Hi, there. It's been a while since I last wrote; I hope you still remember me. Every time I do this I wonder why I bother. It seems like such a waste of time. Then again, all it ever feels like I'm doing with my life is waste my time.

Do you still remember me? Some nights I lie awake thinking that I'm dead to you, just as I'm dead to all those who claim to admire me. Is that why my life has fallen apart at the seams? Was I the one who turned my back on you or were the one who did it to me?

I'm so scared, God. It feels like my problems are closing in on me with knives aimed at my throat and I can't do a thing to stop them; worse, it's as though I won't do a thing to stop them. I'm so scared about what's going to happen to me, and the people I love, yet a part of me doesn't seem able to feel at all anymore, and the scariest thing is that that part is taking over.

There's so much I want to tell you, so much I need advice on, a helping hand that will never reach out. All I want…

Jazz Fenton smiled proudly as she surveyed the scene that stood before her. In the past six hours her team had managed to rig up a wooden stage with state-of-the-art speakers, a podium, posters, a stack of picket signs, lines of chairs for VIPs, and various bric-a-brac to toss out to the public she was certain would be positively enraptured by their campaigning.

"Jazz, can we stop now?" Danny whined in the background, collapsing onto his back on the dusty ground. "We've been going at it all night!" Sprawled around him were the nearly-comatose figures of Samantha Manson, Tucker Foley and Jasper Hedley. It was freezing out, the sun only just beginning to peek out over the horizon but all four of her comrades were sweltering as though it were mid-July.

"Well," Jazz considered uncertainly, "I suppose we could take an hour's break – but no longer! We still have to do a final run-through to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"Here's a suggestion: how about you do the final run-through, and we all go home and sleep?" Danny suggested indignantly. Jazz had, naturally, taken the role of 'supervisor', leaving the rest of them to set everything up for the morning's protest. Danny himself doubted whether anyone would bother waking up at 10 AM on a Saturday to witness Jazz blowing hot air once again. He wasn't sure, but he imagined the town heaved a collective sigh of relief when his sister decided studying out-of-state was the best course of action to fulfill her potential as one of the Future Blowhards of America.

"Oh Danny, such a kidder," Jazz brushed him off, digging into her pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. "Be a dear and go down to the Nasty Burger and get us some breakfast? With extra coffee for me."

"And me!" Sam enthused.

"And me," Jasper added lethargically.

"Uhhgghmmahaa…" Tucker groaned out.

Danny glared. When did he become the group's slave? Oh right, he reminded himself – since he became the only one to hold a valid license. Jazz herself had never seen the need, living in a small town like Amity Park where one could easily get around on their own two feet, and had maintained that as a college student, her funds were remained on a tight budget.

Still, there was something to be said about Amity Park in the dawn. The surreal life one experienced living in this town faded away to a near ethereal beauty in this twilight hour, when the world was only still opening its eyes and stretching out in bed. The birds were starting to chirp overhead, and the town was bathed in a faint blue glow.

Danny inhaled a deep breath, feeling at peace with the world. It wasn't easy, living his life, but it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile.

Parking just outside the Nasty Burger he was pleasantly surprised to find Dash's car further along. Recalling the feeling of being pressed up against the quarterback the previous day during senior breakfast, Danny felt a burst of something warm bloom inside him. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he imagined surprising the other boy inside. He could easily turn invisible, slip in, and sneak up behind the unsuspecting jock. It would be worth a laugh.

Getting out of the car, he proceeded to follow through with his plan, but froze when he found that Dash wasn't sitting at one of the tables outside the Nasty Burger by himself.

He was sitting with Mr. Lancer.

Startled, Danny crouched down behind an adjacent booth, the fact that he was completely invisible to everyone around him momentarily slipping his mind. Lancer was sipping on a small cup of coffee while Dash was scarfing down an order of pancakes, a Double Nasty Burger, fries, and a large soda. Danny stared in mindful disgust while Lancer watched with frank admiration.

"So how have you been?" Lancer broke the silence finally.

"Mmmph," Dash grunted in response, eyes still fixated on his meal.

"I trust your classes are going well?" Lancer edged. "Your finals are coming up soon."

Whatever it was that the vice principal was trying to get out of Dash, he wasn't budging. Dash simply gave a jerk of the head and went back to spreading cream on to the pancakes before him before slobbering maple syrup all over them. There was another moment of terse silence, and Danny couldn't help but wonder what it was all about. Why were Dash and Mr. Lancer sitting together at the Nasty Burger? Had they simply run into each other by mere coincidence and decided to keep each other company – no, Dash seemed to be doing his best to give Lancer the cold shoulder, something Danny was certain he wouldn't have done unless he were here unwillingly. Surely that meant they had agreed upon meeting then; or at least that Lancer had forced Dash to be there.

"Coach tells me that drills have been slowing down as of late," Lancer mentioned in an off-hand tone as though he were simply making conversation.

That did the trick. Dash set the plastic fork he had been using to tear into the soft dough down with a clatter and leveled Mr. Lancer with a glare.

"So?" he spat. "Football season is over. No one cares anymore. We must be the only school in the entire country to still be running drills right now."

"Completely untrue," Lancer replied. "All the best schools practice perpetually in order to keep their athletes in top condition – oh yes, Dash," he added when Dash let out a snort of disbelief. "And it's not just the high schools either. Playing football in college is going to be quite a challenge even to the brightest star … as would everything else involved in tertiary education. I am simply trying to prepare my students for what is to come. I know our method's may seem unusual to you, but I'm sure you would admit that Casper High is quite an unusual school?"

"Look, Mister Lancer—" Dash interjected, "You may think that all your propaganda will fly, and maybe it did with the press, but not with me. We both know that the only reason you keep us on the field is so that coach will have a job once football season is over because no one wants to try out for any sports. All we want to do is get in and get out before the school explodes in one of these ghost attacks."

Lancer heaved a deep sigh and hung his head. "Your suspicious nature has always been one of your strengths, Dash, but you instigate your fights with all the wrong people."

Lancer bowed forward, looking for all the world as though he meant to pierce Dash with his eyes alone. "How are things going on with your college applications?"

Dash crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, an indignant scowl marring his face. "Fine," he snapped.

"Mister Connor tells me that he's been having a lot of trouble getting you to cooperate with him through your application process."

"I thought counselors were supposed to maintain confidentiality with the students?" Dash fired .back.

"Dashiel!" Danny's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't heard anyone refer to Dash by his full name since the third grade. A dangerous sort of electricity crackled in the air. Mr. Lancer curled his fingers into a fist on the polished table. "You know that I only want what is best for you – I have made it abundantly clear that I think you have the potential to go far, but I no longer have the power to carry you forward. If you don't stand on your own two feet and start taking life seriously—"

"I don't know what else you want from me," Dash hissed suddenly. "You wanted me to become football captain and I did it; you wanted me to pick up my grades and I worked for it—"

"Yes," Lancer nodded slowly. "I gave you direction and you carried it out beautifully. I have never doubted your execution, Dash. You always took an order and ran with it as far as you could. But you can't be a pawn anymore. There are so few people out there who can truly call themselves leaders. I believe you can do it. But in order to do so, you must learn to start taking an interest in life instead of just faking it."

There was another tense moment of silence. Danny furrowed his eyebrows. What in the world were the two of them talking about? It seemed to go over his head. Dash Baxter did not fake interest; the Dash Baxter Danny knew always saw what he wanted and charged at it full force.

Lancer leaned back in his seat as well and took a sip of his coffee. Dash grabbed for his soda and suckled at the straw as if he were parched. Both seemed to settle down for a breather as though they'd just been for a round in a boxing match. Danny felt a little out of breath himself from the display.

"How have your sessions with Danny Fenton been going?" Lancer finally questioned. Danny's ears pricked up at the mention of his name.

Fire entered Dash's eyes again. "Fenton is fine," he snapped.

Another pause. "I must admit," Lancer said in a soft tone, "Danny Fenton has looked happier recently than I've seen him in years." Dash's grip on his soda tightened. Lancer raised his dark eyes to meet Dash's baby blue ones full-force. "But sometimes I crossed the border putting you two together."

Dash raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You?"

Lancer smiled slowly, wistfully. "Of course," he said. "When Mister Connor came in to my office with Danny's profile test, I knew you would be the perfect person to help him."

Danny was mystified. Lancer had brought them together? What could have possibly inspired him to do such a thing?

"I wondered why Alyssa picked me," Dash said slowly, as though he, too, was grappling with this revelation. "I thought she just wanted to boss me around. I'd just got done with a previous student…"

"I knew you'd feel out of place with the rest of the group."

"Then why did you put me in it?" Dash demanded sharply.

Another revelation. Danny had been under the impression that Dash had joined the group voluntarily. 'A backup', hadn't that been what he'd called it? In case football didn't work out for him.

"Dashiel, when you came to my office two years ago, I had a choice to make: I could have sent you along for counseling like I did all the other students who needed help coping; or I could let you help yourself. You said to me that day that you felt disconnected; that you didn't see the point in trying to maintain your quality of life. I recognized your apathy for the disease it was. I couldn't let your depression consume you."

Danny's mind was whirring. Dash – depressed? How was it possible? How was the guy who had spent their entire time together deriding his, Danny's, depression have been afflicted with the same condition? He recalled Dash's laid-back attitude towards school spirit; now that he thought about it, it did seem a little bit odd. Dash Baxter always appeared so pumped with spirit from afar. Only when they became friends over the past couple of months did Danny realize Dash's relaxed attitude towards his role as the king of Casper High.

He remembered all the days he had stopped by the football pitch only to find the players in a state of inaction; remembered Dash's resignation towards undoubtedly being Paulina's date to the prom; remembered the excited glint that had been in his eye suggesting Kwan would be a definite contender for Prom King. He had written it off as a case of senioritis, but now that he considered it … had Dash actually enjoyed his position within the Casper High student body? The way Lancer put it – it was almost as if Dash had unwillingly thrust himself into it. How? Why? Ever since Danny had been placed on 'assisted living' by having Dash as his mentor, ever since he had been presented with the idea that he could have, possibly, been depressed without even realizing it, Danny had felt weary to his bones? How had Dash managed to keep a smile on for two years without anyone even noticing that he might have been faking?

"It seemed to work so well," Lancer was saying. "I knew I made the right choice, recruiting you into the Peer Support Group. You looked down upon them, hated everything they stood for – didn't you?"

Dash was stirring his straw round and round the plastic cup. "I just … didn't see the point," he confessed, tossing his head back to land his eyes squarely on Mr. Lancer's face. "Of wallowing.

"You can do anything in your life," Dash continued, not taking a breath. "You can do anything to your body. What was I supposed to do? Sit in a corner and cut lines into my arm? Smoke my time away like the stoners? So I chose to stick to football."

"Yes," Lancer's face crept closer as he nodded. Danny had to strain to hear them now, leaning forward close to each other, speaking in progressively lower tones, as though sharing secrets. "Because you know what's out there. The life that is waiting for you once you leave Amity Park. And what you have to do to get there."

"Power," Dash answered. "To be as powerful as you can be. Looks – wit – brains."

"Disposition," Lancer nodded in agreement. "All those other students, the ones you hate—"

"Goths," Dash sneered, "losers. The ones who give up without even trying."

"Why?" Lancer urged. "Tell me why."

"Because they don't know what it's like to fight," Dash blurted out, looking surprised at himself. "Don't realize they're wasting so much time fighting the establishment, they never found a way to give the winning side a try."

"You can't stop progress," Lancer proposed. "Those who embrace it become the leaders, the playmakers of the world."

"The world loves me." Dash said boldly. "Look at me. I rule this school. I sat in that room, with those people, day after day, and listened to them cry about how life was so hard because they got dumped or their parents were giving them shit. I never wanted to be like that. Why waste my time fighting the world when I can get everyone to love me instead?"

"And what guts it took," Lancer said, a note of pride in his voice. "I sat and watched you grow up, Dash. Four years, I've watched you reach higher, further when all your fellow schoolmates fell short of the mark. I knew with the right prodding I could push you to be the best person that you could possibly be.

"And that's why it was such a gamble putting you with Danny Fenton," Lancer continued sadly.

Dash swallowed a sharp intake of breath. "You don't think Danny is good enough."

"No." For a second, Danny felt a knife pierce his gut. Then Lancer continued, "No, I don't think that; I think Danny Fenton is a boy with a lot to bear on his shoulders."

Danny pulled into himself a little. What was Lancer saying—?

"I've known Danny for as long as I've known you," the vice-principal was saying. "And yet I've never been able to read into him the way I could to you. Have you looked at him, Dash? At the way he holds himself? How he hunches forward, as though he's dragging along some burden? The way he looks over his shoulders? The way he disappears so completely when he doesn't want to be found, damn everything else? So many classes I've looked over to find his seat empty, and I just wonder."

Dash blinked. Danny knew the blond boy was trying to picture him in this context; he, Danny, was doing the very same thing in his own head. Was this what he looked like to the outside world?

"What are you saying?" Dash asked, nonplussed.

Lancer shook his head. "There was one point I thought, 'abuse?' But Danny's parents are as kind as can be. His sister, Jasmine – oh, I'm sure you know her – a pity she was too far ahead to get to know you better – I can tell you would like her very much; she's holds her beliefs in the same way you do. Always cheerful; always bright. I saw a lot of her inside of you." A fond smile came over Mr. Lancer's face. "I wondered if her unbreakable nature was just a façade; herself as whole as Danny was cracked? But in all the time I have known the Fentons, there was nothing that seemed to explain how damaged Danny is.

"I put you two together, Dash, because I thought that maybe you could get to him where I couldn't. Because in all the years I've known him, Dash, I have never understood what it is that haunts Danny Fenton."

In sync, both men let out a musing huff. "You said it was a gamble," Dash reminded after a moment.

"Oh, indeed," Lancer claimed. "I put you two together, hoping that it would be you that would pull him up – at the risk of him being the one who pulled you down."

"What?" Dash reared backwards a little, as though slapped.

"You both were so different," Lancer mused. "One bright and sunny. Secure in the knowledge that life held good things if only you put in the work for it. The other, dark and brooding. Never seeming to know where to aim in life, just stumbling through day by day, almost as if guided by a sense of foreboding. Here, at last, was something that could bond you two together, but it had to be done right."

"And?" Dash prodded.

"I'm sorry to say, Dash," Lancer sighed, "I wouldn't have done it if I knew what the outcome was going to be." He fixed Dash with sincere eyes. "You did your best with Danny, no one can say you didn't try – but Dashiel – it's time to move on. You tried; but nothing was going to unhook Danny from the anchor tied to his neck. It's time … to cut your losses. Let Danny Fenton go. Focus on yourself now, for your sake. You are not going to be the one to save him."

Neither of them appeared to know what to say after this. Dash, looking halfway beyond stunned and stoic, raised himself up slowly and tossed a couple of bills down on the table.

"I gotta get going. Thanks for breakfast, Mister Lancer," and made his way out the diner, Mr. Lancer looking after his retreating form with morose eyes.

Danny drove back to the protest site completely numb of emotion. He supposed he should have been angry at Lancer, livid as the twisted view of the world he and Dash shared. Treating the emotionally distraught as though they were so much trash, to be nudged aside like they didn't matter, to achieve success in life.

But really – could he blame them for cherishing a certain view that helped them get through the day? He couldn't say he didn't understand where they were coming from; it was clear that the popular, well-liked image Dash cultivated over the years had opened doors for him; really, all he learned from the conversation was that it had all apparently been an act.

An act. Here, Danny felt his stomach clench. How had he – how had anyone – not noticed Dash suffered from depression? Little by little, all the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. Dash's strange devotion to sticking to Danny as he went through the program; the way he didn't seem to care about anything regarding school anymore.

How was he supposed to feel about all this?

"Oh, Danny, excellent," Jazz jumped to her feet when he returned to the group. "We were starting to wonder where you were. Where's the coffee?"

Danny didn't bother answering her. He simply pulled out the wad of bills she had given him and pressed them into her hand and glanced meaningfully at Sam and Tucker, who seemed to sense his mental discord.

"Er – Jazz we'll be back later," Sam said quickly. "We just realized we forgot something at, um, my house," she raised her eyebrows at Jazz in a significant manner.

"Oh – I – well, alright," Jazz stammered, "just, um, try to be back in time for the protest. We need to present a … unified front." She threw her brother a concerned glance as the three clambered into the car.

They remained in silence for a long time. Finally, Sam ventured carefully, "Danny, what happened?"

Danny shook his head, indicating he was not ready to talk just yet. He didn't know if he would ever be able to put to words what he was feeling right then.

He pressed his foot harder against the pedal. Without thinking, he led them straight to the parking lot of Casper High. Danny could feel the confusion radiating off his two companions, he was not entirely sure why he brought them there either; all he knew was that he needed a quiet place to ruminate. Casper High seemed not only a good choice, but almost poetic in a way.

Like good friends would, Sam and Tucker kept their questions to themselves and sat in silence watching the sun rise high over the roof of the school.

"Danny," Sam said quietly after some time. "We've got to leave soon."

Danny raised his head from where it was leaning along the crook of his arm, pressed against the window, feeling as though he were coming out of a deep sleep. He had spent over an hour simply gazing out at the school, not really thinking anything, lost in an undefined world. Sam and Tucker had made little noise except to shift their body and slowly rearrange themselves as they got used to their positions.

He considered saying something to them: 'thank you', perhaps, for putting up with his neurosis; for being there for him; or maybe something poignant and observant about how they would soon be left without the safety of high school, plunged in the real world.

In the end, he said nothing, just turned the key jammed in the ignition and backed out, back on to the street.

The sun was shining bright high amongst the clouds by now as Danny drove back to the campaign spot. Sam and Tucker hesitated.

"Are you coming?" Tucker pried.

Danny put some serious consideration in skipping the entire event and just waiting in his car. But no, Jazz needed him. Jazz, who had never failed him before – he had to show his support, for her. Nodding resolutely, he pushed his way out of the car.

They were pleasantly surprised to find a sizable crowd milling about waiting for the protests to begin. Danny knew many of the residents of Amity Park resented the government's invasion, but he had underestimated the level of irritation one could inspire in suburbia. He caught sight of Mr. Lancer and averted his eyes, his cheeks flaming. He didn't dare search out for Dash, no matter how tempted he was to scan the crowd further.

Jazz flashed the three teens a smile as they took their place next to Jack and Maddie Fenton, who were standing a respectable distance away before returning focus to Jasper, bowing their heads together and conferring in hurried whispers. Danny eyed several cameramen and news reporters going over their respective duties before they filming their segment. He had to admit, Jazz had done one hell of a job putting all this together for their benefit. Danny was certain he couldn't have pulled off such a coup.

Finally, Jazz straightened up and stepped on to the podium, dazzling the crowd with a perfected grin. Cheers arose as the crowd's attention shifted on to her.

"Okay, well, thank you every one, for coming down today and showing your support," the elder Fenton sibling began. "I was kind of hoping for an appearance by our unexpected guests – or should I say uninvited pests?" An appreciative murmur of laughter went up, and Jazz looked gratified her joke went over well.

"We all know why we're here today: to protest the presence of these so-called government officials in our town!" she pumped her fist in the air. "And I think the message is clear: no more Guys in White!"

A round of applause.

"We're tired of having our privacy invaded! Tired of seeing the suits monitoring everyone in town! Tired of…" Jazz faltered. Danny noticed it too. A sudden shift had overtaken the news reporters, who were now busily clacking away at their phones. A few cameramen had actually begun to disassemble their equipment. In return, the audience started chattering amongst themselves, voicing their confusion over what was going on. "Hey!" Jazz waved her hands trying to win back their attention to no avail.

"Breaking news today here in Amity Park," one reporter was stating to the camera, paying no heed to Jazz or the crowd gathered around her. "We have just been informed of suspicious activity occurring in the estate of missing former mayor, Vlad Masters…"

That caught Danny's attention. He darted a quick look at his parents, who had also started at the mention of Vlad's name. He exchanged wide-eyed looks with Sam and Tucker. The members of the media had started to abandon the protest site, jumping into vans bearing the logos of local television networks and speeding off to the location in question.

Danny, Sam and Tucker ran off in the direction of Danny's car. There was no chance of beating anyone there, but at least they could see first-hand what was going on.

It seemed everyone else shared the same idea, for soon Danny was furiously maneuvering his car to flit in between traffic on the way to Vlad's former residence.

There was already a large crowd assembling outside the gates by the time they managed to find a proper parking spot. Jack and Maddie materialized shortly after the trio arrived on the scene.

The crowd was paying rapt attention to the reporters who were grimly dictating into the camera the events unfolding.

"Two members of the governmental program, agents known as the Guys in White, have been discovered inside the mansion of former mayor Vlad Masters," one was saying, while another claimed, "…both agents are reported to be comatose…"

Danny felt Sam's grip his hand tightly as words such as 'unresponsive', 'fear the worst', and 'mysterious occurrences' flew about.

Suddenly there was a large uproar. Danny's eyes flicked upwards to the doors of the mansion, which he saw swing open before the figures of several Guys in White step out slowly handling a gurney between them. Resting on the gurney was one of the agents deemed comatose, followed by another selection of agents carrying out another non-responsive agent to load into a waiting vehicle.

"Breaking news once again here outside the mansion of Vlad Masters," Danny heard one reporter crow.

"—Grim spectacle for all to see—"

"—question that remains, what could have possibly taken place this morning to have led to such an outcome—"

"At least now we know why the Guys in White weren't at the protest," Tucker commented weakly.

"Breaking news now as yet more of the story comes to light," their attention shifted to one reporter from Channel 10, who was pressing on his earpiece. "We have just received word that former mayor Vlad Masters has been found—"

Danny gaped. Had Vlad been hiding in his own house the entire time? Had there been some sort of confrontation between him and the Guys in White?

Suddenly everything went quiet, the unnatural sort of hush that descended over a waiting crowd. As though he were in a dream, Danny watched in stupefied horror as one more agent came walking out of the front doors delicately holding on to an apparatus bearing a ghastly sight.

Vlad Masters had certainly been found.

And on that miniature apparatus carefully held in the hands of an agent was his decapitated head, rotten and decaying, severed from the rest of his body, the only part that was left of Danny's old rival.

There's so much I want to tell you, so much I need advice on, a helping hand that will never reach out.

All I want is to be free.

Author's Note: Did I honestly leave you all hanging for over a year? What must you all think of me? That is simply inexcusable, and I completely understand the hatred you must all feel. I took a long, long break from this story, this story had grew wildly out of control to become an epic like I've never dreamed it would. I couldn't possibly give this story up without seeing through to the end, but I know that in the time it took me to come out with this latest chapter, you guys would have lost interest and moved on.

To all the people who stayed and reviewed and favorite'd and alert-ed this story to your profile, thank you from the deepest recesses of my heart. This story is my baby and you have all helped me nourish it. I had to get some distance from this story in the past year as life got in the way, lots of life changes, but I could never possibly abandon this story. We're so close! Don't quote me on this, but right now, I'm going to say, we have maybe a little over five chapters to go before this story reaches it's ultimate climax.

It's amazing to me to consider that this story is actually meant to span three months in Danny Fenton's life. At one point, I was dedicating one chapter to detail the events of each and every single day, which was getting far too tedious to keep up with, especially when one considers that things can't be happening to him every day. That's one of the reasons why this chapter took so unbelievably long to come out – a few months break was all fine and good, but considering how long it took me before I could come back to this story, I knew I couldn't simply pick up where I left off again. Too much time has passed, too many ideas have been juggled. We're going to speed up a bit from this point on. That's why I added the letter to God at the beginning and end of this chapter, so that it could be read as though the character was recounting the events of that one day from a future point in time.

Funny thing about the letter: I wrote it down at the beginning with Danny in mind as the author of the note, but after that scene between Lancer and Dash (which is a relatively new idea, honestly), I kind of got the notion, reaching the end of the chapter, that it kind of leaves the question as to who is actually narrating the letter a bit more open-ended. Is it Danny, wanting a way out of this situation – or could it possibly be Dash vying for a way to express his own emotional problems?

Like I said, the scene between Lancer and Dash is new, but I knew that I wanted to do something to express how Dash is feeling in this story because in my opinion, he came off as really OOC so far, and I wanted something to tie him back to Hartman's depiction in the series to what he's become now. Originally, I was thinking that I would simply have Danny stumble in on them after school, but then realized if I wanted it to occur in this chapter, I would have to fit it to a Saturday schedule; and really, I'm glad I did. I had planned for what sort of things I wanted to Dash and Lancer to say to each other, which did ultimately come out, but placing them in the Nasty Burger, talking to each other one-on-one, the conversation came out a bit more … honest … than it would have if I'd gone through with my original plan of setting them at Casper High. This chapter, although not perfect, was probably the hardest piece I've ever written in my life. As a result, I think it came out a lot more poetic than I'd originally expected it to.

Please review and let me know what you think – once again, my sincerest apologies for making you all wait this long. I'm glad to see the DP fandom is actually very much active, as I see new fics posted almost every day. A sign of a true classic. And don't worry, I fully intend to bring us to the very end. Happy new year to all of you, and full steam ahead for 2010!