A/N: I'm a bad person. Sorry about the wait and... well, this chapter. I'm not a huge fan of it, but I've got some drawn out, emotion explaning to do. For some reason I can't make Timmy's thoughts towards the end make sense, so if you want to know what the budgerigar I'm going on about, tell me, and I shall try to explain. If you DO understand it, shame on you! Drugs are bad, doncha know?

Next chapter shouldn't take two months to come out. If it does, I am indeed a weeekid gurl. - Sky.

Chapter 18 - Standstill

Timmy couldn't remember getting home that night, but when he awoke he felt a thousand different reminders inside of him of all the mistakes he had made. His mouth was so dry he felt as though he hadn't had a sip of water for days, and his head throbbed and pounded. His stomach felt uneasy, and it wasn't helped by the fact that it seemed as though the room was spinning. For just the smallest of painful moments he thought about wishing his hangover away, but a quick glance at his empty fishbowl brought the horrible memories rushing back. Cosmo and Wanda were gone. They had been taken away because of him, and, though the drink had made him forget for a few small hours, now that a new day had broken the guilt all came flooding back.

It felt to Timmy as though there was a storm cloud hanging over him, pushing him down to his knees with the pressure it brought with it. The storm was due to break any day now and Timmy would break with it, feeding it as he did with every second he spent not thinking of Cosmo and Wanda. If he stole just a glimpse of bliss on Earth while they were still sealed away, waiting for their dreadful fate, the cloud would grow and swirl above him, eager to release it's torrent and drown him in his own depression. From the other side of his beer-fuelled release everything seemed ten times worse, and his guilt magnified, as he had been drinking when he should have been trying to help his friends.

Timmy rubbed his stinging eyes, with felt dry and stretched as though he had been up all night, trying not to cry. The sun was hanging high in the clear blue sky, but it was already showing signs of beginning to dip. Timmy glanced at his clock, and saw that it was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon. He sighed and pushed himself up, bringing his knees to his chest and wishing he could take last night back. He wished so hard that it cut him like a knife, as it had been so long since he had had a wish denied. He wished he hadn't listened to Tootie and gone to that stupid party. He wished he hadn't lifted that flimsy cup to his lips and let such an amount of beer flow down his throat. He wished he hadn't found her so alluring, sitting on her own, surrounded by lace curtains that fluttered in the breeze. He wished he hadn't kissed her, because she had had such bitter lips.

Trixie had been warm and perfect, Timmy knew, but kissing her had been like sipping acid. Her lips had burnt into his very mind, scarring his conscience, and though her form had been soft and warm in his hands, he found perhaps there was too much flesh, and was surprised to see that he hated the way she held herself. She didn't need his strength to hold her head up, she didn't need his support when he held her. She didn't fall into him, give herself to him completely. He hadn't felt the contusions of her spine when he had ran his hands gently up her back, nor her shoulder blades all too prominent beneath his fingertips. Her long, treacle-coloured hair had not tickled his face with it's roughly hacked split ends, and her tear-filled eyes had not looked at him with hope. Instead, brazen, almond-shaped eyes had stared at him with lust, devoid of longing or warmth, and Timmy had allowed it all to happen. He had held her and kissed her with nothing but animal instincts, and his conscience had shouted and screamed and kicked at him to stop. He had, eventually, and thankfully before he took it too far, but the damage was done. He found himself at conflict, trying to defend himself, yelling over and over that he was free to kiss whoever he liked, and that he didn't owe that wretched babysitter a single, god-damned thing.

-

Wanda was crying, and she felt as though she would never, ever stop. Time was slipping by so slowly that it made her want to pull her hair out and scream, but there was nothing she could do. No one Fairy World could help her; no one wanted to. As far as the higher-ups were concerned, she and her husband had breeched the law so badly, and all for the love they had felt for their godchild. It made no sense to Wanda, who could think of a million more worse crimes. She finally saw it from Cosmo's point of view; she felt the pain and the torment, it tore at her soul like fire, but she also felt the rage, and she wondered if Cosmo had too. Had he felt this monster inside him rear and snap when they were forced to leave yet another godchild? Had he wanted to lash out and hurt people because of Fairy World and it's unjust rules? And, when the time came, had he kept it all subdued for her? Had he suffered in silence, because Wanda was too blind to see that her husband was dying inside? Had he resented her for it, even for just a second? Wanda bit her lip, but the tears continued to fall. She rested her head against the cold metal bars and wished for the thousandth time that she could see him.

After all the accusations she had thrown at him, all the blame she had cast his way, had it been her who had failed him in the end?

-

"We are willing to cut a deal with you, One Six Nine."

Jupitus Starr had long since left, but the words continued to echo around Cosmo's brain. There wasn't even anything to think about, but the heavy feeling in Cosmo's heart continued to bother him. Jupitus had said he would let Wanda go if Cosmo told him everything. If he mentioned every little detail of his unwished magic, every iota so that it could all be undone, Wanda's crime would be pushed to the background and she would be free to go. Of course, Cosmo would still have to be punished, his crime was to great to be ignored, and though Jupitus promised he would try and sway the sentence away from execution, in the end he had to listen to the voice of the people. But Wanda would be part of that voice then, Jupitus had said, and surely her voice would be screaming to let you live. Cosmo had agreed at once, desperate that Wanda be freed from her cell. It was only afterwards, when he thought of all the things she would say and how she would scold him, that he felt the tinniest pang of regret. Wanda wouldn't have wanted Cosmo to sacrifice Timmy's happiness for hers, but then Wanda need never know. She was unaware of Vicky's feelings for Timmy, or of Timmy's basic need for the redhead. She didn't know about any of it. Cosmo just hoped that Timmy would be fine.

There was the small sound of a lock being undone, and Skitch, Jupitus's assistant, floated nervously into the room. He approached Cosmo as though the green-haired fairy was liable to take his head off at any second, and Cosmo wondered what lies Jupitus had told to allow Cosmo to be sealed inside this awful cell. Did Fairy World think he was dangerous? Had Jupitus told everyone that he was an unstable menace, a psychopath? Cosmo knew he wasn't smart, but something just didn't feel right. If they had both been free and armed, Skitch would still have had nothing to fear from Cosmo, and yet he trembled like a leaf in the wind at the thought of facing him, wandless and restrained.

"Mr. Starr has sent me to speak to you, One Six Nine," Skitch said in a whisper of a voice. Cosmo didn't respond; he felt too numb to say anything. Skitch cleared his throat nervously and continued.

"He... that is, er, Mr. Starr, tells me that you are willing to co-operate with our... er, our offer." Cosmo felt a sudden rush of anger. He wanted to know why this fairy was so scared of him, what everyone was saying about him behind his back.

"Why are you trembling?" he demanded. Skitch flinched, floating a foot or so further away from Cosmo and holding his clipboard to his chest like a shield. Clearly there was a voice in Skitch that told him he was in charge and that he didn't have to answer a lowly prisoner, because he said nothing, and chose instead to clear his throat once more.

"Your wife... hereafter known as.. as...," he consulted his clipboard, "as Two Four Four, will be released on the condition that you give us information that... will enable members of the reversal squad to... to correct your error." Skitch looked almost on the verge of tears now.

"I'll tell you anything you want me to," Cosmo said quietly. "Please, just let her go."

Skitch looked confused. To Cosmo it was obvious that there was a conflict going on his mind between what he had been told and what he was now seeing before him. This broken shell of a fairy was clearly no threat, and yet Skitch had clearly been told that Cosmo was dangerous, volatile even. Perhaps Skitch came to the conclusion that Cosmo's weakness was just an act designed to lure him into a false sense of security, because he suddenly straightened up as though he had heard a gunshot, and looked down to his notes again.

"I'm going to take a statement from you now," he said, in a falsely confident voice that shook with nerves. "Do you understand?"

Cosmo wanted to just nod, but the restraint around his forehead would not allow him to do so. He sighed a little. "I understand," he replied in a whisper, his eyes cast to the floor.

-

Vicky saw the sunrise that morning. She watched quietly from her window as pale streaks of gold and pink filtered into the grey sky, shining the pale white clouds with silver. In her hand she clutched her nameless teddy bear, and in the other an almost empty bottle of wine. It was her first, and though the first few glorious mouthfuls had been enough to make her dizzy, it hadn't bean enough to quell the pain. She had drunk resolutely though, through the dizziness and into the mind fogging heaviness, ignoring the raw feeling in her throat but still her heart had ached. It wasn't enough anymore, she realised, to numb her tired feelings. They were exhausted and stretched to breaking now, and not even alcohol could take away the strain of loving Timmy, not even for a few hours. She still held the bottle tightly though, as though it were some talisman to ward away her pain, but she hadn't drunk for what must be hours now. She had just sat, still and empty, and watched the sun come up on her broken world.

Tootie had not come home, and her parents had left without checking either of their rooms. Vicky was old enough now to not need someone to look in on her in the mornings, but as she watched this particular morning fade into an afternoon, she wished at least one person would show her they cared. But then, she thought bitterly, squeezing her toy fiercely between her thin fingers, she had thrown all that away a long time ago, hadn't she? She had bullied and tormented anyone in her life who could ever have cared just a little, until they had hated her so much that they could truly rejoice in the pain she was currently in. It tore her to shreds inside to feel this way, and yet people would be glad to see her suffering as she had once made them suffer. No one would offer a helping hand to a drowning girl, she had spent too many years throwing them to the depths herself. But then, she thought, bringing the bottle to her lips but not drinking, she would not have wished this pain upon them. Yes, she had been cruel and spiteful, but she would never have done this to them.

With the bottle still held to her lips she screwed her eyes up and threw it at the floor. She had been a monster. She would have forced this pain upon them back then without a second thought, if only she had the means. If she had known how powerful love could truly be instead of dismissing it and throwing it aside in favour of fame and wealth, she would have forced them all to writhe and tremble in it's unrelenting grasp, if only she could. She would have danced and sang and howled with laughter as she watched their hearts break into thousands of pieces, having denied them the love they so desperately craved. But, of course, that power would always be out of her reach, because no one had ever loved Vicky, and no one ever would. She was starting to feel so afraid that there was nothing left of her to love.

-

Timmy wanted to apologise to her, despite his conviction that he had done nothing wrong. He wanted to say how sorry he was for whatever he had done that made her love him, and if he could he would go back in time and make sure he never did it again. He wanted to see her face, with it's smile and it's smouldering eyes, and say look, you're fine, I didn't hurt you after all. He wanted to see her hair neatly tied back, he wanted to see her fists curled and her teeth bared, and he wanted her shout. He wanted her to spit at him and say 'Love you? Don't be ridiculous, twerp! Why on Earth would I ever love you?' He wanted her to feel better, but the guilt and honesty inside him made him admit that he wanted to hold her until she did.

His need to see her was like an addiction. It cured everything, being around Vicky. It made him believe that Cosmo and Wanda would be fine, and that he would get to see them again whenever he wanted. It made him feel better to see the way she looked at him, with so much love in her eyes he didn't think it was possible for anyone to feel that way. And he could ignore, if he tried, the pain in her once so alluring eyes, and pretend that she was going to be alright as well. But he had sworn not to see her, because it was just feeding her false hope and hurting her even more, and Timmy had too much guilt inside him as it was. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands, sobbing, and wishing there was someone around who could understand.

-

Vicky finally stood up from her chair just as the sun was beginning to set again. Her bones felt stiff and her head was beginning to ache a little. She wanted to take a bath, to clear her head, but it felt like such a way to go and such an effort when all she really wanted to do was to curl up under her duvet and try her very best not to exist. However, it soon began to rain despite the sunshine, and Vicky couldn't stand to watch it or listen to it fall, as it reminded her so much of Timmy it felt as though her heart was on fire. She dragged herself to her bathroom and bent over, putting the plug in the bottom of the tub and switching the hot tap on full. She let the rushing, crashing sound of the water fill her head, so much more abrasive and angry than the rain, which to her had always sounded like whispers, but that was something to soft for her to say aloud. The steam filled the room, fogging the windows and the mirror, making her feel surrounded and protected from all the harsh reality that existed on the other side of the locked door. Slowly, she peeled off her nightdress and lent against the cool tiles, allowing her skin to twitch and flinch against the cold porcelain, raising goose pimples all over her frail arms.

When the tub was full, Vicky stepped in delicately, lowering herself into it's relaxing depths and closing her eyes. Though she was far from at peace, just the gentle sensation of the water lapping at her contours and her naked flesh eased her troubles a little, and she wished she could freeze herself in that moment, keeping an eternal distance between now and the moment when Timmy would once again invade her thoughts. She wanted to not think about the pain she used to cause him, or the pain he was causing her now. She wanted to think of things that made her smile, like the night they had spent together in the tree house, or how she had held him like a protector in the mall. She wanted to think of the few things she had done right since the night she delivered that pizza to his door, of all the foundations she had lain down which would soon support beautiful bridges. She wanted, also, to fantasise, about wedding days and nights, and futures filled with stars and love. Instead she found herself thinking about something she hadn't for a while, something she had almost forgotten.

Vicky drifted off to sleep, her thoughts concentrated on Timmy Turner's secret.

-

"I want to know what's going on," the pink-haired fairy demanded. "Please, just tell me, is Cosmo ok?" The two guards beside her said nothing, their faces fixed resolutely on the door. Wanda's arms felt sore and bruised, but she sat still with her eyes dry and unblinking. It had been nearly an hour since she had been pulled from her cell, with too much force to contest the fight she was putting up. She had been led to the room she now found herself in, with restraints around her wrists as though she had the energy to try to escape. They had sat her on a cold metal chair and placed her hands on a table where they could see them, but since the other guard had closed the door she had heard nothing since. No one had said a word to her during any of it, no matter how hard she pleaded for answers, and she was so afraid of what was coming she couldn't stop herself from shivering. Suddenly, the door opened, and Jupitus Starr floated into the room.

"I have good news, Two Four Four," he said promptly. "You are free to go." One of the guards behind her seemed to snap out of his stoic trance at Jupitus's words and floated forwards to undo her handcuffs.

"What?" Wanda asked, her voice high and panicking. "Where's Cosmo? Is he free too?" Something about the smug look on Jupitus's face had already told Wanda that Cosmo was in a lot of trouble, but she needed to know what was happening to her husband.

"One Six Nine... er, Cosmo," Jupitus said with a condescending smirk, "has confessed to everything. You are free to go."

"Please, tell me what's going on!" Wanda begged as one of the guards pulled her roughly to her feet. "Is he going to be alright? What's going to happen to him?"

"All in good time, Two Four Four, all in good time," Jupitus replied, opening the door so that Wanda could be removed from the room. "I will have one of the guards return to you your wand and take you to my office. I have a few things to attend to first, of course, I am a busy man, but I will be with you shortly." He offered her a small bow as she left the room, and she knew it would be pointless to protest. She allowed a guard to lead her back through the wing, past her now vacant cell and the leering eyes of all the other prisoners, to the door she had first come through all those nights ago.

-

Timmy hadn't left his room all day not even to eat. Somehow it didn't seem important, and the quiet stillness of his house only reinforced his belief that there really was no one who could help him. He hated himself for coming to rely on the one person he would never have dreamed of asking for help, hated himself for allowing his comfort to rest in the arms of someone he had all but forgotten about. Vicky had been nothing to him for so long, her visits in the last two years as his babysitter barely registering in his mind. She couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him when she came, it was almost as if she wasn't there. But then he remembered back to the night when his dad had told her she wouldn't be needed anymore, about what he had written in his diary. He had been relying on her for a lot longer than he realised, almost trusting her with his secret in a twisted sort of way, because Timmy knew she was aware of it. And that, perhaps, was the reason he couldn't get her off his mind, perhaps even the reason he truly could forgive her. She was still spiteful, and cruel, and mean-spirited, but she had known he had a secret, and she had never tried to find out what it was or take it away from him. She had let him keep it all to himself, and she had never poked or prodded or demanded to know. Everything else, every silly little trivial adolescent secret she had snatched away, but when she saw the importance of this one she had backed away and let him have it. She had helped, and he had never even noticed. It barely made sense, but Timmy wondered if she truly looked into his eyes now, would she see that he had lost it? Would she see that someone else had snatched it away from him instead?

Timmy sighed deeply. He had to see her. He wanted to spill everything and talk to her, throwing caution to the winds. She would understand, because he some way he was certain she already knew. It was selfish, but Timmy didn't care how seeing him would affect her. He was in far too much pain. He got to his feet and slipped on his trainers, walking across his room towards his door. There was a soft sort of noise behind him.

"Where are you going?" a voice asked quietly.