Hey my people. I'm, like, freaking bummed that the next Lab Rats episode will be in OCTOBER! That's just too long a wait. It just better be worth it. How many of you feel the same way?

Are any Kickin' It fans here? Reading this story? Because if there isn't, you can skip ahead, but I'm majorly excited for Hit the Road Jack. It will be the best Kickin' It episode by far to me. And It hasn't even aired and I know it.

It'll be that good.

Rachel's Pov

I was starting to get worried. Well, more worried, anyway. Christine didn't show up to school all week; Bree's freaking out because Christine wants nothing to do with her; whenever Chase is near, I just wanted to sock him in the face. And don't think I can't do it either.

Break-ups had always been my thing—but in the way you think. Sammie and Ashley had a thing for jocks, getting heartbroken after less than two months. (You'd think by now they knew not to go after the type that dumped them.)

I've only ever experienced a break-up once or twice, but both times were neutral—there was nothing to cry over.

"You're gonna have to come out of there some time!" I called into Christine's door, kicking it with the toe of my heel.

Christine snorted from behind it. "And when my bladder explodes, I will. But for now, buh-bye!"

I groaned in frustration. "Oh come on! I know you love him and all, but you can't blame him." Bree had told me this earlier at school, begging me to tell Christine this since she won't talk to her. I was curious as to what this meant (we all saw how Chase gave Callan a sock right to the jaw), but didn't pry. Prying just led to pissing people off for no reason and right now no one needed that.

Just as I was about to give up—turning around and heading home to watch my recorded shows and plot, just like yesterday—when I heard the front door slam. I furrowed my eyebrows; was Grant heading out or something?

"What are you doing here?" I heard the said man hiss in anger and awe. I gasped, eyes going wide. That was my first time ever hearing him that angry…including all the times he refused to budge his feelings for Davenport. Who could cause him to act in such a way?

By now Christine's door had creaked open and she was standing right beside me. The two of us huddled together at the top of the stairs.

"I came to see her," a woman's voice snipped, sounding tired and snappy. "I have as much a right to her as you do."

"Not when you walked out thirteen years ago!"

Christine gasped in shock, looking horrified as a hand rose to her mouth. She stumbled, her slippers nearly slipping from the carpeted floor. The rustle of movement replaced the voices. Being cautious, I crept down the stairs for a better peek, gripping the rail as I watched a lady came into view.

She was gorgeous, young and pretty and brunette; Shorter than Grant but taller than Chase. Something about her thin face and slope of a nose seemed so familiar…

Then it clicked.

"My dear god," I whispered in disbelief. The wave of surprise was so strong that it nearly knocked me off my spying step.

I held my breath, waiting to be discovered as I slowly crept closer. Christine had to be right behind me now—she was practically breathing down my neck. She had to be more shocked than I was.

Seeing her mother…seeing her for the first time in forever.

"How did you even find us?" Grant growled angrily. "I spent months securing our trail—moving place to place all the time."

The woman stepped closer, hand on hips. "She's my daughter, I deserve to see her."

"Last I knew, you didn't want to see her."

"Things change, Allan. Stop focusing on the past and let me in!"

"Why should when you spent all these years trying so hard 'living in the past' yourself?"

Silence. Christine was gripping my arm tightly, her sharp nails digging into my skin and making half-moons. I was too pitiful to care; some arm squeezing was nothing compared to how pained she looked right now.

I turned to her entirely, whispering, "Do you want to do go down?" low enough for only Christine to hear.

Christine's breath hitched (out of nervousness or pain, I couldn't tell) and nodded, almost reluctant. "Let's get this over with," she mumbled. "I'd have to face the music eventually."

Licking my lips, we carefully snuck down the stairs cautiously. Up close, this lady—it took a while for it so sink in I'd have to call her Christine's mom—looked more like Christine; and awfully familiar. Something about her ballet dancer body and dainty dramatic face struck a memory, like looking at the same article after months and months of not reading it.

"How can you blame me?" She's yelling now. "You turned my only daughter into a science experiment and kept it from her—kept it from me."

Grant pinched the bridge of his nose like he was losing his tolerance already. "She's fine with it now and getting plenty of the proper training she needs within each week. Many people close to her have the same situation and she is fine with it."

Fine with what? What was the 'top secret, causing-appeared-mom-to-act-crabby' experiment they keep mentioning? I looked to Christine for some answers, but all she did is tightened her robe belt and shot me a guilty look. I'll explain later.

The adults still hadn't noticed us yet, facing off like they'd done it way too many times before. I thought back to the brief snippets of conversations where Christine ever brought up her mom or parents' in general—they never saw eye to eye. Especially when it came to decisions about her.

With a supporting squeeze, I tossed her a small smile. Christine tried to smile back, but it came out a grimace. "Let's just get this over with," she grumbled, letting me lead her downstairs.

Christine's Pov

There she was. Standing right in front of me with that same look of fury and pain and irritation etched on her face that I saw her walk out the door with years ago.

When thinking about seeing my own mother again, I always imagined the meeting a bit more fairytale like. Just to kid myself of course. Mom and me would never be truly fixed, so happy and carefree and just there—nothing like her baking cookies and happily settled and peaceful with Dad and me.

It was hanging by a close thread, but such a great distance away; simply not meant to happen.

Unlike when I was little, I was okay with it now.

But something inside my snapped at the mere sight of the woman who made me. Something that made my chin trembled and lips quiver as my eyes started to get dotted with tears. Another thing broke too, making my hands ball into the tightest fist I could manage. My fingernails dug into my palms, my fists shaking and white.

Rachel's eyes are wide as she stood on the sidelines, only a few feet away from me behind the couch. For reasons I fathom, it was quite surprising she was still here. I've had fights with my dad before, several in different states, others on the road or the occasional airplane ride. Some were in front of temporary friends I found decent to hang out with, who chose to slip out of the house and ignore my existence for the of the time I'm in the state.

It was nice, having support in these situations where all the odds weren't on my side. I knew at least one person would stick by me through all this.

"Mom," I tried to say evenly. I cringed when I heard the crack at the end. "What are you doing here?"

She stiffened, turning in surprise. I shifted in my slippers as she looked me over critically from my brown monkey slippers to the crown of my head where a rat's nest sat stubbornly. "Christine," she said evenly, still eyeing me. "How nice to see you unchanged."

Rachel looked at me quizzically. "Unchanged?" she mouthed to me, looking curious and concerned.

"I'll explain later," I mouthed back, hoping she got it.

I turned back to my mother. She looked colder and stern than when I was younger. "Of course I've changed; you've missed a lot of milestones and I hope it was so worth it."

She paused, not expecting it. Good. I hope it threw her off guard. "I've been busy," she said carefully, working around her words. "And I would've tried to contact you..."

"That's a load of bull!" I cried out, throwing my hands up. "When I was ten, I sent you five letters a week for a month, and never once did you respond to any of them." I crossed my arms in frustration. "You know, I always heard about that one family that was torn apart because of greed, but I never thought that it would happen to me—or because of you."

Mom stumbled back a bit in shock. "Why would you say such a thing? I've spent forever trying to get you away from the things he's done to you! And things like that!"

My jaw dropped as she pointed to Rem—my Rem; the same Rem who knew my favorite breakfast and always sang along with me whenever I watched Music Man; the same Rem who taught me how to ride a bike and made me brownies when I fell into a bush. The same Rem who stepped in when my mother left me.

"What are you talking about?!" I screeched, running over to Rem and standing next to her protectively. "Rem's my best friend—she treated me the way you never would've."

"Christine Annabel Grant, you know that is not true!" mother protested sternly, looking between me and Rem fiercely. It didn't feel right calling her Mom—she didn't deserve the title.

"Then why'd you leave?" I said sourly.

She point accusingly as Dad. "He turned you into a walking disaster! You're lucky I came years later instead of never."

"Maybe it should've been never," I said, speaking quietly now. But it's loud enough to throughout the room. "Everything had been okay for me until you decide to break me apart all over again." I suddenly burst out laughing, "And on today of all days. If anything, Dad helped me. He did something that you never did me—at all."

"And what would that be?" mother said coldly, "Ruining your life?"

I shook my head at how she still wasn't getting it. "He stuck by me," I said strongly. "Sure, he made us pack up and leave a lot, but he always knew what to do to keep me safe and comfortable. He raised me. He loves me." I stepped closer, daring this woman to challenge me. "And he didn't just pack up in leave."

Mother shook her head in disbelief. "Did he do this too? Brainwash you into thinking that making you unnatural was okay? This is child abuse!" She shrieked in desperation. By now even she saw her defenses and protests were weak.

"What about all these years? Isn't that called neglect?" I said, daring her once again. "And just because he did extra things with me doesn't make it child abuse. I like it now. It's fun to step outside the box and be different for a change. It even brought me closer together with the one I love."

Rachel gasped, her hand rising to her mouth. I smiled as I realize she'd caught on to what I'd been hinting for her. Now she knew too.

"This isn't over," mother tried to fight weakly. "I can bring in the authorities."

Dad sucked in a breath. Even though being a part of science world as a project was new to me, I'd caught on when I was pretty young that Dad always feared his work would bring him trouble. But that's why Dad and I were so alike—we took major risks with huge consequences.

"Actually," Rachel began with her finger raised dramatically. She fixed her posture so look professional. "It kind of is. You see, as long as Christine agrees to the terms of said project-slash-experimentation brought upon her, there is no legal charges he can face. And as long as she has permission from guardian she's under the care for, it is legal for Mr. Grant to perform such things on a minor. And no, it does not count for child abuse—physical and/or verbal—when she is physically and mentally healthy." Rachel finished with a shrug, adding in a casual, "Now I suggest you stop talking because you have nothing to prove."

Mother looked around angrily, glaring at all of us. "What do you know?" she snapped at Rachel. "You're just a 'minor' yourself."

"Actually," I said with a smirk. "Both of her parents are involved with the law. Her mom's a lawyer and her father's chief of the Police Department. So she and her sister know quite a lot."

"What if I force you to come on the road with me?" mother snipped, "Watching your mother go around the country with fame and fortune and be a star, and taking notes for a decent life."

Rachel stepped in again, still in professional mode. "It would be worse," she claimed, "I think Christine would agree that as a star, you're hounded constantly for your work in the theatre arts and can't settle down like her and her father can. And living on the road would not provide to right kind of school education and social activity teenagers our age require for a healthy life into adulthood." Rachel shrugged again, adding, "Really, you should stop talking when nothing you say is making any sense."

Mother fumed, eyes going huge and dangerously full of brimming hatred. "Mark my words, child," she spat at me in distaste. "I'll be back; you'll be joining me whether you like it or not."

She spun dramatically on her heel and stormed out the door, it shutting loudly behind her. Seconds later we could hear her car start up, backing out of the driveway and zooming down the street.

I turned to Rachel. "That was pretty cool; did I mention I love you."

Rachel dismissed me with a grin. "Aw, shut up."

"How'd you know Maria was famous?" Dad asked, "Did you mention it to her."

"Mom's into recording that kind of stuff," Rachel claimed with a shrug. "She's always watching it when she's home alone. I just recognized her from it."

Chase's Pov

This had to qualify as trespassing somehow. "We really shouldn't be doing this," I hissed to Bree.

She just rolled her eyes and gave me a shove forward. "I didn't let you ride me all the here for nothing," she snipped irritably, rolling her eyes. "Now climb up that tree and kiss and make up already. I've gone crazy for having resort to no girl talk —again."

Rolling my eyes at her and how overly dramatic she was, I started up the tree, praying that a thick enough branch would be able to lead me to Christine's balcony. When I stopped, I panted and took a moment to take a breather. Groaning, I struggled to scoot forward, clutching the branch as I make it to the railing.

"Move faster you wimp!" Bree hissed up to me, hands on her hips. "I don't got all night!"

"Quit rushing me!" I said down to her in reply, trying to carefully step onto the railing.

It didn't end well.

Just as I thought I found my balance, my foot slipped and sent me crashing the wooded balcony floor. Moaning in pain, I tried to use my arm to prop myself up. As I was about to get to my knees, I heard the door fly open and gasp.

Christine stood there staring at me in shock. "What are you doing here?" she hissed. "We're supposed to be broken up. That means you can't decidedly drop in and try to sweep me off my feet." She crossed her arms and gave me a pointed look. "You have two minutes before I kick you over the edge."

"I'm really, really, really sorry for what you saw at school," I began. "I get jealous super easily and with Callan I just kind of snapped when I saw you too together. I apologized to him but he isn't the one I want to forgive me." Cautiously, I stepped closer as I saw her soften, but only in the slightest. "That wasn't me you saw that day. It was Spike. He was way worse than me and sometimes I can't control him. What will it take for you to forgive me?" I was standing right in front of her now, holding her hands in mine as I pleaded, "Please don't make me suffer any longer."

Christine sighed, looking into my eyes sadly. "How are we going to get through this, Chase?" she asked quietly. "Spike can't keep coming out and ruining everything for us every time a guy wants to hang out me. We can't keep chasing each other away."

"I know," I agreed quietly. "So what are we going to do?"

She sighed again, pulling away and running her hand through her messy hair. "Give me time to think this over," she answered thoughtfully, looking kind of distant as if thinking this over. "Let's meet at midnight—our special park place. I'll give you my answer then."

I guess that's better than her hating me for the rest of high school.

What answer do you think Christine will give him? Should she take him back or reject him again?

Review, it helps us update faster. :D