Say It With Flowers by Henabrey

See Part One for summaries/disclaimers etc.

Thankyou so much to everyone who reviewed part one - I'm so glad you liked it.

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Part Two: Half Open (Lilly)

So my partner kissed me today. I know, I couldn't believe it either. Of all the things that could happen to you in the evidence warehouse, that would be one of the things on the list of stuff you wouldn't expect. But, it happened. And I did the stupid, scared-little-girl thing and ran like hell. That's why I am where I am, in my car. I'm trying to go home. I even made it as far as my street but instead of parking I drove right on past my house and kept going. Now I'm driving around in circles, getting lost, trying to figure out exactly what the hell I'm doing and what I'm going to do next. Nothing like driving around in circles to make you confused. And I was confused enough to begin with.

I'm trying to forget what happened, but that's a damned hard thing to do when you can still taste his lips on yours. And here's the thing, I'm not even sure I want to forget. God help me.

It was a hell of a kiss, that was for sure, but that's not why the memory of it keeps stubbornly resurfacing in my mind. I've got the radio on, some stupid low-calorie pop song that no one will remember in six months - lite music - which is doing absolutely nothing to keep my mind on the neon-lit streets and off Scotty and the kiss he just gave me. The way he tasted. The way he looked. The way I felt.

I suppose you could say it started with the flower Scotty gave me yesterday. We were in the middle of this case, this hell of a case, murdered kids, raped kids, and I wasn't sleeping well. Wasn't going to until I'd caught the son of a bitch that did these things. I had their pictures by my bed, little angel faces that whispered in broken, despairing voices through my dreams and had me waking in the night clawing at the bedclothes, unable to return to sleep. There was a red hot ball of anger way down deep in my chest, and I had to get this guy. That's me, all about the job. Nothing to do with my own past, I'm sure.

Scotty asked me out to lunch after we were finished interviewing one of the victims - twenty years later and she still wears her pain like an overcoat, don't I know that feeling - and I wanted to say yes, really I did. We're not long back to an easy friendship, the way we were before...well, before, and I'm not long back to the point where I can genuinely enjoy his company without picturing him with my sister. And...and I just like to be around the guy. So I wanted to say yes and eat with him and try and make light, breezy conversation about things other than dead girls. But some days I'm not good company and I'm not good with company, and this was one of those days. I was brittle and felt like I was being chipped apart by the master sculptor that is anger and grief. So I said no.

He was disappointed, I could tell, but he hid it well. He knows me by now, at least as well as I let anyone know me, and he knows not to take my little rejections personally. Sometimes I just have to be on my own. So he smiled and we went our separate ways.

I ate a quick, tasteless hotdog and spent the rest of my lunch break walking the streets, taking comfort in the anonymity that big city streets lend its walkers. You can be alone without actually being alone when you're walking big city streets. Call it sanity preservation, call it whatever you want, but people never seem so separated from each other as when they're all crowded in together. Living and working on top of several million other people would drive you mad if you didn't erect what boundaries you could to keep everyone else's lives out of yours. I know all about boundaries, so I was right at home out on the pavement dodging people in suits. I found my way to a park and sat in the sunshine and ignored the hopeful birds and squirrels. There was a crazy dog chasing a frisbee thrown by its tshirt-clad owner. Simple lives, dogs. Eat, sleep, love, chase frisbees. Must be nice.

I stayed there until it was time to head back to work, scuffing my feet in the dirt underneath the bench I was sitting on, breathing in the sunshine-filled air, watching fallen leaves drift in the breeze. The crazy dog and its owner left. The squirrels and birds gave up on me. Gradually I felt myself calm.

I was nearly back at work when I saw Scotty in front of me, climbing the steps to the front door. Not sure why, but I called his name. Did I want company for the elevator ride back to the office? Whatever the reason, he turned and smiled at me. He has a nice smile. The kind that makes you warm inside, even when you try not to notice. The kind that makes you smile back. "Hey, Lil," he said.

"Hey," I said and joined him on the steps. He'd stopped climbing and was looking at me. Looking glad to see me, actually. "I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch." I still kind of wish I had, but the solitude and the walk had done me good. I was feeling better. Driven, but not feeling like I was going to shake apart. I didn't offer an explanation for why I hadn't joined him. I didn't need to.

"No problem," he said, and I knew it wasn't. He was watching me, still looking glad to see me, and there was something unreadable in those beautiful bottomless eyes of his. Something that made me want to look away. I looked down, and that's when I noticed he was holding a flower. Cute, red, fluffy yellow insides. I couldn't pick the type but I'm no expert on flowers.

"What's with the flower, Scotty?"

He looked down, too, and a completely unconvincing look of surprise crossed his face. "What, this flower?" he asked, like he'd suddenly just remembered it. I wanted to laugh. "Oh, this is, uh, this is for you."

For a second I wondered if I'd heard him properly. Scotty got me a flower? But yes, he was holding it out for me to take, and he looked nervous, and all I could think was this was the sweetest, cutest moment of my life. It sure beat my previous best, the time I was twelve and Bobby Fielding started belting out showtunes in front of the whole school before asking me to marry him. Completely cute, but completely embarrassing. He proposed to Linda Bauer the next day. Weird kid, that Bobby Fielding. I must have had a strange look on my face because Scotty started babbling, trying to explain himself, and I could barely listen to what he was saying because the only thing in my head was, Scotty got me a flower?

I think he said he wanted to make me smile. Well, it worked - by the time he finished speaking I was grinning from ear to ear. He looked pretty pleased with himself. Mission accomplished, I guess.

But it was more than that, too. He liked making me happy, which is not something I'm used to from anyone, and it gave me this silly little hot ball of joy somewhere deep inside me. I told myself I was being stupid, it was just a little flower from a co-worker and nothing to get excited about. But I couldn't stop smiling.

I guess you can tell by now I have more-than-partnerly feelings for my partner. God knows I shouldn't, and I don't want to act on them. At least I tell myself I don't want to. It's just that, when I let myself, I can't help but wonder about him. Most of the time I keep it squashed right down where it never sees the light of day. Friend and partner, that's it. Except now he'd given me this flower, and there was a little voice inside me that asked if maybe he had more-than-partnerly feelings of his own.

Friend and partner, that's it, I told myself firmly.

Oh, yes, I know he kissed me. I'm getting to that.

I realised then that he was still holding the flower out for me to take, and he had a silly grin on his face. That little voice inside me wanted to know what would happen if I kissed him, but I shoved it back down where it belonged. I reached out and took the flower from him, pretending I didn't get goosebumps from where my hand touched his skin.

"Thankyou," I said, and had to turn away and head up the steps to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks.

My little flower found a home in a spare coffee mug which I placed on my desk. Vera gave me hell about it, of course, but I refused to bite. Instead I tried to bury myself in the case. My lunchtime walk - and, let's face it, the little flower - had rejuvenated me and that afternoon the case just seemed to come together. We were close to unravelling it and getting the bastard we were after, and we all knew it. I threw myself in like I always do, the hunger for justice getting hotter and brighter the closer we got to the truth. And yet - there was the flower. My mind kept coming back to it and I couldn't stop sneaking little glances at it, and each time I did that little feeling of warmth erupted inside me. Underneath the all-business work clothes and the ice queen mask I guess I'm just a typical girl at heart - and being given a flower, even from a co-worker who was just a friend and partner, made me happy. Here I was trying to put a sick, murdering bastard behind bars where he belonged and I couldn't keep a smile off my face. God help me if Vera saw me; I'd never live it down.

I was also sneaking little glances at Scotty. I couldn't help it. It's something I've always done, now and then, when I can't stop myself. Let's face it, the man is easy on the eye, and while I won't let myself think about him that way, I can't help but...window shop. So that afternoon I couldn't stop flicking my gaze in his direction. Once when I looked up it was to find his eyes on mine. I think we were both shocked - I know my heart stopped for a second. I was surprised to find him looking at me, but if I'm being completely honest I would have to admit it was a pleasant surprise - that little voice inside me was triumphant. I liked him looking at me. I couldn't stop the blush that spread across my face - curse my fair skin - and I couldn't stop the little smile that curved my lips. As I watched him, he smiled a smile of his own, and that warmth inside me got a little bit hotter. I had to look away - I was giving myself ideas I shouldn't have.

Read whatever you like into it, but I slept surprisingly well.

We got the break we needed late morning the next day - today, hard as it is to believe - and we were able to join the pondscum Donald Franklin for lunch. Shame, I don't think he was pleased to see us. He still wasn't pleased when we brought him back to headquarters and sat him in the interview room and let me at him. He wasn't pleased but he told me what I needed to hear. They usually do. So that was it. Late afternoon and another bad guy off the streets. One down, thousands to go.

Early evening and the paperwork was all done. Franklin got his phone call and his lawyer and we got to wave him goodbye as he headed off to the lockup. Scotty offered to help me carry the evidence boxes back to the warehouse. I'm sure he was just being chivalrous, but that stupid little voice inside me that wouldn't shut up wondered if maybe he wanted to be alone with me. Either way, his presence was making me nervous. After all, it was the first time I'd been alone with him since he gave me the flower. I managed to hold up my end of the conversation - about the case, not about the flower - but I couldn't keep a smile off my face, which I had to try and hide from him, and my eyes would just glance over at him from time to time despite my best intentions. At his hands, his mouth, darting, hummingbird-like, at his eyes. I felt stupidly like a schoolgirl.

Before we go any further, I should insist that I really wasn't intending for this to go anywhere. Like I said, I normally kept my feelings for Scotty squashed way down deep where I didn't have to think of them and it was just the little flower he'd given me had stirred things up. Got through my defences. All I needed was a little time and I'd be back to my normal self. But Scotty didn't give me any time.

I put the evidence boxes on the shelf and triumphantly wrote 'closed' on them in black marker. As I do after every case is closed, I felt that burning need for justice inside me dissipate a little. I always feel just that tiny bit lighter, more normal, whenever I can bring someone to face justice for the things they'd done.

I turned around to find Scotty way too close. I was shocked. My mind, trying to protect myself as usual, insisted there must be a perfectly innocent and logical explanation for Scotty suddenly being within kissing distance. Like there was an evidence box about to fall on my head and he was trying to catch it. Or a tarantula. Something like that. But, no - one look at his eyes and I could tell why he was so close. Dear God, he kept looking at my mouth. I knew what he wanted.

"What are you doing?" I asked, in a husky voice that was completely different from my normal one. That little voice inside me was singing. The rest of me was too surprised to do anything except stare into Scotty's bottomless, drinkable eyes. Eyes I could drown in.

He didn't answer, merely reached out with one hand and brushed aside a tendril of my hair that had fallen out of place. His fingers touched my skin and I shivered. Where was all my control now, my ice-queen mask? I don't let myself think of you, Scotty, but you want to kiss me right here at work where anyone might see us? Go right ahead. Don't even have to buy me dinner first.

Part of me was scared - no, terrified - and wanted to get the hell out of there before he got any closer and changed things between us forever. But another part of me was thinking thank God, finally.

Then he was leaning in and my eyes were falling closed and he was kissing me.

My God, the man could kiss. His lips were insistent, warm and firm, and I was responding to him, welcoming him even. The hand that had brushed away my hair was still resting on my face, gently and softly caressing, burning a hole in my skin. I could taste the coffee he'd been drinking. The part of my mind that hadn't gone completely and blissfully blank wanted this as much as he did. Oh, did I want this. My body was humming. One hand found the back of his neck.

Then his free hand stole around my waist, pulling my body into his, and the sudden crushing contact with him brought me back to myself. What was I doing? What the hell was I doing, letting him kiss me? This wasn't me. This wasn't something I'd do, not right here at work. I had carefully constructed don't-come-any-closer walls around me to keep everything in my life safely separate and in just a few seconds he'd knocked them all down. I was frantic to rebuild the rubble into something that could protect me. I had to get out of there. The touch of his hands and the taste of him on my lips had me wanting things I shouldn't, couldn't, want. Wanting things like that gets you hurt, and I was so sick and tired of being hurt.

But I wanted them all the same.

I was torn, confused. One part of me wanted to lean back into him and continue what he'd started. Maybe give Vera a heart attack if he walked in on us. The rest of me, the scared and hurt part of me was desperately trying to establish control. This will lead to pain, it was telling me. It's safer keeping your distance. It's safer not to be kissing him.

Earlier, he'd taken my breath away with his touch. Now, panic was having the same effect. I didn't know what I was doing, what I wanted, I only knew I had to get out of there. The hand I'd wound around his neck was now on his chest, pushing him away. He stopped kissing me immediately, pulling back just far enough to look in my eyes. He looked so disappointed at what he found there. I felt sorry, more than sorry, but it didn't stop me needing to get away from him.

"Let me go," I said, trying to sound firm. He was still gripping me tightly, as if he hoped to delay what I was so obviously about to do. I wanted to tell him it was like trying to hold back the tide - I was on automatic, flight not fight, and I was leaving whether he tried to stop me or not.

"Lil -" he said, struggling to find words. But I was beyond listening, almost faint from the vice of fear and anguish wrapped around my heart. I just couldn't stay there another second.

"Damn you, let me go," I insisted, and fought my way free. I caught one glimpse of his face, had one stupid moment of overwhelming desire to kiss away the expression I saw there, and then I was gone, out of the evidence warehouse, out of the building, ignoring Vera's and Jefferies' surprised farewells, out of the car park with a screech of tyres.

Out of my mind.

So that's why I am where I am, in my car, driving around in circles and trying to go home. Or, I was trying to go home. Now I don't know what I'm doing. Now I've got control of myself I'm starting to have second thoughts. And I feel pretty shabby at what I've just done to Scotty.

I'm not angry, really I'm not, but I'm afraid he thinks I am. He must think I never want to see him again. He's probably sitting in a bar somewhere drafting a request for transfer. And I've got this burning desire to find him and tell him it's okay.

See, that's what's confusing me. The normal Lilly Rush thing to do would be to go home, not think about Scotty kissing me, and go back to work tomorrow and act like nothing had happened. Business as usual, in other words. That would be the safest thing. Scotty would follow my lead, I'm sure, once he saw I didn't want to talk about it. And I could carry on fooling myself.

Yes, that's what I should want to do. It's just that I don't. What I want to do is find him and...well, telling him it's okay will do for starters.

Okay, now what?

I guess I have two choices: the Lilly Rush thing or...not. Pretend nothing happened, or find him and start something. This is not the sort of thing to decide while driving around in Philadelphia traffic without having eaten and with my skin still tingling from his touch, but I need to. I can't go home until I know what I'm doing. But surely there's only one thing I can do...I'm not really thinking of being with Scotty, am I? Am I?

Night has fallen while I've been driving. People who have homes to go to are heading back to them and the night people, the hookers and the pimps and the junkies, have surfaced and are standing on street corners looking for action. They look cold; it's not winter yet but there is a definite chill in the air. A group of homeless people warm their hands over a fire they've lit in a metal drum. Some of them look achingly young. People in warm coats and scarves heading to restaurants, theatres and clubs sidestep them, pretending not to see.

I've stuck to the backstreets, not wanting to come up against any traffic requiring quick reflexes in my current distracted state, slipping along the quieter streets on autopilot. I don't know where I'm going but I seem to know how to get there; my hands turn the wheel of their own accord and leave me to my reflections.

I've always kept walls around myself, as long as I can remember. I've had to. In the neighbourhoods I grew up in, you either learned to protect yourself against the world real fast or you got chewed up and swallowed by the poverty, the misery and the violence that was an everyday occurrence. You armoured up like a soldier going to war - in some ways that was exactly what we were. Some kids armed themselves literally, with knives and guns and razor sharp bravado that got them dead or in jail before their eighteenth birthday. Some used the artificial shields of the bottle or drugs or sex to cut themselves off from hollow-eyed reality. I can tell you all about that. I grew up with that type of person. She called herself my mother. Me? I was part of another group of survivors, the ones who wall themselves up. We cut ourselves off so nothing and no one can get to us and we dream of getting out. You learn you can survive anything if you can keep it all at arms distance - from my mother's mercurial swings between indifferent neglect and scotch-scented plaintive affection to the men she'd bring home that spoke with their fists and undressed me with their eyes to the heavy footsteps behind me one night on a rain-soaked sidewalk that signified the sudden and brutal end of my childhood. I got my dream; I got on the back of a bike aged nineteen and never looked back. But the funny thing is you can go as far as you like, all the way to Tennessee or the Homicide Department, but you can't always outrun your childhood.

Those walls, those hastily, desperately constructed, paper-thin walls of my childhood are with me still, and they've grown into solid stone. Me on one side, the rest of the world on the other. I've felt safer that way. I've learnt the hard way, over and over again, that letting people inside those walls gets me hurt. And it's the Patricks and the Kites of the world, who I've let not only past my walls but into my bed, that have hurt me the most. No one could blame me for being reluctant to open myself up to that sort of heartache again. I probably missed any hints of other-than-friends feelings Scotty's given away over the past three years because I was too busy ignoring any hint of anything other than casual friendship from anyone, from appreciative glances from strangers to outright flirtation. It's easier to pretend they don't exist. Scotty had to jump me in the evidence warehouse before I'd acknowledge what lay between us.

I thought it was best living that way; few friends, fewer lovers, keeping everyone at arm's length. Even the guys at work that I'd trust with my life don't get more than a few glimpses into my private world. It seemed easier, safer, not taking the risk of being anything other than cut off from the people around me. Until last year, when I nearly died at the hands of a serial killer. I had a good long look at myself after that, and I didn't really like what I saw. What I saw looked lonely - safe, but lonely. I felt lonely. I've been wafting around all year like a ghost, wanting to change myself but not sure how to go about it, feeling alone and cut off and wanting to reach out and afraid, so afraid. Scotty could be what I need, a lifeline between myself and the rest of humanity, maybe even a normal existence. But I'm scared.

I've had trouble convincing myself that just because I'm not happy hiding myself away, that it necessarily means I'll be happier being more open with people. If I'm not happy being alone, will I really be happier being with someone? Being with Scotty? It's a risk. And when it comes to myself I don't like risk. I take a risk like that, there's no going back to the way things were even if I wanted them to.

I shuffle back and forth like a kid on the highest diving platform, who wants to leap into the warm blue water below them but can't convince themselves they won't get hurt when they land.

I drove right past my house awhile back, meaning to stop but somehow unable to pull the car off the road. Now I find I'm outside Scotty's apartment building without having meant to come here. Think I'm trying to tell myself something? Okay, I want to see him. Either way, whatever I decide, he needs to know I don't hate him. And I want him to know that tonight.

I hang on his doorbell. I'm not expecting him to be home, and sure enough there's no answer. He could be hiding up there, refusing to answer, but there are no lights in his windows. He's not there. Now where? I suppose I could try back at work, see if he's still there. I know all about burying myself in work to avoid thinking about things.

Unless...he's not thinking about things. Maybe I've got myself all worked up over nothing. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe he just kissed me because he felt like it at the time without actually feeling anything for me. Or expecting anything from me. Maybe he did it just to see if he could, if I'd let him. Boost his ego if the Homicide Ice Queen would let him get close enough to touch. Yeah, that could be it. Then we could go back to working together like nothing happened and I can pretend I don't have a knife of disappointment in my heart.

Yeah, I said disappointment. Subconscious at work. I don't know what I'm doing about all this yet, but I'd be disappointed if all Scotty wanted from me was fleeting contact. Does that make me cruel? Or vain?

I'll try work, see if he's there.

I know it's crap, thinking it meant nothing to him. If we were different types of people with a different type of past between us I might think that a kiss could be a kiss and nothing more. But I'm not the sort of person who shares kisses like they mean nothing, and Scotty would know that. He wouldn't kiss me unless he was looking to do it on a regular basis. I was just trying to give myself an out. If it meant nothing to him, you see, I could pretend it meant nothing to me and I wouldn't have to make a decision.

Besides, I saw the look on his face right before he kissed me. He couldn't hide what he was feeling, and I can't keep hiding what I feel from myself. Sorry, Rush, you'll have to make a decision after all.

The city lights flash past me as I drive, maybe a little too fast, back to headquarters. I wanted to see him before; now I need to. To be with or not to be with, that is the question. To kiss or not to kiss, and I need to look in his eyes before I can decide. The thought of him kissing me again gives me shivers and spreads a little pool of warmth down low in my stomach. I cut the feeling off with impatience. Can't go thinking with my body or I'll never get anywhere. Or, at least, anywhere well thought out.

I had an argument with my mother recently, when I met the fourth man she swore she was going to spend the rest of her life with. That's my mom and me. We can't spend time together without sniping at each other, taking bitter little swipes like a couple of sparring cats. I can't help punishing her because now I'm grown up and I can hurt her, fling her overtures back in her face and take angry pleasure when the barbs find her heart. She can't help punishing me for getting out of the life she gave me, and she knows how to get me where it hurts, knows how to twist the knife in. Least I'm not alone, she said, spitting my solitary existence at me. Look at Lilly, bigshot detective but she can't find a man, can she? She dresses it up to look like motherly concern - you deserve it too, Lilly. To just be happy - but I don't buy it now any more than I did when I was a kid and she swore that the morning's hangover would be her last. I'd think it was self-hate turned outwards at me if I didn't know better. But she's incapable of recognising anything within herself worthy of dislike. Self-hate she can't do, but she's a grand master at self-deception.

Look at me, changing the subject.

I'd rather be alone than be like her, bouncing from one inappropriate man to the next. But I don't want to be alone, either. I want someone in my life. I want someone I can laugh with, someone who'll hold me and tell me it will all be okay, who'll love me, support me, accept me despite all my secret fragilities and my total dedication to my job. Someone who can fill the empty void in my house and my heart just by being next to me.

Can I see Scotty in that role?

Hmm, Scotty. He's cocky, confident - too confident, sometimes - but occasionally I catch a look in his eyes that suggests it's all a front for something much less secure. Much like the masks I wear myself. He's strong, patient, passionate, no Shakespearian scholar perhaps but smart anyway, a good and dedicated cop. A good guy. He understands and even shares my devotion to the job. If there's anyone I can trust not to cut and run when I spend half the night on my front step with a witness, it's Scotty. He makes me laugh. And those eyes of his make me melt.

There was Christina, yes. Not so long ago I could barely look at him, the sense of betrayal I felt was so great. It wasn't just that he lied about seeing her, although that was bad enough for someone with the trust issues I have. No, it was that he'd got too close to me without being invited, swapping pillow talk with one of the few people in the world who could tell him virtually anything he wanted to know about me. And he's not afraid to ask the nosy questions. I panicked and reacted like a threatened snake. Hurt? Like I'd been cut open with a knife, and I couldn't help trying to hurt back.

Time has given me a little more perspective. Christina is easy to be with - warm, sweet, inviting, not like me at all. Just the thing when you don't want to think or feel anything beyond immediate desire. Chris has always been good at finding men like that and fitting in right where they need her. And Scotty was hurting so much then: can I really blame him for wanting to just sink into something that could mask it all for even a little while? I could then, when pain had me not thinking straight, but I've moved past it now. I can't hold a grudge for a stupid mistake.

Besides, am I going to let Christina stand in the way of something that could be really great?

Hell, no. It's just me that's the problem.

Scotty's not at work and neither's anyone else. Just as well, as I don't think I could come up with an excuse for being back here. I'm just here to find out why Scotty kissed me and whether I want him to do it again. Maybe not. His car is in the car park, however, so wherever he is has to be within walking distance. Plenty of bars fit that description.

I walk the cold, dark and haunted streets, looking for him. The night people glance at me, glance away. I'm the wrong gender for the hookers and pimps, walking too purposefully for the homeless, who can sense a hopeless case when they see one, and the shape of my gun that I let fill out the right side of my coat warns off the junkies. As I walk I think about him. I think about the way he looked right before he kissed me, the heat in his eyes. His very soul seemed on fire. The way he looked after as he watched me fight my way free of his grasp. The way he brings me coffee without my asking. The way he does a thousand little things for me. The way he puts up with all my issues. The way he smiles at me.

There was something else my mother said to me, earlier when I met her for coffee. When someone's right for you, she said, you feel it undeniably in your bones. You ever had that feeling? I hadn't - sad, isn't it? - but tonight, as I wander the streets, searching them for Scotty and searching inside myself for something else - truth, courage - tonight I do. I've got that feeling, not only in my bones but in every cell of my body. It's just I'd been too afraid to see it before.

The second bar I come to - a real dive - has a familiar form sitting hunched over the counter. I stand outside a moment, watching the dejected shape of his shoulders. My heart goes out to him. I wish I had stayed with him in the warehouse instead of running. I wish I were the type of person who could do that. But I'm not; panic first, feel bad about it later. I can see now, though, what I couldn't see right at the moment he kissed me - that I want to be with him. I just need to let go of my fears. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, afraid to jump in case I don't fly. I need to look into Scotty's eyes and find something in there that will persuade me I won't fall. I open the door and, feeling more nervous than I have in my entire life, walk inside.

End of Part Two

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