Note: Nano ends this weekend, and I'm fairly certain I won't make it. But that doesn't mean this story won't be finished eventually! 27,669 words is a heck of a lot, and you're only halfway through what I've done so far as is. Thanks for the support—you guys make writing each chapter all the more fun. :D

Chapter Five: Believing

"Go on, try it."

Nami sniffed the contents of her cup skeptically. "This is not tea."

"Sure it is." Gustafa grinned at her and took a swig of his own drink. "It's my tea, anyway. My own secret recipe, as a matter of fact."

"Great. Now I definitely don't want to drink it." She pushed it away and sighed, eyeing the yurt and letting a wave of nostalgia overtake her. It reminded her of a circus tent, almost, with its bright colors and gaily assorted items. A gypsy hideout, maybe. Everything smelled different today; the scent of spices, not incense, permeated the air. Well, Gustafa had promised her breakfast, hadn't he? He had to cook it somewhere.

"So." Gustafa smiled again. "Where have you been all this time? I mean, one day I wake up and you're gone, your room's empty, and suddenly you pop up like a daisy out of the ground. What's up with that?"

"If you must know, I was working," Nami retorted. "And touring some of the country, just for kicks. You were here all this time, though, weren't you? So no point in me redirecting that question."

Gustafa raised an eyebrow. "That's not fair. For all you know, I ran off with a band of hermits and taught them rock and roll."

"Pink Floyd?"

"The Rolling Stones." He laughed. "Nah, you got me pretty pegged, I'd say. Being a starving artist and all, I'm not going anywhere."

Nami flushed, his stare disconcerting. Every movement she'd made to date—fiddling with her napkin, tapping the tabletop, whatever—attracted Gustafa's undivided attention, and the detective found herself eager to shake his gaze. She stood up and turned her back to him, pretending to be interested in the drums propped against the wall. "Nice decorating you've done here."

"You think? Sometimes I think it's too much for a tiny place like this."

"No, it's fine. Kind of cozy." She paused. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get a watch."

She rolled her eyes. "Hilarious. Look, I need to interview Doctor Trent before he leaves his house. I would have done so already, if I hadn't been pulled into certain engagements."

Looking pleased as punch, Gustafa leaned back in his chair and asked, "Did it ever occur to you to just blow me off? You never had any problem doing it before." Nami remained silent. "Well, I guess I should chalk this newfound conscience off as a result of detective training."

"Shut up."

The musician watched, amused, as the girl stomped off, her cheeks as scarlet as her flaming red hair. "You can give the girl a conscience," he grinned, "but she's still got a mouth all her own, I see."

It was nice, he thought with a smile, to see that some things stayed constant.

All things considered, Gwen decided she was handling the events of last night fairly well. Especially compared with the infamous hysterics of Eve after her first break-up with Dan (there were several to follow), the cook proudly deemed herself level-headed, independent, and strong.

"You're burning the food."

Or so she thought.

As a yelp sounded from Gwen's throat, a calmer Steiner took the liberty of dousing her flaming vegetables and promptly throwing them out in the garbage. "I'm so sorry," Gwen blurted out.

"No problem."

"I should have been paying more attention."

"It's fine."

"Crap, can't you just stop patronizing and agree with me?" Gwen cradled her head in her hands and moaned, the morning's frustration crippling her. Burning the food wasn't her only crime; she'd dropped two plates, gotten three orders wrong, and swept the room last night after mopping instead of before. What's wrong with me? I never space out like this in the kitchen. Never.

Steiner eyed her a moment before picking up table four's order. "Maybe you should take your lunch break. You'll give yourself wrinkles with all this worrying, beautiful. It's not good for you."

"I'm not worrying. It's just a bad day."

The blonde scanned the list of pending orders and got straight to work on a chicken salad, determined to prove her lie to be true. After all, everyone had bad days, regardless of heartache. Everyone messed up every once and a while, didn't they? This didn't have to be the result of Bob's rejection.

She wouldn't let it be.

"Table five's done, Steiner. Get it going."

Gwen threw a glance at herself in the pan's reflection: pretty eyes, cute figure, cornsilk hair. No reason there to scare him away. Her personality wasn't terrible, either; she was friendly, energetic, hard-working.

But I'm too late all the same. And, I guess, none of that matters when you're scared.

Doug had suspected something was up, but he was her uncle, and she expected no less from him. She'd chatted away all his concern for her, even suggesting they open the Inn tomorrow—festival day or no—to give the holidaying couples business.

There were certainly enough of those about to validate that lie. Over in the corner, Gwen could see Carl's head of curly hair, Ellen's sweet innocent smile across from his. If she craned her head a little more, then she could spot Ellen's cousin, Blue, off with the mechanic's daughter, Ann, eating sandwiches. She didn't let herself look further, for fear of seeing a certain brunette seated with a man she knew all too well.

"Hey, Gwen!" The meal almost slipped from her fingers, the greeting unexpected and, Gwen decided, unwanted. The first thing to register in her mind was a pair of pigtails, and the next, a girl's face with big, brown eyes. "Mind if I say hello?"

"Tina." Gwen forced a tight-lipped smile. "Not at all!"

"So!" Tina swayed on the balls of her feet, biting her lip. "Bob told me you'd found out about us. Surprised, huh?"

"You have no idea," Gwen replied thickly.

"Yeah, well, we didn't want to say anything for a bit, because we were surprised, too!" Tina prattled on. "I mean, we knew we had a lot in common, but one day, we suddenly realized that hey, there's something there. And we went out some, but we didn't want to say anything, because we weren't too sure. And now we are! Ahh, you have no idea how good it feels to have someone else know about this, really!"

Gwen poured water into the pot. "I'm sure I don't."

"We might make it public soon. Like, after tonight's Full Moon Festival, we're thinking about telling Bob's uncle. Oh! I'm so sorry!" Tina slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand and laughed nervously. "I'm so rude. I didn't ask you what you were doing for tonight!"

"Tonight?" Her fingers froze, the faucet still running.

"Mhm! Who're you going with?" the farmer asked. "I've heard that pretty much everyone already has their day mapped out, but I haven't heard anything about you. Jamie's still open for the night, I think, but you two didn't seem like a couple. Unless you are, in which case, I'm totally fine with it!" Tina amended quickly. "So, who's your date?"

Good Goddess, I so don't need this now.

Innocence radiated from the farmer's pleasant smile with a glow that left Gwen cold and, oddly enough, embarrassed. Tina wouldn't mind the truth. Tina wouldn't rub it in her face, or laugh. She'd do something far worse.

She'd pity her.

So in the future, when Gwen blamed herself for what exactly happened to set her fate in motion, she pinpointed the moment she announced to an oblivious Tina, "The new waiter. Steiner."

"I'm flattered, my fair maiden, but I'm afraid I can't go tonight."

"Well, why not?" Gwen floundered, his response unanticipated. "It'd be a great way to get to know the village traditions better!"

Which is the last thing I want. Skye let his fingers twirl about the rim of the glasses, music sounding from their half-filled hearts. "Claire will need me to watch over her. I leave her enough during the day for work as it is."

"And she's always fine. Hey, you know that every time she cries, gets hungry, or whatever, my uncle and I are right on it. Things will be fine if you just spend a few hours with me tonight. Okay?"

The glasses continued to sing. "What about that other fellow?" Skye replied instead. "That Bob of yours."

Gwen flushed pink. "What about him? He's going with his girlfriend."

"Ah. That explains things." His blue eyes narrowed in on a chip in the glass as the puzzle pieces came together: Gwen's clumsiness this morning, her mood-swings, her short, clipped replies. Who knew better than he the absurdity of jealousy? "So I'm your pawn, then, against him?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Look, I'm just being nice, alright?"

"Being nice." Skye bit back a laugh. "Oh, Gwen. You're such a terrible liar."

"Sh-shut up." The cook crossed her arms against her chest, and defiantly turned towards the window, staring at the world outside. "It's not like I care if you go with me, anyway. I'll go it alone if I have to."

"You won't." He flashed her an impish grin as he stood up, her indignant scowl rising immediately at his words. "Because, fair maiden, it seems I'll be going with you."

Some days, when Trent got out of bed, he'd have the strangest feeling he wasn't home. The wooden walls, the homey décor, and the figure of his wife sleeping beside him stunned him, made him wonder why he wasn't in his safe clinic, sleeping in his upstairs room. Then, just as suddenly as the panic had come, it would vanish, and Trent would remember that this was home now, take it or leave it.

Still. The sight of that strange calculating woman leaning against the barn struck an uneasy chord in his soul, and Trent approached her stiffly, hand extended. "Ah, you must be Detective Stone, yes?"

"If you're Doctor Trent, then yes, I am." She ignored his hand rather pointedly and glanced up at the sky: a vivid robin egg blue. "I trust asking you a few questions won't make you late for work?"

"Not unbearably." He offered her a relaxed smile, and inwardly cringed at the thought of staying out later to recover the lost time. Claire wouldn't approve of it, but she'd be fine, wouldn't she? His wife was a strong woman; she could handle a few more hours alone. "I'm under the impression you've already interrogated my wife?"

"You and your wife are not the same person," the redhead stated flatly. "I'm hoping to get some answers from you that, frankly, she felt compelled to withhold. Any reason she might behave that way?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"Hm."

She said it with such finality Trent suspected that his answer was anticipated. His hands tightened into fists; somehow, this bothered him. This is foolish. One woman's judgment shouldn't affect mine. "You have questions. Ask them."

"No reason we can't walk and talk, is there?" she commented. Without waiting for his reply, the redhead began to circle the farm, mulling thoughts over in her mind. "How long have you been married, Doctor Trent?"

"A year. Roughly."

"Not long, then. So Willow was a honeymoon baby?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Bet you were just thrilled, having a child so soon in your marriage."

"Not at first." He didn't catch himself in time to edit that last statement; Detective Stone turned, eyes lit with interest. One slip-up is all it takes. "I—what I mean to say, Detective Stone, is that it made me more self-conscious about my work."

"How so?"

"I wouldn't be home often," he answered; wasn't this obvious to a shrewd woman like her? "I wouldn't get to be, well, a perfect father. I love Willow, very much, but someday when she's older, she might…not see that so clearly."

"Assuming we find her," the redhead felt compelled to add.

Trent frowned, his tone icy. "That's your job, isn't it?"

If that statement fazed her, Detective Stone didn't show it. "What can you tell me about Skye?"

Doctor Trent breathed a sigh of relief; this subject was far simpler, far less personal. "Not much. I didn't come around Forget-Me-Not too often until I married Claire. One visit a week isn't a sufficient amount of time to get to know every enigma in the village."

"But it's long enough to find a life partner?"

"Yes," the doctor replied staunchly. "I believe it is."

"If there was any previous relationship between Skye and your wife before your marriage, would you know about it?"

"You are insinuating," Trent answered through gritted teeth, "that I don't trust my wife."

"Not at all, Doctor Trent. I'm insinuating that, maybe, your wife doesn't trust you."

Silence has a language all its own. Maybe the words never change, but there's a certain tone to every silence—Lillia could tell that much. Love has a silence comforting and coy, hate one stifling and proud, while fear possesses a tone tense and unsure. The silence permeating the air today seemed an offspring of the latter: taut and cold, sick with dread. "Doctor Trent, is everything fine?"

"Absolutely." The answer came too quickly, too rehearsed. "Is your medication working?"

"You know that it's the same as it's always been," the woman replied good-naturedly. "The children have been absolute angels, and every difficulty I've had has been a minor one. If anything, I should be the one asking about your health, shouldn't I?"

He chose not to respond, instead searching through his records with a steely expression. Hands flew through paper; names and dates swam before his eyes. Anything to block out his thoughts—anything, anything at all. "Oh. We're out of your prescription this month. I'm sorry, Lillia; things haven't been…ideal…lately. I'll give you something similar, and it should hold you until the next shipment comes in."

"It's no trouble at all, Trent. From what I understand, you're going through quite a few trials right now yourself, aren't you?" She smiled, an innocent act, and smoothed her skirt. "You know, Elli worries about you. She doesn't say anything, but she worries. Sweet girl."

"It's not her burden to carry," he answered tightly.

"If I may be so bold, Trent, I don't think it should be anyone's at all. No one should have to handle the loss of a child—not alone, especially."

"Willow is not lost." Not yet.

Maybe it was a lie; maybe it wasn't. Trent couldn't tell anymore, not with the hazy fog that now obscured truth and fiction. Why did Skye choose your child, of all people? What had that note said: fair maiden, wasn't it? What if he wasn't just flirting? What if…?

The doctor's hands clamped against the counter, his head suddenly heavy and sight suddenly blurred. God, what searing pain ripped at his mind, what agony his logic was inducing now! Something twisted within him, like a snake's coils, and he shivered, unwilling to let it loose. No, I can't believe that. I can't doubt simply because…because…

Simply because there's reason to doubt.

"Lillia, I'm going to end our appointment early," Trent whispered, and the pink-haired woman nodded, standing up without a sound. "I'll bring you your medication next week."

"Thank you." Gliding towards the door, Lillia paused for moment, her eyes flitting towards his with the solidarity of a fellow sufferer. "I'll be praying for you. You and your wife. You…you'll need each other now, of all times. God knows that if Rod were here…" She broke off and smiled once more. "Well, God knows things would be different."

The door closed lightly on its hinges, and Trent buried his head on the examination table, a low, helpless groan leaving his throat. He couldn't go home. He couldn't, he couldn't—I've got to, I've got to—he couldn't, who knew what doubts might leave his tongue?

"Doctor Trent, Lillia's left already?"

The brunette hesitated in the doorway, her employer's moment of weakness strangely more embarrassing to herself than to him. His hands ran through his jet black hair, and his eyes turned to hers, hollow. "Get my wife on the phone, Elli. Please." A pause. "Tell her I'm working late. That I won't be able to attend today's festival." Tell her, he breathed, that I'm sorry. Oh, God, I'm sorry, Claire.

Elli frowned. "But we're done for the day." He was leaving his wife alone? Those sunken eyes—they didn't really want this. They couldn't, of course not. "Are you…are you sure you want to this, sir?"

"Completely."

Her fingers trembled over the dial, but it was only a matter of seconds before an innocent, "Hello?" echoed through the receiver.

"Claire." Elli coughed, the lie stuck in her throat. "Uh, the doctor needed me to tell you something about tonight…"