Ok, last chapter was WAY angsty, so I decided to lighten it up a bit this one. Hopefully it works. And the answer to my question last chapter: Casetti/Ratchett is a character from 'Murder on the Orient Express'. Congrats to Bookjunkie-22 for getting it right! You win… um… this mention? And a really quick update! Cause I'm bored and trying to stay awake.

Also, 100 reviews! Yayness. I'm all sorts of happy. Have I mentioned I love all of you (even the lurkers – I know you're there!) Thanks for reading, you guys rock my world.

Btw, this may be my favorite chapter so far (it's fighting for that honor with last chapter).

Music: and when I lie behind you… I think 'will we sink or swim?', cause we could do either on a whim

"What now?" she gives a desperate whining sob, and I can picture her – hair a mess, not even bothering to open her eyes. She knows who's calling her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say as nonchalantly as I can, completely ignoring the panic that's making my heart try to bust out of my ribcage, "were you sleeping?"

"Ryan, I swear to God…" she moans in frustration and over the phone I can hear her shifting. "I told you we could talk in the morning."

"It is morning," I shrug, looking over at the clock next to my bed. "Two twenty-three in the morning, to be exact."

"I'm hanging up."

She does and I shut my own phone in response. Then I set the alarm and lay down.

I swear to God, I'm turning my cell phone off.

The buzzing wakes me up and I glance at the alarm clock next to the bed. Two fifty-eight.

That's it. I've had enough of him.

"Ryan," I grit out angrily when I flip the damn thing open, "stop calling."

"Nope."

I hang up.

My cell phone alarm wakes me up and my eyes open without protest. Which is weird, because usually not getting sleep makes me a little zombie-like, but right now I'm wide awake.

I'm on a mission.

I flip the phone open and hit redial, waiting. She picks up on the fourth ring.

"This isn't helping your case," she tells me, sounding more worn down than angry. Good. The plan's working.

"Uh huh." I know me being nonplussed about this is making her even more frustrated, and I go with it. "So Sophie's birthday's coming up in a month, and I was thinking of getting her an art set, because she keeps talking about how she wants to draw like Seth does…"

"If I promise to come home the minute the sun rises, will you stop calling me?" she interrupts with a desperate whine and I feel the smile break across my face.

"Yes."

"Ok!" she really sounds desperate now. "I promise. I'll come home, ok? So please – please – let me sleep?"

"Goodnight, Taylor."

It's not till I've hung up, put my cell on the nightstand, lay down, and pulled the covers over me that the relief hits me. And not just hits me – chokes me.

Fuck, I'd been playing with fire there – calling her every half hour since that first phone call. That was stupid of me. That was… just… fucking spectacularly idiotic. I could've pissed her off more. I could've chased her away more. I could've lost her.

What had I been thinking?

Well, truthfully, I hadn't been. My first – and really only – thought had been to convince her to come home. The method I chose? Not the best. I could've waited until she called me tomorrow morning, but it's kinda hard falling asleep when the woman you're so fucking desperately in love with may leave you. So I guess I can play the love card here. I mean, Seth gets to use it a lot for his idiotic behavior, I should too, right?

Right?

Finally.

Sleep.

Precious sleep.

...except it doesn't come.

Go figure, the minute he gives me permission to sleep, I can't. Go freaking figure. And it's not like I'm not tired. I am. I'm really tired – yesterday took a lot out of me. Ryan, the kid, the argument.

You're just like your mother.

But there's this weird feeling in my chest and no matter which way I turn, I can't make it go away. I haven't felt this since… since he proposed. It's the same feeling I got when he suggested we live together, when he told me he loved me for the first time, when he first kissed me. It's the feeling I get whenever Ryan and I have a first in our relationship. But what is this? It's definitely not our first fight; it's not our first make-up.

Oh.

It's the first time he's fought for me.

I mean really fought for me – not when he was just telling me I was being an idiot, or trying to out-do my ex-husband. This wasn't a jealous fighting for me. And it wasn't a passive move. He'd been persistent. He'd been unbending in his decision. He'd been… well, me. Or, the me that stalked him, way back when, or the me that told him no – and meant it – all those times he tried to end our relationship over something stupid.

Well thank God. I was beginning to worry there.

I've been up since five.

And considering I only caught twenty minute naps from about eleven to four in the morning, let's just say I didn't get a lot of sleep.

But I'm wide awake.

It may have something to do with the entire pot of coffee I've already downed in the past hour, but I think it may have more to do with the fact that Taylor's coming home.

When is she coming home? She said the minute the sun came up, but it's been up for friggen fifteen minutes, and she's not here, goddamnit. Where is she? What if she only promised she'd come home to get me to stop calling? What if she's not coming home? What if she went back to France? What if she went back to Henri-Michel? Crap, now I have to go to France and beat the bastard up, and I hate flying.

Whoa.

I have got to stop drinking coffee.

Seriously. I'm having Taylor-like rambles in my head and I haven't been able to stop moving. I started out pacing through the kitchen, and then I went to sit on the living room couch, but then I had to get up because the couch doesn't face the door, so now I'm sitting at the kitchen table, drumming my hands against the wood and shifting every three seconds.

And I have to pee.

Stupid entire pot of coffee.

But I refuse to go to the bathroom. What if she comes home while I'm in there? Then she'll think I'm not here. Then she'll think I don't care. Then she'll leave and she'll fly to France, where she'll go back to Henri-Michel, and holy motherfucking shit, I have got to stop drinking coffee.

I almost knock the entire table over trying to stand up when I hear the knock on the door.

Fuck.

She's here.

Fuck.

I don't remember what I was gonna say to her. I don't remember any of my carefully thought out please, for the love of God, forgive me tactics. Shit. What if I open the door and I can't say anything? Then she'll get mad, or upset, and she'll leave, and she'll go to France, and fucking Henri-Michel will be all 'look at me, I'm French and romantic, I'll take care of you'.

Ok, I swear, I'm never drinking again.

Coffee.

I'm never drinking coffee again.

A second knock – louder this time – makes me realize I've been standing in the kitchen for a good three minutes, and I stumble past the chair, down the hall and to the door. And it strikes me as weird – as I'm reaching for the doorknob – that Taylor's knocking. She has a key. I turn the handle and open the door.

"Trey?"

What the fuck?

"Ryan?" He looks confused, which is pretty much what I'm going for, too. "I thought Taylor lived here…"

Taylor? He knows Taylor? How the hell does he know Taylor? Did they meet when he was in Newport? Oh my God, what if they met and he slept with her? He used to hit on Newport girls all the time. What if he slept with her, and eight years later was in the area and decided he'd come by and visit for a quickie?

Fuck, my brother slept with my fiancée?

Oh my God. Never drinking coffee again.

"Um. What are you doing here?" I sound surprisingly calm, considering the way my mind is going batshit insane. And I'm pretty sure there's a muscle in my arm that keeps twitching.

"Well," he starts, and I notice the way he barely looks me in the eye, "your wedding's in a couple days, and we came up early…" he trails off, swallowing thickly.

Wait, we?

"We?"

That gets him to look up at me. "Me and Jess… didn't Taylor tell you?"

Trey and Jess… Sathers? And Taylor was supposed to tell me? Fuck. Vegas. She went to Vegas to see Trey.

I fucking hate Vegas.

When I look up at him again, he looks… scared. I don't think, in all the years I've known my brother, I've ever really seen him scared. It makes me feel a little sick, because it's my fault. He's not afraid of getting beaten. He's afraid of me telling him to go away. That I hate him.

Fuck. I don't hate him.

I thought I did. All these years, I've told myself I hate him. But seeing him now… I just don't. I don't hate him, but I don't trust him, either. And I'm not sure I can forgive him.

And I can't turn him away.

Fuck. What am I supposed to do now? Because he's waiting for me to say something – anything – and I'm standing here like an idiot. Say something, idiot.

"I have to pee."

Ok. I've decided my official stance on the whole bringing home a child without telling me thing is this: I'm angry.

I'm still going to marry him – the stupid bastard – and I'm going to help take care of Cody, but I won't forgive Ryan for this for a while. He sprung this on me, which is so unfair. Because now I look like the bitch – running out on him and the kid. I look like the selfish, horrible one.

If he had just given me some time, I could've come home and been ok with it. Because now that I've had time to think about it, it's not a horrible idea. Yes, I want children with Ryan, and I can still have them. He won't be any less attentive to them because of Cody, and our children will grow up having a big brother to love and take care of them. How can that be bad?

Yes, it's scary, but what isn't? Hell, getting married still terrifies me. I pretend like it doesn't – even Summer doesn't know I'm scared – but I am. I think it's because of how the whole Henri-Michel thing turned out. I mean, my relationship with Ryan is nothing like my relationship with Henri-Michel ever was, but that doesn't matter. Marriage is marriage.

It's then that I realize I'm home, and I shut off the car and get out. Huh. I don't even remember driving here. Oh well. I walk up the stairs and slide the key into the door. For some reason, I open it slowly, like I'm going to find something horrible behind the door. I just don't want to fight with him anymore. I'm angry, but I don't have the energy to argue – I didn't get much sleep last night.

Maybe that was his plan.

Damn him.

I walk into the apartment and stop, because crap.

"Taylor." His voice is absolutely dead as he looks at me over his cup of coffee. And across the table from him is Trey.

Crap.

"Ryan. Trey." Trey just nods at me – he doesn't say anything. I think he senses the tension – or maybe Ryan told him about our fight? – and he doesn't want to interrupt.

"Can I talk to you?" Ryan monotones at me, getting up from the kitchen table. "Alone?"

I bite my lip and nod, heading for our bedroom, my heart going a mile a minute, because crap, Trey wasn't supposed to come up this soon. He was supposed to come up after I told Ryan… which I was totally planning to do, but I forgot in all the Cody business.

Oh my God, it's all so dramatic.

He comes in after me and shuts the door behind him. We stand in silence for a few minutes – him pacing back and forth and rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and me picking at my nails and shifting from foot to foot.

Here it comes.

"Trey?" I wince a little, shrugging. "I told you I didn't want him at the wedding," he hisses at me, and when he finally turns to face me, I can see the shadows in his eyes. He only looks this way when he remembers his past, and I wonder if he's remembering the whole Newport/Marissa/shooting drama, or if it's a little further back than that. I wonder if it's his childhood. And I'm about to apologize, when I remember something.

"No," I cross my arms so he can't see me picking my nails. "You told me he RSVP'd 'no'. I just went down to convince him, only to find out you never invited him at all! And I specifically remember writing out his invitation."

He shifts uncomfortably, shrugging again. "I may have thrown it out on the way to the post office…"

"Ryan!"

"What?" his voice gets louder, anger flashing. "I didn't think it would hurt. I couldn't tell you I didn't want him there, cause then you'd meddle – you always do. So I figured if he refused to come, you'd drop it. I didn't think you'd actually go down to Vegas to talk to him."

"Because I wanted you to be happy!" It's kind of embarrassing, how high my voice goes – a mixture of anger and humiliation, because I can see the holy shit, I'm marrying a crazy person look on his face. "You should've just told me! You never tell me anything!"

"I tell you everything," he growls back defensively.

"No. You never tell me anything about your childhood, you never tell me about all the stuff that's still bothering you. You didn't tell me about how you took in a kid."

And there it is. Not the kid thing – he already knows I'm angry about that. But there it is: I want him to tell me about his past. He doesn't say anything for a long time, he just stares at me. Somehow I make it without saying anything else.

"I don't tell you about my childhood," he starts, voice low, not meeting my eyes, "because I don't want you to worry about me." He doesn't have to say the word – I get it. He doesn't want me to pity him.

"Fine," I relent, because now is not the time to get into this. "But how could you not tell me about Cody?"

"How could you not tell me about Trey?" he shoots back, not missing a beat.

…well played, Atwood.

So what do we do now? We're at a standstill – we each did something that we shouldn't have. Yes, we both had good intentions, but still…

"Call it even?" I offer, looking up at him hopefully and sticking my hand out for him to shake. He snaps his head up, eyebrows rising, and he seems to consider it for a second.

"Even." He grips my hand and we shake on it. Then he breaks into a smile and pulls me forward into his chest, bringing his other hand up into my hair as he kisses me. "I missed you," he rumbles when he's done, but he doesn't pull far away. I can feel him breathing against my lips and I actually let out a little whimper.

I missed him, too.

With a brave sigh he pulls back, and right – we're still on our no sex rule. Which really sucks right now, because there's nothing I love more than make-up sex.

"So," he rubs the back of his neck again, "you still gonna marry me even though I'm a closed off asshole?"

"Are you still going to marry me even though I'm an insane meddler?"

"I think we can call that even, too," he suggests with a grin and I nod, unable to help my own smile.

"We should probably go out and talk to Trey. Are you… are you ok with it? I mean, if you want, I can tell him he can't come. I'll make up some excuse, like the wedding hall isn't big enough, or…"

"It's ok." He nods his head slowly, like he's not really sure. "Maybe it's good. You know, to deal with it? I haven't seen him in eight years. And if my dad can change, and my mom can change…" he trails off, and it looks like it just hit him that his entire family will be at the wedding. Cohens, Atwoods, Coopers. Bullits. Townsends.

Oh God. There's a slight chance this wedding may be traumatic.

"Then let's go," I nod to the door. "The longer we stay in here, the more he'll worry." He nods, takes a deep breath, and goes out.

And – of course, because God loves us – we find Trey standing at the kitchen counter, staring at Cody.

Fantastic.

He turns to Ryan, looking absolutely confused. "You have a kid?" I almost laugh – almost – because Trey thinks Cody is Ryan's actual son. Not that I really blame him, because Cody does look almost scarily like Ryan, but come on. Ryan gives him this look.

"Yeah, I had him when I was twelve."

I burst into laughter.

I watch as she continues to laugh, hanging onto the counter to stay upright. I love making her laugh – she seems to be the only one who gets my jokes. Not that my jokes are particularly funny, but she's the only one who seems to get my own brand of sarcasm. But right now I think its more relief that's making her like this than my joke. Plus, she must be tired, what with me calling every half hour like clockwork.

I smile and shake my head, turning around, only to catch Trey and Cody watching her in confusion. "Sorry," I apologize, grin getting bigger. "She's a little tired."

"Not my fault," she accuses breathlessly, standing up straight and wiping at her eyes. "But speaking of, would you mind if I took a nap?" she gestures at our bedroom, which strikes me weird – that she's asking permission to use her own room. Maybe she feels like she has to, considering she left last night? I don't know. But I nod anyway and I wish I could join her. I'm tired, too, and I missed having her here this past week.

What I don't miss is the irony that if I hadn't taken the kid in, I'd be able to go with her.

Good one, Karma.

"She's weird." I turn back to look at Cody, and I can't help when I start to laugh. Trey shoots me a look – I guess he's never really seen me laughing before. He'd better get used to it, though. I may still be the designated brooder of the family, but ever since Taylor, I definitely laugh more.

What can I say? The girl brings it out in me.

"She is. Better get used to it," I tell him, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. His eyes open wide, head whipping around to face me.

"Get used to… I can stay?" I hear his silent question: she's ok with it? I'm pretty sure he knows his staying here is based on whether Taylor wants it or not. Because if Taylor was going to leave me if I kept him… but she's not – thank God – so I don't have to make that horrible decision.

"Don't tell me her crazy's making you decide you'd rather go back to your mom," I resist the urge to smile when he shakes his head sharply. "Then you'll have to get used to her… quirks."

"You'd better get used to never getting your way," Trey mutters to himself, but we both hear. When we turn to look at him, he ducks his head – like he thinks I'm gonna get pissed because he insulted my fiancée. Except he didn't insult her. "She's… persuasive," he murmurs to the floor and I start to laugh again.

"You had no chance," I tell him, trying to forget – at least for the moment – everything. All the shit we've been through, all the drama. Now's not the time, because the last thing Cody needs is all this family drama piled on at once. Slow and steady.

And Lord, do I have a lot of drama.

On a side note: I miss writing one-shots. I haven't written a one-shot in a while. The last true one was 'Life Story' a month ago and 'Heart-Shaped Box' about three months ago. So, I'm extending an offer: if anyone would like to give me a prompt (preferably short, like one word), I'll try to write a one-shot based off it. You can even request a theme (a particular character or ship).

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