A/N: Last chapter :) And Alex and Marco finally get their revenge at the end. :D This one is a little different on POV too, it goes from Alex to Marco and back to Alex. Sorry I keep switching like this, lol.

Alex

"I can't believe you punched her."

"She called me wannabe punk trash."

"I still can't believe you punched her."

I shrugged, leaning forward to rest my head in my hands, slumping forward on the kitchen table.

"She deserved it," I said reasonably.

Paige rolled her eyes, but I could see her trying hard not to smile. "Yeah. She did."

"You can't tell me you never totally lost it and hit someone. I remember you at Degrassi. There was that Santos girl, the Christian cheerleader chick..." I began to tick them off my fingers.

"Okay, so I haven't exactly been a saint," said Paige, exasperated. "That doesn't mean you had to go and hit her. You could've broken her nose."

"I tried to."

"I know."

"So, where's our other bestest new friend?" I asked, swinging my feet casually backward and forward under the chair. "Psycho-bitch number one?"

"Patricia? Don't know. Don't give a damn," Paige replied, shrugging.

I nodded sagely. "You've finally begun to learn, young one."

"Learn what?"

"Not to give a damn."

"Ah."

I sighed, beginning to get bored. We had been sitting here for nearly five entire minutes. "Where are Marco and Dylan?"

"Saying bye to everyone. That is, as long as they didn't get stuck in some bathroom along the way," Paige rolled her eyes in exasperation.

I laughed. "We could be here a while."

Paige smiled. "If they're not back in five minutes, me and you are finding a coat closet of our own."

I grinned, stretching back in my chair. "In that case, I sincerely hope they found a nice bathroom to make out in."

"Ew. My brother, Alex, my brother," she reminded me, looking disgusted.

"Sorry."

I sighed again, drumming my fingers impatiently on the table. The day had been entirely too long, and way too screwed up even for us. Well, maybe not...insane things seem to happen to us regularly. We certainly seemed to have developed a habit of attracting psycho's and less-than-desirable situations. I blame the Michalchuk's. It seems to be a policy that to love them is to get roped into at least three embarrassing, painful, or downright insane situations a year. All in all, it's worth it, though. I'm sure Marco would agree.

Anyway, right now all I wanted to do was leave the madness behind and go home, call Jay like I had promised myself, then perhaps sit and watch Saved By The Bell with Paige and Marco, who had recently converted my girlfriend into an avid fan. Okay, so maybe we wouldn't actually "watch" so much as make out...but those were mere technicalities.

"Hey."

I looked up, and raised my eyebrows coolly, holding my tongue and letting Paige take the lead on this one.

She looked up at Patricia standing in the doorway, looking oddly out of place. Paige nodded at her once.

"Hey."

Patricia walked slowly toward us, and sat down across from me. Her gaze immediately dropped to her lap, her mouth half-open, as though she wanted to speak, but was quickly thinking better of it.

"I don't suppose you came to apologize?" Paige asked bitterly.

Patricia closed her mouth again, but didn't look up. "Apologize for what?"

Paige actually laughed, a dry, humorless bark of laughter. "Oh, I don't know...for trying to steal my supposed 'boyfriend,' for trying to out me and Dylan to our entire family..."

"Are you really gay?"

I watched this exchange curiously. I wasn't quite sure where it was headed, but it intrigued me to no end. I didn't get the feeling that Patricia was genuinely sorry for everything she'd caused, but something was definitely on her mind.

Paige waved a hand, a disbelieving smile still etched onto her face. "Yeah. Why?"

Patricia took a deep breath, obviously bracing herself for something. "There's this podcast thing at school. We take hot topics and argue our points, and this week's topic is what some people see as the moral dilemma of homosexuality," she said professionally, and I got the idea that she'd worked all this out in her head beforehand.

"Is this going somewhere?" Paige interrupted rudely.

Patricia seemed to have to force herself to swallow a biting retort at Paige's interruption, along with a whole lot of pride to say what she did next.

"So... I'm of the opinion that...well, that there's nothing wrong with it. I was wondering if—you might look over some of the points I've got...if there was anything you could think of to add... from a gay woman's perspective, you know..."

Paige arched an eyebrow skeptically. "You want me to help you?"

I didn't blame her for being incredulous. This chick had some nerve asking Paige for help now.

Patricia sighed. "Look, it's not for me, okay? A lot of people listen to this show, and it's proven over the years to have quite a bit of influence. This isn't between you and me...it's a bigger thing, you know?" she tried to explain, shrugging. She bit her lip hopefully as she looked at Paige.

She shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm not sure."

"Please?" Patricia implored her. "I told you, this is a big thing. It could really mean something for your whole...community. You can even...I can get you a spot on the show if you want," she offered, looking resigned. "You can come and debate with the rest of us. We normally just have five of us who do the show, and we're all straight...it could be good to have a person who's actually gay doing a show about homosexuality."

Paige frowned in thought; she appeared to seriously considering. "Really? You can get me on the show?"

"Sure."

Paige took a deep breath. "Okay."

Patricia's face brightened. "Seriously?"

Paige nodded, appearing rather annoyed. With herself for agreeing, or with Patricia for simply being here in her presence, I wasn't sure, however.

"Yeah. I'll do it. You have my e-mail from about...what was it? Four years ago? It's still the same. Send me any info I need later, okay?"

Patricia grinned widely. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Paige," she said, standing up. "But, if I tell everyone you're coming, and we come up with questions for you or something, like an interview... you'll have to make sure you show up... so we're not left with lots of extra time with nothing to talk about," she warned. "It's Monday the tenth, can you do it then?"

"Don't worry. I'll be there. Just get together everything you need to tell me and send it to me via e-mail, okay?"

"Will do." Patricia started for the doorway, then stopped mid-stride and turned around. "Oh, and Paige?"

"Yeah?"

The brunette's face was one of pure internal anguish as she seemed to struggle with herself. "I am really..."

I cocked an eyebrow as I waited for her to finish her sentence.

Finally, she seemed to give up and concede defeat. "I'm really glad you're doing this."

Paige merely gave a jerk of her head, and Patricia left us in peace.

I didn't waste a second, rounding on Paige the moment Patricia was gone. "What the hell did you say 'yes' for?" I demanded harshly. "After everything she did? Well, tried to do?"

Paige shrugged. "Well, it's like she said... it's bigger than us. She put her pride aside to ask me for help. I can do that, too. This could be a good thing."

I suddenly felt very sick to my stomach with concern. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Paige Michalchuk?"

"I'm right here, Alex," she pointed out.

I laughed humorlessly and shook my head. "No...no, the Paige I know would've ground that bitch into the dust with some brilliant insult... and laughed about it. She would not have actually agreed to help her freaking nemesis..."

Paige stared at me. "Aren't you being a little dramatic?"

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. "Have you seen you in action?"

She sat back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest. "Look, I'm not doing this out of kindness, or because I want to help her, and I definitely don't forgive her... I'm doing it because I finally got what I want. I one-upped Patricia, and now she will always remember that even after the sleazy stunts that she pulled, I was the one big enough to help her afterwards, when she needed it."

Okay, now I was staring, my mouth hanging wide open as I mulled over this piece of information. "So... you're doing it to feel like the bigger person? Like you came off better?" I could kind of understand that. Maybe.

"Something like that," Paige said.

"Okay..."

But Paige had tilted her head back in her chair so that she was facing the ceiling, her eyes closed, looking more at ease than I had seen her all day. Maybe this was just some weird Paige-thing that she needed to do. And if that was true, then I was just going to have to accept that my girlfriend was totally insane.

Ah, Paige Michalchuk: One of the great unsolvable mysteries of the world.

Said great unsolvable mystery sighed. "Alex?" she asked miserably, as though hating herself but resigned to say what she must.

"Hmm?"

"She's counting on me to be there...making a spot and time for me on the show and everything. If I don't show...she's left with an awkward situation, too much time on her hands, and probably a few disgruntled co-podcast-staff members. Of course, they'll probably be able to cover," she said reasonably. "Sounds like they've been doing this long enough. But it wouldn't look good, and it would be quite an inconvenience if I didn't get the info with all the details."

"So?"

Paige's easy smile was wrenched into a smirk. "We live an hour and a half away, she doesn't have my phone number as far as I know... and I haven't used that e-mail address in three years."

Marco

I smiled as I stood off to the side, watching Dylan say good-bye to various family members. I'd already said my farewells, and was just observing as each of them hugged my boyfriend or clapped him on the back, some of them muttering in his ear or offering him a grin of their own. As a result, Dylan was beaming himself by the time he made his way back over to me.

"Ready to go?" he asked, habitually swinging an arm around my shoulders.

I nodded, smiling up at him. "So...how's everyone been?" I asked quietly as he steered me gently toward the front of the house.

Dylan shrugged. "Fine, for the most part. I think I made my Grandma kind of nervous, and Uncle Ray looked like he just had a heart attack...but other than that, no real problems."

"Good. And none of them hate me, right?" I asked tentatively. One thing I'd learned—not particularly from my own experience... but from a few friends' and such... was that people often had a tendency to look for someone else to blame for these sorts of things. Typically, the person dating whoever had just come out.

"Course not," Dylan assured me. "Who could ever hate you?"

"Oh, I can think of a few people."

Dylan's arm tightened around my shoulder. "Well, we're pretty much in a Michalchuk-inhabited space here...and you seem to have a pretty positive impact on us, going from past results."

I laughed. "Yeah, you're right. You do all love me," I said in mock arrogance.

He snorted. "We do, for some reason." Which earned him a smack on the shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"I want to thank you," he said sincerely. "For sticking up for me...and Paige too... we both really appreciate it."

I smirked. "Yeah, you guys so owe me and Alex."

"We really do," he agreed. "So, Mr. Del Rossi... what will be the preferred method of payment?" he grinned.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something," I said airily. Upon catching the over-enthused expression on his face however, I was quick to extinguish any sense of hope residing in my boyfriend.

"Oh, you're not getting off that easy, Michalchuk," I laughed. "Actually, as far as your payment is concerned...you won't be getting off at all. It's far too enjoyable for you...and considering everything you put me through you're going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that."

Dylan visibly paled.

Alex-- Later at Home

"Hey, Marco, pass the chips," I said, holding a hand out lazily for the bowl.

Marco didn't even glance up from the television screen on which his eyes were glued. "Dylan, pass Alex the chips," he ordered.

"It's empty," groaned Dylan, peering into the bottom of the bowl.

"Oh. Whoops," Marco said, peering into the bowl himself as though to make absolutely sure. "Dylan, go get some more chips."

Dylan scowled. "But Paige hasn't gotten up for the last half an hour. Isn't it her turn to do something?"

"Sorry, Dylan, Paige is a bit busy at the moment," I said, reclining further back into the pillows arranged carefully behind me. I wiggled my toes peeking out the bottom of the blanket thrown over me as I stretched, yawning lazily.

Paige clenched her teeth together. "Alex," she said in a voice of forced calm. "I told you before: you have got to stop moving. I cannot give you a decent pedicure if you keep moving your toes. I've already had to re-paint your left big one twice because of that."

"Sorry, Paigey," I said, thoroughly unconcerned. "Oh, and I think I changed my mind about the color, too. Black is so... thirty minutes ago. I want navy."

Paige forced a smile. "Let me go get it," she choked out, barely concealing her frustration. "Down at the nearest store, because we don't actually have navy nail polish..."

I shrugged. "Not my fault you don't have any cool colors. Maybe you should think of what I'd like next time you pick out nail polish."

"You've never...for even the slightest nanosecond... shown the tiniest desire to have your nails painted. Ever," she stressed vehemently.

I grinned wickedly. "Store closes in an hour, Paige. I want my navy polish."

"Dylan, aren't you supposed to be getting those chips?" Marco asked huffily. Dylan, his fists clenched dangerously tight around the bowl of remaining chip crumbs, stood up, striding past the couch Marco and I were sprawled out upon, and went to refill the bowl. He returned a moment later, shoving the newly filled bowl into my outstretched hand.

"There," he said, and I could practically hear the silent wish being added onto the sentence in his head, I hope you choke on it.

"Thanks."

He plopped back on the floor in front of the couch, taking Paige's just vacated spot, as she'd gotten up to get her purse to go navy-nail-polish-shopping.

"Oh, Dyl, could you change the channel? This show's boring me."

"Marco, the remote is two inches from your hand," Dylan gritted out.

Marco gave him a look as if to say, and your point is?

Sighing, Dylan got up and grabbed the remote from the arm of the couch, where it had, indeed, been resting just inches from Marco's fingers. I smiled and closed my eyes, listening to my raven-haired friend continue to order Curly around. I adjusted the small ice pack on my right hand, where it rested gently against my bruised knuckles. Damn, I hit hard.

Somewhere in the back of the house, if you strained to listen, Paige's forgotten cell phone was ringing and vibrating violently across the kitchen counter. Probably Patricia again, who had apparently gotten the number from someone and had been calling my girlfriend religiously after her no-show for the whole podcast debate thing. Either that, or it was Paige and Dylan's parents calling again. They hadn't been the happiest of campers upon finding out about their children's little incident during their brief absence. I seem to remember a few words something along the lines of 'gone for twenty minutes, and all hell breaks loose' and so on and so forth. They also hadn't exactly been thrilled upon learning I'd hit that bitch, Emily, though once Paige and I had hastily explained the situation, they had been considerably more sympathetic.

Ah, well. What are you going to do? They are all Michalchuk's, after all. Insane, irritating, pains in the ass most of the time.

And I wouldn't change a thing.