Author's Note: Been a really long time since I posted anything so I started up polishing and delivering this piece to you - whoever you may be. As I wrote this story up, I realized that I was making Julian far too stuborn (gee, can you imagine?) and that he could use a really strong influence from someone unexpected. CP's appearance in this chapter is as much a device for Julian and the story as it is a tribute to the wonderful woman herself.

She hears how amazing she is from a lot of people - all of it well deserved and graciously and humbly accepted - but I honestly don't think it could be said enough. There's no story from me; CP didn't pull me out of a dark place or give me a new purpose in life or was a friend to me when I had no other friends. But she has inspired me to explore myself more thoroughly, to explore her characters and gain a new understanding on people in my life, to seek out to understand others more clearly. She is a song worth singing to - over and over again.

That being said, my usage of her work is not a theft (nor, I hope, an insult). It is an exploration - and non-profit, at that. ;)

On a day where the wind was pressing against his window so hard it was howling like an animal in pain, Julian had his first visitor who was a complete surprise.

She came bursting through the door in a flash of white fabric and black pigtails, shutting it behind her and diving for the bedside furthest from her entrance. Ducking, she flashed the gobsmacked Julian a smile and a shush signal then proceeded to steady her heavy breathing, all the while keeping bright eyes trained on the door.

Moments later, a shadowy blob came to the blurred window. The doorknob twisted as though it were about to open when another voice – perhaps a nurse or doctor – called out and denied them entry into a patient's private room. The girl snickered quietly. A few more words were exchanged between the two people outside the door but eventually they both left from the window, moving elsewhere.

"Score!" The girl did a light fist pump in celebration before remembering that it was Julian's room. Looking to him, her expression turned a little sheepish, though neither regret nor apology could be found anywhere on her face. "Thank you, for not calling me out."

"Anytime," he responded, still unsure what to make of what appeared to be the mischief-maker that had sneaked her way into his room.

"It's a game I play with my cousin," she explained, moving to clamber up on the bed. "My aunt's here in the hospital and sometimes she and my mom like to be alone while we visit. But I'm a lot faster than he is, so I always win."

"You don't say."

Kneeling next to his injured legs, the girl beamed another smile at him and Julian realized she was younger than he had first thought. She might have been ten or so, rather than the age of twelve he had first guessed; she was big for her age, or maybe just a fast or early grower. Her white dress certainly did nothing to make her smaller; the lace material was loose but poofed, managing to give her a bigger presence than her smile naturally did.

Julian felt the professional actor in him rise up for the first time in a long time. His well-trained and critical eye noted that she had a beautiful face for photogenic purposes. She was charismatic too, a very genuine personality. People all over the globe could know her face one day.

It was then he noticed her eyes were roving over all his bandaged areas. But her look wasn't a flinching glance in sympathy or a devastated gaze wondering how he would ever be made whole again. It looked a lot like… sincere curiosity. There was a certain wonder to the questions in her eyes. It was the first time someone had looked at him and he hadn't felt sick to his stomach.

"I was caught in a fire," he explained, unexplainably okay with sharing this with her.

Her eyes widened as though he were weaving a fantastical tale about a dragon and a princess. "Like, in a building?"

"Yeah."

She looked at his arm. "What are they all?"

"A lot of burns, mostly. A couple cuts, a few fractured bones."

"Do you cough? My daddy always coughs when he's near a fire."

Unbidden, a small smile graced Julian's face. "Yeah, I cough sometimes. It used to be worse but I'm handling it better all the time." That at least had been good news. The coughing and blood had finally taken mercy on him and had begun to steadily disappear. He'd been able to breathe enjoyably for days – the longest he had ever run between coughing fits.

Then his small bubble of uncharacteristic optimism was burst when Julian realized that the girl had her hands on his leg the entire time she'd been up there. He hadn't felt a thing at all. Still couldn't, it was only his visual receptors that were convincing him that it was happening. It was all a stinging reminder of the numbness of his disability. The doctors had told him about all kinds of physical therapy he would start when his other injuries healed but Julian had never been famous for being an optimist. He wasn't investing too much faith in his legs recovering.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Focusing in on the present again, Julian discovered the girl had somehow lost her balance, having fallen over and digging her elbow into his numb leg to catch herself. It was a strange sight, to see the action and expect pain but not to feel it.

"It's okay," he reassured her, sombre. "Didn't feel a thing."

"You didn't?" Her expression turned curious then grew excited. "You didn't feel that?"

Unsure in the face of her weird reaction, Julian hesitantly nodded. She let out a light 'wow!' and then proceeded to exclaim, "So you're like me!" Julian tilted his head, silently questioning what she meant by that. "I don't feel things either! See?" She pinched the skin of her own arm and twisted. True to her word, there was no flinch, no gasp, no painful reaction at all. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice when her skin began to go red and bruise, her fingers holding fast to their self-inflicting injury.

Creeped out, Julian slapped her hand away from her arm and cried out, "You'll hurt yourself!"

Her smile slipping, the girl looked to her arm and seemed taken aback from the damage that had been done. Curiously, she prodded at the angry bruise. Tracing it now, she began saying, "Everyone's always doing that. Checking me over and stopping me from doing things because I can't feel the pain for myself."

She looked back to Julian, his mouth open with a new understanding. She had congenital analgesia – a physical insensitivity to pain. Until now he'd only heard about the condition, he'd never actually met a person who had it.

"My mom makes me wear white all the time," she went on to say, ducking her eyes and playing with the skirt of her dress. "It's easy to see if I've fallen or something when I'm in white. Dirt and blood leave spots." It was the first time Julian noticed her knees were scraped. They weren't bleeding, but the skin was certainly raw. It had probably happened when she dived to the floor. "And I have to check myself all the time, even though my daddy looks me over every night and every morning. I get hurt real easy 'cause I don't feel anything."

Julian leaned into his pillows a little more. Her words were ringing too close to philosophical, even though he was sure she wasn't intending them to be. "Seems kind of opposite, doesn't it?"

"Mm…" she hummed, agreeing. "And everyone's always so worried for me. Even when nothing hurts, they worry anyway."

Funny. That always seemed to be the case with Julian too. People fussed over him all the time, whether for publicity, appearances, or genuine concern. Derek and Carmen were especially bad, worrying over him more than flustered mother hens. His mother too could be protective as a mama bear when slander about her son was made public. Even Logan admitted to stressing over Julian's health whenever the actor was out shooting because the blonde had never forgotten when Julian nearly killed himself.

Uncomfortable with his thoughts, Julian took a breath and asked, "Do you think they wouldn't worry so much, if you did hurt?"

The girl thought long and hard about that.

"Not if I was hurting all the time. But if they knew I felt it sometimes, then they might think I could take care of it, instead of them having to look for it all the time. They'd be happy if I could tell them when I was hurt, and where and how badly and stuff."

"What if you were hurting a lot?"

"Then they could take care of me, like they do now."

The two of them were quiet after that, lost in their own fantasies and mulling over new ideas.

"Monique!" The girl perked up a little at the faint call. "We're going home soon! You win! You can come out now!"

"I guess I should go," Monique sighed to Julian.

"Yeah," Julian whispered, no longer quite connected to the outside world, having lost himself in a rabbit hole of thoughts.

"Monique?"

Hopping off the bed and dusting off her skirt, Monique turned back and said, "Thanks for letting me hide away!" And with a final flash of the smile he thought might become famous, she left.

Author's Note: Sometimes, a small touch, an unexpected visit, a random phone call, a strange converstaion, a written work, that's all it takes to leave an imprint on someone. And Mama has imprinted on a lot of people through her love, acceptance, sympathy, and shine. You've made the world a little more beautiful, CP. I hope you know that.

Quick thing: I don't know a thing about congenital analgesia. I knew of the condition and I Googled the name - that's as far as my knowledge kinda goes. Aside from reading that they often bite through their lips or tongue as a kid, or damage their eyes really easily.