Note: Wow, one more chapter to go after this! Where does the time fly, honestly? For a romance story, I get into a lot of self-discovery plotting, don't I? What a misleading genre this fic has been in… Anyway, I'm honored that so many people have bothered to read my story so far (you guys rock all kinds of awesomeness XD), and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Chapter Seventeen:

Marlin

"She's…gone?"

The nasty plate of food in front of me proves Vesta's statement: Celia would never have cooked anything that smells so rancid. I poke it with my fork—a botched attempt at curry, maybe?—and push it around so that it looks like I've taken a huge bite in the middle. "Actually gone. Without a word."

"Now, don't you get all sulky on me, Marlin," Vesta warns, jabbing a serving spoon my way. "This is good for the girl, and you know it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Sighing, I lean back in my chair and the wood presses roughly against my neck. I'm supposed to feel angry, aren't I? I wait for the fury to overwhelm me, for my temper to overtake my soul, but instead everything feels hollow and cold within me. I've lost my appetite, but I can't decide if it's because the food is so disgusting, or that Celia's leaving has left a bad taste in my mouth. "You'd just think she'd say something, I guess. Like good-bye."

At least she had the decency to say that last time. Though, I suppose, that argument at Romana's might as well have been a parting of sorts for us. Yet I never wanted my last memory with her to leave her behind in tears; that had never, never been my intent. I'd wanted the truth—hell, I wanted to throttle it out of her if it came to it—but I never wanted to scare her away.

Though maybe, a part of me whispers, this separation is the best route we could have taken all along.

"How'd the doctor's appointment go?" Vesta asks, clearing her throat. "You gonna be alright?"

"The doctor's," I repeat. It all seems so stupid now, compared with this news of Celia's departure. Since when have I given decent thought to my body, anyway? "Uh, yeah, everything's good. Good."

"It's incredible, Marlin. You're heart has finally begun the repairing process. It's possible that, if this keeps up, the disease won't be merely dormant, but you'll finally be immune. It's incredible, honestly. Incredible."

"Mighty glad to hear it!" Vesta exclaims. I wince as she slaps me on the back—she's always been stronger than me, dammit—and shrug. "I reckon we ought to celebrate! Drinks at the Blue Bar, then?"

You know, I would like to believe that Vesta is doing this out of true consideration for me, but frankly, I think it's all about Celia leaving. Vesta doesn't like to get drunk, and so getting dragged to the Blue Bar by her is always suspicious. After all, who celebrates recuperating from a disease by drinking a ton of legal poison?

"Nah, I'd rather not. " I shake my head and continue, "I've been using that as a crutch for a while, eh? I just want to think about this, you know, rest. You can go if you want. I just don't feel like coming."

"Ain't that a new story, coming from you!" She stands up and smiles, not even noticing that I haven't finished eating (not that I would have, honestly) as she grabs my plates and places them in the sink. "So I'll be goin' it alone? Haven't done that in ages. It'll be a trip down memory lane, that's for certain. You sure you'll be fine by yourself?"

"Sometimes it's nice to be alone," I reply.

To my surprise, for once, I actually mean it.

You want to know something? When I think about it—really, really think about it—I haven't a clue why I fell for Celia. It's not that she's not worth loving, but of all the girls in Forget-Me-Not, why her? Why did I claim she was perfect, praise her every move and word with blind adoration?

Convenience of location, maybe. Naivety, maybe.

But how could I have thought that kind of love could last, if my affection was based on the illusion of perfection?

If you believe a person to be perfect, they will fail you. Even Celia—sweet, shy, hard-working Celia—is human. She has weak confidence, a dependent will, the same ability to lie and deceive as anyone else. If I had taken all that into account—that she's not an angel, but a human being—maybe things could've ended up differently. Maybe if I'd stopped being blind, I could've seen what lay in front of my eyes. I wouldn't have let myself be hurt so irreparably. It would have been easier for me to forgive.

You know, it's not so painful now. Losing her, I mean. What used to be a searing pain in my side has faded to a dull ache, and I can remember her without my fist tightening in rage or sadness constricting my throat.

It's a start, I know that much. It's…kind of nice. Freeing, almost.

"So, I guess we won't be going to that party, then."

Muffy smiles at me, and I feel somehow guilty for having to say this to her, even though we both now the party was canceled for reasons outside our control. She kicks at the dirt with the toe of her stiletto shoes and draws a circle in the ground absentmindedly.

"Nope," she agrees. "Darn. And here I'd been expecting to dance with you and count the amount of times you stepped on my feet. I'd been betting Griffin twenty-five steps per foot."

"How many did he bet?"

"Fifty." Muffy giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, well, at least things are going to get easier for you at home now. She's back at the farm, isn't she?"

I shrug. "Yeah."

"I'm sort of proud of her, actually." Muffy smoothes her red dress and bites her lip; it's glossy, glittering with some kind of shiny new lip gloss. "All this time, I was scared she was going to rely on you two from now on, and never have to find the will to move on in herself. I'm glad she's taking this into her own hands and coming back to the farm. It's good for her. Healthy." She crosses her arms and sighs. "It's just too bad she did this so late. I mean, look at what's happened to us now. Look at this mess."

Yeah, just look, I want to agree. All those years, easily erased with a few bitter, infuriated words. Damn, I'm an idiot. "It's…hard to take things back."

"The thing is, I can't even apologize," Muffy continues softly. "I meant every word of it, Marlin. Every word I threw at her was my honest opinion. I can't go apologize, and she isn't exactly going to come to me saying sorry. I just…wish this were easier. Like you could just walk up to someone and talk as if nothing in the world has changed at all."

"The weird thing is, the world hasn't changed," I comment. "When you shout at someone, the sun doesn't decide to stop shining, and fire doesn't begin to blaze. When you're miserable, rain clouds don't immediately gather, and when you're happy, that doesn't mean everything will be rainbows and sunshine. We're the only thing that changes. The world—it doesn't give a crap." I pause as I catch her staring at me in thought, and I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Well." Muffy grins. "That's just kind of deep for someone like you. I should talk to you when you're sober more often."

"Shut up."

Muffy laughs again, and we smile at each other, both victims of the same self-imposed trap. The lilting melody of laughter dies on the wind, and finally, a small voice makes itself known instead: "Marlin? She didn't…um…say anything to you, did she?"

I turn to my blonde companion in surprise. "Not a word. I didn't know she was gone until I came home and saw she wasn't there."

"Oh." Her vivid green eyes center in on me, almost pitying. It's hard to meet their stare—I'm not sure how to respond to it—and she remarks, "That's not exactly fair to you."

"It's her call," I state. "It really shouldn't matter to me."

"No, but…you deserved some kind of good-bye. Closure, at least." She yawns—late night at the Blue Bar thanks to Vesta, no doubt—and stretches her pale white arms. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Celia was scared of confronting you."

"Scared?" I repeat. I lean against the wall and raise an eyebrow; Celia's never been scared of me, not since the first year, anyway. If anything, she was one of the people most comfortable around me, other than Vesta. I might have pained her, yes, or angered her, sure, but there was no way I could have frightened her. Was there?

"Mhm. See, Celia is someone people can easily read, but she's pretty bad at reading people herself. Take, for example, you." She rubs the back of her neck tenderly, loosening the tense muscles there as she sighs in relief. "I think if Celia knew how you'd react to this whole…oh, what should I call it…sudden attraction charade, she would never have gone through with it. Once she started it, though, it got harder and harder to stop. Celia's not good at letting go, either. You should know that."

Something we have in common, I think to myself. "So why do you think she did let it all go? When we left each other, I…I didn't think anything had changed. She seemed so set in her ways, so damn stubborn, and—" And I guess that's when I began to question it all. Loving her. Seeing her as a porcelain doll who never once existed. It didn't make sense anymore; maybe it never had.

"Honestly, Marlin, I haven't a clue. Celia doesn't talk to me anymore." Muffy's hands fall to her sides, and she gives me a quick little grin before shrugging once again. "Maybe someone else could ask?"

"But who would do that?" I answer her, shaking my head. "There's no one she'd open up to with Jack gone—hell, she doesn't owe anyone her life story."

"I can think of one person she owes," Muffy whispers. And that's when I catch the imploring look in her eyes, and the silent request to do the one thing that she cannot.

I could see Celia again. I could force an explanation, demand an apology—I had every right—but I find myself telling Muffy, "I'll…think about it."

What else, I want to know, can I do?

It's the dead of night, and I can't sleep. Figures. Vesta didn't go to the bar tonight—thank God, I couldn't handle another hangover of hers—so I sneak out the door quietly enough so that only the moon can witness my departure. I tiptoe through the field until I reach a tiny abandoned patch and bring out my watering can to sprinkle its roots. My twisted creations—the carrotoma and its brethren—have all been abandoned lately with other thoughts on my mind, so I expect to find them deformed, yellow-leafed, and ignored.

To my shock, they're green as envy itself, and very, very much alive.

"What the hell…?" I exclaim to myself, circling them in wonder. Yes, the person doing this job knows all about plants; it's not amateur, not sloppy. Vesta doesn't know about my little guilty secret. She hasn't a clue what this little corner is for.

It's then that I see it, the tiny envelope tied to a plant's stem. For a moment I blame the night, say that it's tricking my eyes, but when I reach out, it's really there; I haven't been dreaming anything. It's a little battered, but not so much that the envelope's all that old. It seems recent, crisp, and when I open it wide, there is no mistaking its letter's writer. It's short and simple, but I keep staring at it long after finishing its message:

"I know being sorry doesn't change a thing. But I never wanted to hurt you. And even though what I did was wrong and I can never take it back, I just wanted you to know that. I honestly hope you find someone who makes you happy, Marlin, because I know you've been hurt enough by a foolish girl like me as it is. You don't have to forgive me, I know. I'm not asking you to. I just…needed to tell you this before I leave. Somehow.

And I hope that's okay."

My body slumps down into a heap on the dirt, and I close my eyes, the sound of an owl's cries echoing in my ears. I can almost hear her voice speaking this slowly, haltingly, as she twirls her hair nervously about her finger. What kills me is that I want to hear it. I don't want to discover this in the middle of the night, all alone. I can't reply to a sheet of paper. I can't speak to ink. I want her.

So I don't fight my body when it straightens up and starts on a path away from Vesta's home; I don't argue when I stumble in the dark towards a farm I haven't set foot towards in ages.

This ends tonight. Now.

"Celia? Celia, are you awake?"

Damn me for arriving at my stupid epiphanies at one in the morning. I hesitate before knocking—wouldn't want to wake the baby—and creep towards the window instead, peering through as I tap it lightly. There's something taboo about walking through her open door, and so I can only hope and pray that Celia will show up some way, somehow. Minutes pass. The wind whips about my face, and I groan, letting my disappointment mingle with the breeze.

Of course she won't wake up. Of course not.

I walk away in a slump, hands in pockets, and start once more for the path. Just my luck, right? I finally want to set things right—finally, after all these years—and the woman is sleeping and I can't bring myself to wake up her baby. Next thing you know Takakura will waltz on over and kick my sorry ass out for stalking or something.

"…and I know you'd never have done what I have. But I'm going to overcome it, aren't I?"

My head snaps up. I know that voice. I need that voice.

I race towards the sound, my breath catching in my throat as I turn up the path and a small, pale figure comes into view. Her hand lies upon the hard stone surface of the grave as her eyes are fixed upon it with an emotion I have never seen Celia possess. It is not innocence, this expression, nor is it anxiety, fear, or resignation. It's almost…almost…

"Ah! Marlin." Celia's whole body swerves towards me, and instead of the millions of responses I'm expecting, she just sort of manages a tiny smile and motions for me to come closer. "I…I didn't expect to see you here…and not this late at night, certainly not."

"To tell you the truth, I'm surprised I brought myself here, too," I admit. My legs move woodenly to where she's patting the ground, and I sit down awkwardly, criss-cross-applesauce like a little schoolboy. I pull out the wrinkled paper from my pocket and wave it in her face. "Got your note."

Celia blinks as she takes it from me. "I don't remember forcing you to see me…?"

"Leaving without saying good-bye might as well be forcing me to run after you," I retort. "What did you think I'd do, just sit there and sulk?"

She blushes at that. "Oh, I don't know. I…I didn't know how else to leave you, I suppose. It's not that easy, you know. Not when you're the one to blame for all sorts of confusion. I don't know what to say to what happened. I…I wish I did, though."

This Celia before me—I can't put my finger on what it is about her—but I feel comfortable talking with her, I really do. She's doing old Celia habits: tucking her hair behind her ear, listening with a glassy expression in her eyes that suggests she's daydreaming, folding her hands in her lap politely.

"You could have apologized," I suggest.

"No…I couldn't have just done that." She glances at me and ducks her head. "I owe you and Muffy so much more than a silly apology. All the 'sorry's in the world couldn't fix up the mess I've made."

"And who are you to decide that?" My voice is soft, but still sharp, and Celia is startled by my words. "Who are you to decide who can and who can't forgive you for what sins? Who says no one can reconcile when faced with certain wrongs? Celia, that's not your call."

Her mouth opens only to close as the wind steals the answer from her lips. It smells like apples and oranges, and the light shining from the flowers dances in the breeze, casting shadows in all directions. We watch in silence amidst all these woodland spirits before Celia speaks once again. "What would I have to do?"

"Just explain yourself." It's so simple. Tell the truth. Stop latching onto lies. Start living out of the past.

And believe me, I know how hard something that simple can be.

"Okay." Celia bites her lip and nods, a shock of brown hair escaping from her kerchief and falling over her face. "I can do that."

When you watch TV, the truth is always something huge, loud, and explosive. You watch these hot-shot attorneys screaming out the names of murderers, popular girls in high school soaps calling out the truth behind their break-ups and who-ran-off-with-who, and then there's those objections at weddings where someone confesses their love.

When Celia speaks, however, I have to strain my ears to listen.

"I'm…well…I've been looking at this all wrong, Marlin. All this time, when Jack died, I felt like I'd lost something. Me, I guess. A part of me." Celia shrugs and smiles. "That was my problem. I kept thinking that I needed something—someone—to replace that. That without the sense of completeness I'd had with Jack, I couldn't stand on my own two feet."

"I remember," I nod. "That day when you came back to Vesta's, it…it was like you weren't yourself."

"I don't think I was myself," she agrees. "I felt so broken, so empty, so weak…and then I saw you, and how hard-working you were, how independent, how strong, and oh, Marlin, I realized I wanted someone like you in my life more than anything in the world. I wanted something more stable than myself to depend upon. I…I guess I was jealous of you. So when we started to reconnect, I took…advantage…of how you once felt about me. I forgot I could hurt someone like you, Marlin. I forgot I could hurt me."

I won't pretend to understand anything about death. If I could say anything, it'd be that I know how shocking that news can be that someone can still leave this world, that someone can stop breathing and time won't stop with them. Being a young orphan, though, doesn't really mean the same thing as being an eighteen-year-old widow. I can't force sympathy on her, because—like it or not—I can't understand what she's been through.

Just as, I'm forced to admit, she couldn't fully understand anything I've been through.

Celia turns to me imploringly and the first words I find I can say are, "That's not true. Where the hell did you get the idea that I'm some sort of superman, Celia? Me, of all people, being someone others can rely upon? Don't make me laugh."

Since when have I thought of anyone but me and my selfish feelings? Tell me that. I don't give Murrey a buck when I pass by. I find excuses for myself even when I'm drunk, whining about myself to someone who probably would love to complain just as much as I do. I get jealous of a dead man, when I'm the one still breathing and living.

Give me one example. Prove I'm not the worthless scum I know I am. I dare you.

"When I moved here," Celia murmurs slowly, "I relied on you more than my own mother, Marlin. You let me into your family, even when you didn't want to at first. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now."

If Celia were still acting, I would have slapped her for saying something like that. What the hell is wrong with me?—I'm laughing. I wipe away the tears from my eyes and continue in my guffaws; that had been the most selfish act of all, hadn't it? Using friendship as a tool for getting closer to her. How can she say something like that? How can she understand anything?

"Yeah, but Celia, come on. Didn't you get why I was always helping you out? Showing you around? I mean—" God, I need to stop laughing. "—I think it was painfully obvious to everyone but you. I just wanted you to notice me. You know?"

Celia mulls over this for a moment. My laughter dies as I await her answer; she's far too solemn, too confused to shake her head and laugh this off. "If you wanted me to notice you," the farmgirl asks finally, "why didn't you just tell me how you felt?"

"T-tell you?" Words fail me; this is a universal truth, isn't it, that you never admit your feelings when you don't know if they'll be returned? You don't just spill out your emotions to someone who has the power to throw them in your face. No, you lay out clues and traps and snares…not the truth.

But isn't the truth so much simpler?

"God, Celia, I…I just didn't have it in me, I guess," I exclaim, shaking my head. "You scared me to death. If I told you, then…then things might not have worked out."

"But things didn't work out anyway," Celia insists. "And Marlin, do you know what I wanted all that time? I just wanted someone who'd tell me that. Someone who gave me the option to love them back. Like Jack did." She brings out something shiny from her pocket, and as the moonlight catches it, I hold my breath. A blue feather. His blue feather. "What I loved most about Jack was his honesty, did you know that?" Celia adds, fingers running over the treasure fondly. "It's so strange, because since he left, I've become a liar of sorts. And I hate that. I want to get past that…and you know, I think I can. I think if I work at it, I can become someone Cassie can look up to. And that feels good."

She beams at me with a sincere smile. I return it somewhat, leaning back on the grass with a sigh. "It's hard to change," I agree. "But I think it's worth it, you know? I haven't been the best person on Earth, and I think you can vouch for that better than some people could, Celia. God, I hated you and Jack for a while…sometimes I still do, kind of. But not as much. It's watered down, now. I'm too tired to hate over stupid grudges anymore." I roll over and stare at her once more, curious. "Celia?"

"Mhm?"

"Did you…mean that? If I'd just told you how I felt, you'd have…we'd have…gone through life on a different path?"

The blush that steals across her face answers me more than any sentence could, and that's when I become incredibly bold. I come to my knees as I meet her eyes—coy and unable to answer—and I take her hands in my own, the blue feather between us. "Marlin…?" Celia whispers, and I place my lips against hers gently, curiously, nervously.

Her mouth is warm against my own. I've never felt so terrified in my life, but I've never felt so complete, either; she tastes like strawberries, like sweet spring and summer dew. I wait for her to fight me, to end this intrusion of mine, but she does not leave my arms. In fact, Celia kisses back ever so softly, as if she is testing this new sensation just as I am.

I open my eyes and pull away. "I…I'm sorry," I say immediately. "I've just…always wondered what that'd be like."

Celia nods, flustered. "Well, now we know. We…we know." Her face is about as red as my sister's hair as she turns away to the grave, unable to face me. "So, now what, then?"

"I don't know," I admit, blood rushing to my head. "It's not like we can just roll back time, is it? Undo everything?"

"No. Life doesn't work like that." Her hand alights itself on her cheek and she sighs. "You'll go home, and I'll go home, and things will be the same. I'll raise Cassie and you'll work with Vesta. We'll move on."

"Alone?" I ask.

She nods. "Alone."

Alone. It's such a chilling word, isn't it? So desolate, so cold. I glance towards Jack's farm and see the lazy cows and chickens sleeping in the field. I see all the work to be done—work a sick man could barely handle. A man with a broken heart couldn't restore anything, much less himself.

But me, I'm not so broken anymore.

"I'll come and help you," I hear myself say. "I'll help you get the farm back in shape. I'll restore the crops, feed the animals, and do the labor you and Takakura can't."

"I can't accept help from you," Celia insists. She holds the feather close to her, like a shield. "It…it wouldn't be right. Not when you're with Muffy. Not now."

"Muffy?" So this is where all this guilt is coming from: my little stunt some days back with her best friend. "Hey." I put my hand on Celia's shoulder reassuringly and say, "You idiot. Muffy and I were just to trying to get you to see how stupid you were being."

"R-really?" She gazes into my eyes imploringly. "I just thought…I mean…but that doesn't change…"

"You owe me, okay? And I owe you. This works out best for us, doesn't it?"

Celia laughs and shakes her head. "It's so funny, though, Marlin." A shudder ripples through her body as she trembles with laughter; I study her, perplexed. "It's just that all this time—getting so close to you and hurting you—this is all I ever wanted from you. And here it is, landed in my lap." She shakes her head once more, brown hair flying. "And I…I was going to try to marry you, I decided. That's what I'd wanted not so long ago. Selfishly."

"You're not the only selfish one." I wrap an arm around her and smile wryly. "I wanted that, too, once."

The two of us stare upward at the sky, watching as the moon merges with the horizon and the sun inches itself upwards. Bright colors splash against the dark dome of the sky: pinks, yellows, and oranges stretching their wings in a soothing display of light. Our hands are intertwined as the wind suddenly picks up, and together, in a strange and silent understanding, we let go of the feather between us. It spirals into the dawn, a vibrant blue, and we watch as it disappears in a place as far away as the past itself.

"Marlin?" she asks me, and I feel I can already foresee her question, one I heard once long ago spoken from those pale pink lips. "After all this…will you still be my friend?"

And this, I know, is what we've needed all along.

End Note: Stay tuned for the epilogue; it's not done yet!