(A/N. Hey, guys! Thanks for the reviews and for anyone has read the story. I'm really sorry for not having posted the next chapter. After I wrote the first, my laptop literally stopped working; it just died on me and I not only lost the script to the play I was working on for my summer job, but I also lost a few story ideas including this one. So, I needed to get with buying a new computer, which cost me a lot more money than I am willing to admit. And then I had to find a way to get myself back in the writing mood for this story…it was a lot.

So, for anyone still around, thank you so much. Your patience is noted. Anyone who might just be picking this up? You didn't miss much. Enjoy and please review!)

"If I wanted a maid, I could just hire one," Chris finally stated, reclined very lazily at his small dining room table. His fateful companion, Guinness Stout, stood upright beside his left arm.

"And yet you live in squalor." He grimaced at the sound of dishes being put away, the sound of porcelain grinding against porcelain as she stacked the plates up grating against the now ever-present hangover.

"If you have a problem with it –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Avery muttered and finally emptied the sink's content, running warm water to get out any excess dirt and food particles that might have remained at the bottom of the sink. Once that was finished, she turned the faucet off and grabbed the nearest dish towel, wiping her hands clean and dry of the wet suds. Satisfied, she turned around to her big brother. "It's a nice place you've got here." Chris scoffed.

"Is that what we're going to talk about? My house?"

"It's more of an apartment."

"I don't need this."

"Any other topic is off-limits."

"Like you leaving," Chris inquired and Avery bowed her head for a second before tossing him an exasperated look. The years had been good to her, he noted. The little girl with pale blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair had grown taller. No matter what she did, however, she always looked like a younger version of Kate…like…

Mom.

"I'm not leaving until I know that you're going to be okay," Avery said quietly, hands grasping the kitchen counter while she leaned her weight against it, much like she did when she was younger and she had cooked a meal after he had come back in from a late night hunt or training session and was too weary to make a grilled cheese. She would do that thing, leaning against the counter, even though she would pretty much be hoisting herself up on it and chastising him for not eating anything hours before. A short laugh escaped despite himself, bitter and hard. Avery shut her eyes in response, already feeling the biting response before the words even came out. She even moved out of the room, as if the distance would somehow keep her from hearing them.

"Like you cared all those years ago."

"Chris…"

"Why are you here, Avery?"

"Because I care about you."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not!"

"Avery –

"She was pretty," she finally said quietly.

Chris didn't look up. He knew exactly where Avery was standing. In the long and narrow hallway he left miniature china cabinet; it would come right up to her hips. On its smooth and hardwood surface he left various pictures; Allison had picked them all out when they first moved in. She wanted to see the happy memories the second she walked in, to remind herself that this was home and that the outside world – and all of its fucked up madness – couldn't touch them here. It hadn't exactly been a lie. The darkness didn't creep into their home and steal away the youthful soul from her once life-tinted lips. The outside world did that.

"She probably didn't remember me," Avery continued, breaking him from his reverie and Chris almost made a retort. But then opted not to and took a swig of his beer. Avery was too busy staring at the photo. "I knew, the second I saw those dimples, that she was my niece. It was one of the few times I could say that Victoria didn't positively freak me out." She reached out and gingerly graced the glass, fingertips tracing the angular jaw of the dark-haired beauty she would never be able to see again. "I was at Stanford and you had some business in the next town over. She thought I was Kate when she first saw me."

"What do you want from me?" Chris finally asked on a whisper. He didn't want to be reminded how beautiful Allison had been, how alive. He just wanted the cold silence; at least it didn't bring up unwanted memories.

"I just want to know that I am here for you," she replied and finally turned around to face her big brother. "I didn't abandon the family, Chris. I walked away, yes, but I never stopped loving any of you. I called, I sent birthday cards and presents, and I grieved." By this time, she was approaching him, slowly and carefully with measured steps. "I grieved for Kate, despite how much I wanted to hate her. I grieved Victoria and I grieved Dad when I thought he was dead. And I am still grieving Allison. She was family."

"Like Derek Hale?"

The question hung in the air like a stench Avery could never get rid of it. Nearly tangible and putrid, it caused her to recoil and halted any further movement. Avery swallowed thickly, a lump in her throat she had not even realized was there until her brother had spoken. Chris took another drink before turning to her steely blue eyes, hardened and like knives sharpened to perfection and made specifically for her demise. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, as if daring themselves to tear the flesh away.

"He was the family you chose over your blood, right?" Chris pressed and Avery flinched at the sharp bitterness that twisted the dagger of his stare further into her gut, causing her to clench her fists at her side.

"You know what, I'm just going to leave," she finally said and grabbed her purse, which was conveniently by the entry of the kitchen.

"You do that." It was just as she was about to turn and walk towards the front door that Avery stopped, as if the mind-forged manacles of their past – their shared blood and all the memories that she could never suppress – left her unable to leave just yet. And then, as if the words had been on the tip of her tongue – which they had been, now that she was willing to acknowledge them – they burst forth, unabashed and relentless.

"If you want someone to blame, go ahead. Blame me, Chris. I'm not the one who let his baby girl go into battle. You did that on your own," she snapped and reveled in the shudder that wracked his frame. It didn't take long for the guilt, too, to settle in. "And if you want to be mad at me for leaving, go ahead. Be mad. But do not pretend like you did nothing, like you didn't not return any of my calls or letters. Like you didn't practically shove me out the door." Her voice wavered for a moment longer than she intended and Avery knew that she needed to leave soon lest the tears fall. And she thought she was stronger than that. "And don't pretend like you're doing anyone – including yourself – any favors by being holed up inside this empty and dark house. You want to die alone in here? Go ahead, but don't think for a second that this is what Allison would have wanted for you nor is this honoring her in any way. You're just wallowing in your own self-pity." Avery didn't bother waiting for a response. She walked out.

And ignored the sound of glass shattering as she closed the door.

Author's Comments:

Sorry, this was a lot shorter than I intended. But I'll try to pack more stuff in the next chapter. Don't forget to review!