joking!" and "It's not true! Not true!" followed by strangled sobs. Oh, those sobs. The boys downstairs shuddered.

It's not true. It's not true. This is a dream. This isn't happening. No. Please. No. Oh, no, no, no! Please. Don't let it be true. This is a big practical joke. This isn't happening. He can't be . . . he's not . . . oh, why, why? And I was mad at him . . . no. Please. No.

That was all she could think. Not a single coherent thought would enter her brain. Half of what she thought was just the word "No." Instant denial of what she was hearing. Her sobs drowned out everything around her.

The world tilted. Her vision was blurry. Her brain was fuzzy. It felt like her whole head was empty . . . or filled with tears. Her whole life fell apart right in front of her. Everything was wrong. Never had she felt so worn out, so sad, so terrified . . . so alone.

Even with the comforting arms wrapped around her, she felt like she was alone. No one could understand the pain she felt at that moment. Surely no one else could ever understand. Everything . . . everything was wrong. She didn't know what to think. What to do.

It felt like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. Everything hurt. Her whole body trembled, but she wasn't aware of it. She wasn't aware of anything. She slipped deeper and deeper into her stepmother's arms, hoping that somehow she could find comfort in them.

"Honey, you need to eat," Tasha said gently.

"I'm not hungry."

Tasha sighed. She wasn't even talking to a person. She was talking to a pile of sheets. Buried somewhere under there was her stepdaughter—no, no. Buried under those blankets was her beautiful daughter, her baby girl, the one she wanted to comfort and hold. "Please, Bree?"

"I said I'm not hungry."

Tasha sat on the foot of the bed. She placed the plate of chicken on the nearby desk. "Donald's worried about you. Something about needing your capsule . . ."

"I'm not using my bionics anyway."

"Please, sweetie, come out."

Slowly the blankets moved. Bree's face peered out, stained with tears and framed by messy hair. Tasha's heart went out to her.

"Oh, honey . . ."

"I'm not getting up," Bree said obstinately.

Tasha began rubbing the lump under the covers that was Bree's foot. "I know it hurts, baby."

"No, you don't," Bree sniffled. "You couldn't know how much it hurts. He . . . he was my first love. I . . . I thought we would . . . we were supposed to be eating dinner . . . and he was . . . he was . . ." The tears began again and she buried her face in her pillow.

Tasha sighed. "Actually, Bree, I know exactly how you feel."

Bree lifted her face and coughed. "How could you possibly know?"

"My first husband . . . his name was James. He was Leo's father. When Leo was just three years old, James was hit by a drunk driver. He died instantly. He was . . . coming home from work. I was making lasagna . . . his favorite . . . I haven't eaten lasagna since that night."

"Wow," Bree said softly. "I . . . I never knew that."

Tasha nodded. "It's hard to go through. I know. Believe me, Bree, I do. It's only been a week. Give it time."

"Does it get better?"

"In a way. You'll always feel sad, and wonder what could've happened if he hadn't . . ." Tasha trailed off. "Yes. You'll get better. I promise."

"It sure doesn't feel like it," Bree said. She began to play with her fingers. "We were supposed to go to the zoo today. It feels so wrong. Every time I get a text I expect it to be from him. I've even tried calling him a few times." She looked up mournfully. "He was only sixteen. Why did he have to die? He had his whole life ahead of him. He wanted to try out for the baseball team next year. He wanted to grow up and manage a hotel. That was his dream. I thought it was silly . . . why did I think it was silly?"

"We're all going to regret things. But spending time wondering about 'what might have been' is a waste. Bree, sweetie, Ethan wouldn't want you to sit around and mope."

Bree cringed at his name. "That's what they say in the movies and on TV. But . . . it's kinda true, isn't it? Ethan always loved that I could keep moving even when something bad happened. It would be awful to disappoint him now . . ."

"I'll tell you what: Ethan's funeral is on Sunday. That's tomorrow. We can get you cleaned up, and you can go. It might be good for saying goodbye."

"I never got to tell him how much he meant to me," she whispered.

"This will give you a chance. Please, Bree. Please go."

Bree nodded. She took a deep, shuddering breath and said, "Okay. I'll go."

How was it? I know, I know, not the best. But it seems like no matter how bad a job I do, you guys still love it. *shakes head* I'll never understand. But you guys are wonderful, okay? :)

('Kay, that was weird . . . Pages just crashed on me . . . thought I lost this for a moment . . . phew . . . we're good.)

Was it OOC for Bree? I feel like it was actually pretty okay. And don't forget this is more towards the beginning of the show. I'm proud of how I did Tasha. Usually I have a harder time writing her.

Real quick I want to apologize for falling behind on PMs/reviewing stories. This week has been kinda busy, and it's only getting busier. Tonight I get to shoot people with blow darts at church (a Hunger-Games-based event). If you think we Christians aren't fun . . . you've never played a youth group murder game. ;) Anyway, things have been kinda busy and a bit stressful in places, so just have patience with me, m'kay? Thanks for understanding!

Thanks to everyone for reading and for all the reviews I got last chapter. That was awesome! Keep them coming. ;) Anyway, see you on Friday for Part Three. Bye!