Note: LATE chapter this time, but an important one. :D I'm a big believer in taking time to form judgments, and well, this story will twist itself and turn before I think we can get a verdict. Give me time. I know what I'm doing, guys. ;)

PS: Thank you so much, guys, this story has broken 201 PAGES YESSS. This is so exciting! Group hug.

Chapter Twenty-four: Breaking

"The first step to achieving world peace is taking all the lawyers and stuffing them into a deep, dark pit in the ground." Nami lit her cigarette and smirked. "Which is cheaper: flooding it or burying them alive?"

"I'm curious about how you're going to take over the world first." Glancing over, Gustafa flicked the stick from her girlfriend's lips. "You're going to kill yourself if you keep this habit up."

"You smoke your crap," she demanded. "Why not let me smoke mine?"

"You're a lady."

"Right, and you're the pope."

"Well, I've already got the goofy hat thing down."

The redhead laughed and laid on the grassy hill as if to make a snow angel. The snow had been fading with Winter's close end, not that either had noticed with this trial going on. In fact, Nami had decided to ignore the courtroom completely so that she could complain about lawyer troubles in peace. "Seriously, though, that O'Neil guy is a piece of work. What a kiss-up. You hear how he talks to the judge as if she's a saint, then talks to a witness like they're five years old? Puh-lease. You couldn't pay me to have that job."

"Maria Monett confuses me," Gustafa added. "She's got that innocent librarian vibe going on, and then she gets up there and it's like, whoa, who knew Nami Stone's long-lost-twin is a blue-haired lawyer?" The detective punched him in the arm for that. Gustafa punched right back, howling with laughter. "You can't even deny it!"

Lesser men would've died for saying that, for Nami harbored her own little vendetta against the soft-spoken, nosy little sneak. Bringing up her job history was one thing. Making her look incompetent, however? That was a death warrant written in blood. "Yeah, well, at least I've got a life outside my career."

"You're welcome, by the way," Gustafa chimed in.

"Shut up. Not everything is about you."

"But it often is, isn't it?"

"Gustafa, your ego is getting in the way of my reply. Shrink it, would you?" Nami stared at the ground, thinking. "Hey, Gustafa? What do you think?"

"About?"

"The trial. If you were the jury, what would you do?"

Gustafa let out a low groan. "Ouch. A serious question this early in the morning? Geez."

"Okay, one, it's noon, and two, you load serious questions on me constantly. So no whining."

"Fine, fine. What would I do." He thumbed the brim of his hat, pondering. "Well, for starters I'd be watching the whole trial and not just the part where the ever-so-gorgeous redhead testifies—"

"And I thought O'Neil was a kiss-up?"

"—and secondly, I wouldn't be making a judgment yet." The musician shrugged. "You gotta listen to everything before you make a choice. You never know what someone's thinking just from what they're saying. You gotta listen for what's up here." He tapped his head and nodded. "That's the tough part. Most people just want to hear what's coming out their mouth. Which is usually nonsense."

"Sounds like a certain someone I know," Nami said dryly.

"You know you love me."

"Yeah, yeah."

Gustafa's arms hugged about her waist, and he cradled his head into the crook of her shoulder. She smelled like the earth, fresh and alive. "So," he spoke, kissing her on the cheek, "after this whole crime thing blows over, then what? Do I have to listen to you ramble on about cases and stuff again? Or do I have to share you with the rest of the world via local weather reports?"

Smiling, Nami brought her lips to his ear. "I'll just have to wait and see, won't I? In case something better comes along."

"I've been told I'm a step above good and arguably better than great."

"We'll see," she repeated, nodding. "We'll just have to see."

"You didn't have to be so harsh."

"Well, sweetie," Jack sighed, stirring his coffee, "tough shit. I'm a lawyer. I rip people apart and get paid for it. What else do you think they teach us in law school, nursery rhymes stuffed with morality?"

"I don't know, the truth?" Claire fumed. "I am not paying you to humiliate a little girl, Jack. I'm paying you to save my kid."

"That's the same thing, isn't it?"

"No. It isn't. And I'm feeling a little sick knowing the money I've saved for Willow's college education is going towards making some teenager look stupid and naïve."

"That defines about every teenager in the nation, Couz. Your cute baby is gonna be one eventually, so I wouldn't romanticize the lot of them. You'll want to throw her out soon enough."

"Says the eternal bachelor," Claire spat out. "Look, just…urgh, just stop doing whatever you don't need to do. You can be fair without being cruel, can't you?"

"Oh, sure." Jack took a swig of his coffee—a far cry from Starbucks. Or, really, coffee in general. "But you'd lose. You pick: integrity, or your baby girl?"

Claire clenched her fists. "Those aren't my only options."

"But if they were, I think we both know which you'd choose." Finished with his drink, Jack clapped his cousin on the back and smiled. "Don't worry. You're forgiven."

Yes, Claire thought darkly to herself, but what about you?

"I want to see Gwen."

"Yeah, well, I want to see Paris, and my father never let me. Some dreams just stay deferred." Maria kept her eyes locked on O'Neil's witness, this nurse person, and she frowned. This would be a tough cross, especially since there was so much ground to cover—

"She looked awful. Like someone was physically stabbing her, in the heart, several times."

"She has looked better," Maria agreed, catching onto words like "dissociative state" and "kleptomaniac."

"This is all my fault," Skye stated, looking into his lap. "Dammit, I should've just left when I had the chance."

"You still have a chance." She sighed. "Don't obsess over things, please. This fight's not over."

Apparently Gina had made a joke, because there was some tittering among the jury. Maria quietly glowered at her client. He was not helping.

"Maybe I should write her a note," he considered.

"Maybe you should be quiet so I can process what the witness is saying."

Stunned, Skye held his tongue, and relieved, Maria turned her ears back to the witness, just in time to hear Jack announce, "Nothing further," as he stepped down.

"Ms. Monett? Your cross-examination, please?"

Maria could understand, in that moment, what made someone commit murder. Skye, with good reason, trembled in his handcuffs.

"Miss Aires, you did not examine only my client, did you?"

"No," the nurse replied pleasantly. "I spoke with the prosecution's client, Ms. Claire, on numerous occasions."

"Really? How often is numerous?"

"I'd say daily for about half of a season."

"How many times did you speak to my client, Skye?"

"Only once." She beamed. "But I got what was necessary."

Maria lifted her head, tapping her chin in thought. "So you spoke to Ms. Claire about fifteen times—"

"Roughly."

"—But only once with Skye?"

"Correct."

"I'm sure the jury is curious; what was the purpose of so many visits to Ms. Claire on your part?"

"Well, many reasons," Gina began. "She was experiencing conflict in all areas of her life: her familial life, specifically. Childhood abuse. The guilt of a secret affair. Her daughter's disappearance. The separation of her from her spouse. One person can only handle so much on their own. My job was to help her conquer each problem, one visit at a time."

"Now, before you came in, how did Ms. Claire handle those problems?"

"In the case of abuse and the affair? Denial. If she didn't let herself think about it, it didn't happen. In the case of the kidnapping? Displaced anger. The separation? Incessant guilt."

"Are any of these coping mechanisms healthy?"

"No," Gina chirped. "But they are normal."

"How did you stumble upon Ms. Claire?"

"Dr. Hardy called me up from Forget-Me-Not. He'd discovered some buried problems in her past, and as a friend of Doctor Trent—Ms. Claire's husband—he also knew about the kidnapping and the separation. He wanted her to see a specialist. So I was called."

"Were there any other reasons for Dr. Hardy's concern?"

"Oh, yes," Gina nodded. "For one thing, she hadn't responded healthily to either the kidnapping or the separation. According to him, Ms. Claire reacted to the kidnapping by shouting and screaming at a mere painting of the defendant. She reacted to the separation by drinking heavily and passing out in her own field."

A murmur of surprise traveled through the jury. Maria smiled. "Was this behavior expected?"

"From Ms. Claire? Well, I've heard it's uncharacteristic of her. And from meeting her, I'd conclude the same."

"Yet if someone behaves the same way twice, isn't it possible it could happen again?"

"Based on my experience? Absolutely."

"What if Willow hurt herself horribly? Or Claire fought with husband once more? Could that trigger the same reaction?"

"A duller version, I'd think, but it's possible."

"Through speaking with Ms. Claire," Ms. Monett interrogated, "can you share with the jury her feelings for Willow prior to the kidnapping?"

What kind of a question is that? O'Neil wondered to himself. What the hell is that rookie doing, exactly?

Gina took in a deep breath.

"You realize you are under oath, Miss Aires."

"I know."

Trent raised an eyebrow and turned to his wife. "Darling? Are you alright?" Claire said nothing, eyes transfixed on the woman she'd thought to be her only friend. "Dearest?"

"Miss Aires, it's not a difficult question. How did Ms. Claire feel towards Willow prior to the kidnapping?"

Gina's sweet little smile had fallen, and she folded within herself. "She loved her," the nurse spoke carefully, "but…she resented her, too."

The entire court became silent, so silent that the tiniest cough or a sneeze would echo off the walls. "Resented," Maria repeated. "A mother resenting her child. How does that work?"

"Ms. Claire didn't have good role models for parents," Gina tried to explain. "Sometimes she felt frustrated, so she told me. Frustrated enough that she'd think things she didn't mean. Her husband worked often. Often, she'd have to discover how to raise Willow herself. It wasn't an easy process for her."

"We know how she coped with the kidnapping and the separation. Miss Aires, would you tell the court how she coped with raising Willow?"

Gina bit her lip.

"Miss Aires?"

Gina fidgeted.

"Miss Aires, would you answer?"

"Usually, she did fine," Gina treaded carefully. "But she did tell me of…not so practical coping mechanisms."

"Like?"

Claire swallowed something in her throat, waiting for the inevitable. Three…two…one.

"Well."

She'd been screaming. So loud, so damn loud, that Claire's ears just might bleed. "What do you want? Milk?" The farmer rubbed furiously at the bags under her eyes. Things blurred a bit those days; her eyes teared up easily, and oh, they itched, itched to death. Sleep had become a luxury, not a priority. After all, between this field and Willow, what did Claire have to herself anymore? "What, are you tired? Need to burp? Diaper-change? What?"

It'd been terrifying in the beginning. Terrifying now. She'd stopped changing her shirts, because the milk stained them all without fail; it'd been the bras that needed changing these days. She'd cried when Willow's mouth bit down hard on her breast, not expecting such a sharp blow. Her hips fleshed out; her breasts hung low. Looking in the mirror, Claire honestly couldn't recognize herself anymore. She looked alien, strange. No mother had warned her of these things. They'd each jumped on her, one startling surprise after the other.

"What do you want?" Claire repeated, louder now. "Just tell me, why don't you?"

"She's beautiful, Claire. Can't you just tell she wants to say hello?"

Trent, beautiful doctoring Trent, had helped with his big impressive biology texts, which Claire would have loved to read—if she'd had time. Willow squirmed on the bed, squalling in pain, and those tiny fists pumped into the air as if accusing her mother of her incompetence. "I—I don't know what you want from me. Do this when your father comes home, would you?"

"You're such a good mother. I'm so proud of you for taking care of her while I'm away."

"Come on, she has—it's got to be something." The diaper, dry. The milk, already emptied from Claire's aching body. The rocking, no good at all. Claire ran her fingers through her unbrushed hair, catching onto tangles. "Just be quiet, why can't you be quiet?"

"Aren't we blessed, to have a child so soon in our marriage? Proof of our love, isn't it?"

She'd tried talking to Samantha, that mother who'd moved in. Kate was her kid, wasn't she? That freckle-faced girl. "What do I do?" Claire had begged her. "How do you do this?" And Samantha had held her nose up high, disgusted at Claire's ugly state, and spoke out, coldly, "What am I, your nanny? Figure it out yourself, why don't you?" Claire had heard her and Chris gossiping, swapping a stupid farmer girl's tales of failure.

But Claire had been proud, dammit. She'd kept the baby up later, hoping the child would sleep the morning through so she could work the fields. But emptying herself for a child, and throwing her energy into sickles, watering cans, and hoes, left behind nothing at all. Her husband came home to an empty shell, scraping together a meal. "I'm home, honey," Trent would say. "What's for dinner?" She wanted to strangle him for it.

Claire loved Willow. But she'd never meant to have her. And she'd never asked to change her life for her.

"Scream all you want! Scream, scream, see if I care! I can scream, too." The frustration boiled over, and Claire tossed the diapers to the side, shouting. "I can scream, and still no one does what I want! Not you, not Trent, not anyone, so shut up!" Her hands clamped on the sides of the cradle, rocking to the beat of her sobs. "I didn't want you! I didn't want this!"

What happened next confused her. She remembered knocking the crib's blanket to the floor, storming outside, crying. But then she remembers entering the stable and taking her horse's reins without ever planning where to go. She rode for hours, and hours, and hours, until the pain began to fade. She cried until only guilt remained. She came home and promised her baby girl she didn't mean a thing, that mommy was here now, that she'd never leave her again.

That didn't stop God from punishing her for it.

"Fair maiden, I'll steal your heart this very night."

Why, oh why, hadn't she listened?