"Beck, wait." Bernard said and reached forward as Beck walked towards the house. She shook him off when he took a hold of her jacket sleeve. This can't end well. He dreaded the questions that he knew she would have. She would want the truth, but he couldn't possibly give it to her. The truth was something that he simply didn't have.

She crunched through the un-shoveled snow, up to a front window. There was a board missing, and Beck tried to peer into the dark house. When she couldn't see anything, she went to the door. She tried the door handle, but it was locked. She pushed, but it wouldn't budge. She kicked the frame. Beck rested her forehead on the wood of the door and closed her eyes.

"Beck..." Bernard started softly, stepping forward and reaching toward her. But Beck grabbed the handle again and threw all her weight against the door. "Stop." She smacked his hand out of the way when it made contact with her shoulder.

"If you're not going to help me, then stay out of my way."

Beck had been considering visiting her old home since her return, and now that she was there, her heart had dropped to eight feet below the earth's crust.

This is so messed up.

Her stomach churned. Beck wanted her mother to open the door, all green eyes and disheveled hair. She would hug her and apologize – So sorry about the mess. The house is being worked on – and welcome her lost daughter inside. The house would smell just like it always had; fresh laundry and sawdust and hairspray. Maybe her mother would offer her something to eat – Beck would decline, of course. Blythe was a lot of things, but "chef" was not among them. Beck could almost smell the peppermint on her breath.

She slammed her weight against the door again. Her chest pounded. She wanted to throw up. Beck backed away from the door slightly.

"Beck?" Bernard glanced around to see who was watching.

"Shut up." She growled and launched herself forward at the door, shoulder first. There was a gut-wrenching crack, the sound of metal against metal, and then Beck was on the floor in the kitchen of her house. She lied there for a moment, catching her breath. She could see some vital parts of the door's lock laying in pieces a few feet from her.

Bernard rushed forward to help her up. She clenched her teeth at the pain in her shoulder. She rolled her arm in the socket, and let out a relieved breath when a satisfying crack rang throughout the room. Bernard cringed. He watched her as she wandered the dusty kitchen. The furniture was clearly in disrepair, but everything was where it was fifty years ago.

Beck opened a cabinet. The familiar mismatched china laid there innocently, as if it had been waiting on her all this time. The air was heavy and dusty and stagnant. She closed the cabinet and ran her hand over the counter top. She turned around slowly, leaning against the counter as if she had just been punched in the gut. Her eyes stung, but she bit her cheek as she looked evenly up at Bernard. His heart was in his throat.

"Where is my mom?"

"We really shouldn't be in here-"

"This is my house." Her voice broke. "Where is my mom?" She repeated. Bernard's shoulders slumped. He was at a loss.

"No one knows."

He suddenly looked tired – ancient, even. The dark circles under his eyes showed the weight that his station had to carry.

"What do you mean, 'no one knows?'"

For an instant, Bernard thought he caught a glimpse of fragility in her dark eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut. A chair screeched on the floor as he pulled it out and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. Beck drifted slightly in his direction.

"About a year after you left, she stopped coming to work. A few of her friends from the workshop came here, looking for her, but she had just – disappeared. Not a trace. The house was left undisturbed. Some think she might be with your dad, but then..." He trailed off. No one knew where her father was either, so that was a dead end. Beck zipped up her jacket – it was just as cold inside the house – and crossed her arms. Bernard watched her as she leaned against the counter again and slid to the floor, with one knee bent t her chest. She, in turn, watched her breath in the air as she exhaled, eyes unfocusing.

Becky trotted home after school, hugging her books tightly to her body to protect herself from the biting wind. Her boots crunched through the pristine snow and she hummed to herself lightly. She pulled open the front gate when she reached her house and took the front steps in one leap. There was a blast of warm air as Becky entered the house, and she dropped her books on the table.

"Hi, mom!" She chirped, but paused when she saw Blythe sitting at the table, face buried in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. Becky rushed over and knelt beside her. "Mom?" Blythe looked up at her daughter. Her celery-colored eyes were puffy and ringed with red.

"Oh, honey."

"Mom, what's wrong?" She grabbed her mother's hand.

Blythe tenderly stroked her daughter's cheek with the back of her other hand. "You look just like your father." Becky gave her a questioning look as steps were heard on the staircase. She stood when she saw her father, dressed in a coat with a flat cap in hand. He was carrying a suitcase.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry sweetheart." He kissed the top of her head. He turned to his wife and knelt beside her, where Becky had been moments before. He reached out to stroke her hair, but she viciously slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me." She snarled.

Becky's father stood up slowly, grunting as he did so. He turned and opened the front door, putting his hat on. She trailed after him.

"Dad, where are you going?"

He turned slowly and looked her in the eye. "Becky, please understand. I can't tell you. It's for your own good. I can only hope that, with time, your mother will understand too."

"But you're coming back, right?" She asked desperately, choking back tears.

He smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that's not possible, sweetheart." He turned and started towards the gate.

Becky grabbed his arm. "Wait!"

He pulled away from her hand, turning around again. He firmly grasped her by the shoulders. "Rebecca, you're old enough to know that everything in the world isn't beautiful. There are bad things, ugly people, sharp objects-" He chuckled at his own joke. Becky refused to smile, but he continued- "You are going to encounter a lot of the ugly. You can't always change that. But you have to remember to look for the beautiful. Even if you can't see it. Seeing isn't believing-"

"-Believing is seeing," Becky finished the well-known allegory, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"That's right." He took her face in his hands. She stifled a sob. "No matter what happens, you have to remember that I love you." He kissed her head again and backed away. "Take care of your mother."

Becky nodded, and watched wordlessly as her father evaporated from sight.

Beck lifted her eyes to Bernard and gave a ghost of a nod. "Yeah." She stood up as if it required a lot of effort, and moved towards the stairs. It felt as if she had to drag her limbs with her. She may as well have been walking through water. Bernard watched her ascend the stairs, wilted, but let her be alone.

Beck reached the top of the stairs and drifted into Blythe's bedroom, where dull white sheets covered the furniture. She opened the closet. All of her mother's clothes were where they should be; sloppily clinging to hangers and spilling out of a heavy trunk. She reached out towards the clothes, but hesitated when her trembling fingers were inches from the fabric. Beck took a shaky breath and touched a soft, grey sweater. She leaned in and inhaled her mother's scent; peppermint and hairspray, intertwined with time. She ran her hand over the hanging clothes and swallowed the nausea. It was almost like she had had the wind knocked out of her. Her head and vision were swimming. She pulled the grey sweater off of the hanger, and shrugged off her bomber jacket before wrapping herself in the garment. She closed the closet door, grabbed her jacket, and wandered out.

The red head descended the stairs and turned into another room, that of a child. The curtains were pastel, and a multitude of trinkets and baubles were placed on the dresser or pinned to the striped walls. She found herself picking up a dome-like object, blowing off the dust. In her hands was a small snow globe. She shook it and squinted through the dirty glass, rubbing grime away with her thumbs.

White snowflakes swirled and floated around a little bear. The design was simple, yet elegant and well-executed.

"And he just left?" Bernard folded his legs beneath him and sat down in the snow.

Becky wrapped her arms around her knees and wiped her eyes. "He said he couldn't tell me why." She rested her forehead on her knees and sat there silently.

Bernard waited for her to speak, but she was quiet for longer than he anticipated. He became restless.

"Hey. I know things seem scary right now, but it'll be okay," was all that he could come up with. He hesitantly reached forward and rubbed her back. She mumbled something into her lap.

He changed the subject in an attempt to lift her spirits. "I have something for you. Promise you won't laugh," He told her as he reached into his satchel.

"Hey."

She jumped out of her skin and the snow globe slipped from her hand, tumbled through the air, and shattered on the wood floor. She looked back to see Bernard standing in the doorway of her childhood bedroom.

Her mind was suddenly, painfully cleared. Standing in that empty house with a boy she was once so close to, she was reminded of the stark, solitary life she was leading. She had made that choice herself, of course. She chose where her allegiance belonged, and subsequently chose to burn any and all bridges that stood in the way. Jack's words rang in her head.

"You can't just walk away from this."

In that moment, she knew. She was never going to see her mother again.

Bernard took in Beck's expression as she whipped around to face him; her wide eyes, her parted lips. She looked back down at the shattered glass on the floor. The liquid from inside the globe pooled around her shoes. She crouched down to frantically pick up the pieces. The little bear laid in the center of the mess, forlornly surrounded by the shrapnel of his former home. A shard of glass sliced her palm, and she hissed, clutching her hand and dropping the pieces. She looked up to see Bernard kneeling in front of her, wordlessly scooping up the ruined snow globe. Beck knew he recognized the destroyed trinket, and she watched an unfamiliar expression ripple across his features. The bruise on his cheek had darkened since the previous day. She picked up the bear, a little of her blood smearing on its resin body, and pocketed it, as Bernard dropped the rest of the remains into a basket in the corner. He was then beside her, reaching out to help her up. She took his warm, dry hand and stood. She noticed how much larger his hands were compared to hers, and gently pulled away.

"We should probably bandage that." He murmured as her fingers slid from his. He touched her back to lead her out, and she let him.

Bernard unlocked his front door and let the two of them in.

"Woah," Beck breathed when she saw the spacious apartment before her, "Nice crib."

The Head Elf shrugged it off. "Comes with the territory. Let's get you something for your hand." He pulled off his satchel and hung it on a chair before heading to a kitchen cabinet. He pulled out a first-aid kit.

Beck inched up behind him. "It's fine, I'm not gonna be a pussy about it. I think I just need a Band-aid."

Bernard looked back, grabbing her injured hand and taking a look at it. The cut was fairly deep and extended across her palm. He looked back up at her face, skeptically raising an eyebrow. "A Band-aid?" He reached into the metal box and pulled out rubbing alcohol and cotton pads. "You don't know what was on that glass," He told her tensely as he cleaned the cut. She jerked away.

"I'm a big girl. I can do it."

"Suit yourself." He put his hands up and backed away.

As Beck dabbed gingerly at the wound, Bernard opened the pantry. "It's getting late. What do you want to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry," Beck mumbled distractedly, clumsily trying to wrap her hand.

"Are you sure? Because I can-"

"I'm fine," Her voice was muffled, as she was using her teeth to pull the bandage tight. She pushed her hair out of her face, frustrated.

"Here, let me." Bernard stepped over and pulled her injured appendage to him and started re-wrapping it.

"I have it under control." Beck snapped at him, trying to pull away.

"You're doing it wrong," He pulled her back in his direction, glaring at her. He was not going to deal with her attitude.

"Let go!" She yanked away. He pulled harder, and the two struggled for a few moments. "I know it's difficult to hear with your head up your ass-" She looked up and caught his eyes, and the pair stopped cold. Their faces were far too close for Beck's comfort. They stood for a moment, suspended, waiting. Bernard turned her hand over. The pad of his thumb grazed the back of her hand ever so slightly. Beck's breath hitched in her throat, and she looked away.

Bernard opened his mouth to speak, when the front door burst open in the other room. The two put as much space as possible between them, as if they were similarly-charged batteries. Beck fled to the opposite counter, Bernard to the island. He forced a falsely-nonchalant stretching motion, staring determinedly at the ceiling.

"Bernard?" Curtis called out from the front room.

Beck fixed the Head Elf with a sharp look. "You have got to be kidding me."

"He grows on you," Bernard said as he exited the kitchen.

"Yeah?" she followed him out. "So does ringworm."

Updated in less than a week since the last chapter! This must be a new record for me!

However, I'm not sure how I feel about this one.

Review, please! Critiques welcome!