WyaRose: Sadly still not really any Phoebe/Prue interaction in this, but there's some sisterly bonding coming up in the next chapter! I love the whole sister aspect; I hope it's convincing!

Talk Tonight

"So do you want to tell me what happened tonight?" Andy asks, glancing at me momentarily before being forced to return his attention to the road.

"No," I mutter.

I'm leaning my head against the cool passenger window, gazing out into the darkness in which I can see nothing but passing lights. It's easier than looking at him right now.

"Right, well you see that's kind of going to be a problem seeing as I just drove to some idiot's house on a Friday evening to pick you up where I find you crying and now I'm about to let you stay the night at my place even though I have yet to tell my Dad this."

"Sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

If he's trying to make me feel even worse then he's succeeding.

"Prue," he says with a sigh. "I just want to know what's got you so upset. Is that too much to ask? You'll call me and expect me to pick you up and help you, but you can't tell me whatever's wrong? How does that work?"

I continue to stare out of the window for several moments, then sit up straight, risking a look at him.

"If I tell you then you're going to think it's my fault. That I'm just a stupid cheerleader. And I don't want you to think that."

"I would never think that about you, no matter what you tell me."

He says this with such sincerity that I can't help but be surprised. I don't think anyone's ever told me that they'd like me for being me no matter what. It's usually the opposite that's true, that every little thing I do is there to be judged and turned against me. I can see that I have no choice but to tell him.

"It was nothing really," I say reluctantly.

"Yeah, I usually cry at nothing," he says sarcastically.

I bite my lip, but before I can say anything more he's apologizing.

"Sorry, don't listen to me. Ignore that. Just…ignore me."

"Kind of hard to ignore the person driving the car you're in."

He glances at me and smiles.

"Don't try to change the subject," he says.

I sigh.

"I guess you were right about Tom," I say. I hesitate, then carry on, "I always knew you were right about him. I just didn't want to admit it."

"What did he do?" Andy asks in a measured voice, although I get the impression he's trying not to overreact.

"He…well he was drunk-"

"That is not a valid excuse for whatever you're about to tell me," he says rather forcefully.

"I know that, but I'm sure he wouldn't have said and done that if he was sober…"

"Said and done what?" There's a definite edge to his voice now.

"It was nothing. He just…he might have misinterpreted things. Or maybe…maybe I was giving off the wrong signals."

I can feel the color rising in my cheeks at those words, but thankfully it's too dark for him to be able to see that.

"He was saying all this stuff, about us, me and him I mean. About how good we'd be together and how he knew I wanted it too."

"Prom king and prom queen," Andy mutters, clenching the steering wheel tightly.

That hurts. To hide this fact from him I turn my head away, looking out of the window again and pressing my lips together tightly.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, Prue," he says. "Really, it's not you, it's him." He spits the last word out angrily. "I wasn't trying to make a dig at you."

I stay silent for several moments, then whisper, "I don't care about that stuff. I know everybody thinks I do, but I don't."

"I know. I know that."

Because Andy's hurt my feelings I don't feel quite so bad in blurting out, "He made a pass at me. He tried to put his hand up my skirt. Then because he was so drunk he fell over and he pulled me down with him and tried to kiss me. He sort of had me pinned down so I freaked out and kicked him."

Andy doesn't say anything. In fact if we weren't sitting so close in a quiet car I'd assume he hadn't heard me at all for all the reaction he gives. He simply keeps his gaze firmly on the road ahead, which I suppose is a good thing considering if he didn't then we'd probably both wind up in the hospital at the very least seeing as he's driving, but still, I was expecting more.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" I ask finally, beginning to worry that he's silence is indicative of his feelings towards me. That he's blaming me. I mean, I must be to blame a little. I must have given Tom the impression that I liked him, that I wanted something more, even if I didn't mean to.

"Where'd you kick him?"

I blink, surprised.

"Where it hurts," I reply, suppressing a smile.

This elicits a smile from him and after a moment he begins to laugh.

"Okay, that makes me feel better," he says when his laughter has subsided. "Although I'd like to have a go myself."

"Yeah, it made me feel better too," I agree. " I know you told me about him, by the way," I add. "I should have listened. Sorry."

"It's alright. I probably wouldn't have listened to me if I were you either. You have known him considerably longer so I guess he has earned your trust more than I have."

"No, he hasn't. And if anything, the fact that I know him should have been a warning. I'm so stupid sometimes."

"No you're not," he says quickly.

"You have to say that," I mutter.

"Misjudging somebody doesn't make you stupid."

I smile.

"I'm sorry you had such a bad time at Homecoming," I blurt out.

"What?" He asks, glancing at me in confusion.

"Homecoming," I repeat as if that's all I need to say; after all, he was there too.

"I didn't have a bad time. Why do you say that?"

"Well…I…it wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind and…" I hesitate. "I know it was my fault. I was just so preoccupied with Phoebe, and I was so embarrassed that you heard all that stuff she said…that you saw us arguing."

"It's okay. I get it. I'm sure if I had a little sister I'd have behaved the same."

"And then I called it a disaster and I didn't mean to make it sound like it was your fault, it wasn't -"

"I'm still glad I went with you," he interrupts.

"Oh."

If I could then I'd apologize for the way I left things in the car too, for not kissing him, but I can't bring myself to say that, and anyway, it's probably best not to bring it up right now. The last thing he wants is a reminder that while I kissed Tom tonight (although technically he kissed me) I wouldn't kiss him, even if I do regret that now.

Andy turns the car into a driveway and cuts the engine. Now that we're actually at his house I start to feel anxious. I can imagine how Grams would react if I turned up with somebody of the opposite sex announcing that they were going to be staying the night, and even though Grams is stricter than most parents, I can't imagine a lot of parents being okay with their 17 year old son bringing home a girl from a party, even if he wasn't in attendance at that party himself.

"What are your parents going to say?" I ask.

"My mom's away," he says, suddenly looking wary.

"Anywhere nice?" I enquire.

"No," he says abruptly, then looks embarrassed. "I mean, just her sister's. My aunt's that is… Anyway," he continues briskly. "Dad won't mind…as long as we're not sleeping in the same room, that is. Which we're not," he adds hurriedly, as if he doesn't want me to think he's presuming anything.

"Are you sure he won't mind?" I ask anxiously.

"Positive," he replies.

His house is nice. More than nice. Don't get me wrong, I love my house. It has a lot of happy memories, not just for me and my sisters, but for all the previous generations that lived there. I love the history it has. But in spite of all of this sometimes it doesn't feel quite like a home. It's like there's something missing. Andy's house feels like a home and I'm only in the hall.

"My dad's asleep," Andy says in a low voice as he puts his car keys quietly down on a table near the front door.

I follow him down the hall, trying to make as little noise as possible, and into the living room.

"Do you want a drink?" He asks, flicking on the light.

"No thanks," I say, although the last thing I drank was Tom's beer. "Actually, maybe a glass of water would be nice."

"Sure, I'll be right back."

He disappears, leaving me standing in his living room. I wander over to a sideboard and pick up a photograph. It's obviously Andy when he was younger, with two people who can only be his parents. They look happy. I bite my lip to stop myself from doing something stupid like crying, and gently rest the photo frame back in its place.

"That was taken in Vermont."

I turn around quickly, feeling strangely embarrassed to have been caught looking at the photo, which is absurd considering it's on display.

"Not long before my grandmother died," Andy adds, handing me a glass of water. "She lived there."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, it was a long time ago now."

"You look happy. The three of you."

"Yeah," he says shortly, offering nothing more.

"So…" I say, to fill in the silence. "Thanks for coming to get me tonight."

"Any time," he says. "Well maybe not any time…"

"Don't worry, I think I'll be giving parties a miss for the foreseeable future."

We both smile at each other.

"So, uh, I'll take the couch," I say, breaking eye contact before things get too uncomfortable.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can have my room. I'll sleep down here."

I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head and firmly begins pushing me towards the hallway and the stairs.

"No arguments," he says. "Anyway, I wouldn't want my Dad getting up tomorrow and finding you on the couch. Much better for him to find me there."

The landing is in darkness, so I step aside to let Andy lead the way. He doesn't turn the light on and after a moment he reaches behind to find my hand, linking his fingers through mine as I follow him blindly, trusting that he has his house committed well enough to memory to be able to see without the light.

I like him holding my hand. It feels right. It feels natural. As soon as he does it I realize that I wanted him to hold my hand. But I don't like that I like it. I'm not the kind of person who gets caught up in insignificant, miniscule things like that, who assigns importance to things that in reality mean nothing, especially something as small as somebody taking my hand. But I'm doing it involuntarily. I wonder if him not putting the light on was just an excuse to hold my hand. God, I hope it was just an excuse.

Once he's shut the door of his room he turns the light on. His room is tidy and organized and I recognize some History homework on his desk, homework that I have yet to even look at. I stand still, waiting for him to say or do something while I try to ignore the fact that I'm in his bedroom standing right next to his bed.

"Do you want something to sleep in?" He asks, taking in my cheerleader uniform. "That's probably not the most comfortable thing to sleep in."

"I've been feeling stupid in it pretty much since I put it on before the game," I say, looking down at the pleated skirt. I don't add that lately, instead of feeling confident and self-assured in my uniform like I used to, I've been feeling like a total fraud.

He hands me some clothes.

"They're probably a bit big, but…" He shrugs.

"It's fine… thanks. And thanks for tonight. It means a lot."

"It's alright," he says.

There's another silence as we look at each other, just like the one downstairs several minutes before, but this time Andy's the one to break it.

"Night, Prue," he says, offering me a smile.

"Night," I murmur, half smiling back.

The song is by Oasis (one of my favorite bands).