A/N: This chapter was written by the lovely Contemperina (the last one was mine), but we both edited and added. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter. I don't know if you all wanted Million Dollar Babies, but we didn't do that one. We usually do every other episode.

"Hey, guys!" Harold announcedexcitedly, splashing around in the tomato juice like a nerd having a spasm. "It's been exactly eleven hours and forty minutes since we got in here. The process is almost complete!" he concluded, making the remaining of us roll our eyes.

Regarding this comment, let me interrupt and ask one question: Have you ever wanted to sit in a tub of tomato juice with a nerd, a dork, a fat version of Beyoncé, and a dude who cries if you mess up his nails, all for twelve straight hours? If you answered yes, then (1) you're crazier than Izzy on steroids, and (2) DON'T DO IT. Don't even ask me why not, because you really don't want to know. Got it?

If you're as perceptive as I am (and you're probably not), you've noticed that Courtney and Lindsay weren't still in the tub when we had twenty minutes left to wait. The reason:

We've been sitting in this hot-tub turned soup bowl for three hours already when Chris walks up, gas mask on his face. "All right," he says in his best TV show host voice, "challenge winners! You can get out of the soup!" He points to Lindsay beside me and Courtney on the opposite end of the tub. I don't think Courtney being on the opposite end from me is an accident, either…

Pretty reasonably (for her), Courtney asks, "But what about the stench? It hasn't been twelve hours! Is this—" She pauses, gesturing to the juice we're all waist-deep in, "—finished?" I figure she doesn't care about the answer, though, because she's already climbing out of it, PDA in hand.

"Nope!" Chris chirps as Lindsay follows Courtney out of the tub. "But you two are going to a cheese factory, for Pete's sake! You're going to stink even worse when you get back anyway. What's the point in making you wait around?"

I can't help but add in my two cents now. "What's the point?" I ask dryly. "You hate us. That's the point."

Lindsay shrugs, but Courtney ignores me, opening her mouth to argue with her unjust removal from the tomato bath. "Can't I just—"

"No, Courtney," Chris says snobbily, already walking away. "You can't. So get changed, and get your butt in limo! It's waiting." The limo horn honks on cue, and as an afterthought, Chris turns back to the five of us left in the tomato juice. "Oh, guys!"

Everyone perks up a little, hoping for good news.

"You still have nine hours to go, so get comfortable! You'll be sleeping there tonight!" [/italics]

Eight hours and forty minutes later, we were still sitting there; damp, cold, and smelling like garbage bombs and tomato juice. None of us had slept—at least I don't think so—even though it was something around four in the morning by that time. Harold had started wheezing violently at some point, but I'm familiar with the sound of his snores (trust me, it's not something to be proud of) and that wheezing wasn't on the right pitch.

At another point, Leshawna had nearly slapped Harold for hitting on her like he was an fourteenth century knight. At yet another point (unfortunately, there were many to endure), Beth dropped her retainer in the juice, which we were supposed to be drinking for dinner… Yeah, no one felt hungry after that. And even if we were, do you think anyone wanted to drink a pure tomato juice/sweat/Beth's spit concoction? No. Our straws had been abandoned on the grass within the first fifteen minutes of getting stranded.

As for me, there's a lot that you observe when you're stuck in one place with people you don't like for twelve whole hours. You start noticing how Courtney fidgets with the bit of hair that Heather cut off, even though I hid it amazingly. You notice that gross mole on the side of Beth's face, and then you want to go blind for the remaining eight (or whatever it was) hours you have left to wait because no matter what you do, you can't stop looking at it. You notice that, even though Lindsay is freaking gorgeous, she's still stupider than my buddy Craig after he's had a few too many. And Craig's an idiot anyway.

And then, when you run out of stuff to notice, you start thinking.

You think about how unfair it is that Courtney and Lindsay got to leave a couple hours early to eat dairy products, whereas you're stuck drinking (or not drinking) your own bath water. You think about the, as Leshawna put it, "OH, SNAP!" moment of the day: When Courtney forced us into a 50/50 split earlier. And then, because you have nothing to do besides sit there thinking, you get yourself worked up into a pissed off frenzy so that you barely hear it when Leshawna says:

"Hey, y'all! It's time!"

It wasn't until Harold elbowed me in the side of my head (an excellent reason to shove a sock in his mouth later that night) that I realized "It's time!" also meant "We're finally allowed to get our asses out of this tub,take a well-deserved shower, and go to bed!"

After about two seconds, we'd all hopped, crawled, flung, and/or rolled ourselves out of the tub, leaving the five of us standing there, dripping red goop onto the grass and wondering what came next, if anything.

After a few moments of standing in silence, Justin voiced what we were all wondering. "It's not…over, is it?" He squinted into the distance before turning around and checking the space behind him. "Just over?"

"Well, I don't see him anywhere," Beth said hesitantly, also looking over her shoulder for our host.

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH!

Certain it was Chris dragging his manicured nails down a chalkboard, I whirled around, expecting the worst. In his place, however, was the long, black limo that had whisked Lindsay and Courtney to their cheese factory instead. You can imagine my surprise.

Harold, Leshawna, and Justin were still occupied with searching for everyone's least favorite adult, but Beth and I had frozen where we stood, watching the limo—Beth standing there waiting for Lindsay, and me standing there for… The other obvious reason.

"My God, Lindsay!" Courtney was saying, climbing out of the vehicle and attempting to slam the door on the other girl's nose. "It's chèvre. Not chee-ver.Chèvre," she said again, stressing the word. "It's French."

Lindsay blinked a few times, maneuvering around the door (much to Courtney's chagrin) and stepping out of the limo as well. "Wait, chee-ver is French? I thought you said it was cheese."

"NO! Well, yes, Lindsay, but it's chèv—" She suddenly looked ahead to where the five of us were still standing, back to Lindsay, and then apparently decided it wasn't worth fighting in front of an audience. "Never mind," she muttered, stalking over the tub and fixing her cold gaze on me. "Why are you out of the juice?"

A direct question from Courtney? To me, it was a surprising change from her other, more recently adopted, "I'm going to do my best to ignore you" attitude. However, after spending a whole night—and part of the morning, too—with Lindsay, I guess I'd be happy to talk to my worst enemy too. Well, no, actually, because in that case, I'd be shot… but you get the point.

In response to her question, I raised my eyebrows and shot her a carefully crafted smirk. "It's been twelve hours, Sweetheart," I said, pointing up at the dark sky above us. "You missed it."

"I missed it," she repeated, narrowing her eyes at me threateningly. It was like she was daring me to take it back—like she thought I was kidding, and we were all going to hop back into the tub as soon as she was out of sight.

HA. Like I'd get back in that thing again.

"You don't trust me?" I ventured, noticing her unwavering stare and the way her lips had contracted into a dissatisfied pucker.

She rolled her eyes, looking over my shoulder to the other three bozos behind me. "How perceptive of you," she said dryly, flicking her gaze back to me.

I waited for her to say something more, but, for what was possibly the first time ever, it seemed like she was finished. I briefly supposed that keeping up a conversation with Lindsay for nine-plus hours had taken more out of her than I would have thought.

In an attempt at either ending the conversation immediately or keeping it going for as long as possible (I wasn't sure exactly which), I waved a hand in her face to break her out of whatever she'd started thinking about. "You know, if I'm not trustworthy enough, you can always talk to Beth," I pointed out. I jerked a finger in the direction of the short and stout one gossiping with Lindsay, back over where the limo had been before it'd skittered off to who knew where.

The tan girl in front of me grimaced, her face lit up only by the weak light of the moon (maybe it felt as beaten down as we all did) and the fluorescent lights inside the trailers. She moved her eyes past me again and looked over my opposite shoulder to the two airheads, heading into the girls' trailer. Snickering at her less-than-happy response, I started, "What? Do you have a problem with—"

"BETH!" she screeched, finishing my sentence and cutting me off simultaneously. "What do you think you're doing?!" She stomped over the base of the trailer stairs, glaring up at Beth on the top step.

The accused girl spun around and looked down at Courtney, just as Lindsay slipped past her to the safety inside. "Courtney?" she asked, opening the door wider and illuminating the girl's livid expression. Beth cringed a bit as she asked, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Courtney mimicked, inspecting Beth from top to bottom. She leaned over and swiped her finger across the top step, coating her finger with tomato juice from the puddle forming under Beth's feet. Stomping up the steps, she shoved her tomato-covered finger in the other girl's face. "This is what's wrong. You think you're going to track all this into our trailer?"

Beth opened her mouth, but Courtney's rage seemed to impede her ability to form words. I can't say I blame her; it had happened to me on more than one occasion. "I—"

"Well, you're not going to!" Courtney declared, staring at the liquefied tomato by Beth's feet in disgust. "Our trailer would be smelling of stink-bombs and rotten tomatoes for days! Go take a shower."

The look on Beth's face grudgingly acknowledged that Courtney had a point, for she shrugged and trudged back down the stairs with the call of, "I'll be back in a few, Linds!"

A shout of "'Kay!" was heard from somewhere inside.

It was this perky exclamation that brought Leshawna, Justin, and Harold back to the given circumstances. Particularly Justin.

"A shower?" Looking down at himself as if just realizing his beautiful body was drenched in tomato, Justin turned for the washrooms. "Oh God, a shower!" Without another word, he took off sprinting after Beth, presumably to claim one of the four showers in the building. (You think four's bad? Try sharing them with fourteen people instead of just six.)

After one look at each other, Leshawna and Harold took off in the same direction. I considered following after them and fighting for a stall—I fight that I could definitely win, mind you—but would it have been right to leave Courtney there all alone?

No. I didn't think so either.

I turned to her as Beth, Justin, Harold, and Leshawna faded into the distance. I could tell she was poised to make a break for it too, crouching like a cat and using her shifty eyes, but I'll take a wild guess and say that her common sense kicked in and told her that she didn't have a chance at catching up on all the lost time.

I say this because a second later, she turned away and stalked back over to her own trailer.

Of course, I felt it was my duty to stop her. "Where're you going?"

She whirled around, leaving a foot on the first step. "Inside," she replied, an implied 'obviously' tacked onto the end. She put her other foot on the next step.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" I asked her cryptically, taking a few steps closer.

Somehow, she managed to squint at me in disapproval and raise her eyebrows in confusion at the same time. "Well, why not?" she asked, pausing where she stood.

I exaggerated my chuckles solely for the purpose of annoying her. "I don't know exactly when your nose turned off, but you smell awful," I began recklessly, hoping she was too tired to dive off the stairs and tackle me. "You'll stink up your cabin more than Beth would."

Her eyes widened slightly—I'd be willing to wager I'm the only person on Earth who could've spotted the tiny response. She was obviously struggling, trying to decide whether she should argue with me or just take my word for it.

When, without further warning, she plopped down onto the steps below, I figured she'd chosen the latter. Looking up at me tiredly (it was only then that I remembered it was sometime around 4:30 in the morning), she cupped her chin in a palm. "Seriously?" she asked flatly, as if already knowing it was true.

I shrugged and made my way over to her, plopping down on the grass about a meter away, ignoring the sploshing sound my wet clothes made on the ground. Nodding, I said, "You smell like stink-bombs, tomatoes, and stinky cheese."

She cursed under her breath. "And all the showers are full. Great. That's just what I wanted right now." Of course, that was all sarcasm.

I briefly considered pulling a sappy Trent move (perhaps I could sing a lovely song?), but one look at her face told me she wasn't in the mood, and though I make a hobby out of messing with people who don't want it, I'm also smart enough to know when it could result in the removal of my genitalia. Seasoned veterans like myself have figured out such things.

Unfortunately, it looked like I was going to have to settle for a half-decent conversation if I wanted to keep this girl's interest. "At least Lindsay's rank too," I said, finding a silver lining for her.

"Ugh!" she screamed, flexing her palm at me and turning away. "Don't even say that name right now!" Ashamed by her outburst, she took a moment to collect herself and then said, "I'm done with that girl."

I scooted around on my butt to get back in her line of vision. "All isn't well in Courtneyland?" I asked teasingly, lying back on my forearms.

She rolled her eyes at me, shifting away again. "That really isn't any of your business," she replied, though I could tell she was aching to tell a story.

"All right," I answered nonchalantly. She looked shocked by the early dismissal until I added, "But I hope my staring doesn't make you uncomfortable." She turned to see my eyes lock onto hers. "Because unless you start talking, there's alot more left to get through."

She narrowed her eyes at me and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't take ultimatums," she announced, a strict finality in her tone.

"Well, I don't take no for an answer."

"Well, I never gave you 'no' as an answer."

This put me off for a moment, but I figured it was worth a try when I asked, "Do you want to tell me about Courtneyland's situation?"

She fought to turn her smile into a grimace, replying with a concise, "No."

"You're a liar," I said, bluntly called her on her bluff.

"You're a scoundrel," she countered, snapping her head in my direction.

Then, remembering what I'd spent so much time thinking about over the twelve hours I was stuck in the tomato-tub, I took the plunge and said what I'd been thinking since we escaped the (not) exploding building. "You're a bitch."

Her mouth fell open as I knew it would, and she shot up to stand. "Excuse me?"

I stood as well, matching her vicious pose. Being remarkably straightforward, I told her, "You had all our lives on the line, and instead of getting us the Hell out of there, you take the time to force us all into a 50/50 money split with you." Then, because she still seemed rather flabbergasted, I added on, "That equalsbitch-move."

She glared down at me since, though we were both standing, she had two trailer steps adding to her height. Scoffing, she said, "I don't see why you people evencare anymore! It was a completely normal reaction to the circumstances, and I'mnot even holding you to it! It's like nothing even happened in the first place."

"My brain says otherwise." I rolled my eyes at her, trying to make it clear that her explanation wasn't acceptable.

She hopped down one stair, probably so she could better attack me, if the need was to arise. "Your brain isn't fully functional," she retorted, bracing herself for whatever was to come next.

Now, let me interrupt this tension (yeah, sorry) and ask, have you ever felt that saying something to someone was extremely important, but you didn't really get why? This stands for what came next. If you asked me, I don't think I could have told you why I felt it was so important that I got my point across. Honestly, I was ticked off at her for the split myself, and losing her wouldn't have been the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I just didn't want her cheated off again, I guess. The least I could have done was made her aware, which is why, in a rare moment of seriousness, I looked her square in the eye and waited until she returned the stare.

"Look," I started, trying to get my next words across to her. "You can pretend that everything in Courtneyland is well and good, but if you don't want everyone in this game—plus the rest of the world watching this game—hating you forever, there are some serious apologies you need to make. Soon," I added for emphasis.

She blinked at me a few times, her eyebrows furrowed. I thought I was starting to get through to her, but she dashed my hopes, turning to me and saying, confident as always, "I don't need to apologize for that. I was playing the game." She turned her back to me and leaned against the trailer. "Like I said, I don't see why you all care."

I walked around the steps and leaned on the trailer too, strategically placing myself so she could see my disapproving expression. "Like I said: Bitch. Move."

"Duncan!" she yelled suddenly, jumping off the stairs and landing right in front of me. Seriously—a centimeter more and her toes would have been touching mine. "I don't need this from you right now. I'm tired, I stink, you stink, I just listened to Lindsay blabber on for nearly half an entire, 24-hour day, and if I see another piece of cheese, ever, I swear I'm going to permanently lose it." She poked a finger in my chest. "I promise you, it would be in your best interest to just drop this. NOW."

I leaned into her slightly, watching her intensely. "So…" I considered saying something profound, but instead decided on, "All's really not well in Courtneyland?"

I caught her signature glare of death for just a few seconds before she turned around, muttering things like, "Worthless reprobate."

A loud slam!, presumably the door to the communal washrooms, spared me from having to use context clues to figure out what a reprobate was.

Courtney, however, heard the slam too, and like a bullet, she was off to claim the empty shower before I could. Conceding for the time being, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted at her receding figure. "You should make me part of Courtneyland's Cabinet, or however that crap works! I can be like Obama! Change and hope, baby!"

It wasn't until this ingenious comment received absolutely no response that I first began to wonder if this mess with Courtney was really worth the trouble.

Maybe it was. But on the other hand, maybe it wasn't.