Hey again! I have a new one-shot out for Victorious, and it'd mean the world if you read it and dropped a review :)

Sorry for the kind of late update. I've been trying to survive with a running nose and constantly blowing all the crap out and…yeah, my life.

Read on and enjoy!

October 15th 2013

Chase's Pov

Christine called half an hour before they were supposed to come to confirm their arrival. Bree was still out of it, but not as much. (That didn't mean much, except that it was mild enough for Davenport not to notice—again, not saying much.)

Tasha was busy moving around the kitchen, not able to stand still. First she was at the stove, then the fridge, then the oven, then back to the fridge. It was like she couldn't make up her mind where it was the place to cook.

"The only thing that'll do is start to freeze the house," I joked when she stood in front of fridge, door open, for five minute. Tasha had been at for more than two hours with very little progress.

"Can robots even eat or drink anything? Should I get a pitcher and fill it with oil?" She was muttering to herself, sounding like a madwoman as she started for her pitcher. Then she stopped. "Listen to me." Tasha shook her head. "Normal housewives don't have to worry about robot guests and their eating habits. Why can't I be like one of them?"

"Because then you wouldn't have a rich husband." We both laughed because, as usual, I was right.

It felt good to laugh during a mother and son moment with Tasha. Sure, those moments were peculiarly rare, but it was nice to enjoy them when they occurred. Despite her weirdness toward us being bionic—basically science experiments, which Davenport would never admit to—she was good to us.

To show my kindness, I helped set the table. I had to drag to drag three extra chairs in, but I didn't mind.

"But really," Tasha asked from her pot. "What does a robot maid eat? Can I even call it eating?"

"Of course Rem eats," I said surely, but had no idea if I was right or not. Thinking back, I've never really seen Rem eat anything—or drink either.

"Sup, babe?" Christine greeted once she picked up her phone.

I chuckled nervously, having no idea how to put it without defending her—Christine could get really defensive about Rem at times. "Uh yeah, hey. About dinner tonight…"

"Oh God." She sighed heavily into her phone; it made an ear-splitting crackle. At least, to me anyway. "They cancelled it didn't they? Aw, man, I was this close to getting my dad out of his robe—"

I cut her off. "No! No! That's not it at all. It's just—Tasha's flipped out about not knowing what Rem eats; no offense, but does she even eat?"

There was a pause, making me dread her answer. Until laughter exploded in my ear. Christine was still giggling as she answered. "She eats what we eat, silly! Dad did make her a human robot after all. She has a filter that allows her to digest regular food then…reproduce it later. What, did you think she was always drinking car oil or something?" Christine continued to laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. Knowing her, it probably was.

"Haha, yeah…" I trailed off awkwardly, backtracking into the kitchen and grabbing the cookbook off the counter. Tasha looked to me curiously as I stopped on a page; Christine's favorite and easy to cook.

I put it back down and pointed at it, my phone balanced between my ear and shoulder. "Yeah, thanks for clarifying, Chris. Yeah, okay, uh huh, see you soon. Love you."

I hung up and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I told Tasha what Christine said, leaving out the part about the filter and other stuff, mainly focusing on how Rem could eat whatever. That seemed to calm her down. After finishing up what I'd been doing, I hurried down to the lab.

"How's she doing?" I asked, looking to Bree. She had been in her tube after Adam had carried her down here from her room, but now Davenport had her lying on the table, plenty of wires and monitors lying around her. She looked like she was sleeping, but I knew better.

"Oh, besides the fact that Big D practically drugged her to death, shoved about twenty needles filled with God-knows-what in her, and made me feel if her throat was swollen, she's doing dandy," Leo answered sarcastically with an eye roll.

I turned to Davenport after looking to Bree with more than a handful of wires attached to her head. "Really? Too cheap to take her to a professional, like a hospital?"

"Oh please," Davenport replied offhandedly, looking to his clipboard; he had several pages most likely littered with thousands of notes. "I'm a billionaire scientist—I think I can figure out what's wrong with a teenage girl."

I seriously doubted that, but said nothing.

Leo on the other hand, had no problem speaking his mind. "You said that when Ethan dumped her—she didn't talk to you worth nothing for a month."

He had a point.

Davenport waved him off. "Leo, this is highly different circumstances. This is medically a bionic health problem and these things are straight up my alley." He paused. "Somewhat."

Leo shrugged. "Fine, but if my mother comes after you for wrecking her only daughter, she'll wreck you," he warned, walking out of the lab.

What Leo said was completely possible and the thought seemed to send a chill through Davenport, because he knew the truth of how fierce Tasha could be.

I walked closer to Bree. Not any of us had ever been to a hospital before, and were very inexperienced and less notified of how sickness worked. We never had a reason to get sick, so we didn't. But look down at my sister, pale and asleep but dead, with several God-knows-what kinds of drugs running through her, I felt the panic people must've felt when something was happening out of their control.

I didn't ever want to feel that way again. Especially when one of my siblings was involved.

"This is strange," Davenport spoke from a monitor. A thick black cord ran from it and slipped underneath Bree's shirt to attach somewhere on her stomach. The sight and thoughts of what it could be made my stomach flop.

"What is it?" My worry peaked. So far, my evening was beginning a disastrous. Tasha was behind with cooking; Leo and Adam were planning something for sure; and Davenport and I were trying to figure out what happened to my sister, when nothing should have happened at all.

He tapped away at the keyboard. "Her stress levels and blood pressure had raised an extreme amount. When had she first started showing unnatural symptoms?"

"Three days before the first day of school," I answered immediately. "But more major than minor signs approached more obviously the second week of school when the play was first mentioned."

"Anything else? Any stress inducing events over that period of time?" Davenport wouldn't look up from the monitor, still tap, tap, tapping away at the keys.

I tried to think back harder. There was a string connecting the two different time gaps. There just had to be. "There's a new girl," I remembered suddenly. "We ran into her at the mall before school started and she's an understudy in the play. But what could she possibly want with Bree?"

That was a good question. What type of business would Tina Walters have with Bree? She was new to town from Arizona, and hadn't even been there for two months before she met us at the mall. What kind of news or rumors could have reached her about Bree? Was there any news she could've heard? The idea was unlikely, but possible nonetheless.

There was groan. I jumped in surprise and looked down. She still looked sickly, but Bree moved her arms a couple inches and tried to look up. "Chase?" she asked. Her eyes were still closed, but her face scrunched up before stiffly relaxing again. It was almost like she was in pain. I bet she was.

I couldn't answer before she was pulled back under. Bree went entirely limp and her head lolled.

"What did you do?" I asked, not sure how to feel about this anymore.

"It's better for her to be unconscious and on her way to health than awake and out of it," Davenport explained—he finally was away from the monitor. "Besides, the last thing we need is her acting loopy with someone else out of their mind at the dinner table."

I tensed, knowing he was talking about Grant. Sure, he had been acting a bit irregular lately, but could he really be called out of his mind? All I knew was, Davenport better not talk like that around Christine or all hell will break loose before the main course arrived.

Only a half hour later did the Grants' arrive. Christine was the first one to step through the door, hugging me so tight I was sure my lungs would burst. Then she smashed our mouths together like we hadn't seen each other in centuries.

Not that I was to complain.

"Whoa, whoa," Leo complained from the couch. Even with company over, his nose was still buried in his newest comic. "No need to each other's faces off when we have a three course meal, people!"

"Leo!" Tasha scolded, smacking him upside the head with her oven mitt. It couldn't have been that bad, but Leo cried out like she had launched a bullet through his brain. What a wimp. "That is not how we act with company over."

"Nah, don't worry about it." Grant smiled, a little strained but he looked impressive. He was dressed in jeans and a crisp button down shirt. He wore work boots; Christine must've fixed him up in order for the event.

I never really noticed that Rem wore clothes before—I didn't think she did wear clothes. She was a piece of machinery after all, but that wasn't really fair. Plus Christine would surely kill me if I ever voiced such a thought to her. But Rem was wearing a purple breast plate, tiny silver plate dotting the plate like buttons. It was original and never before seen, but impressive all the same.

"I'm sure Donald will be right up. You know him, always playing with different projects." Tasha laughed like the perfect housewife and ushered everyone to their spots around the table. Christine shot me a look from across the table where she sat next to Grant, her eyes bouncing from the direction of the lab then back to Bree's empty spot.

Where is she? What did he do to her?

Later, was the only thing I could signal back to her as an answer before the salad was passed around.

Everyone made a cheery small talk about school and work and how nice it was to have a big family get together. Christine kept eyeing everything, like she expected Davenport to pop out of the lab and proclaim Bree dead from something that could've been stopped. When Davenport did finally come upstairs, no deaths or diseases were to be reported. That's always a good sign, unless he was simply holding back something because of the amount of people in the room.

"Sorry everyone," he apologized with a weird looking smile. I'd seen fake smiles and strained smiles, but never one as unreadable as his was at that moment. It was weird—Davenport was always able to close off whatever he thinking at that moment. It was something I envied greatly. "Caught up in an extremely riveting new project; worth all the extra attention."

Leo, Christine, and I shot him suspicious looks; stating something like that could make it go either way. I wasn't sure anyone had clued Adam in yet. As he play with the tongs like it was claws, flicking lettuce and crotons everywhere, I realized it was probably better if he didn't know.

Even though I was still wary of what was happening to Bree, Christine's attention was soon captured by something else entirely.

"Oh my God!" she gasped in excitement, her face lighting up as bright as a summer morning. "Is that gumbo? I haven't had any in forever!" She gently nudged her father. "Someone lost the recipe in a box that's God-knows-where, didn't they, Dad?"

"Guilty as charged," Grant laughed.

"A little birdy told me it was your favorite, and I've always wanted to break into my mother's special recipes." Tasha winked my way as she set the pot down and sat back in her seat.

It turned out Christine was right. Rem ate as much salad and gumbo and rolls as the rest of us. I made a mental note to save what was left for Bree and out of Adam's sight; he had the weirdest habit of sleep eating and could destroy the fridge in minutes.

My girlfriend smile over the table at me as she helped herself to a second serving. Not that we had to worry about sizes; Tasha always could enough to feed three parties for reasons beyond me.

"So, Donald," Grant began, "what kind of famous projects are you working on recently? I've started investigating my own little theory into more mission-worthy machinery?"

This certainly perked Leo's interest. "What kind of machines? Missile launching robots? Rockets that shoot lasers? Whatwhatwhat?"

"Leo…" Tasha started in a warning tone. Grant simply dismissed her with a wave.

"It's fine, Tasha. The boy is just curious in the fascinating art of science. I started out just the same when I was a little younger than his age."

Davenport interjected, saying, "Or he really just wants to find out what's new he can break." The entire table cracked a smile of chuckle at that, knowing it was true. Leo flopped back in his chair and pouted.

"Well, actually." Davenport leaned forward in his seat, enjoying having everyone's attention. "I've been getting into repair more than anything. Seventeen years without an incident, but with three powerful teenagers, what are you going to do?"

Grant nodded in understanding. Then his head snapped from side to side, like doing mental math of all the people at the table. "Where's your girl? Bree, wasn't it?"

He paused, trying to carefully form his words. "Ah, she volunteered to help me with my studies into bionic maintenance and healing within interacting with a specifically overriding virus entering their systems. She decided to stay in the lab and take some notes on her own further research into the topic."

Even I had to admit that was some talented work. Close to the truth (if you could say that), and well worded enough to keep suspicion at bay. But my girlfriend gave me a pointed look, knowing there was more to the story than anyone was letting on. She saw Bree that morning—no way was she up from taking "notes". I could practically see the gears turning fast in her head as she processed Davenport's mini explanation. Virus and entering their systems looked to be stuck on repeat as conflict flickered back and forth on her face. Christine forced herself to remain calm.

Grant nodded, approving his answer almost. "You were always one to do everything at once, weren't you Donald? Doesn't surprise me your using medical needs into the world of a scientist."

Davenport smirked, sitting up straighter in his chair. The man was never one to turn down a compliment when it wasn't himself giving him one. "Well, I do try."

"And fail," Tasha added under her breath, but nearly everyone heard it. (Except maybe Adam, who was still too busy with his claw to notice anything else at the dinner table. Rem nodded in agreement.

Everyone broke up into their own groups. The ladies stayed at the table while the men moved to the couch to discuss further into their studies and theories. The kids were put in charge of cleaning duty—also known as make-sure-Leo-didn't-break-any-fine-china duty for everything else.

"What did he mean by virus?" Christine hissed as I handed her another cup to dry.

I shrugged it off, not knowing how to reply. I focused on soaking the dishes into the warm soapy water that plugged up the sink.

"He meant that New Girl possibly killed Bree and we all just had an awesome dinner while she laid on her deathbed," Leo quipped from the where I had punished him on the counter. I turned and swiftly kicked his leg.

My girlfriend froze at the mention of the new girl. "What does that brat have to do with this?" she gritted out as she clenched her jaw and tightened her fists.

"Nothing," I tried to assure the both of us. "Tests just show that Bree suffers from major levels of stress and blood pressure problem since the first day of school, and the levels were a little higher than the others once the play started. But it could just be stress from the new school year." But it was too late. Nothing I said could possibly change Christine's mind now.

"Stress my ass," Christine muttered. She gripped a dish so tight it nearly cracked beneath the force of her fingertips. "That Walters Barbie has something to do with this. She's been giving me a bad feeling all along, and now someone's gotten hurt."

"Like I said, we don' know that."

Christine was close to bursting, but right when he face was turning a burning pink, she swiveled away from me. Her shoulders rose and fell a couple times as she counted. When she turned back around her face was stony, but not as boiling red.

"Still mad?"

"Do you even know me?"

My girlfriend slammed her drying rag down and ignored the dishes. Her lips set into a tight line as she grabbed at Leo and mine's wrists. "Come on. We're going down there."

Sneaking past the adults was simple. They were too wrapped up in their own conversations to worry about what the kids were doing and Adam was replaying his ringtone over and over again. It was too easy to keep his small brain distracted for long.

"Oh my God." Christine stopped in the doorway of the lab, looking to Bree's figure. What she saw was her in her worst state, but Bree actually looked better than when I last saw her. Now there was fluid pumping into her veins through an IV at her wrist, and some of the wired censors had been peeled away from her head. Color was returning to face, albeit slowly.

"Hasn't Davenport ever heard of a hospital?" Christine stepped closer slowly; eyes narrowing as she reluctantly touched a taped blue wire that disappeared up Bree's shirt. "You know, with actual professionals?"

Leo leaned against computer desk. "You know Davenport," he drawled lazily. "When something like this is concerned, he is an actual professional."

I'm just gonna leave it there for now because I have no other ideas for an ending.

This has to be the weirdest chapter ever from a writer's point of view. Like, I really want to call this filler, but it kind of isn't because everything in it is what I told you would be in it and a lot more useful information for further chapters.

So yeah, I'll leave it to you guys to decide. Leave a review and tell us what you think the chapter is.