Note: It feels like every time I post a chapter of this fic, I start anticipating its turning point, and then I just inch and inch and inch…yeah. Who knew using so many characters would complicate a plot so much? You can't advance to one point if one character hasn't already done this or that, etc. etc. It's new for me, but fun. Anyway, my point is, I'm having too much fun writing this and I'm just going to shut up and let you read.

Chapter Twelve: Stirring

Over a simple meal of scrambled eggs, Elli tried to catch her employee's eyes. Each time she did, he'd break the contact off immediately, and the nurse couldn't seem to find a good segue for conversation. "So. Um, do you like the meal?"

"It's nice."

"Mhm."

Their forks clinked against the plates, voices silent once more. What frustrated Elli the most, really, was how adamantly she refused to judge Trent for his actions. Lord knows people were whispering left and right enough already without her help: "Did you hear? The doctor left his wife. And now he has the gall to move back in the Clinic with that nurse! Can you believe it? Can you?" Who was she to disrupt his only sanctuary?

Still. Her hand quivered, and the eggs slipped off her fork onto the floor. "Oh! Sorry."

"It's an accident," Trent replied. "We'll clean it up later."

"I—I know." She swallowed noisily. "Uh, Doctor?"

"Hm?"

She gripped the fork all the harder, the metal leaving an imprint in her palm. "Is—is Claire okay?" His expression froze, and she continued, "If she's sick or something, I'd hate to think of her all alone in that house, and—"

"She'll be fine." The statement was not a fact, but an assurance they both needed to hear. "Someone is going to be visiting with her."

"Well. That's good, I suppose." She fidgeted before standing, mumbling, "I'm not so hungry today, Doctor Trent. Feel free to eat my share, if you'd like." Without waiting for an answer, she retreated to her room and sat down at her desk.

Surrounding her were teddy bears, many of which she'd had since she was very small. The doctor had bought one for her two years ago for her birthday, and she'd kept that one the closest, its button eyes as familiar to her as the back of her hand. He'd been so happy, then. Happier, even, when Claire entered his life.

"I'm off to the Valley, Elli! Wish me luck!"

Every Wednesday he'd say those words, and his cheeks would be pink with anticipation, his mouth drawn into the most sincere of smiles. She'd coach him on what to say, fuss about his clothes, and cheer him on each time. Even if, once the blue feather came his way, it felt as if the world had been pulled from under her feet.

"I'm happy for you, Doctor! I am, really. That's wonderful. I'd always hoped to see you married."

Even if the bride, well, hadn't been the woman she'd imagined.

Elli had never wished the couple any ill will. Yes, she'd been a little jealous at first, but jealousy faded if you stopped feeding it. So she tucked away all her firewood, letting the pain cool into something resembling acceptance.

Then he went and did this. Of all things to throw at her, it had to be this.

The nurse bit her lip, her fingers nervously reaching for a pen. It fit snugly in her grip, comfortingly so. She shut her eyes to the memories of standing outside her bedroom door, of being aware that he was watching her just as intently as she was him. Of unspoken questions and desires hidden within her breast, all of which she quenched with a simple, "Good night, Doctor," and a lock of the door.

"I will not be the other woman," Elli murmured to herself: a steady mantra. "I won't make this harder for him than it already is."

So she had no choice. She had to write. It struck her how easy the whole process was, how once the ink left her pen she could imitate Trent's illegible scrawl with the ease of years: the correct amount of ink spots, the precise amount of smudge.

The forgery was complete within minutes. The brunette swallowed, hard. It was time to finish what she'd started. Licking the envelope tight, Elli cast one glance at the address before stamping it and slipping off to Zack's home.

I'm doing this for you, Doctor. Forgive me.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's only a roommate," Ruby repeated calmly. The innkeeper folded the blankets on Nami's bed with a little flourish then wiped her brow. "There aren't many rooms to go around this time of year—people love visiting a country winter wonderland. Besides, you should enjoy it."

The redhead snorted. "Enjoy it. Sure. I didn't pay to share a room, thank you."

"Consider it payment, then, for all those years that you failed to give us a penny." And didn't even say good-bye. Ruby moved on to dusting off the dressers and chests, and Nami let out a soundless groan.

"So, what, you're spiting me, then?"

"No, I'm taking what business I can get. It's not like I'm out to get you, Nami. Believe it or not, I have motives outside of that."

Even if that were true, the detective found it easier to blame this on Ruby than on the unfortunate timing of this new resident. Rooming the girl with Rock would've been 'inappropriate,' Nami was told, and Doctor Hardy had called for her himself to do some work. Which, to Nami, begged the question why the girl couldn't just room with Dr. Hardy, and which in turn earned Nami a reproving look from the innkeeper.

"I don't want to work on the case with a tourist hovering around me."

"She's not a tourist," Ruby sighed. "She's in the medical field. And for what it's worth, I think you two will have lots to talk about."

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause I definitely talk about syringes and blood levels on a daily basis."

"I don't care about any of your 'lone wolf' problems, Nami," the innkeeper snapped. "Look, just because I once saw you as…as closer than an ordinary visitor, that doesn't mean I'm going to give you preferential treatment now. Just because I treated you—" Like the daughter I never had. Nami didn't have to hear the words to know them. She held up her hands in protest, and Ruby mumbled something that sounded like, "Never mind," before moving on to another room.

"Fine," Nami grumbled, sitting upon the bed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like the girl, does it?"

"Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths." Claire paced her home frantically, her chest heaving up and down in a frenzied manner. "She'll visit you any minute tomorrow morning," Doctor Hardy had assured her cheerily. And oh, what nightmares the farmer had dreamt up, what horrors could possibly plague her now! That Nami woman had been bad enough—but to meet someone who talked to people as if they were insane on a regular basis? What kind of masochist would take on a career like that?

Oh, God. Her heart jumped, the knock on the door just barely audible. "Hello? Ms. Claire? I'm the lady Dr. Hardy sent to see you." She bit her lip; would it be immature to hide under the table and fake being absent? Claire had faced detectives, spurned lovers, and cuckolded husbands, and yet a woman with a psychological agenda scared the hell out of her. Pathetic, wasn't it?

The knob had turned slowly in her sweaty palms, but the door opened just enough for Claire to blink and wonder if the right person was standing at her door. Instead of a clone of Nami Stone, a lady dressed in blue tied with a white apron greeted her, glasses perched on her petite nose. Sky blue hair was tied back strictly into braids, and big brown eyes sparkled at her, a small voice saying, "Nice to meet you! I'm Gina Aires. And we're going to get along just fine."

For a person intent on making her look insane, Claire thought Miss Aires had a very gentle way of going about things. First, she insisted she brew them both tea, and then she remarked on the quaintness and homey feel of the place instead of the long-forgotten messes in need of cleaning. The tea wasn't even half-bad, the farmer admitted with a sigh. In fact, it was amazing.

"I know I'm not exactly a welcome visitor," Gina apologized as she snuggled into the seat across from her, "but I do hope you enjoy having me come by. This isn't going to be…oh, what's that word…accusing? Is that the word?" The nurse shrugged. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Except, I don't expect you to tell me anything you don't want to."

Well. After Nami Stone, this was a relief.

"I'm not even sure what you want me to talk about," Claire confessed. "I don't really…please, don't misunderstand me, but I fail to see why you're here at all. I'm fine." Her hands shook. "I—I'm wonderful."

"You're spilling your tea," Gina whispered, and the nurse knelt down to dab up the mess with her apron. "Probably should've had us drink in the kitchen," she laughed, shaking her head. "Sorry about that."

"No, this rug's pretty much unsalvageable," Claire assured her. "It's fine. Why, when Willow would have dinner, we'd—" Oh my God. Her throat constricted, the words suddenly lost. Willow. She'd said Willow, hadn't she?

"You'd what?" Gina asked kindly. "What happened?"

"W-we'd have to clean up, because she'd toss her jar of crushed peas," Claire finished. This voice wasn't her own anymore—breathy, airy, disconnected. "We haven't always had a kitchen, so before, we ate in here. That's where the green spots came from. Her food."

Gina smiled. "Willow sounds like a cute baby."

"She was—is," Claire corrected herself. Her hands wrung themselves in her lap over and over again before hanging her head in defeat. "I'm sorry, it's just…this still isn't easy to talk about. Not even now."

The woman nodded and sipped her tea. "Well, that's normal. In fact, it'd be strange if this were easy for you."

"R-really?" Normal. Someone had called her normal—even when this woman's job had come about because someone thought she was insane. She wasn't crazy. Claire clung to the fact desperately; as of late, there hadn't been enough to cling to.

"Actually, you don't have to talk about Willow if you don't want to," Gina added with a soft smile. "We don't have to talk about anything except what you feel like telling me. I'm a very good listener, and even if we have nothing to talk about, I can make excellent tea."

Claire traced the rim of her saucer and grimaced. "Um. I'm not…" She blushed. "I'm not very good at talking to people. I've never been, not really. So I can't think of much." A pause. "W-well, I planted some potato seeds the other day. I'm a farmer, did Dr. Hardy tell you that? Winter has started up, and I want to make the most of the season."

"Mm. Potatoes are delicious," Gina sighed in delight. "I have some nice recipes if you want to swap…but I suppose your foods must be a lot better with fresh produce. I've heard that your crops actually get shipped to a lot of nearby towns. I can't imagine having the energy to grow so many! I take it you like farming, then?"

The blonde hesitated. "I don't like it or dislike it." She sipped the tea as Gina watched patiently. "My father, he just…you know I inherited this farm, right?"

"I didn't," Gina answered. Part of Claire wanted to accuse Gina of lying, but another part of her figured the nurse was just trying to get her to open up. Which, she figured, she was expected to do at some point, anyway. A few words wouldn't hurt. In this case, maybe silence would hurt more.

"It was my father's land for many, many years," Claire continued. "He took care of it with Takakura…you remember Takakura?" At the confused look on Gina's face, Claire blushed and shook her head. "Oh, you wouldn't. You're not from here, that's right. A-anyway, my father made lots of money from his work on the farm. And, once he made enough, he worked his way towards earning 'real money'—towards leaving the country to reach city life. He did it, but it took a lot out of him. He made a lot of sacrifices, a lot of choices…" Claire closed her eyes and placed her teacup back on the table. "When my father died, I felt that I barely knew him. And then, it occurred to me that I barely knew me. So…when Takakura, too, passed away…I discovered the land had been left to me. I didn't think twice about moving here. I decided it was fate."

"Fate?" Gina commented. "You don't think maybe…you wanted to become closer to your father this way?"

"That's—!" Claire swallowed. Shaking her head, she mumbled, "I…prefer to call it fate."

"So, you believe in karma, then?"

A small frown passed across Claire's face before answering. "Maybe," she whispered. "I—I don't really know." And, unspoken: I'm not sure if I can afford to.

"You're falling asleep on the job, Gwen."

The cook stiffened at Steiner's velvet voice, and she brought her head up from the counter with a weary sigh. "Nnrgh. Lemme just have five more minutes. No one's here, anyway, Steiner." And it was true. Of all the days for Gwen to sleep at work, this was a good one: the tables had emptied out an hour ago. Still, Steiner had been whistling to himself and wiping away counters and sweeping the floor. Normally Gwen would find it amusing, if she wasn't so damn tired.

"There is a time and place for beauty rest." Steiner smirked at her and picked up a pot and spoon. "This, fair maiden, is neither."

"I swear to God, Steiner, you slam that spoon against that pot, and I will rip you like a piñata," Gwen growled sleepily.

Immediately the ringing sounded out, and Steiner laughed at Gwen as she covered her ears. "What can I say? I love a challenge."

"You love pain, you idiot," Gwen snarled as she began to chase him around the kitchen. Armed with a spatula, the blonde hunted after him as he leapt from counter to counter, dodging her attempts with ease. "Stop moving, would you?" she snapped. "You're like a freakin' jellyfish."

Crouching on a ledge by the ceiling, Steiner flashed her a dazzling smile. "You have a lot of energy for someone who's tired," he quipped cheekily. "I guess anger wakes you up."

"Shut up! It does not." Frustrated, she tossed the spatula at his head, only to miss again. Gwen glowered at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Steiner laughed. "Immensely." Like an acrobat, he swung himself down to her side and placed his hands on his hips. "And, if you'll look at the clock in the corner, you will officially be able to sleep in five…four…three…two…" The clock chimed and he grinned smugly. "You're dismissed, head cook. Do as you please."

"For the record, I'm your boss, not the other way around."

"Ah, keep telling yourself that, Gwen," Steiner replied with a wave of his hand. "We both know that you're about as intimidating as, oh, a rose petal."

"Where do you get these analogies?" Gwen sputtered. "A rose petal? C'mon."

"And you're as bitter as a grape."

"That's it! I'm going to bed," she announced as she threw up her hands. "I'm too tired to deal with you tonight. You're just impossible, you know that?"

"Cranky as a—" The door slammed behind her, and Steiner burst into laughter. Oh, how flustered the girl was becoming of late; it took just a little bit of effort to put color in those cheeks. Although, he couldn't blame her for being tired. Baby Claire had been noisy last night for some bizarre reason that only a baby could fathom, and he and Gwen had both had their hands full calming the child down. Steiner was used to being nocturnal. Gwen, on the other hand…

Steiner paused in this line of thought. Had he really paid that much attention to the girl?

The answer to that was simple: yes. Yet that brought far, far too many problems with it, didn't it?

If I'm caught.

Steiner stared at the dishes in the sink with tired, weary eyes. His haggard expression looked back at him as he muttered, "Hell with it, I've cast my dice. A gamble's better than a certain loss, isn't it?"

But the house always wins, doesn't it? Always, always, always.

"Afternoon!" Kate chirped as she entered Claire's door. The woman looked up from her chair and smiled, the arrival both unexpected and anticipated. It was a strange mixing of emotions, the farmer thought to herself, but then again, everything had become strange as of late. "Saw you didn't get your mail, so I brought it up."

"Mail?" Claire repeated, eyebrows raised. Kate nodded and skipped over to hand her a crisp clean envelope, the address making no mistake of its owner. The farmer's eyes widened at the return address, and she tore the paper apart blindly. "Oh my God," she whispered. "It's…him."

"Who?" Kate pestered. "Who sent it?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Kate, but I think you should go home today," Claire began haltingly. Her heart had skipped a beat; her breathing had become stilted, awkward. "What are you still here for?" she asked, turning to the girl. "Go. Please, Kate, just…"

"Yeah, I get it." Frowning, the little girl stalked off, and Claire turned back to this letter in her hands with the power of heaven or hell in its words.

Be heaven, her heart pleaded. Free me. Please, dear God, grant me mercy.

The words "Dear Claire" were written at the top of the page, and from there, Claire let her questions be answered by ink and paper instead of nightmares and prayer.