Story 2 – Elliot Stewart

Part 2

He didn't want to go.

That was the only thing Elliot was sure of at this point as he glanced wearily out the window of the plane.

His mother had protested his father's decision. She accused him of trying to take her only other son away from her. He, of course, reminded her that Benjamin wasn't gone—just sleeping—and she retorted with a "Then why doesn't it feel like it?" His father was able to get her to go along with it in the end, saying that it would be good for him and assured her that his brother—Elliot's uncle—would be able to teach him something… but still… she was reluctant to agree.

It was his mother that drove him to the airport. His father had to work—again—and despite her pestering he had told her that he couldn't find time to take off, Benjamin's medical bills had to be taken care of. Elliot hadn't been bothered by it, his father never found time for him before and he'd rather it have just been his mother anyway. He was always much closer to her.

She had, however, caused a scene in the terminal. With a flood of tears pouring out of her eyes, she shouted for him to keep it touch and remember to wear clean underwear as he headed up to the plane. Not to mention the bone crushing hug and the assault of kisses just moments before.

It was embarrassing, but Elliot was grateful. She had every right to hate him but she didn't. He knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but that didn't mean that he didn't want it. No son wanted to be hated by their mother, he was no different.

That wasn't to say that she didn't talk to him about his actions. The night of the accident, in the emergency room, she'd pulled him aside and away from his father's yelling to confront him about it. Unlike with his father's talk, Elliot had actually shown just how sorry he was and had possibly ended up shedding a tear or two. His mother had a way to get things out of people, especially Elliot.

If he had to guess, it was probably when she saw his tears that she had forgiven him. His mother was easy to forgive and she knew that crying was something that Elliot didn't do easily.

It was five weeks since the accident and Benjamin hadn't woken up. The doctors said that it could be any day now and Elliot really hoped they were right. Though he had some insecurities when it came to how his parents—mostly his father—treated the two of them, Elliot would never have purposely hurt his brother. He knew that Ben looked up to him as a role model and he defiantly didn't mind having the guy around. He loved him. He was his brother after all.

The rumbling of the plane brought Elliot from his thoughts and he watched as the ground became further and further away. Following the direction of the flashing sign and the attendant's polite voice over the intercom, he buckled his seatbelt and did his best to get comfortable in his seat.

As the plane began its take off his stomach sank.

He really didn't want to go.

xXx

Elliot watched the mounds of the suitcases go by on the automated belt in boredom. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there but all of the cases were beginning to look the same. For a moment he let himself believe that perhaps he had the wrong belt and that perhaps his belongs were waiting for him in a different location, but his suspicions diminished when he spotted a familiar blue handle sticking up from behind a cheetah printed bag. Heaving the duffle bag out and onto his shoulder, the brunette followed the flow of traffic onto the escalator and headed into the waiting area.

Supposedly his uncle was to pick him up there. Though he wasn't sure how he'd find the elder man. He had no picture to go on and he hadn't seen him since he was a tike. So of course he had no clear memory of the Canadian. His father's side of the family was always a mystery to him. Truthfully, his uncle was the only one that he sort of knew.

It was a good thing his mother was kind enough to give him some idea of what he was looking for. Apparently he was a younger, laidback, green-eyed version of his father. It was a vague description but it would have to do. The last thing he wanted was to not have a place to stay in a strange environment.

When he hit the bottom of the moving stairs, Elliot pushed past the people lingering in the way as they talked about the flight over and began his search, chocolate orbs scanning over every face that passed in hopes of a spark of recognition. He'd met his uncle as a child, but it had been so long ago that he wasn't sure if he would be able to pick him out of a crowd.

That spark came in the form of a slightly scruffy man scanning the crowd from on top of an armless chair, as the teen made his way over brown met green and the Canadian smiled hopefully before hopping from his aerial view.

The two met in front of a dental advertisement and the elder man sighed in relief. "Please tell me you're Elliot because otherwise I'd feel like a bit of an ass, eh."

The American merely nodded. "Long time no see Uncle Greg."

xXx

Elliot awoke to the gentle shaking of a coarse hand on his shoulder. Groaning, the boy turned, pulling the covers further above his head. He mumbled something that even he couldn't understand himself and buried his face deeper into his pillow.

There was a sigh and the up and at 'em voice of his uncle disrupted his peaceful dreams. "Time to get up kid. We've got somewhere to be."

The brunette answered with a slight shift of his body from under the sheets.

Greg's heavy boots clomped down toward the end of the bed and Elliot was given the gift of a draft as the cloth separating him from the morning chill was ripped away. Furrowing his eyebrows, the teen frowned and opened his eyes to send the man a glare.

His uncle merely smiled, "Get up and get dressed."

Tired brown orbs watched as the scraggily male strolled out of the room and a groan escaped the boy's lips. Sitting up, he let out a sigh of his own and hunched over crossed legs, a hand going up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Two weeks he'd lived with his uncle and he still wasn't used to the early wake-up. Back in Florida he was able to sleep wherever, whenever, and as long as he liked (excluding work hours of course). It wasn't until his second day in Canada that he realized just how spoiled he had been.

Uncle Gregory was both a freelance writer and a photographer for the local paper. He didn't have much of anything but the essentials and his fridge was always less than full. All his clothes looked as if they'd come from goodwill—or whatever the Canadian version of that was.

It was strange.

Why had the man, who had very little for even himself, agree to housing his brother's troublemaker son? Elliot didn't understand.

The smell of frying beacon brought the teen from his thoughts and he slid himself off the wooden floor. Within minutes he was changed, a pair of clean socks keeping his feet warm as he headed down the hall of the small rented home.

He found Greg in the kitchen sporting an apron as he flipped an omelet. The man offered a smile as the teen walked through the door and his light Canadian accent filled the room, "Morn' sleepy head."

"Morning." Elliot replied curtly and took a piece of beacon off the plate on the table as he took a seat.

One good thing about his uncle was that the man was a better cook than his mother. He wasn't the best and some of the things he made came from the frozen food section of the super market, but it was still nice to have someone who at least sort of knew what they were doing cooking for him.

The toaster popped up and Greg set down his frying pan. Scooping up the brunette's plate he quickly dropped a few eggos on it and handed the dish back to Elliot before popping a few more in the toaster for himself. The boy began to eat and glanced at the man's back with slight interest, "Where exactly are we 'supposed to be'?" He questioned, referring back to the adult's wakeup call.

Gregory took the omelet out of the skillet and split it down the middle. Sliding half onto the teen's plate his smile widened, "Someone would like to see you."

"Who?"

"Family." The man stated simply, placing his own breakfast down on a plate as he turned off the stove.

Elliot's eyebrow raised slightly. He hadn't been aware of other family living in Canada. His father never felt the need to share any information about his side of the family. Uncle Gregory had been the only person he'd met from his father's side, and even that encounter had only occurred a few times when he was much younger.

The rest of breakfast was pretty silent, though it wasn't in an uncomfortable way. Elliot preferred not to have much conversation, especially in the morning, and his uncle seemed to respect that despite his talkative nature. They finished their meal at moderately the same time and minutes after they were out the door and on the road.

It took only about a quarter of an hour to get to their destination. At least Elliot guessed it was, he'd fallen asleep after about five minutes. The jostling of Greg's Ford on a stoney driveway was what woke him.

"We're here." His uncle announced as they pulled up to a Georgian styled home that looked as if it'd seen better days. With its chipped paint and creaky porch it was a place that people would probably try to avoid living in. However, there was some charm in it too. A small well-kept garden of yellow flowers lined the porch steps and an inviting swinging bench sat near the window.

Greg parked his car behind what looked like an old Chevy pickup and cut the engine with a sigh. "I should warn you, the woman is a bit senile."

Elliot shifted, letting out a sigh of his own. It was just what he need early in the morning… crazy old people.

Stepping out of the car, the brunette followed his uncle up the porch. They stopped momentarily so Greg could unlock the front door. As the two entered they were hit with the pleasant scent of cinnamon. "Aunt Fey?" Greg called down the foyer as he glanced into each room only to find it empty.

After passing by a rustic sitting room and an old wooden study, they entered a kitchen brightened by the French doors and big windows. The natural sunlight made the room seem much brighter that the rest of the house. In the window still there sat a plate of cinnamon rolls cooling off in the fall breeze.

Elliot was the first to notice the figure slumped over a row of petunias, shovel in hand. He made a gesture in her direction and Greg made his over, the teen following close behind.

"Aunt Fey." Greg called lightly, opening the French doors.

The old woman looked up and a bright smile crossed her wrinkled features. "Gregy!" Dropping her shovel she got up from her crouched position and hugged him tightly. Strands of silver hair from her bun fell into her face as she pulled away and her green eyes fell curiously on Elliot. "Who's this?"

'Gregy's placed a hand on her back, "This is one of Michael's boys, Elliot. Elliot, this is your Great Aunt Fey."

A mask of surprise found its way onto Fey's face and she brought a hand to her mouth, "Michael's boy?" he lip quivered into a smile and she pulled him into a crushing bear hug. Elliot tensed under the physical contact but the woman didn't seem to notice his discomfort so he awkwardly patted her back.

After a moment she pulled back, the smile never leaving her face. "What a surprise."

"Elliot's staying in Toronto for a while." Greg explained ushering the two back inside and out of the cold.

"Really?" She beamed. "Good. That gives us some time to get to know each other."

The brunette held in a sigh. He'd really rather not.

"Oh!" Fey exclaimed as if she just remembered something she hadn't meant to forget. "Greg. Tell Megan I tried that recipe she gave me. It was amazing."

Elliot wasn't sure who this Megan was but he could see the mention of the name had a negative effect on his uncle. For a moment he looked almost as if he were in pain, but quickly masked it before Fey noticed. "Yeah. I'll tell her."

"Now Elliot." The old woman said, grabbing the boy's attention. "Would you like a cinnamon roll?"

The teen shrugged, "Sure."

xXx

Re-grasping the hilt of the axe Elliot raised it up and swung it down, splitting a piece of wood off center. He exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow despite the fact that it was rather cold outside. Fey and Greg had been putting the poor boy to work. In the last few weeks he'd cut grass, painted shutters, wiped windows—the list went on. Aunt Fey's old house was beginning to look much better thanks to his hard work and though it annoyed him to be made to do anything he had to admit there was satisfaction that rose from seeing the finished product of a project come together.

At the moment he was chopping wood, one of his favorite jobs. Fey's house didn't really have a heating system and the woman preferred the warmth of the fireplace anyway, but she wasn't as fit as she once was and her old bones couldn't chop like they used to, so what was once Greg's job was passed off to himself. The older man had now taken on the job of keeping Fey company, helping her bake for church events, and helping Elliot out from time to time when he didn't have work.

"That should be enough for a while, Erin." Fey called from the front porch and the boy nodded tossing the last of the fire wood in its designated place.

Rubbing his sore hands together he headed up the porch, "It's Elliot, Aunt Fey." He corrected lowly. He knew she didn't mean anything by the mix-up. Her memory seemed to be going down the toilet every day and it was a bit sad to watch. "Do you need anything else done?"

Usually he wasn't much of a helpful soul, nor did he pay attention to social manners, but his aunt had grown on him. Her memory was fading on her and it was getting harder for her to move around the house but she was probably one of the kindest people he'd ever known and it made it hard to be his uncaring aloof self around her.

The old woman smiled, "Well, I've got plenty but I can tell you're tired. So, how about I send you to the store for a few things and when you get back we'll watch a movie, eh? Grey won't be back for at least another hour, he's at some sort of meeting."

Elliot nodded, "I can do that."

"Wonderful, I'll go write down what I need. It'll only take a minute."

He watched as she hobbled back into the house on her good leg and planted himself on the bench to rest for a bit. Closing his eyes he swung absently. A few months ago he hadn't thought he'd find himself out in Canada chopping wood. Strangely, though, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Of course he missed Smithy, his mother, and... well… Ben… but it was nice to live in an environment where his father wasn't yelling at him. Perhaps the man had actually done something right for once in exiling him here. Maybe… this was good for him.

The sound of Aunt Fey's flats scrapping against the floor boards brought him out of his thoughts and he stood up meeting her by the door. "Here you go." She sang, handing him her list and a few Canadian dollars. "There should be enough for you to get something if you'd like, eh." She explained and dropped her keys into his hand. "You can take the pick-up, it may be old but it's faster than walking."

Elliot nodded and began walking toward the vehicle, "I'll be back."

The old woman waved alight 'be careful' and he gave a lazy wave back as he pulled out of the bumpy driveway.

It only took a few minutes to get to the small convenience store. He had been there once before but hadn't been quite sure if he remembered the way.

Not many cars were parked outside considering the time of day so it was easy to find a parking spot but that also meant that the clerk would pay much more attention to him today. He was an older guy, probably in his forties, and for some reason he loved to make small talk—much like a lot of people around these parts. It didn't help that because his customers were mostly frequent visitors he pretty knew everyone that went in and so he felt the need to know Elliot, who was new to his store and also the nephew of two his favorite customers.

As he stepped into the shop he was immediately greeted just as he had expected. "Ey! It's the Américain!"

"…Hey Mr. Simon." Elliot sighed.

"Let me know if you still need help finding something." The man prompted as he rang up a customer, his French accent dripping off the tongue.

The boy merely nodded and disappeared into the isles after grabbing a basket. Scanning down the list he picked up the items with much ease. For the most part he pretty much remembered were everything was as if not then it wasn't too hard to find his own. However he hit a bump in the road as he came to the last item on the list. What in the hell was a Boullion?

"It's like a broth." A voiced explained from his right and Elliot raised a brow at a short girl with black hair glancing over his shoulder. Had he spoken out loud? She looked up at him and he noticed her hazel eyes were strange, speckled with shades of blue and green. She nodded her head down the aisle, "Top shelf, down that way."

"…Thanks." He squeezed out.

She winked, "No problem."

The Boullion turned out to be just were the girl had said it was. Tossing it into the basket he headed off toward the counter, stopping briefly to pick up something called a Nainamo Bar. Greg ate them all the time and he'd wondered what it tasted like. Afterward, he got in line behind the short girl from before.

Upon seeing him, Mr. Simon brought him into the conversation. "Oi, Américain. Did you find everything ?"

Elliot nodded, "Yeah."

"You know he's Greg and Fey's nephew." The clerk commented to the girl.

She hummed in interest, "Oh?" and something flashed across her face that neither of the men quite caught. "And how is Greg?"

"Well." The young man stated, not how else to elaborate.

She nodded to herself and silently paid for her things.

"Have a good one,ma fifille." Mr. Simon told her.

She nodded, "You too." The girl gathered her things and began to leave, but turned back a moment and addressed Elliot. "See you around." The boy replied with the slight incline of his head and then she left.

He placed his basket down on the counter and the French clerk began to ring up his things. "Do you know her?" The elder man wondered.

Elliot shook his head, "No."

Mr. Simon tilted his head, "Really? I thought you would… but I guess that makes sense. She's been out of town for a while. That's Anya, she used to be Greg's stepdaughter."

The brunette frowned, "That's the first I've heard of her."

The clerk shifted slightly, debating whether or not he must have said too much. Deciding it was best not to give more information he just shrugged, "I wouldn't bring it up."

Elliot frowned, now he was curious.

xXx

It was unusually warm that day… well as warm as Toronto can get so close to the winter season, so Fey decided that inviting her boys over for lunch out on the deck would be a brilliant idea. It'd been a few days since they'd last come over and she was already missing them.

Setting another plate on the table she smiled at her arrangement. They weren't having anything fancy. Just a sandwich or two, some chips, and the Maple Syrup Pie that she made but she still wanted things to look nice. It was probably the perfectionist in her talking.

Just then the doorbell rang and Fey's smile was instantly replaced with a confused frown. Grey and Elliot had a key, so who was it at the door?

Heading back into the house she though the kitchen and trotted down the hall toward the front door. Behind it stood a most unsuspecting visitor and when Fey opened the door she froze, the short black hair and speckled hazel eyes throwing her off guard. "Anya?"

The tiny teen smiled, "Hey Aunt Fey."

The old woman wrapped her arms around the girl and smiled, "Hey dearie. What are you doing here? I thought you hung out with your friends on weekends, eh?"

Anya's smile faltered slightly. Fey's memory must have been acting up on her again. Playing along she nodded, "Yeah but they're busy with stuff so I didn't go over there this weekend. Is Greg around?"

Fey shook her head, "Not yet, but he should be here any minute. We're about to have some lunch."

"Oh, I could just come back another time then."

"No, no, no." She chuckled, "Join us. I'm sure no one will mind, we're all family here." Fey started leading the girl in the house before she had a chance to properly answer.

xXx

The silence was unbearable.

What was once supposed to be a nice lunch outside ended up being possibly the worse meal any of them had eaten in a long time. Not because of the food, Fey had made it after all, but because of the unexpected visitor. It wasn't her fault really but the painful quiet was technically because of her presence.

Gregory was pale, sickly so. His mouth was clamped shut and his eyes stayed locked on his barely touched sandwich, thought it was easy to tell his mind was somewhere else. It was unlike him to be this quiet.

The guest herself wasn't doing any better, but at least she could kept an appetite but she, too, didn't look up from her food much except to steal glances in Greg's direction.

Fey was probably the only one that wasn't uncomfortable or even noticed the tense air around the table. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself, trapped in some mental day dream as she often was. Every now and then she would strike a conversation with someone, but it never lasted long.

Elliot on the other hand didn't really mind the quiet, but he was bothered by the awkwardness of the situation. It was obvious that something was going on between his uncle and the young lady, but he just didn't know what… no one had told him anything about it besides that gossiping fool at the convenience store… and even then, it hadn't been much.

It was Fey who broke the silence, her tone and body language seemly oblivious to everyone's uncomforted. "Ah—the pie is probably done cooling. I'll go fetch everyone a bite."

Her comment was answered by a few mutters and nods and as she rose, Elliot rose with her. "I'll help you Aunt Fey."

The old woman smiled, "You're such a good boy, Evan."

The boy sighed as he followed her inside, "Its Elliot."

As the poor boy and senile woman exited the deck, the tension at the lunch table seemed to grow thicker. Taking advantage of their sudden alone time, it was surprising Gregory who spoke. "I didn't know you'd come back to Toronto…"

Anya slowly mulled over the last bite of her sandwich and cast the man an unreadable look, "I've only been here a few weeks…"

He nodded numbly, "Aha."

The small girl shifted in her seat, "Have… you been well?"

"I suppose…" He offered her a light, slightly forced, smile. "And you? How was America?"

"…Strange."

Greg opened his mouth to say something else, but cut himself off as a grinning Fey and tired looking Elliot walked out the kitchen, a slice of pie in each hand.

There wasn't much conversation for the rest of lunch.

xXx

How he had found himself in this situation, he didn't know.

"Well then tell me this!" Anya yelled fiercely, hurt evident in her voice. "Why didn't you let me stay? I pleaded for you to let me stay with you and you ignored me!"

Gregory seemed equally as frustrated, "I had no right!"

"You had every right! You were more of a father than he ever was to me!" Her reds were red now, trying to hold back the water daring to spill over.

"Anya, you have to understand that—" the older man paused in midsentence as he finally noticed the brunette standing unsurely in the open in front door. "Elliot."

"…Sorry." The American stated, actually apologizing for once. It was probably just shock… he hadn't expected to find the short girl in his uncle's apartment.

"No. It's fine." Anya said hotly, "I was just leaving." She cast Greg a hurt look before storming, knocking into Elliot's shoulder by mistake in the process.

"How much did you hear?" His uncle asked, energy obviously drained.

"Enough."

xXx

Greg did his best to ignore the brown orbs burning holes into the back of his head. He knew his nephew wanted answers and knew that he wouldn't stop until he got them. Elliot wasn't usually interested in other people's affairs, but on the rare occasions when he did, he usually didn't stop until he was satisfied with the information.

As much as he loved the fact that his dear nephew was taking an interest in something, he rather him not pry into this particular dent in his life.

He would probably think less of him if he knew about it.—The worst mistake he'd ever made.

"Uncle." The young lad called from his spot under the door frame.

Greg sighed, "…yes?" When he didn't answer, the man looked up and cringed under his pointed look. "Look… now's not really a good time to—"

"Something tells me it will never be a good time." Elliot pushed off the doorframe and walked further into the room. "What was with all that… and why are you so… distressed…? You're not your usual annoying self."

He cracked a weak smile at the light insult and stared down at his hands. For a young guy, Elliot was actually pretty smart… and Gregory knew he was right. He had held off taking about it for years, there would never be a time when he'd actually want to let it all out. He glanced up at the boy and front of him and silently chuckled to himself. The two of them were more alike than the boy knew… that was probably why his brother sent him to Canada.

He let out another sigh. Maybe… if anyone… it would be fine to talk to his nephew. Leaning back in his chair, Greg let all his guilt rest of his features and closed his eyes tight. "Um… Do you remember all those times that Aunt Fey mentioned a woman named Megan?" His question received a nod. "You were probably too young to remember… after all you met her only once… but she used to be your aunt. She…" he swallowed running a hand through his hair, "umm… she was my wife. Anya was her daughter from a previous marriage. Megan had full custody and didn't want her daughter seeing her father… so I kinda took over the daddy role. They were both really great… I loved them a lot. They were my family, ya know? But… um…."

His voice became shaky and more upset, "A few years ago… we were driving home from Aunt Fey's house and we were all really tried… I was really tired… and… umm" a tear escaped his eye and he wiped it away quickly, "I dozed, it felt like a second, just for one second… and the car, I guess, passed over into the next lane. We were front-ended by an Trunk at full speed." Greg explained pounding his fist into his palm. "Anya was fine, thank god… and I ended up with a concussion and a broken leg… but… Megan, who had taken most of the hit, died in the hospital bed a few hours after the crash." He paused a minute to gather his bearings and rubbed his face, "After that there was a custody battle for Anya. Her father was a ex-con but by that time he'd started straightening up his life and he wanted Anya to go live with him in America… which is where she was from originally. Of course, Anya didn't want to. She'd been so young when her father had gone to jail… he was just a stranger to her. She… uh… wanted to stay with me, but I let her go." He pressed his thumbs together, "I couldn't—don't—understand why she'd want to stay with me. It's my fault. I killed her mother."

Elliot stayed silent through the whole explanation. He soaked up every piece of information and processed everything carefully. When his uncle finished he exhaled, a hand going to lazily scratch his head. "There's something I don't get." He admitted, earning him a curious glance from the distraught man. "Anya was able to see it wasn't intentional…. She doesn't blame you, right? So why do you still blame yourself?"

With that the American left, letting his words hang in the air for the male to ponder on.

Eighteen.

"Greg told me what happened." A faint Canadian accent commented, from above the sound of a splintering engine.

Elliot didn't acknowledge it. Hopping out of Fey's old truck for the umpteenth time, he stuck his head back under the hood.

The annoyance, however, pushed on. "You going to let that stop you from driving over the speed limit ever again? I heard you were pretty badass behind the wheel."

The male tensed. "Who told you that?" He asked, though it was more of a demand of information then a question.

Anya merely smiled, "I have my ways…" Pursing her lips, she walked backward a bit, scuffing her boots against the driveway. "I wanna take you somewhere."

Closing the hood, Elliot glared curiously in her direction. "Where?"

"It's a surprise." She hummed, turning on her heel. "Coming?"

Against his better judgment, he followed.

xXx

The drive to where ever the hell the woman was taking him didn't last too long. Neither of them spoke to each other, Elliot because he didn't feel the need to and Anya because she knew he wasn't the conversational type.

It was a little before sun down by the time they reached their destination and Elliot wasn't feeling any better about deciding to follow the woman on her weird adventure. She'd taken him to a rougher part of Toronto, though Canada did a better job about not letting their cities go to ruin there were still parts of cities that were dangerously close to being compared to the slums. Luckily, this part of the city wasn't too bad, at least not as bad as the ghettos back in the US he'd been in.

They both stepped out of the car and Anya lead him through a thin alleyway which lead to an old parking lot. They crossed the vacant asphalt and stopped at an old garage door, a few pieces of graffiti covering it. Anya looked over her shoulder to give him a little grin before grabbing the bottom of the door and pushing it up to reveal the inside of a homemade workshop.

All noise in the place seemed to stop abruptly at the sight of Anya and her guest. From what Elliot could see there were three people within the vicinity. From under a custom Honda slid out an Asian man with a slightly big build, who stared curiously in their direction. He was on the pale side and was much taller than his genes should have allowed him to be.

Next to catch his attention was a woman lounging on top of the hood of said Honda, her skin was dark and her long black hair stayed braided neatly down her back. If he had to guess he'd say she was Indian, but that wasn't the surprising part. She was blind. The pale white eyes gave that away.

However, the most interesting character was the white guy that strutted up to them the moment they stepped into the room. By the way he carried himself one could tell that he was the one in charge. He was a bit shorter than Elliot, but he looked a little older. His hair was dark in color and spiked, the tips high lightened in was looked like a deep red.

He nodded to Anya, "This 'im?"

She smiled, "In the flesh."

At that point all eyes turned on to Elliot, who for the first time bit back a wave of uneasiness.

He didn't like the way they were looking at him.

A/N: Ok, firstly… I'm sorry for not updating for so long!

The last weeks of school were hectic and though I wrote for this, I didn't get too far until all that stuff was over. Then I went into lazy mode for a few (the start of summer vacation tends to do that to me). However, do NOT worry. I will finish this. I love these guys too much to spot now.

I should also say this: Don't worry about trying to find out who's who yet. It'll be explained a bit later.

And for those of you that read and/or reviewed: You guys rock. I was so happy when I found a S/S category here of Fanfic, but when I saw the lack of actual fanfics I knew I had to contribute. I hope you guys continue to read in the future!