Chapter Fifteen: You've Got A Friend

A/N: So so so so so sorry for the long wait. Life kept getting in the way. Brace yourselves. This is gonna be a long one.

Kerala, 1973

Padma: 5, William: 6

The Kalari school was buzzing with people, young and old alike. Most of the younger students were from the local middle-class families, others were walk-ins from the streets. Every now and then, there would join a child from one of the wealthier Anglo-Indian families. One such case would be the young William Nayar Bishop, the town doctor's youngest son. Had the course of his life thus far been up to him, he would be in his home's library instead of here. He was not the fighting sort but his mother insisted. He'd spent the morning sparring practice inwardly cringing at the thought of having to so much as touch anyone. He was not exactly comfortable either, being barefoot and wearing naught but a pair of the traditional red shorts and nothing to cover his back.

Now, it was break time and as usual, William retreated to a quiet and secluded area. Today, he chose the shade beneath a large tree in the front yard. He'd brought with him a new selection from his father's library. He loved books. Being so young, he surprised many with his penchant for reading; his older brother hadn't been able to read so much as the alphabet until he was seven. Now, he'd read his way through his family's library if he could. This particular volume was fascinating, with more words than pictures. He had barely begun the second chapter when someone snatched the book from his hands and dangled above his head. It was one of the older boys, his head cracked in half with a smug grin and two other boys smirking behind him.

"Give it back!" William begged, heaving himself upwards with his tiny arms outstretched. And so proceeded the keep-away ritual that William had resigned himself to. He looked around for help only to find no one else in the yard but the four of them.

Somewhere along the bullying, one of the boys neglected to catch the book and it ended up on the grass. While two of them restrained William, the first boy went to retrieve the book. As he bent down to pick it up, he could have sworn he'd seen it move. Thinking it to be his imagination, he reached down…the book moved again. The boy straightened up in shock, now fully convinced what was happening was not in his head. He took a step back…the book moved towards him. Panicking, he screamed and ran back to the safety of the school.

The two remaining boys were quick to follow as the book, seemingly alive, slowly began to slide towards them on the grass. William, whose face was being pushed into the dirt could not understand why his torments had suddenly leapt off of him, running away and screaming like frightened girls. He sat up, rubbing his sore back. Bouncing proudly toward him, her dark blonde hair swaying with each step, was the only female student in the class. She bore the standard crimson wrap-around shorts of the other students, but instead of being bare-chested she wore a baggy white shirt. In her arms was his precious book.

Smiling widely, she handed it back to him. "I'm Padma," she said.

He hesitated, his head bowed. "My name's William," he mumbled. He gingerly took the book from her, trying his best to avoid touching her hands as he did. He said thank you and returned to the shade of the tree in hopes of spending the rest of recess reading.

Then the girl, Padma, sat in the grass beside him, dashing his hopes. "That's a very good book, so you should take care of it…Why do you let those boys pick on you?"

William slammed the book closed. "I don't!" he whined. "I just can't fight back. That's why my mum brought me here."

The blonde tilted her head. "Can't your daddy help you?"

William shook his head. "No, he doesn't fight. My dad's a doctor."

Padma's eyes twinkled, a huge smile brightening her face. "Wow! My daddy's a doctor too!" She took both of his hands in her own. "We're going to be best friends!"

The boy snatched his hands back, shaking his head. "But we can't be."

"Why not?" she asked, the heartbreak apparent in her voice.

William shrugged. "Because you're a girl."

The girl in question pushed him into the dirt and ran away sobbing.

Manchester, 1979

Padma: 12, William: 13

"Right fine place we've got here," Padma said, setting her luggage down with a loud thud.

Their first trip to Britain, and they were staying indefinitely. They even had their own apartment. Life was good. Although, they could have done without the cold. For the first time in their lives, they had found themselves wrapped in multiple layers of bulky clothing. Padma lingered in the doorway, savoring the moment. It was small and quaint, but nonetheless a beautiful space. William's uncle was kind enough, as well, to give it to them completely furnished. A nudge from William's large suitcase brought her back to her senses and she crossed the threshold. She trotted into the den and ran her small hands over their new furniture.

"Just be careful," William said, laying his own bags on the couch. "My uncle said we could only keep this place if we promised not to destroy it."

Padma bounced in place. "I still can't believe we're doing this!" she squealed excitedly. "Our own Manchester flat! We're like grown-ups!"

William tried his best to contain his own excitement; they didn't need another giddy and hyper child bouncing off the walls. "Go and pick out your room," he suggested and Padma eagerly complied, skipping down the hall and disappearing inside one of the rooms.

She'd obviously made a discover. A wonderful one, at that. "William!" she practically screamed. "We have a library!"

His eyes snapped wide. "Library?" he gasped. "Paddy, don't touch any-"

A loud CRASH! resounded through the apartment, followed by small residual thuds. Books, he knew. William squeezed his eyes shut, cringing. He'd been too late. Once all was quiet again, he dared open his eyes.

"Paddy?" he called, concerned.

"…I'm alright!" was the unconvincing answer. "…I think."

William rolled his eyes. "I'll get the iodine."

"Thank you," was the weak reply.

Scotland, 1982

Padma:14, William: 15

William's graduation would have been a dull event had it not been for Padma's arrival. He beamed when he saw her in the audience, her black dress a stark contrast to everyone's pastel-colored attire. Never mind that his flesh and blood family could not be bothered to attend; he had his sister at heart, the family he chose. Although he could have done without her loud and very apparent cheering when the dean called his name. He'd never been quite so proud and mortified at the same time.

"We should be celebrating!" Padma cheered, her voice echoing throughout her best friend's apartment. "Me aunty gave us some Champagne. It's in my trolley." She went over to the guest room to fetch the aforementioned bottle.

William rolled his eyes. "We can't drink, Paddy." He was quick to shrug off his incomparably uncomfortable gown, neatly folding it and setting it onto the couch before sitting down.

Padma emerged from the guest room and scoffed. She'd already begun peeling the foil from the bottle. "Says who? Campus security? What'll they do, kick me out? I'm not a student here! And you've graduated! You're one step closer to being a great doctor." She was struggling with the cork. "Ugh! This blessed thing won't open!"

William snatched the bottle from his eager friend before any damage could be one. "I'll open it. I do not need another black eye. Just go get the glasses."

Padma retreated to the kitchenette to fetch the Champagne flutes. "I said I was sorry," she said, shrugging. The second she sat down beside William, the cork popped off of the bottle with a loud PLOCK! William poured his friend a glass before doing the same for himself. Padma clicked her glass to his. "To the future!"

"To the future!" William echoed.

Padma took a generous sip from her glass. "Mmm, this Champagne is delicious," she said before downing the whole glass.

"Careful, now," William warned. "I don't want to have to spend the weekend scraping you off the bathroom floor again."

"Oh, William!" She poured herself another glass. "So tell me about this new job."

He pursed his lips. "Actually, I don't start for another three years."

Padma sat back, making herself comfortable. "Alright."

William cleared his throat. "Well, you know the British Library…"

India, 1983

Padma: 15, William: 16

The funeral was silent in the most uncomfortable sense.

The mourners came and went and the food was as bland as the atmosphere. Padma did her best to be there for the woman who was like her second mother; never mind that the husband whom the former had devoted her life to was a less-than-pleasant person. By the afternoon, Padma had found herself searching for the person she entered the country with. She combed the large upper-middle-class home for much longer than she expected to; he was darn good at hiding. Her whole search was spent rolling her eyes, repulsed at how selfish her friend could be.

She finally found William in the laundry room of his childhood home. He was seated haphazardly on the washing machine, his head bowed in contempt; he didn't look up at her. She felt the anger that had been budding inside her suddenly dissipate the moment she saw his broken expression. With a defeated sigh, she locked the door behind her before walking over to him. She seated herself on an inverted laundry basket in front of him, smoothing out the skirt of her black dress as she did. "I thought I'd find you here. Nothing comforts you quite like the smell of fabric softener."

He let out a cross between a laugh and a grunt. "What would I need comforting for? The old fool is dead and it's probably for the better."

She placed a warm hand on his knee. "You don't mean that," she chastised.

Although thankful for the human contact, William could not summon the energy to respond. All he could voice was contempt. "I can't believe I let you talk me into coming here."

"And I'm glad I did." She took both his hands in her own. "William, it may have been hard for you, but you did the right thing by coming here and paying your respects."

"A year after my graduation and he chooses to die before congratulating me."

"Alright," Padma sighed. "Johann wasn't exactly the best, but he was still your father. And he's gone now, so there's no point in moping about what the two of you never had…At least for your mother, could you go back to the wake?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going back out there," he said firmly.

Padma cocked an eyebrow and sighed. "Fine, but could you at least take me to the car? Your stupid brother's flirting with me again."

William pinched the bridge of his nose. Any mention of his conceited brother was never welcome and bound to ruin his day. "Ugh. Him."

"Yes, him," she said, yanking him forward and forcing him onto his feet. She stood and, out of habit, began tidying up her friend's collar. "Now, let's go out there. You'll spend time with your mother. Try to not kill your brother. And then we say goodbye to everyone. Because the sooner we do, the sooner we can get on the plane. And then we get as much ice cream as we can eat…"

William silently listened to his prattling friend, an appreciative smile blooming on his face. His father was gone, his brother would remain the spoiled leech that he was, his mother would most likely never recover from his father's death, and every single person at the wake was only there to stake a claim on his family's wealth. He was in an orchard with more rotten fruit than fresh. Save for the one in front of him. The one he could always count on. The sibling born from his heart.

Before he knew it, he was grinning. "Come to think of it, it doesn't matter that my dad's dead. I have you to criticize and boss me around now."

Padma just smiled and pointed at the door. "Walk!"

New York, 1985

Padma: 17

The last seat available was at the back, much to Padma's chagrin.

She'd have gotten a better seat had she been earlier. Curse that book sale! Now, she would be lucky to have anything to eat. It was funny, almost, how the mess of books in her lap and arms was once her allowance for the month. Thank goodness for William and his frugal ways-not to mention his self-control-or both of them would go hungry. Setting her burden down, Padma seated herself, smoothed out her black dress, and waited for class to begin. Unable to resist, she pulled out her brand new Dracula pocket edition and submerged herself in it. Her focus on the book effectively drowned out the otherwise bothersome noise from all the other students.

She barely got through the first chapter when she was roused out of her book by a loud bang. Padma looked at the source of her disturbance; a pair of large and muddied biker boots were settled in the space beside her feet. Attached to them was a very disappointed-looking young brunette woman. She wore blue jeans and a leather jacket, black to match her boots. She eyed the professor with a discontented scowl. Trying her best to ignore her new seatmate, Padma went back to her book.

"You gotta be kidding me," she said with her thick Brooklyn accent. "He's not even cute. Hey, uh, Blondie. Is that the prof?"

Padma once again begrudgingly looked up from her fantastic book. She gazed over at the dais at the head of the large auditorium; the professor had arrived, looking like a clumsy and utter mess in his flannel shirt and large glasses. She looked down at the book in her hands and smirked at a clever idea. "No," she said with no small amount of sass. "It's veteran and character actor Christopher Lee."

The brunette turned back to her, an eyebrow raised in surprise; she had not expected that from someone who looked so quiet and detached. That surprise then changed to profound admiration. Her head dipped in a series of slow nods. "I like your attitude." She thrust out a half-gloved hand. "Antonia Nikolaous."

Padma took it and was surprised at the vigorous grip. "Padma Higgins."

Antonia cocked an eyebrow. "You expect me to call you 'Padma'? Sounds like a brand of candles."

The blonde girl was not sure how to respond. "Well, me friends call me 'Paddy'."

Antonia shook her head. "Yeah, it's not workin' for me." She glanced down at the impossibly full book bag beside her seatmate, as well as the stack of obviously-borrowed library books on the desk. "You seem to like books. How 'bout I just call ya Bookworm?"

Padma cocked an eyebrow. "It's like you're trying to make me cry."

"Alright, alright…How 'bout Paige?"

"Definitely not."

"Well, too bad. I'm calling ya Paige."

Padma frowned. "Antonia Nikolaous, you are the loudest, most over-bearing, most impulsive, most obnoxious, most insensitive person I've ever met…" She reached an open palm out the brunette, her smile reaching ear to ear. "We're going to be such great friends!"

London, 1987

Padma:19, William:20

It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon at William and Padma's London flat. The day had passed quietly for the most part, save for the sound of Padma shuffling around due to her rushed work. William had barely noticed as he was hard at work at the desk in their living room. He'd barely slept that week and the stress of the project was beginning to get the better of him; his only solace was the reassuring presence of his best friend, even if she was only there for a few days.

Padma emerged from her room, a black dress swathing her tall form and her her small trolley in tow. She took her favorite beige coat front the rack and hurriedly slipped it on. "Right," she announced, "I'm off to New York."

William looked up from his paper-covered desk, his brow furrowed. "I thought you were on break."

She sighed heavily. "I am, but a certain someone back in the States is graduating from the police academy, and I promised I'd attend."

William rolled his eyes. "Going to see her again?"

The ever-present spite in his tone did not go unnoticed. Padma crossed her arms, scowling. A delay in the Library's book authentications had already caused her to be running late and to not be in the most pleasant of dispositions; she was certainly not in the mood for this. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

William sighed. "I'm sorry…it's just…when we joined the Library, I figured our priorities wouldn't be the same as normal people's."

Padma pursed her lips. Out of all the books in her life, William was definitely the easiest to read. The thought brought a smile to her face. She took slow tentative steps toward him. "Is this about the Library or do just want me to stay home more?"

"No," he answered quickly. He looked back down at his work, avoiding eye contact.

Her smile grew, stretching ear to ear. She placed a hand on his desk, drumming her fingers on the varnished wood. "Are you jealous of Antonia?"

"I will not dignify that with an answer," he spat, still refusing to meet her gaze.

"Oh, William," she cooed. She walked over to where he sat and rested a warm hand on his shoulder. He still did not look up, but did put his pen down. "That is adorable, but completely unnecessary. You know that no one could ever replace you. I promise once the semester's over, I'll stay home more often. And New York is only a few hours on the plane, you know that it wouldn't kill you to visit me once in a while."

William shook his head. "I know, I know," he said.

"Good," she said before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

With one final exchange of smiles and very painful farewell-hug, William showed his friend to the door and she was gone. He could not remember the peaceful silence being quite so malicious.

London, 1989

Padma: 21, William: 22

Sebastian Rorke was a full-time collector and part-time thief.

He was not exactly happy being called to meet with the authenticators in such a filthy place: a secluded construction site at 10 o'clock in the evening, four floors above the ground. Supporting his weight was a rickety temporary floor. They may as well have asked me to balance myself on the scaffolding, he thought bitterly. Still, he picked out his favorite custom-tailored blue suit and combed back his wiry grey hair, looking as presentable as he could. He knew the Library would pay a fortune for what he was about to provide them. On the table beside him lay ten hardcover books-the most expensive items in his collection. Of course, they were not the originals; he knew of others who could provide him a larger compensation.

A metallic noise caught his attention. The elevator hummed to life and came to stop at his floor. Emerging from it was a suited and prim-looking young man. He was tall and lean, his black suit complimenting his dark skin. His dark hair was trimmed short and a pair of thin-rimmed rectangular glasses rested atop his sharp eagle nose.

Rorke nodded; this must have been the agent from the British Library. "Mister Bishop," he greeted.

William mimicked the gesture. "Mister Rorke."

Rorke waved a hand over the table beside him. "Please confirm," he said. He stepped back as the agent proceeded with his work. William inspected the books, opening them one by one and running his hands over the covers and pages. "I think you'll find everything in order," Rorke said confidently. "These were not an easy acquisition, let me tell you. Luckily, my sources in Germany were very generous. I'm sure you've heard of Professor Gutfleish? We go way back. You see, back in Cambridge, he was my-"

He was rudely interrupted by the sound of a book slamming full-force into the steel floor. William turned to him, dangling another one of the books in one hand. "These books are fake, Mister Rorke," he said.

Rorke cocked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Bishop took a breath. "You told me that all of these books are from before World War 1…But they smell much too new…and they're all made from alkaline paper, which was produced after the War." He set down the book in his hand and slowly shook his head. He clicked his tongue as he did so. "Mister Rorke, the British Library does not take kindly to tricks such as this. I'm sorry, but I must insist that you produce the real books in the next twenty seconds."

"Or what?"

"Or I will receive the orders to make sure you never deceive us again."

Rorke did the only two things he could think of.

Panic.

And draw the machine pistol from his hip.

The quiet of the night was rudely and abruptly ruined by the spraying of bullets against paper and steel. The impact from the shots had shredded the books and reduced the table to a splintered mess. The clip was already half-empty when Rorke stopped shooting, his face wide with utter shock. William Bishop was still standing, his hands resting in his pockets and a bored expression on his face.

Rorke stared in disbelief. "But I shot you," he breathed. "I SHOT YOU!"

The agent just smirked.

Rorke raised the muzzle again, sending another storm of lead at the source of his rage. Once again, the quiet was shattered by the sound of metal slamming against metal. But by the time the magazine was empty, the floor was littered with used shells and William Bishop was still standing. But something stood in front of him. Small squares of white were floating in front of the agent, embedded in each one of them were Rorke's bullets.

Paper.

As quickly as the wall of paper appeared, it collapsed, in its wake stood a newcomer. A tall woman with dark blonde hair now stood beside Bishop, her black dress a stark contrast to her dark gold tresses. Her hand was outstretched towards him, and fell down to her side the same second the paper wall vanished. Rorke narrowed his eyes. When did she get here? Why didn't he hear the elevator? Never mind that, he thought. He had to think of a way out. But those two buffoons were blocking the elevator.

"You're late, Agent Paper," William grumbled. "I had to do the authentication myself."

"I'm so sorry!" she panted. "I was on my way, but the car wouldn't start and-wait. You did the authentication?"

William crossed his arms with a huff. "Yes. It involved some of what I've learned from you, a few calculated guesses, and a lot of luck. Give me some credit, the fool couldn't call my bluff. Now, stop trying to change the subject. Where were you?"

Padma gulped nervously. "Well, like I said the car wouldn't start and you know London traffic-"

"You were book-shopping," William accused.

She hung her head. "I was book-shopping," she confirmed.

"OY!"

Paige and William turned their heads, just in time to spot Rorke's bony finger tighten around the trigger. Just as he did, a wall of white emerged out of nowhere, encasing the two spies. Before any of the bullets could meet home, they found themselves imbedded in more sheets of paper. This magazine went empty faster than the last and Rorke rushed to reload, cursing himself and the world as he did. But before he could even reach for the new magazine, the pistol was knocked clear out of his hands. He was not sure of the object that had been hurled at him, but he did manage to catch a flash of white. The wall of paper collapsed again, revealing the two agents; they did not look pleased.

"Mister Rorke," Padma began, "it is impolite to interrupt a lady when she is speaking. Expected better from one of my own countrymen."

William stepped forward. "We will have to bring you in now, I'm sorry."

Rorke held his hands up. "They're just books," he wailed. "What is wrong with you people? They're just books!"

William shook his head. "Mister Rorke, we owe books everything…Civilization was built on the pages of a book…and so is your incarceration."

Rorke took a step back in disbelief. The floor seemed to shift as he did. As he slipped and fell to his knees, he saw the reason for the sudden strange phenomenon. He was sinking. Or was the floor swallowing him? If it could be called a floor. No, what he stood on was not solid. It was sinking beneath him like cloth. It was white. Soft. And crinkled under his touch.

Paper.

Rorke looked up at the agents to find their faces twisted in tormenting smirks. Finally, the paper floor gave way. Rorke clutched vainly at the white sheets but succumbed to gravity nonetheless. But instead of landing on the harsh concrete, he fell flat on his back into a padded van. Rorke could vaguely make out the suited figures that cuffed him and the world went black as a bag was zipped over his head.

Padma and William watched the scene four floors below them.

"Adequate work, agents!" their supervisor called to them before climbing into the van and leaving. The helicopter followed suit and the two agents were left in the dark of the incomplete building, their only light the multicolored luminescence of the city of London.

William sighed, propping up his glasses with one finger. "That went well," he stated.

Padma nodded. "I'd say so. Get some coffee?"

William shrugged. "May as well. I don't plan on getting any sleep tonight."

Padma frowned. "Going to see Mister Gentleman again?" she asked. "I thought your treatment worked."

"It did," he said almost defensively. "It just remains to be seen if…it continues to work. You know Mister Gentleman, his genetic makeup is…unique." Even after all the time spent with the father of Great Britain William still couldn't find the right words.

Padma placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "You'll find a way, Will. You always do, no matter what."

William smiled. "You joining me?"

"Of course!" She took two steps before remembering a rather important fact. "Oh! Stupid Padma!" She clapped her palm to her forehead. "Stupid Padma!" William looked at her questioningly. "I have a…a date tonight."

William sighed, rolling his eyes. "Well one of us has to be in love. Otherwise, we'll upset the equilibrium of the universe and face the return of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Besides, Heaven forbid you go without a man for longer than a week."

Padma crossed her arms, scowling. "Are you done?"

"Yes, quite so," he said, grinning mischievously. Padma turned to continue down the stairs. "Oh, Paddy?" he called and she turned to face him. "Don't you dare wear that yellow dress. That color wouldn't look good on a lemon."

Padma pursed her lips. "When it comes to wardrobe, you just don't know how to hold back, do you?"

London, 1990

Padma: 22, William: 23

"Don't you dare walk away from me, William!" Padma growled as she stomped after her friend, her voice erupting like lightning in their formerly-quiet apartment.

Her evening had been going so well only to be spoiled by her so-called best friend's patronizing tone the second she returned home. She had not even changed out of her uncomfortable black party dress and heels before William, in his pajamas, no less, began his merciless tirade. Not even her own father had talked down to her like that. One accusation had turned into another, the argument devolving into a verbal war. She was almost as worried as she was angry; they hadn't had a fight like this in years.

"I will if I want to!" he spat. "I'm a grown man!" He stormed out of the kitchen in huff, an equally-angry Padma at his heels. He quickly made his way to his bedroom, where he might have some peace from Hurricane Padma.

"A grown man who can't handle not being invited to a party!" she countered, following him into the living room. "One which he explicitly said he didn't want to go to! I'm sorry, were there two women in this flat? Because one of us is getting their delicates in a knot, and it surely isn't me!"

"I honestly don't know why I'm surprised, you've always been indecisive. You still can't decide whether or not to keep the living room rug. Make up your bloody mind!"

Disgusted, Padma stormed into her room and slammed the door behind her. William did the same. However, not five minutes passed before the two cracked open their respective doors, poking their heads into the hall that divided their rooms. Both sported purely dejected frowns.

"Will, I'm sorry," Padma said sincerely.

He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." He stepped out into the hall and made his way to the living room. Padma was not far behind. "I don't know why this was such a big deal to me. You have Joseph and you want a life. Friends sometimes drift apart. It happens." He stood in the middle of the den, looking to all the world like a lost puppy.

Padma shook her head. "Not to us. Never to us." She looked around for something, anything, to lift these unwelcome grey clouds. Then she saw the piano in their living room. Smiling, she hatched an idea.

"But if it does happen, what am I supposed to do?" William asked desperately.

Her reply was to start playing, her fingers gliding expertly over the keys. "You just call out my name," she sang. "And you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again."

William rolled his eyes. "Take this seriously," he begged.

"Winter, spring summer and fall."

"Paddy-"

"All you've got to do is call," she sang.

"Seriously, stop," he said unconvincingly.

"And I'll be there, yes I will."

"Stop it! Really, what do we have to keep us together?"

"You've got a friend."

With a defeated sigh, William hobbled over to the piano and sat down beside Padma. She stopped playing and grasped his hand, fondly stroking it with her thumb. "We have this," she said with all the determination in the world. "William, we will always be in each other's lives."

"How can you possibly know that?"

Her reply was to take his head in both hands and turning it to look him in the eyes. "Because I love you…because we're family."

They shared a sad smile before suddenly finding themselves in each other's arm. William savored the contact. He needed this. When they pulled away, he cleared his throat and straightened himself. "You got that last note wrong," he said quickly.

She slapped him halfheartedly on the shoulder. "Leave it to you to point that out."

"Well, how else do you expect to learn?" he asked patronizingly. He cracked his knuckles, straightened his back, and poised his fingers over the keys, determined to show his friend how it was done. He smiled as Padma laid her head on his shoulder. "Shall we, my better half?"

British Library, 1992 (Pre-Incident)

William: 25

Mister Gentleman's office was particularly gloomy that day. Granted, nearly every day passed peacefully in his soundproof and dark room. The Gentleman would spend his days in his large mechanical wheelchair, his bony figure swathed in his billowy robe and his long white beard smoothed out in his lap. Just as a cup of tea was never far away, neither was a good book. His room was more library than office, and always quiet.

Now, he had company. William Bishop was knelt beside his wheelchair, administering his daily injection. The fact that it had become daily irked the young doctor to an immeasurable degree. Once upon a time, he would only administer it once a month. Though, William could not let himself be too surprised. Mister 's physiology was a special case.

"I'm truly sorry, sir," William apologized, drawing the needle from the Gentleman's arm. "I wish I knew why the treatment isn't-"

"It is alright, my boy," the old man wheezed.

William bowed his head, feeling utterly shamed and dejected. "It's very complicated, Mister Gentleman. Truly, I wish I knew-"

The old man held up a bony, shaking hand. "I know, William, I don't claim to be the medical expert."

William stood and began putting his things away. When he was done, he poured the Gentleman another cup of tea. "I'll see you next week, sir. But if you aren't feeling well, please don't hesitate to contact me, no matter what time of the day."

The Gentleman nodded. "Very good."

William was thankful for his understanding; he did not need another cause for stress. The last few years had seen him and Padma in one of the worst falling-outs in their friendship. He had not been there during her wedding or the day she learned she was pregnant. He explained how he had more important things to tend to. Like his country. His duty to the Library. To Mister Gentleman. To the people who truly appreciate his talents. Every day, he found himself despising her a little more. And he hated that muchmore. It seemed like every day of his life was filled with nothing more than work, and hate, and work, and hate. A vicious cycle of loathing and self-loathing.

"Your love for medicine, I hear it comes from your father, yes?" the Gentleman asked suddenly.

William looked up in surprise. "Y-Yes, sir. He was also a doctor."

"Agent Paper," he began, "has she began her maternity leave?"

"Yes, I believe she has, sir," William answered quickly.

"You do not seem pleased. I had thought you were friends."

William did not want to respond. He had to get out of that room before he said something regrettable to the most powerful man in the world. "Yes, sir. We are. Please excuse me. I have more work waiting for me." He nodded and walked briskly over to the door. He felt like he was suffocating.

"You're suffering right now," Mister Gentleman said suddenly, causing William to stop in his tracks. "Even more so than me."

"Sir?"

The old man sipped his tea. "Young man, I have known you since the day you joined the Library. I have watched you grow and develop into one of the finest agents this organization has ever seen…and one of the greatest doctors the world has ever seen. And it may not be my place to say this, but I believe that it is high time that you start putting yourself first. It is obvious…to everyone here that your friendship with Agent Paper has run its course."

William was shocked into silence. How could Mister Gentleman possibly have known that?

The Gentleman continued. "Are you still that compliant little boy who caters to her littlest whims? How much longer will you continue to sacrifice for her…and get nothing in return? Do not destroy yourself…for someone who will only continue to use you."

William shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Sir, none of that matters. Our priority is your preservation." William clapped his hand over his chest. "And I will stop at nothing to ensure it."

The Gentleman cocked one grey eyebrow. "No matter what?" he asked.

William nodded. "No matter what, sir." Without looking back, he closed the door behind him.

No matter what.

London, 1992 (Post-Incident)

Padma:24

She lay on her bed, hugging her favorite blanket for comfort. The pillow beneath her head was soaked through with tears. Her husband Joseph Carpenter sat beside her and listened in melancholic silence, still in his black business suit and his usually-neat blond hair now an uncharacteristic mess on his head. The past few days had seen him as an anxious mess. As much as he hated the idea of leaving England-his home-he had to save his family; so long as the Library was dead, its employees had no protection. A car and jet had already been drafted to smuggle them out of the country.

Padma continued her silent crying. She failed…she failed her best friend. "…I still can't believe he said that to me," she sobbed.

"He's sick, Padma," Joseph assured. "He has been for months now." He tried to quell the anger roiling inside him. Should he ever meet William Bishop, then one of them would be walking away with fewer teeth. He smoothed the dark gold tresses of his beloved's hair. He bent down and placed a feather-light kiss on her brow. "Just try to get some sleep," he soothed. "I have to get our stuff packed. The car will be here in twenty minutes."

Before exiting, he turned down the lights, leaving Padma and her tears in the dark. But the moment he left their bedroom, he felt a feather-like touch by the nape of his neck; he assumed it was a fly and brushed it off. Not a moment later, he felt like he couldn't breathe. No, it wasn't a feeling. He could not breathe. He clutched at his throat but felt nothing there. It was as if his body simply could not register breathe. Red and moisture clouded his vision as an indescribable pressure constricted his face. He was aware of himself falling to the floor, a dark grinning figure looming over him. And then he understood.

"…You…" he mouthed weakly. And then Joseph Carpenter's world went black.

Padma didn't know just how long she'd managed to sleep, or where her husband was, but she did know the smell that awoke her.

Smoke.

She bolted out of bed, keeping a protective hand over the bulge on her belly. "Joseph?" she called frantically. She opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately assaulted by merciless heat and light. Smoke hazed the hallways, disrupting the visibility. "Joseph!" she sputtered. "Joseph!"

Still no reply. She could not wait, she was getting herself and her son out of there. Turning back to her bedroom, she sprinted towards the window; she was three floors up but she could make something from paper to catch herself on. But the second she had her hands on the sill, a wall of flame shot up from the outside. She cursed. Had they set the outside of the building on fire as well? She had no choice then. The only fire escape left was in the den.

Stepping out into the hall, Padma braved the suffocating miasma. She tread as quickly but as carefully as the situation allowed; she was not sure what part of the floor was still sturdy and what was not. Again, she called out for her husband, and again there was no reply. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the living room. Small bushes of flame were littered everywhere, engulfing every cherished item in her home and creating toxic clouds as they did. She spotted the window and made for it. But something in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A black-suited figure sat in her husband's arm chair, staring at her and flashing a bone-chilling grimace. Its hands were folded neatly in its lap as it sat in a relaxed pose, mimicking an audience member patiently waiting for the show's climax. Padma's eyes went wide. She shuddered; she knew that smile, but the air it now possessed was malicious instead of affectionate.

"William?" she gasped.

And that was all she managed to say before the ceiling caved in.

Brooklyn, Present Day

"The official reports said that William Bishop died in the fire…"

Casey listened in quietly-shocked silence. This didn't seem real to him. He was never comfortable talking about such serious matters. As much as he hated listening to this, he knew that he had to. During Paige's story, he'd somehow found his way into the rocking chair, his fingers fiddling with the embroidered pillow that had been previously there. Paige was in front of him, leaning haphazardly against the crib and gazing out the window beside her.

"Only I made it out of the house." She dipped her head, her eyes dimming further. "…And later on, only I made it out of the hospital."

Casey looked up, his eyes widening. "So…you're baby's…?"

Paige did not look at him but did stand and walk over to the window. She gazed out into the busy Williamsburg streets. Her eyes were glazed over with an emotion that Casey knew he could never hope to understand. "I won't bore you with the details of my recovery," she began, crossing her arms for warmth, "but I can say in all honesty that it was not pleasant…either mentally or physically."

The boy had somehow found his voice. As well as something to say. "Paige, I'm…I'm sorry you had to be alone in all of that."

At this, she did finally look at him. "Oh, I wasn't alone…Your mother was there when I woke up…and quite frankly…that was the first time I'd ever seen her cry…You know, I wanted so badly to just shut everything out…be numb to it all…but your mum wouldn't let me. She wouldn't let me wallow in my misery, not when she had so much happiness to go around…Especially a year later, when she became pregnant with you." She finally started to smile, a warmth emerging in her eyes. "She practically forced me to move to New York, begged me to be your nanny…to be your godmother."

Casey cocked his head. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

Paige chuckled and shrugged."You never asked…I owe a great deal to your mother…She saved me. After that, I had a new life. A new family. A new name." She offered her hand and Casey took it, letting her help him out of the rocking chair. She then clasped her hands behind her back, now smiling in earnest. "I'm glad I showed this to you. Maybe you finding this room and finally talking about was the last bit of closure I needed." Her gaze wandered the room. "I think I'm finally ready to let go."

"You don't need to rush," he assured.

"Oh, I know, Casey, I've had almost twenty years to get over everything…I can't keep taking this room with me wherever I go."

Casey braced his hand on his hips, looking around the entirety of the room. "So…what'll you turn it into?"

Paige looked around. The second she moved into the building, this was the first thing on her plans. She recalled the various thing she had carried up to this room. She smiled and went over to the closet. "Do you remember how your mum forced me into teaching you the piano?"

Casey smirked. "Yeah, I remember her locking you in a room and threatening to burn all your books." His face twisted at a sudden realization. "Man, my mom was crazy."

"Yes," Paige confirmed, laughing in agreement, "your father clearly told me that he needed me for the thirty percent of her that he couldn't handle." Opening the wooden doors, Paige revealed a small electric keyboard. With deft fingers, she assembled the instrument beside the rocking chair. She pulled up a small leather bench from the corner of the room and seated herself. "Well, I'd always dreamt of playing music to my son…so…I might just turn this into a music room." She patted the empty space next to her and Casey obliged, seating himself as comfortably as he could on the small leather bench. "Play me a song, Casey."

He looked at her as though she'd just asked him to commit a murder. "I'm really rusty," he warned.

Paige smiled and shook her head. "I don't care."

Hesitantly, Casey ran his hands over the keys, trying to summon whatever body memories he could. Paige, obviously growing impatient and telling him he we was killing the mood, elbowed him. And that was the only go signal that Casey needed. And he knew just the song, too. The beginning was very hazy and more of a practice run but eventually gained the fragments of a proper melody. Paige listened in peaceful contentedness. Try as she might not to, she couldn't help but remember the relaxing afternoons spent listening to William at the piano.

No, she scolded internally. William is dead…He has been for a long time…A monster wears his skin now.

She had Casey and his family and that was more than enough. Before she knew it, the memories of her former friend were replaced with the happy imagery of her at the piano, a young Casey Jones in her lap as she struggled to teach him the instrument. The two of them had a song of their own now as well. The very song that Casey was playing at the moment.

Tears In Heaven.

And like she did so many times with her old friend William, Paige rested her head on Casey's shoulder as the soothing melody of the piano washed over her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the selfish time to imagine the scene slightly differently, with a teenaged Donny beside her.

Had Paige been paying attention, she would have noticed the deepening scowl on Casey's face.

Author's Notes and References:

So, yeah. This is the chapter that revolved more around the Read Or Die franchise. But don't worry. This will be the only one. The rest of the story will stick to Turtle Territory;) I tried not to go too much into detail on Paige's recovery since I don't claim to be an expert on that stuff. But thanks to TheIncredibleDancingBetty (you're a peach, mwah!), who told me to focus more on the emotional side of her story. Speaking of stories, I can finally say that this fic is officially half-over. It has been quite the journey and I am so glad to have taken it with you. I love you all, I mean it.

Despite the sad note on which this chapter ended, I have to point out my favorite part: the mission scene (which was actually inspired by a scene from the Read Or Die manga). How funny were the two of them arguing like siblings when they had a gun pointed at their heads? LOL, and Bishop trying to bullsh*t his way through a book authentication and bluffing his way out of getting a cap popped in his skull. Brother is slick!

The title is a reference to the song Paige is singing in the flashback. It's called You've Got A Friend. The song I wanted to use for their piano scene was originally going to be Love Will Keep Us Together, but this one seemed equally as powerful. Big surprise, Mr. Gentleman was the real bad guy the whole time. Huh. Go figure. But, seriously, to give everyone the bigger picture here, Mr. Gentleman's treachery runs deeper than you can imagine. He is to the Library what Professor X is to the X Men. And Bishop having daddy issues? Oh yeah, he does.

*Joseph Carpenter - I based Paige's husband on a canon character from the Read Or Die franchise. Codenamed "Joker/Mister Joker", Joseph Carpenter is the head of the British Library Special Operations Unit, second in command only to Mister Gentleman.

Thanks, all you lovelies who've stuck with me thus far. You all get cookies!

And, of course, a special mega ultra thank you to my fabulous and supergalifragesexy beta read Illusionna! You are a peach!

Today's teaser:

"You done screaming like a little girl?"