"Okay…" Ed readjusted the camera so that it was angled down at him a little more, blinking when the red light hit his eyes. "So that probably means you're on…"

The entire set-up had taken around two or three hours to really complete, primarily because he'd had a hard time reading the directions and downloading the software took for freaking ever. He glanced at his computer screen, double-checking his suppositions. Once he knew that the camera was indeed on and ready, he sighed and faced the lens again. "Okay, so, um…"

Oh no, where was he supposed to start? There was so much he wanted to say- so much he wanted to get off his chest. Which topic did he run with first? Why would anyone care about what he had to say? He frowned and shook his head, exhaling just before giving the camera the widest smile he could muster. It wasn't much, because he really honest to god didn't feel like smiling, but it was expected. People wouldn't tune in to see an emo kid scowl all day. "My name is Ed and uh, I've been through some stuff lately." Was that good? He thought that was good. "And I really don't have any place else to go to, so I guess I'm turning to the internet for help."

She'd never spoken to Misses Spender. Heck, she wasn't even sure she'd ever seen the woman. Spender tended to keep his spectral life very separate from his normal one when the spectral world wasn't consuming him. At least, that'd been her observation. She hadn't known him too well, not compared to Isabel or Eddy.

Cindy wondered what it must have been like, seeing her husband run off with likely little explanation. She must have worried a lot, if not all the time. She must have wondered why her husband didn't tell her things- didn't explain to her why he was coming home with scars and bruises and bloodied shirts. Cindy didn't think she could have handled that, feeling like an accessory to the man she loved more than anything else. In those regards, she looked up to Misses Spender. She thought it took a strong woman to see past all of that, to let him come home into her arms just so he could leave her again next morning. Spender had been a good man, she thought with burning eyes, so it only made sense that he married a woman with a heart even bigger than his own.

Cindy knocked on the door hesitantly, playing with the small notecard she'd folded in her hands. It was pink and she'd sprayed a little bit of her perfume on it, just for an extra reason to pick it up. After all, there were few people who didn't enjoy the smell of vanilla and strawberries. She knew it was a useless wish- that the card would likely be forgotten or discarded before she even read it, but Cindy still felt it necessary to try. "Misses Spender?"

She wondered if she cried often. A bigger heart was easier to hit, after all, and that was something Cindy knew well. To love a man with a whole life he lived without you, to know you could never understand him the way he understood you…

It meant sure heartbreak.

There was no answer at the door, no quiet sounds of a weeping widow or the creak of a wooden floor under pale feet. There was only silence, which Cindy also understood.

Then again, just being in his life was a blessing in and of itself. To know you might not have been his entire world the way he was yours; that was pain. Knowing you mattered just as much, if not more, to him than any other slice of his life- well, that was all a girl needed. Cindy hummed and left the notecard tucked under the corner of the doormat. She glanced at the ink scrawled with pictures across the front of it, her name and number with a simple message.

"If you ever need anyone…"

She decided she'd pick up the ingredients to make cookies on the way home.

He looked alone, more than he'd ever looked before. He was sitting there on the front step of her porch with his head hung and his body so still she was surprised to see him breathe. It was a heavy release of air, a sigh so sad her heart was snapping in two. The lime green of his jacket, which he wore not even in the cold of winter, it was bright against the black creaking steps to her front door. Cindy tilted her head, her fingers toying nervously with each-other behind her back. "Eddy?"

He said nothing, only turned his gaze from his shoes to her face, meeting her eyes with a look she didn't quite know how to mend. There were bags under his eyes so dark she couldn't remember what he looked like without them, as if that maniacal smile of his was always so dark and pained. She was glad he didn't try to force a smile for her; that would have been too much. The closer she grew, the more she could see him shaking under his clothes, trembling beneath the weight of his troubles. She grinned at him and held up the plastic bag, full of icing and flour and chocolate chips, letting her small giggle strangle the awkward air between them.

When she offered him a cookie, he waved it away. "Eddy…"

"I'm really not hungry, Cindy."

Though upset he refused her again, she slid the plate of cookies closer to herself, the fire raging and flickering as she bent over the coffee table. She had to be careful with that plate, after all. It was a hand-me-down. She thought a warm fire on a soft couch would have helped him, but he didn't look any better than he had on her front porch. He hadn't said much, which was so unlike him that it left her longing for the old Ed. She decided to just have faith that it would pass, that whatever was tearing the club's jester into pieces would leave him in the same smoky cloud of air it'd arrived on. "It's finally hitting me."

"I thought so…"

Ed swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. They were pale, paler than usual. She wasn't sure if that was because of the crisp spring air he'd willingly subjected himself to (for the sake of seeing her, which had her stomach churning in circles), or because of the sheer intensity with which his hands locked together. It was the worst she'd ever seen him, the one night where he looked nothing like himself. Those sorrowful lines she was seeing then, in the light of the fireplace in the heat of loss, they made him look older. He was drowning himself in his pain, keeping to himself and dying on the inside. Loss did that to a person- took the best things about someone and ripped it all away until, piece by piece, they were rebuilt. He had to be rebuilt. Had to be. "I was bored, you know? So I just kinda popped this old game into my console- one I played when I was a kid, with Izzy and stuff." He sighed and leaned forward, weighing himself on his elbows and knees. "And it just kind of hit me. Out of nowhere, for no reason." She frowned and set a hand just below his shoulder. "Wasn't even like the game had anything to do with him. It just" he swallowed again and shook his head "it just came out of nowhere."

Cindy closed the space between the two of them, holding his hands in one as her other ran circles into his back. "I know, Eddy. I know."

"And it's not even like" He choked on his words. Despite his best efforts, she knew, he'd break down anyway. It happened to everyone- Ed was long overdue his own round. "It's not even like I can tell Izzy, you know? I mean, she's got this whole inheriting the dojo thing over her head and she's already dealt with this and…" His entire body was trembling. He shook his head "… and I'm left behind again!"

He broke into sobs, undignified and ingenuous and so completely human. Cindy took him into her arms entirely, letting him burrow his head into her chest as sob after sob wracked his body. She hushed him softly, running one hand through his hair.

Training was really all she could do these days to keep her mind off of everything else going on. It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it, but doing it most of the day, all alone, wasn't one of the most fun activities. Isabel sent one spectral shot at the bullseyes, then another, and another and another until she'd hit every single one square in the middle. There was a horizontal line of nothing but holes, and she could see the wall behind them if she squinted enough.

Owning the dojo had never been her dream, but taking it over might have been the right (morally right) choice. What was Grandpa Guerra going to do if she didn't take the job? Would he continue as the master until his early grave like she was expecting he would? Or would he find another passable student, albeit not his first pick? She'd tried sleeping on it, mediation, hot cups of tea, and even talking to Spender, but the solution was never any clearer than it had been. What choice was she supposed to make? Was it even a choice, or an expectation?

Isabel frowned and powered up another spectral shot. The red flame grew at the tip of her finger, each wave growing madder and more vicious with every pulse of emotion she felt circle in the center of her chest. She let out a screech as she fired the shot off, hitting the bullseye with no issue. The aura burned a hole so deep and fast that it was still as loose as a bullet by the time it hit the wall and faded into nothing. She sighed and bent over, hands clutching at her knees where her capris fell. There was the sound of the front doors opening and she glanced to the side, fully expecting to see one of the younger students just returning home from whatever after school activities they had going. She knew the youngest ones, the elementary schoolers, they messed around in the woods together. She remembered those years well, sparring with the other students her age because it was fun when her ever-expectant grandfather wasn't watching. She assumed the kids did the same, judging by the dirt and grass and stickers that covered their tiny shirts and shoes.

She stood up when she saw it was Ed, eyes tired behind his glasses and body so exhausted it looked like he wanted to fall where he stood. He slid the large wooden door closed, and she watched with great interest as he pressed his forehead against the wall when it latched. "Welcome home" she sounded happier than she should have been, because he wasn't well and she knew that "I went to go ask you to spar and you weren't here. I figured you needed some fresh air. You have been cooped up in your room for, like, a week after all."

Ed didn't really respond. He just pulled away from the door and smiled at her, then stood there with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He looked three feet shorter. She wanted to get closer to him, ask him what was wrong, but it wasn't the moment yet. Start a conversation, then slide into the question. "Where'd you go?"

"To Cindy's."

That late at night? It was eleven o'clock and he'd been gone for at least two hours. Jealousy twisted in her gut, green and horrible and awful to feel at a moment where he might've needed her. She wasn't able to swallow it down, not when she couldn't concentrate on it, so she ignored it entirely. Ed glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes. There was a small smile on his face, one she didn't recognize. In all of their years together, she'd never seen his lips curl like that, just like that, in that way that made her heart fall into her stomach. What was that he was feeling? There was pain there, but what else? Fear? Fatigue? Shame?

"Cool! What'd you guys talk about?"

Ed shrugged and turned his back to her, beelining for the stairs before a word left his lips. "Nothing. Um, I'm pretty tired, Izzy. I'm gonna head to bed. 'Night."

She froze, every muscle in her body tensing as she watched him climb their wooden staircase, up to the room where his name presented painted in black ink. There it was- him avoiding the subject, like he was ashamed of himself or something he'd done or- oh god- in her!

That was new, him avoiding her, not telling her things. He'd been there for her the entire time she'd been grieving Spender's loss. He was there when she sat up at two in the morning with a cold glass of milk she couldn't get down, holding her hand and whispering supportive words she could still hear in her head. He'd been there when she fought to tie her hair up before the funeral, wordlessly running his fingers through her hair, each move breaking the tangles she'd created in her struggle. He'd been there when she woke up from nightmares she couldn't even remember, and dreams she wished she could. He'd invited her into his room, where they played video games well into early morning because, hey, he wasn't interested in sleeping either.

And then she wasn't allowed to help him. He wouldn't let her. Over a decade of friendship and trust and he wouldn't just tell her what was wrong. For some reason, one she couldn't even begin to comprehend, he searched for solace in Cindy, in a girl that would never understand him as well as she did. He was willingly pushing her away and she couldn't do anything about it. This time was different than the first.

She was powerless. No amount of communication on her part could fix anything if she didn't know what was wrong.

Isabel screamed and set another shot off, one so wide in diameter that it took the dummy's head clean off. Grandpa Guerra's word echoed in her head. If there was love there once, it very well may bloom again.