The return to the Gimble Brothers' Thrift Store was bittersweet (and strange considering that earlier in the week this place had the scene of her liberation & a shoot-out, courtesy of Hazel & Cha-Cha), riding around in the stolen duffle bag amongst the clutter of empty vodka bottles and rumpled scraps of paper; it was a bit of a downgrade from the little red wagon or the van she was used to. As it was, Dolores was just glad to spend these last few moments with her husband. She was well aware that the new & solemn expression he wore the entire way there had less to do with their relationship and more to do with something that Hazel had said which had struck a chord with him. She knew that Five liked to think he was tough to read, but she had always been able to read him like a book.

"Hey there, mi amore" Five greeted softly as he placed the duffle bag down on the display and pulled her out of the bag with loving & caring fingers. "Bet it feels good to be back amongst your friends"

("Mio caro—" Dolores smiled softly in kind as Five gently placed her back on the bare pedestal where she had first stood there amongst her friends & family; right there, beneath the glittering fluorescent lights of the thrift store). A few eyes glanced their way, but quickly moved on as five silently—lovingly—caressed her cheek in a rare show of affection.

"—It's okay, you—you don't have to say it" Five began as he pulled back to shove his fisted hands into the pockets of his schoolboy shorts and stumbled through this heart-wrenching goodbye that neither of them were really feeling. "We always were an unlikely pair"

Despite everything that they had gone through together, Dolores couldn't help but wonder just what kind of relationship they would have of have had if there hadn't been an apocalypse to draw them together in the first place. Would they have even have met in the first place? Would he had even loved her? Would she still be his wife? Would it still have been Dolores & Five against the world? She thought not, as sad as it was to admit.

"…This isn't—this isn't easy for me, Dolores and I—" Five choked on his words, bowing his head as he tried to hide his misty eyes behind floppy brown locks. "—I want you to know that I cherish every single minute I have ever shared with you…A-all twenty-three and a half million of them…a lifetime"

("Five…!" Her heartstrings were pulled taut as her husband practically sobbed (in his own way) and turned to discreetly wipe away the rears that dripped down his cheeks. Dolores desired nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and hold him close just as she had always done, but now there was this space between them; a wedge driven between two who were once so close that they could read each other's minds at the twitch of the lips or a tilt of the head.

"A-and now look at us! We were lucky enough to get a second once—a second chance" Five sniffled, "Y'know, Hazel was right, I do have a lot of growing up to do"

"I'll—I'll never forget you, D-Dolores" Laughing wetly, Five locked a final longing gaze with Dolores one last time; those beautiful big brown eyes were glazed over with tears and she felt her heart swell with love. Now much, much shorter than her friends—her sisters—Dolores sat seated atop the pedestal in the polka-dotted shirt that matched the sweater her husband wore. There, she nursed her longing and weeping heart with gentle hands as Five disappeared back up the aisle with his shoulders trembling slightly and never once sparing a single glance backwards. And when he left, he took her heart with him (though he did pause to ask a saleswoman to dress her in a sequinned red top, just like she always loved to wear).

("What are you doing?" Ben asked exasperatedly as he stood in the bedroom doorway with arms crossed and brow quirked expectantly at his brother. After everything they had been through—after everything that had happened over the last week or so—it was no wonder that his brother had broken so easily. In fact, he thought he would've done so earlier, so small victories and all that).

"Looking for drugs" Klaus tossed over his shoulder as he rooted through the recesses of their bedroom for said substances. He knew that he something still hidden in one of his little alcoves somewhere around here.

("…Don't do it" Ben sighed in disappointment).

"I'm done listening to you!" Klaus snapped, turning on his brother to shoo him out the door. "Just go away! Go away, please!"

("I like the sober you" Ben tried as Klaus grinned with glee at finding one of the many toys stuffed with drugs).

SHRRRRRIIIIP!

"Yeah, well, sobriety's overrated" Klaus replied as he ripped over the bunny's stomach to pull out the tiny little ziplock bag hidden inside.

("Look, where it's gotten you, though!" Ben tried).

"Well, where has it gotten me?!" Klaus exclaimed. "Where has it gotten me? Nowhere! That's where! I can't talk to the person I love! People…people still don't take me seriously! And the world is ending! I just wanna be numb again!"

("…You're a colossal wimp" Ben sneered).

"Oh yeah, really?" Klaus scoffed, practically shaking as he popped open the bag and plucked out two little miscellaneous white pills.

("Yeah! Really!" Ben clicked his fingers in his brother's face in the hopes of catching his attention before he broke his two day sobriety streak, "Hey! Life isn't supposed to be easy! Life is hard! Bad things happen, good people die")

"Wow! Playing the 'dead' card again, huh?" Klaus sighed mockingly as he continued on unbothered by his brother's attempts to get him to stop. "You need new material, bro"

("…I was talking about Dave" Ben admitted quietly. Although his soft voice was raised no more than a murmur, it seemed to thunder in the small bedroom and he watched with vindication as Klaus' face fell and he seemed to rethink his actions. "Y'know, I'm tired of seeing you wallow in self-defeat!)

"Well, then avert your gaze!" Klaus mocked as he clambered to his feet and made to flop down onto his bed.

("You're better than that" Ben continued).

"Tch!" Klaus scoffed in denial, because even he thought he wasn't better than that and he knew himself pretty damn well.

("And Dave?" Ben went in for the kill, "He knew it too")

That seemed to be enough to finally hit home for Klaus because he sighed in defeat and his shoulders fell as his gaze dropped to the floor. "…Yeah, you're right. I'm—I'm—I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

("Thank God…!" Ben sighed in relief as he turned to leave. No sooner had he turned his back on his brother, did Klaus' attitude suddenly flip on its head).

"Ha! Psych!" Klaus cackled as he slammed both of the pills up into his mouth, where they were only able to linger on his tongue for a moment.

("Aaarrggh!" Ben grunted as he spun on his heel and slung a meaty right hook towards his brother's face. He knew that the hit wasn't going to connect, but it was intended to be more of a release than anything else. At most, it would likely wrought manic giggles from Klaus just as it always seemed to do).

POW!

But then the unexpected happened; Ben's fist connected and sent a mouthful of pills flying. The whole world seemed to stand still and neither brother knew what to do or what had happened. They just stood there, gaping at each other in gobsmacked silence for a moment; a moment that was quickly broken by Klaus' theatrically pained scowl.

"Owww!" Klaus scowled as he cupped his face. He could already feel the bruise forming on his cheek where Ben had hit him. Sometimes he forgot that soft little Ben could hit really hard.

("What the hell…?" Ben balked, staring at his own hands like they were something entirely new).

"You—you—you just Patrick Swayzeed me!" Klaus breathed, eyes wide in shock. "How did you do that?!"

("Uh, I—I…didn't" Ben blinked dumbly, turning his hands this way and that as if doing so would bring forth something new to explain away this new discovery. "You did…I think")

"I did?" Klaus balked, looking at his own pale hands in much the same manner that Ben had done only moments before. "Was this the potential that Dad was talking about…?"

("Potential?" Ben puzzled).

"Yeah…" Klaus replied absently as he sunk to the floor, inspecting his hands like they were alien to him. "During my little trip heavenward and I had that little chat with dear ole Daddy himself, he told me that I had—and I quote—'…You were greatest disappointment, Number Four! You've only scratched the surface of what you were truly capable of; if only you'd focus!"

("Yeah…" Ben sighed as he flopped down in front of his brother, legs folding neatly beneath him. "That sounds like Dad")

"…Do it again" Klaus eagerly leant forward with his hands on his legs. "I wanna do it again!"

("Do what again?" Ben blinked, a little confused as to what he meant).

"Hit me again!"

("I'm not gonna hit you, Klaus")

"Hit me! Hit me, hit me, hit me, hit—!"

FWOOSH!

When Ben tried to slap Klaus to shut him up or make him listen to him again, his fist just sailed straight through his head just like it had always done whenever he had tried to touch someone. Disappointment welled up within Ben as his fist sailed through his brother's head and he found himself wondering if that first punch had been a complete fluke or just something from his imagination.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Klaus protested as he watched his brother's expression fall in dejection. Holding up his hands to his brother as he silently prompted the ghost into a game of Under the Bam Bushes. "It's okay! Let's try again…! C'me on, big guy, we can do this! We—we can do this…!"

("We can do this…" Ben nodded in agreement, although he didn't really believe it. Instead, he simply swallowed his doubts and engaged his brother in a round of hand games that they had not played since they were children. "We can do this")

It was late by the time anything of note really began to happen. Klaus had been trying to entice Ben into another round of Slapsies when she appeared in his room; flickering once, twice, thrice like a buffering screen and then standing solid in the middle of the room like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Geez!" Klaus flinched back from the sudden appearance of the ghost in his room, even as she stood with her back to them. Usually the mind-numbing drugs and Ben helped to bolster the barrier between himself and the other spiritual entities, but with his current sobriety and occupied brother, apparently that barrier had lost some of its bolster.

Ben felt his whole world had come to a complete standstill when he gazed upon the new ghost in the room. His heart (if it had still been beating) had jumped up into his throat whilst his stomach plummeted; he didn't need her to turn around to know who the girl was. He knew those straight brown locks and that beloved white violin in her hands, even if she did look like a bride garbed in that white sundress. And when she turned to face them, blinking the new light out of her eyes, he knew that Klaus shared that sentiment as evident by the pained & shocked gasp that choked passed his lips.

("KLAUS!" Vanya exclaimed as she surged forward—abandoning her violin in the process—to latch onto her elder brother's shirt and pulled him up to meet her).

"V-V-Vanny!" Klaus choked, eyes blown wide at the sight before him and unable to comprehend just how it was that she was able to touch just like Ben had been able to do only once, hours ago. "You're—You're—You're—"

("—YOU OVERGROWN MAN-WHORE!" Vanya vigorously shook her brother by the lapels with panic clearly colouring her tone. Whatever had happened to her—whatever had killed her—she was still a mother & those instincts didn't die as easily, "WHERE IS MY SON?!")

"Eurgh…!" Klaus gurgled attractively as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell through Vanya's ghostly grip, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

("Thanks for your help…!" Vanya sassed sarcastically as she started distastefully down at her brother. Given any other situation and she probably would have of been concerned with his state of affairs just like Ben was or the fact that she could even commune with Ben again; but she had bigger priorities right now, like making sure that Theodore wasn't stolen away by Keepers in the night thanks to Harold's "anonymous tip")

("V-Vanya…!" Ben choked out, "Y-you're—you're—you're dead!")

("I'm aware, thank you" Vanya sassed, cocking her hip in an unimpressed manner. "Now where the hell is my son? Is he here? Is he safe?")

("Vanya…?" Ben swallowed, dodging the question as he replied with one of his own. "What—what happened to you? Where'd you go? No one's seen you since Tuesday!")

("I—I'm not quite sure…Harold…Harold was there…" Vanya shifted on her feet, still a little woozy from the head trauma, the drugs and y'know, the sudden death which had left her feeling more than a little confused).

Sparing a look in the free standing mirror that Klaus had nicked from one of the other rooms at some point, she found herself staring back at the woman she had become; at the sight which had caused Klaus to pass out. Her head was broken & dented on the one side, thanks to several whacks of the unrelenting hammer. Her skin was pale (save for the circular birthmark imprinted on her bicep), so much so that it was almost a deathly blue; although that may have just been the loralite. As it was, the loralite in her veins bled so violently that she almost looked like an angel with that glow of hers.

And although it may have of seemed rather pretty in an alien sort of way, it was not something to be admired. The webbing blue lines of the Lien du Lorne that spread from her heart and up to her face were evident enough of that. Lien du Lorne—literally translated as "The Bond of the Forsaken"—was hard to describe in words because it was more something that one felt deep in their bones. You were one soul in two bodies, intertwined from here to nether and so tightly bound that undoing it would cause both partners immeasurable pain (known side effects included: burning behind the eyes, headaches, chest pains, grief/depression, coughing up blood and death).

If it had to be put into words, then the closest thing (at least in human culture) was the idea of a "soul mate" or "imprinting" (like that of a duckling to its mother). A predestined other who knew you so well, it was almost like they knew you better than you knew yourself. A Lorne; your other half, your whole (and Lorne didn't have to be romantic, although more often than not it was).

The more scientific of the community however, argued that with the rejection of/from one's Lorne was thanks to a stress-induced cardiomyopathy. Essentially, this mean that someone feeling intense or extreme emotional distress as a result of such an incident (such as a breakup, a serious accident or a loved one's death) could cause enough of a hormonal/loralite imbalance within themselves that it would kill you. You would, quite literally, die of a broken heart. Either way, the rejection of the Lien du Lorne was a painful process and no one enjoyed the outcome.

("Tuesday, huh?" Vanya hummed).

("Harold Jenkins?" Ben balked, "He…he killed you?!")

("…I have the worst taste in men…" She sighed, halfheartedly).

("I—I—You—You—He—He—!" Ben stammered, trying to spit out something).

("So, Teddy?" She quirked an expectant brow at him).

("…He—he's asleep" He stammered, trying to get the words out whilst his tongue seemed to fail him. "Uh…uh, down—downstairs")

("Good, good" Vanya nodded)

("Eeeeeeeeek…!" Ben squeaked like a leaky tire letting air).

("So…" Vanya rocked awkwardly on her heels. "What's death like?")