Note: Well! Be happy I changed the schedule, because I was told that today is Saturday, not Friday. The holidays completely brainwashed me, I swear. Give me a week, and I'll be a normal person, promise. Er, normal as I get, anyway. As far as this chapter goes, it isn't my favorite, but I think I'm biased just 'cause it was hard to pull out. Hopefully, you'll like it anyway.

And special thanks to AsianFlipGurl, my 100th reviewer! I owe all of you for supporting me thus far. So, thanks. :)

Chapter Ten: Trust

"Thanks for taking him in, lady. Sam would've freaked if she saw that I'd been hiding her in the house."

Claire smiled as she watched Kate petting her little kitty cat and murmured, "It's no trouble at all. I've got enough room in this house, that's certain."

"Yeah. The doctor is at work, like, a lot."

"Yes. Yes, he is."

"I—I'm sorry, Ms. Claire, but he doesn't seem to be leaving anytime soon," Elli had said over the phone. "If you want to talk to him, then…"

But they'd already talked. Claire saw what had happened the last time she'd opened her mouth, hadn't she?

Things were simpler alone, anyway. Listening to Kate talk about whatever Kate decided to talk about and tending her once-forgotten farm were far easier than sharing an awkward silence with her husband or pretending that her world wasn't crumbling around her. "So, do you think the cookies are done yet?"

"Didn't you set a timer for them?" Kate insisted, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Um. I think."

"Geez, you think?" The girl dashed to Claire's kitchen and shouted shrilly, "You didn't! You didn't! You didn't!"

"I heard you the first time," Claire muttered. Standing up from her chair, she ambled towards where Kate was pointing and raised an eyebrow. "Okay. So we put them in at…wait. An hour ago, wasn't it?"

"An hour?!"

The oven door opened, and both gagged on the taste of smoke and charred dough. Armed with cooking mitts, Claire brought the blackened goodies to the counter and shut the oven closed with a bang. "Um. Maybe an hour was too long?"

"No kidding, lady."

Both sat at the table and stared at each other, lips curving into smiles as they fell into fits of laughter. "I haven't done that in so long," Claire chuckled. "Why, if I could remember the last time I baked cookies…"

"You shouldn't have offered to, then!" Kate reminded her with a giggle. "It's not like all kids absolutely have to have cookies to be happy."

Claire started a bit at that, Kate's words strangely striking her. "Wh-what do you mean by that?"

"You're trying too hard, lady." Kate pursed her lips and looked at the charcoal-ridden desserts again. "I know you like having me over, but making people happy isn't as hard as you think it is. Like, taking in Fluffy. That made me very, very happy." She grinned. "Sometimes it's as easy as, I don't know, telling a girl a story."

"A…story?"

"But not one of those fairytales," Kate continued, making a face. "All the princesses are always wimps, and the witches and dragons are so not scary. Nah, tell me something…" She paused in thought.

"Something what?"

"Real," Kate finished. "Tell me something real. No one ever does that."

Real. The woman glanced out her window; what was real that wasn't painful anymore? "Um. I could tell you about…oh, I don't know. I can't think of any 'real' stories."

"Tell me about you, then!" the girl prodded. "Tell me about your life, or your childhood, or something! You know about you, right?"

Claire closed her eyes. What could she tell this girl—about her husband leaving her, about her child being stolen from her, about making the worst decision of her life in a moment of passion? "When I was a little girl," she spoke softly, "I…I used to do everything right. Absolutely everything that my father told me to do, I did."

Kate wrinkled her nose. "Ew. That sounds boring."

"It was," Claire agreed. "So, one day, I—I got sick of it." Images floated into her consciousness: a bright snow-blanketed ground, a tall and imposing brick house, a man's harsh and demanding voice. "My parents didn't like for me to go out. They had so many rules: about practicing instruments, learning languages, getting ahead in school. There was no time for me. There was no time for fun. But one day, in winter, I heard that a neighbor of mine was holding a holiday party. And everyone in the entire neighborhood was invited—me, my parents, everyone. I wanted to go and spend time with kids my age. I wanted everything that my family was forcing on me to stop for just one day. So I snuck out the door…"

The sled was beneath her body once again, the scarf once more looped about her tiny pale neck. Her hair was once again frizzy with youth, and her cheeks lit with Jack Frost's sting. She flew down the hill, all the while her ears straining to hear the sound of music and laughter, and her eyes drinking in the lights below. "And I walked in. No one really knew who I was, but they knew my parents' last name, and I remember…I remember trying new foods, and meeting people I'd lived by my entire life without even knowing their names and faces."

"Hey, I'm Julia!" Another tiny face met hers, and Claire cowered a bit at its brightness. "Did you just move here? I didn't know any other girls lived here that were my age!"

"I was timid, at first," Claire murmured. "A girl came up to me, a sweet little blonde absolutely bubbling over with energy, and we began talking. Being homeschooled, I wasn't used to that. The only people I usually got to see were relatives, and they were either much older than I or far younger."

"We should hang out more. You're a lot of fun to talk to! Hey, do you go to the local school around here…? No? Ohh, you're homeschooled! Lucky. Wish my parents would let me get out of homework."

They were ordinary little conversations, of course. But they were the first few she'd ever experienced, and Claire had savored each simple sentence like newfound rain after a drought. "So, what happened next?" Kate asked. "You met another girl. Then?"

"Claire!" The voice was booming, furious, enraged. Once again, she was just a tiny wand of a girl, trembling under that man's snarling accusal. "What gave you the idea that running off with strangers was a good idea? What made you think that your mother and I would be alright with that?"

"I…"

"You what? For God's sake, Claire, your mother and I are doing our best to make sure you're prepared by high school, and you—you don't care. Who makes the money around here? Who worked all his life to give you what you have now? Who do you owe?"

Then came the sting of his hand, followed by the sting of more words, and the ache that still hadn't quite healed today. "Then…then my father found out, and I didn't dare do anything like that again. The end."

Kate's eyes narrowed. "That's not a very good story."

"No, it's not." Claire sighed, her eyes downcast. Her fingers toyed with the fringe of the tablecloth, the memories now rekindled in her long dormant past. "But it is real."

Papa hadn't always been so mean. Not all the time. Some days, Claire actually loved being with him—the outdoors brought out his kinder side, she thought. Fishing was a sort of middle ground, where he accepted her as something more equal than dependent. He could be happy with her, sometimes.

It wasn't Claire's fault that her mother was ill, was it? Her father didn't have the energy to deal with anything short of perfection. Her mother didn't have energy at all.

Things could've been worse. Her father could've been a drunk. He could've been a wife-beater. He could've harassed her. He could've done more than slapped her around a bit when she broke a few rules or failed a few tests. There could have been more blood.

Was complete satisfaction such a terrible thing to give him, then?

"Yes, sir. No, sir. I'm done, sir. I got an A on my test, sir. Aren't you proud?"

Things got simpler in high school. At home, anyway. Classmates saw her as some sort of unapproachable brainiac, and maybe it was easier to be seen that way. There were no Julias, certainly, but here and there Claire found a kind face, a few gentle words.

No, her childhood wasn't perfect. But whose was?

Kate had left hours ago. The cookies were still left out, and Claire picked up one absently and took a bite. Immediately she regretted it; her teeth couldn't even break the surface, and it tasted like ash in her mouth.

People weren't like cookies, of course. You could do everything you were supposed to do, and a child could still turn out wrong. You could grow up different than everybody else and still come out whole. You weren't the product of your parents' choices…were you?

"I'm not," Claire defended herself quietly as the cat looked up at her. "I'm—I'm not a mistake. I'm me, aren't I?"

Yet who am I, anyway? A liar, a cheater, a mother, a loner? Something ruined? Something broken?

Standing up, Claire took the tray of cookies in her hands and promptly threw them in the garbage. The farm needed more work done, and she needed a distraction. Maybe that was all she'd ever looked for—something to keep her from coming close to fixing any of her problems.

Well. She'd never had trouble finding those, had she?

"You nervous?"

Gwen laughed shakily, the answer to that question too obvious for her to bother saying aloud. Her uncle patted her on the shoulder in reassurance, his smile all she could center in on amidst all the horses whinnying and the villagers betting around her. Her heart felt it was on overdrive; her legs were jelly beneath her. "I just hope nothing distracts me, I guess," the blonde allowed as she took in a deep breath. "I want to do my best."

He embraced her roughly and ruffled her hair. "You will, Gwen. You'll beat 'em, and I know it."

He's said the exact same thing for the past few years now, the cook thought to herself, but she answered, "Thanks, Uncle Doug. But, um…" Her head craned to see over his shoulder, and she sighed. "He's not…coming…is he?"

"Steiner?" Doug frowned. "He said he would, but I'm guessing he's running late for some reason. Don't let it worry you though, Gwen—it's probably something important."

"Yeah. Probably." But he'd promised. Silly as it was, he'd promised, and to Gwen, that still meant something. Sure, it was probably just a rebound, but a part of her wanted him there more than anyone else. Just to reassure her. "But if I'm losing, I'm blaming him for worrying me."

"You won't lose," Doug grunted. "Don't think like that. And—oh, Gwen! Aren't those your friends?"

Katie and Eve were giggling next to a tan young man that Gwen recognized as Dan from his red bandana and wide pants. Eve kept tossing her golden ponytail this way and that, and Katie was playing wingman expertly, as always. About the only 'good luck' she could expect from them right now would be, "Oh, Dan's betting on you! Do great, okay?"

She loved her girls, but when they got with a member of the opposite sex, their heads got side-tracked. Easily.

"Um, I think the racers are going this way," Gwen spoke instead, jerking her head towards Bob and Tina in another corner. "I'll see you after the race, okay?"

"Okay, honey. Good luck!"

Her heart sped up a bit as she approached Bob, but Gwen kept telling herself that it was okay to be nervous—after all, this was a race day, and not an ordinary one—and asked, casually, "Your horse ready?"

"Ah, yeah, Charcoal is doin' fine." He wiped his brow and grinned, a tall and imposing figure before her. Charcoal reared his dark head and eyed her with friendly eyes, and Gwen petted him gently in response. "I think he missed you."

"You think?" Gwen beamed. His mane was silky between her fingers. "Yeah, my mare's over there, so I should probably go see her."

"Haven't seen Spice in awhile, myself."

"She's doing well," Gwen replied. "Her coat's a lot shinier this year, for what that's worth. A prettier red."

"You don't say." Bob paused for a moment, and Gwen watched, waiting to see if he'd bring up that giant elephant sitting between them both: her confession. "I—uh, I hear you went to the Full Moon Festival?"

Gwen crossed her arms. "Yeah. I did."

"I'm glad." Bob smiled and patted her on the head—something he'd done to her as a child. "I was worried for you, you know?"

"Don't be," the blonde answered. She'd thought being nervous about the race had unnerved her enough, but now, a far stranger emotion was tying her stomach into tiny impossible knots. She faked a smile, unwilling to admit her pain, and added quickly, "I—I mean, if there's going to be any worrying, it should be over you beating me this year—'cause it's so not going to happen, Bob."

"That's a lotta talk for a little girl." Bob laughed. "You're going to have to work to win this year, Gwen. Me and Tina are at our best. Tina—oh, have you seen her horse, Silver?"

"Yeah," Gwen lied. "Real nice." The last thing on her agenda was checking out her competition's horse; she had enough to worry about already without Tina's impressive horse raising on her mind.

A large trumpet sounded, and Gwen flinched despite herself. "The amateur's race is starting," Bob stated, unfazed. "We've got a ways to go before it's our turn."

"Mhm." Gwen bit her lip and looked once more into the crowd for a certain pair of faces. Still not there. Still far away.

He had to travel light. This time, Skye would be certain to pack food, diapers, and a change of clothes—just in case. Last time, he'd made many mistakes. This time, he intended to make none.

"Come along, princess," Skye called, and his baby blinked her big blue eyes uncomprehendingly. "We're going out now. Just you and me. Wouldn't you like that?"

His arms plucked her from her crib and she squirmed a bit, confused. Well, she could be confused if she liked; she wasn't even a year old, and Skye figured she'd forget about it once they were older and he'd found them a truly permanent home. Some place further away. Some place they could never be found.

If such a place exists.

No, he would not think that. Thinking that would do no good, and right now, he needed to remain as optimistic as possible. "Which way do you want to go, Claire? We can go North, South, East, West—why, if you want, I'll take a boat and we can travel the sea. What sounds good to you, darling?"

Something clouded her blue eyes, but Skye brushed it off as he gathered her into his arms. This was the only logical method of action to take, after all. Running, running, running—how else had he survived in his chosen career for so long? How petty it seemed now, though, how trite; Skye hadn't kept a single one of those ridiculous heirlooms he'd pilfered back in the Valley. They'd been worthless to him. Sparkles of the moment.

If he got away with this, Claire would be there for him forever. Not even diamonds promised so much in their eternity.

He had to leave. There was no choice. Not even if Gwen—well. Gwen.

"I just can't imagine any of it. I can't imagine that kind of rejection or that kind of pain. It's not possible for me. Here I am, in my own safe little world, where the worst thing that can happen is losing your childhood sweetheart."

Skye closed his eyes, and Claire looked at him blankly, unable to see the same evening Skye could as his hands remembered the warmth of her skin and the wet tears that sprung from her eyes. Had he ever held anything so pure, apart from this child in his arms? Had he ever corrupted anything so sweet?

The lights were off; the doors closed. The thief allowed himself one final look behind him, and without thinking, he found a tiny pair of shining earrings in his hands—earrings that he'd only seen worn once, one night.

Skye smiled to himself wryly. Old habits died hard.

Flanked by Tina on one side and Bob on the other, Gwen found herself vaguely imagining a set of wheels in the very same design: the one in the center—the third—being naturally useless. Her fingers tightened on the reins, and Spice lifted her majestic head in confusion. "Don't worry, girl," Gwen spoke through gritted teeth. "We're winning this year. We're winning it all."

"Hope you didn't bet too high," Tina teased with a well-meaning smile, and Bob barked a laugh in agreement. "Tell you what. If I or Bob win, just give us a free lunch at Doug's, and we'll call it even."

"No thank you, but I plan on winning enough prize money to pay off my own debts, thanks." Gwen snorted. "Not that I plan on having any, after this race."

"Man, Tina, Gwen is really into it this year," Bob whistled. "We'd better stop talking and start concentrating, eh?"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The mayor's voice rang out clear over the crowd, and Gwen set her eyes on the course ahead. A single brown line. A straight shot down the field. Simple as could be. She could do this. She could, she could, she could. "…And now that I've gone over the rules, can I get a drum roll please? On your marks…"

"Prepare yourself," Gwen whispered, leaning forward.

"Get set…"

Her legs clamped tighter about Spice's body, her heart beating like a drum.

"GO!"

Everything rushed forward in a single motion—Tina, Bob, the crowd, everything blurred as Gwen became one with the moving creature beneath her. Breathe in, breathe out, kick in the stirrups. Go, Spice, c'mon baby, let's win it! We can do this. I know we can.

Tina and Silver had just begun to lag behind, just enough for Gwen to let out a little sigh of relief. Too soon, Gwen realized belatedly, as Bob took the opportunity to bound ahead on Charcoal's powerful body. Immediately hope sank within her like a stone; this was a repeat of all those past years, that same disappointment all over again.

Except this time, she couldn't give up.

"Hya!" Gwen shouted, spurring a startled Spice further ahead. Hoofbeats pounded through Gwen's ears, but she focused on the finish line. Everything else was silence. Everything else didn't matter.

"Look at that! Hey, Duke, look at my niece, heh-heh!"

She wasn't past Bob, but they were neck-and-neck, and Gwen found herself ignoring the sweat dripping down into her eyes and nose as she was suddenly empowered by a rush of adrenaline. It's not too far away now. It's…it's in sight, and no one's there.

Not yet.

For a long time, Gwen would remember the smell of the dirt kicked up in the course, the touch of perspiration on her brow, and the sound of Bob breathing heavily alongside her. The screams were deafening, the cheers unparalleled, as the wining horse broke through the finish line in a flurry of red ribbon, golden hair, and the black of a lady's riding boots.

It had been done. Gwen threw back her head and laughed, the congratulations of her competitors and her peers surrounding her in a haze of white noise.

How was it possible, Gwen wanted to know, that in mere minutes a lifetime's goal could be achieved?

They were close to the track. Too close, Skye feared, as Claire furrowed her brow in curiosity. "No. No, we can't go over there," he hissed into her ear, trying to be as quiet as possible. The faint sound of whinnying horses made Claire's eyes light up and she cooed in protest. "No. I make the rules here, my sweet, and I say we must go."

Which way was that exit again—? The thief held the map to the light and frowned; hadn't they already gone that way? Left, maybe…or was it right…?

A shrill sound shattered the silence, and Skye swore as he crouched down the in the bushes, panic seizing. His heartbeat slowed a bit as he realized the race had ended, started, or something, and that people were just cheering for the hell of it, not to call him out.

Still. It unnerved him.

If he could only find that damn exit, then he wouldn't be shaking like a rookie burglar on his first job. A map in one hand, and an uncomfortable Claire in the other, Skye felt far from the capable thief his title implied. "Phantom Thief Skye," was he? "Vulnerable Over-burdened Babysitter," more like it.

"But really, she did great out there, huh?"

Ah! Voices. Skye knelt down closer to the ground, willing his heart to slow its beating just for a moment. He could see two pairs of shoes from the ground…high-heels and some men's loafers. Not exactly loafers, if Skye was really getting nit-picky, but he couldn't think of the word for those brown slippers on the stranger's feet.

"Yeah, your friend was a good bet! I might have enough money to last me through…" He paused, counting on his fingers. "Through this week!"

A shrill giggle escaped from his companion's lips, and Skye threw up a little inside. Why was he, an honest thief, being subjected to this? He had to leave. He had no time for this couple's conversation. They needed to run off and—

"Gwen was pretty stoked about winning her first race."

Suddenly Skye found himself listening.

"I'm just glad I didn't bet on that other guy. Bob, right?" A laugh. "Man, I would've bet on him in seconds flat if you hadn't told me about that Gwen girl, Eve. I owe you, baby."

Skye couldn't really see—not that he minded this at all—but the soft sounds that followed this conversation were indicative enough of kissing and fondling for him to hate being hidden in this thicket just a little more than before, and just enough to make him wish he hadn't wasted his time stealing Gwen's stupid earrings.

"Hey, you guys are definitely having a good time." A third pair of shoes—boots—entered the scene, and Skye caught his breath as he recognized their owner. Oh, damn. "Break it up. There might be kids out here, y'know?"

"It's nothing they wouldn't see on cable in the city," the man mumbled.

"Dan, this is Flowerbud. Just let the village keep its innocent shtick a little longer, m'kay?" Gwen admonished them with a laugh. "Ah, I'm kidding, do what you want. Just don't make me watch!"

A happy little sound came from baby Claire's mouth at Gwen's familiar voice, and Skye froze, goosebumps prickling up and down his body as his hand gently closed itself over her mouth. Shut up, darling. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"Anyway, so did you like the race?" Gwen continued. "I hear Eve made you one of my supporters or something."

"Yes. Thanks to you, I've got myself enough for a hotel room in the city for the weekend, and I can't wait to go out and—"

"—Gamble it all off," Eve finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Can you believe him?"

"Hey, hey. Happiness doesn't come cheap, baby."

"It does if Dan's paying," Eve whispered loudly to the blonde, and they both began to laugh all the louder, Claire's ears perking up once more. She wriggled about in Skye's arms, and he held his hand over her mouth tighter; this was for her own good, and—

"Ow!" Tiny teeth bit the thief's hands, and his outcry was followed by a loud shout from the baby's small body. "Dammit, look what you've done!"

Skye swore, and he turned to see a confused pair of red eyes staring down his own. Think fast as hell. "Fair maiden, it's good to see you. You would not believe all the trouble I've gone to for baby Claire today."

"Would it explain why you're hiding in a bush and why you didn't show up at the race?" she retorted flatly. Eve and Dan were whispering in the back, and to Skye's chagrin, he could tell that this time, the conversation was centered around him. Gwen held her chin high, and added, "If you even care, I won. First time."

"So I've heard," Skye murmured, mind racing. "I'm sorry about missing it. I truly, truly am. Baby Claire wanted a better view, and the crowds were so full that I said we should watch from the hill, with…a picnic." He pointed to the food packed on his back and smiled winningly. "We never found the right spot. See, Claire dropped her pacifier somewhere near here, and we haven't found it."

"Great. So you lied to me, left me standing alone with my uncle at the race thinking I'd do just fine without any other outside support, and it was all because you were looking for a pacifier that we don't even own. Yeah, that makes total sense." The cook frowned a bit and turned to the companions behind her. "Hey, you guys can go if you want. I've got this covered." The couple exchanged knowing glances and left Gwen and Skye in peace, the former of the two setting her eyes on Skye's unflinchingly. "Were you ever going to show up? Really?"

He paused, the answer weighing on his mind for a moment before being set free: "No."

"Thought so." She leaned back and let him crawl from under the bushes before sighing and adding, "Look, Steiner, I…ah, crap, I guess it doesn't matter anymore. I mean, I can't force you to watch me race just because—" Her voice broke off, and she laughed a little to herself, shaking her head. "I'm so bad at this. Goddess, I really, truly suck at admitting this stuff. But, um, for some reason, I really wanted you here today. I don't know why. But it hurt when you weren't there, you know?" She shrugged. "It's not a big deal or anything. I'm just—I'm sorry if I got too mad at you. I over-thought it."

"For what it's worth, I did want to come," Skye answered softly.

Skeptical, Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Did you really?"

"I did. And that, I suppose, is why I didn't go." Skye eyed her, this simple village girl, and he considered how many times she'd been lied to in her life—why, she could probably count them all on one hand. With the truth so common, there was no reason for her to mistrust him, and yet, despite all that, Skye found himself unwilling to dupe her quite as readily as he had before. He frowned and weighed truth in his hands, pondering just how much he could give away without coming clean. "See, I'm…I'm too close to you, Gwen. I'm not used to being so close to people. I had every intention, actually, of leaving today because of that."

A little gasp strangled out of Gwen's throat, and Skye kept his eyes on Claire as her hands reached for the cook's arms eagerly. "You…wait, you were going to leave?"

"I was." The answer hit the blonde like a slap, and she staggered back, recoiling. "See, Gwen, it's not so simple." He paused and viewed her once more, smirking a bit as the new truth spun itself in his mind. "Well, maybe it is. But it's foolish."

"What is? I mean, if you're going to leave, then you had to have good reason—"

"You reminded me of her."

Gwen bit her lip, the identity of 'her' something she could guess far too well. Her eyes quickly averted his own and she played with her ponytail, stammering, "O-oh. I suppose, well, that's a bad thing, isn't it?"

"No," he disagreed. "Just a painful thing."

Wasn't it strange how, one moment, someone could be the love of your life, and the next, you could hate them with an all-consuming fire? At one point in his life, Skye would've handed the world to that farmer on a silver platter; now, he had no qualms with yanking it out from under her. Maybe describing Gwen as Claire was too generic: blondes weren't like all blondes. Yet, since when did this have anything to do with hair color at all?

"The first time I met her…she threatened me, too. Just like you did." Skye chuckled to himself at the memory and shook his head. "Well, you did a far better job—I'll grant you that. We argued constantly, but she…she was calmed easily by gentle words and by a gentle touch. Do you know, it almost felt like—God, for the first time in my life!—that someone actually needed me?"

"You're not the marrying type."

It had been a cold, sobering blow to his ego. It's a double-edged sword, Skye thought to himself bitterly. When you give someone the power to heal you, you give them the power to hurt you as well.

"But…but people do need you, you know?" Gwen flushed a bit as he turned her way, and insisted, "Baby Claire needs you. She loves you like crazy; you'd have to be blind not to notice it. And—and of course the Inn wasn't the same before you. Plus, sometimes I…" Her hand squeezed his, Claire's tiny fingers curling about them both. The blonde smiled, embarrassed, and mumbled, "I don't like it when you're gone. If you left, I'd miss having my…my kitchen buddy to talk to. I, well, I need you, too."

Honesty. How long had it been since someone had spoken to Skye so candidly, so freely? Skye couldn't remember. Was it possible for you to remember the first time you were lied to? There had to have been a moment, sometime. Yet the first time your parents held you in their arms and whispered, "I love you"—that was the first shred of honesty you received in this world, wasn't it? When did the roles begin to switch? When did you start to remember lies instead of truths?

Sometimes, Skye decided as he hugged Gwen and his baby close, truth and fiction weren't all that different. Sometimes, strangely enough, they were the exact same thing.