AntiqueSoul83: The house only has one sex expert, and, unfortunately, it's him, lol.
SunDanceQT: These are the only OCs I have ever once enjoyed writing.
Amina0602: Welcome aboard! Chloe waking up to their apartment being gone with a new house in its place is definitely something I have thought long and hard about, and it will actually be somewhat addressed in the next chapter.
96itadakimasu96: You'll have to wait until next chapter to find out.

A/N: I worked on this chapter non-stop for a week and, dang, what a whirlwhind of emotions I experienced in 22k words. Been waiting to do this chapter for awhile now. Just a reminder, Julia's faceclaim is Elizabeth Mitchell.


Dysrhythmia


I'm only human.
I said, I'm only human.
- Thriving Ivory


Julia


The door closes and empty silence replaces the hustle and bustle of six people trying to share a two bedroom apartment. It's the first time in weeks that nothing remains to be done. Everyone is safe, well, busy, and somewhat functioning in a normal manner. Julia exhales a breath and sits on the edge of the couch, hands on her knees, caught somewhere between relief and searching for the next task, next need, next something. They'll all adjust to the new normal – even if her own new normal is a part-time job coupled with part-time nothingness, waiting for the next something in an empty house. It maybe take Aubrey a little longer, but she's holding out hope that she's on the verge of adjusting and not the breakdown that seemed almost inevitable for awhile. Aubrey is sturdy – but even the sturdiest of structures is only as stable as its foundation. Strike cement hard enough and it will break. And even the most talented contractor can only repair cracks so fast.

But they're past that now – hopefully.

Hopefully.

xxxxx

July, 1971

The sky was so blue that it must have been in its purest form of the color. No blue could be bluer than the sky on that particular day. And the clouds that floated through it at such an unhurried, leisurely pace were so white they were the very definition of colorless. A perfect combination. Blades of unmowed grass tickled her ears as she stared upward, one eye closed, her pointer finger extended in the direction of one cloud that looked strikingly like a tree. It was blocking the sun – providing just the right amount of shade. It was perfect. All of it. Everything. The world itself was just so gloriously…right. And her favorite thing to do was lay down and appreciate that it existed. And there she was too, somehow, some way, existing right in the middle of it. Wow. "Wow…"

"Jules!" her mother called from the wide open kitchen window, "Are you hungry, Love?"

Julia turned her head and looked into the eyes of the doll sitting next to her. "No!" she answered back, "We're not!" She sat up, gathered up her baby, and carried it across the lawn to a doll-sized pink stroller. "Mama! Can we go for a walk?"

"Around the block only. Stay away from the street."

"Okay." She strapped the doll in carefully, adjusting the shoulder straps, making sure she was comfortable and not going to fall out. Only around the block it was. "Come on, Baby." She waved goodbye at her mother, blew a thousand kisses in her direction, then pushed the stroller around toward the front of the house. Mr. Deb, her neighbor who was at least 500 years old, waved from his front porch and she blew another thousand kisses in his direction as well.

"That guy is creepy," her sister stated from her spot on the front porch stairs, "I see him through his window wearing a dress all the time."

"Maybe," Julia suggested, "He doesn't like pants."

"Yeah," her sister's friend, possibly boyfriend, Allan agreed, "Maybe he doesn't like pants."

Rachel laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it. He's definitely not just a freak."

There. They understood. "Do you guys want to play with me?"

"I'd rather be hit by a meteor," Rachel answered at the same time Allan asked, "What are you playing?"

"House. You can be the daddy."

"Did you hear that?" Allan looked at Rachel. "I can be the daddy."

She rolled her eyes. "What does that make me?"

"You can be the dog," Allan suggested then, with a laugh, quickly dodged a rock thrown in his direction.

"You can be the doggy ," Julia assured her, "We can walk you. Mama said we can go around the block. I'll get a leash! Watch the baby, Honey!" She took off full speed through the front door to grab a jump rope from where she last saw it discarded under the kitchen table.

"I thought you were going for a walk," her mother said.

"The dog wants to come too!"

"Jules," her mother said slowly, "There better not be a dog. We don't own a dog."

"I know, but we own Rachel."

Her mother quirked a brow.

"I gotta go. Love you. Bye." She threw her arms around her mother's waist in a quick hug then skipped back out the door. "Why are you unbuckling her?" she asked the second she realized Allan was struggling get her doll out.

"I decided I wanted a divorce," Allan answered, "I'm filing for full custody."

Rachel howled – with laughter – and leaned hard against the step behind her.

"What does that mean?" Julia asked.

"You want to come home and live with Daddy, right?" Allan asked the doll.

Julia looked from Allan to Rachel – who was laughing so hard that she could barely breathe – then back to Allan. "She doesn't want to do that. You can push her around the block though."

Allen held the doll's mouth to his ear. "What's that? You never want to see Silly Jilly again? She's a bad mommy and you hate her?"

The perfect air turned thick like the clouds had descended.

"Stop it!" Rachel threw another rock at him, still giggling, "She's going to tell. She always tells when we mess with her stupid doll."

Allen tipper her doll over, holding her by the ankles.

"She doesn't like to be held like that," Julia whispered, "You have to-"

No one was listening. Her heart ate her voice – or at least that's what her mother always claimed happened. She held up her hand as a signal to stop – but when she tried to yell it too, no sounds formed. But they didn't have to. The front door opened and her mother got everyone's attention (even Mr. Deb who could barely hear someone right next to him) with a single clap of her hands.

"Oh, shit." The doll went soaring over the front lawn as Allen let go of her feet. He grabbed his bike from the sidewalk and flung himself onto it.

"Rachel!" their mother called as she took off on her bike after him, "Rachel!"

Julia took off through the yard to retrieve her doll from where it had landed at the base of a tree. She gathered it up then dropped herself to the ground under the tree.

"Come on, Sweet Girl." Her mother took the doll from her with one hand then managed to pick her up with the other and get both arms around her body to carry her in.

"My heart ate it!" Nothing, still nothing, not even crying had a sound – but it didn't matter then. Her mother could understand what she was saying just from the way her lips moved against her shoulder.

"I know. I know. It's just because it's so big – and that's a good thing. One day, the rest of you will catch up. Your voice will get bigger too. And you know what?"

Julia lifted her head.

Her mother placed her and the doll on the couch then knelt down in front and wiped her face with her thumbs. "You're going to be such a great mommy one day. You just need to make sure your heart stays soft. Can you do that? Kindness can kill if you use it right."

She wasn't speaking literally. Of course, she wasn't speaking literally. Julia nodded. "I can do that."

"What's the key to life?"

Julia reached out and touched the necklace hanging from her mother's neck. "Use your words well and be pushy as….you know."

"And do it with?"

"Love."

"But maybe stop trying to play with Rachel, okay?"

Julia drew her lower lip between her teeth as she thought about that. "That doesn't sound very loving," she decided, "I'm going to keep asking her. You said be pushy."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Her mother stared at her – hard – like there was a hundred thoughts going through her mind all at once. "Just keep your soft heart strong too. If you let it become mushy like oatmeal, I'll have to…eat it." She launched at her, pinning her down under relentless tickles.

"It's strong!" Julia shrieked through her laughter. She managed to get free by grabbing the arm of the couch, only to be pulled back in by her feet. "It's strong! I'll keep it strong!"

xxxxx

Silence these days feels so loud. She wants to cover her ears just to hear the sound of her blood rushing through her own body. Instead, she taps her fingers against her knees a few times then stands up and looks around. The apartment they're in now is so…modern. It looks more like it belongs in a magazine than it should be housing people. Her own house could be in a magazine. It would be in an article about to make clutter look like it belongs. Her home is warm, welcoming, lived in. The apartment she's in now is beautiful – but she'll be happier somewhere that feels like her own. Somewhere she doesn't feel a tad guilty if she leaves books on the table or her shoes in the middle of the floor. She's beyond appreciative of the place to stay – somewhere where Aubrey won't be able to feel the full force of what's happened all at once, and where it's less of a war zone if they're housing Beca - but the design makes it easy to feel like a stranger. She realizes that now when everyone is gone.

Her phone remains pressed into her palm like it's part of her body. In the emptiness, it's a lifeline between her and the rest of the world. She walks by the sleeping pets who barely stir on her way to the hallway. They could be awake and actively vying for her attention and she wouldn't feel any less alone. Even her own dog never quite filled the same void that other people could, though she definitely missed him, especially lately. It's easy to understand why support animals work for some people – but as much as she loves animals, they're no replacement for the company of other humans, not for her anyway.

Trapped between multiple empty rooms, the hallway is the worst place to be. She turns into the bathroom and closes the door behind her then breathes in the small, confined space. The sheer amount of coffee she's consumed in the past week has her in a constant state of alertness, but when she opens the glue stick cabinet, the mirror tells her she's tired. It also tells her she's old – so she stops staring at it and closes the door. Smart – putting the mirror on the inside. Very smart. Beca has a lot of remarkably good strengths, and she can see why Chloe is enamored by her. She's intelligent. Funny. Beautiful. Emotionally unavailable. Everything Chloe loves in a person. Nature outweighed nurture with that last one.

Sure, she was never going to be the perfect mother. And Chloe was always destined to be her own person. But if she had just managed to get through to her on that one thing – none of them would be here. From there, however, she can't help but wonder where Aubrey might be. She knows she would be okay – but would she be happy? She knows better than to invest so deeply in people the same way Chloe does it, but with Aubrey, it's impossible. She just wants her to know that she deserves to be happy – that she deserves to have something good. If she had just be able to show her that sooner, maybe it wouldn't be so damn hard… She understands the resistance – the fear. Aubrey is scared. She's scared that she's going to fail and the things that she loves are going to be taken from her, because time and time again, they have been. But not because she ever failed. Because the people who were supposed to give her everything they could took it instead – and maybe because she's just unlucky. What has happened to Chloe is just bad, bad luck. For Aubrey. For herself.

She can't even process the shock of it. The pain is so severe that some part of her brain is convinced that if she feels it, really feels it, she might not be able to survive it – so it's holding her grief hostage. Every once in awhile, pieces of it manage to escape, only for the rest of it to be locked in tighter. It's helpful. It's helpful to Aubrey. To Beca. To everyone around her. But it's like residing in a pressure cooker – and the harder her brain holds onto the misery, the more she wishes it would just burst. It won't. It can't. Not here or now. But if it did, the physical aches in her head and in her chest could take on their real form, and even if grief did destroy her, the explosion would feel like such a relief. Caffeine, her usual best drug of choice, is barely managing the constant ongoing headache, and what to do about the ever tightening muscles in her chest, she has no idea – the coffee probably isn't helping that at all, however.

The almost perfectly balanced logic half of her brain tells her the best way to make use of her sudden free time is to rest. It's difficult to feel rested while waking up throughout the night to check on Aubrey. It's similar to the exhaustion of having a newborn baby. The heart is full of love while the rest of the body is sure this person is trying to use exhaustion as a murder method – and love always wins out. The most baffling part of her career, of adopting children, of meeting Aubrey is looking at their faces and wondering how their parents were able to look at those same faces and not feel that overwhelming love that would do anything to keep them safe. She would have taken a blow to the head, stood directly in front of a gun, been poisoned – and she would have done it so, so willingly if it meant Chloe and Aubrey never had to. It's incomprehensible that neither of the mothers who came before her would have even considered it.

xxxxx

January, 1974

She joined her class in screaming at the tops of their lungs as they ran to the playground that was covered in snow. Most of them had never seen it before. She had never seen it before. And the moment she was standing outside, ankle deep in it, she knew right then that she never wanted to see it again. Why would mother nature produce something so cold? Half of her friend group continued running through it in circles, but the other half seemed to agree. The three of them huddled close, engulfing each other in a group hug, the remaining baby teeth they had chattering while freezing air numbed the empty spaces in their mouths.

So this was snow. It was beautiful. It was also downright awful. Except for the hugging part. They giggled when their heads all accidentally bumped together then bumped them together again on purpose. For some reason, the second time was even funnier. Their three friends who had been prancing through the snow were distracted by the sound of laughter and went in for an ambush that knocked all six of them down on top of each other.

"I like it here," Julia announced, sandwiched in the middle, "It's warm." She grinned as it suddenly became a wrestling match to obtain her spot. No one won, but no one exactly lost either.

"Ladies." One of the playground monitors grabbed two of them from around the waist and nudged the rest of them apart with her feet. "What are your parents going to think when the clothes under your jackets are wet?"

"They sure seem like they had fun?" one of them guessed and the rest of them dissolved into laughter as they clambered to their feet. They all offered some sort of apology then took off for behind the slide where they could do it all again – this time without being seen.

"I can't believe we're going to have a sleepover with snow tonight! Oh. My. Gosh."

Julia turned to walk backwards. "My mom will make hot cocoa and let us stay outside in the backyard until after dark." The cocoa part sounded a lot better than the being outside even longer in this mess part did, but she still joined in making them the shrillest screaming group of girls on the playground over it. They were always the ones the playground monitors could be overheard saying 'they hated to love' because they walked a fine line between mischief and trouble without ever quite falling. They were kind. They were gentle. And they constantly found a reason to giggle and be piled on top of each other. And the best part was, they were all equals – no one could ever quite be the one called out for clowning around or creating another 'puppy pile'. Their mothers referred to it as 'mobocracy at its finest' and claimed to worry about something called 'mutiny'.

They all linked arms as they got closer to the slide then came to a simultaneous stop when they saw it was already taken by Johnathan and George. Now they were the ones everyone should worry about. They were big. They were rebellious. And they were not very nice. They had taken up residence behind the slide to corner another boy and steal his gloves. He seemed to be holding his own fairly well. He stood tall, one hand outstretched, and very calmly commanded, "Give them back." But, still, it was common knowledge that two against one was not a fair fight. It was also common knowledge that these two particular boys did not easily back down.

Julia unlinked herself from the chain. The boy with the missing gloves wasn't new, but she didn't know him either. The few times she had seen him, he was sitting with a book or building something out of rocks. She pulled off her gloves, finger by finger, then handed them to him. Nope, she definitely didn't not like this weather. This was supposed to be Florida, not Antarctica. Once he accepted them from her, she linked their arms and turned to face Johnathan – the leader.

"Jillian's got a boyfriend. Jillian's got a boyfriend."

She had already realized that these two boys must have come from parents who did not teach them the right kind of lessons, and their words bounced straight off of her. She stared – silent – as her heart devoured her words, but she was also beginning to realize that sometimes silence was louder than anything she could say. She just had to use it the right way. One of her friends linked arms on the other side of the boy.

Johnathan stopped singing while George took over with, "You've got to girlfriends. You've got two girlfriends." Apparently they didn't know his name either.

Johnathan nudged him to stop. "My dad would say that's a good thing."

"Oh."

A snowball came out of nowhere from behind her and pegged Johnathan square in the face. Julia turned around to see three girls poised and ready to fire with snow in their hands while the fourth was gathering up a second round. The friend on the other side of the boy released his arm to pack a pile of snow into a ball herself. It was too cold for that and her mother had told her violence was not the way – so she turned a blind eye and let the other five of them pummel those brats.

"Thank you," the boy said and handed her back a single glove. They both gloved one hand then reached to hold hands with the other to keep the rest of their fingers from freezing. "I'm Naveen."

"Jules," she introduced herself. It wasn't right for a person to exist without anyone knowing them. "Do you want to come over to my house tonight?"

"Alright."

"Jillian!" the playground monitor called her from several feet away, "Come here for a second!"

She hadn't pummeled anyone, so she definitely couldn't be in trouble. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here," Naveen said.

The monitor knelt down, knees in the snow, when she approached and placed a hand on either of her arms. "I know you don't see it, but you are a leader, Jillian," she said, "The right kind of leader. You're a voice for people who need one. You should be so proud of yourself for that. Now excuse me." She released her and stood. "Ladies!" she hollered and stormed after the other girls, "Stop throwing snow! Right now! Or I'm calling your moms and ruining your weekend plans!" They shrieked and dispersed in five different directions while yelling 'Marco!' at the monitor as she tried to catch them.

Julia looked down at her single gloved hand then pulled the ungloved one out of her pocket to stare at that one too. She turned and walked back to Naveen without looking up.

"You're a good friend, Jules," he said and held her hand again, "Whatever you need from now on, I'm your person – unless it's a boyfriend. My mother says I'm too young, but maybe when I'm thirty. Also, I'm in love with a girl named Nadia and we plan to elope once we're in middle school. I paid a full five dollars for the ring if you ever want to see it."

Julia laughed. He was funny. And lucky. That's what her mother said as well – but she had to wait until forty. "What about a best friend?"

"That I can do."

xxxxx

Hot water feels like a god-send. Living with five other people – two of which have been showering together but for the amount of time it takes eight people to shower – has meant a few cold showers for herself. Balancing her phone on the edge of the tub, never once letting go of it, she sinks down until she's submerged to almost her throat. The urge to call her mother never quite goes away, but it gets stronger in the silence. That is one thing she can still feel full grief over and it takes over more quickly than it usually does when she's alone. Trying not to feel it would be pointless as well as futile. She wipes her eyes with an already wet hand, defeating the purpose, then scrolls through her phone with the one that's still dry.

There are three options.

Called Noah, worry him, and have it end with him dragging Aubrey all the way back. She knows him well enough to know his itinerary always includes more than what he was asked to do, so god knows he is up to with her. But that's a good thing. Aubrey needs a distraction. And she longs for his attention – and the more time they spend together, the more time he has to prove that he isn't going to hold it over her head as some unachievable goal or, worse, give it to her and then take it away.

A group of five girls who will talk over themselves for the next three hours. It fixes the silence problem, but the effort it takes to decipher what everyone is saying just isn't there. Their group text – notifications turned off – is so much simpler to navigate. And thinking about how long it might be until she sees them in person again will just add salt to the wound.

Or option 3. She sniffles and scrolls through one of her apps until the option to group call both Naveen and Nadia appears.

They both answer almost immediately, and they understand when instead of saying anything she dissolves into a fit of long, drawn out sobs that leave her gasping after each one. Instead of asking questions, they take turns reassuring her everything is going to be okay until she has tired herself out and the water turns cold – and then for awhile longer after that.

xxxxx

June, 1976

"Why do we have to go to this stupid thing?" Rachel complained as she through her whole body onto the couch, "We didn't even have fifth grade graduation when I was in primary."

"Because," their mother replied, "Jules is getting an award and you and Allie are her sisters. You should be there to support her."

Rachel groaned and Allie stared in an unimpressed silence.

"Are you nervous?" their mother asked.

"A little." Getting up there on stage. Giving a speech to the entirety of fifth grade and their families. It was a lot. Who wouldn't be nervous?

"You should be nervous."

"Rachel, stop," their mother said.

"What? Have you seen how passive she is? People like her don't get leadership awards. She couldn't tell a group of people what to do if she tried."

"I think you're confusing a 'leader' with a 'boss'," their mother said then bent down closer to Julia's ear, "You're going to do great, Love. And everyone you love will be right there cheering you on."

Rachel whined and rolled off the couch. "Kill me."

Allie slammed a couch pillow down on top of her. "Dead?"

"No. Do it again."

"Look how beautiful you are." Their mother stopped doing her hair and handed her a mirror. "You are one of the three most beautiful girls that I know."

"Who's the third?" Rachel asked.

Allie hit her again. "Not you if that's what you were wondering."

Julia took the mirror and turned her head to each side and then forward again. Finally, the end of fifth grade, the first day she could start wearing makeup. It wasn't very noticeable – but it definitely made her feel grown up. Being the youngest, that wasn't always the easiest feeling to feel.

"You look like a baby giraffe," Rachel said.

Julia finally turned around to face her. "I love giraffes," she stated.

"You would."

"Maybe they'll give you an award," Julia added, "How does Shortest Older Sister sound?"

Their mother turned the other way, very blatantly pretending not to hear.

"Burn," Allie hissed.

Rachel glared. She grabbed the pillow from Allie and threw it in Julia's direction before storming out of the living room.

There was no shame in being tall. So maybe she was a little awkward, having shot up so fast, not being used to having some height. She was still loving every second of it. Especially since her mother had bought her her first pair of heels for the graduation ceremony. Being short, she always had to make herself seen. Being tall, she was never missed. Never looked down on. Height felt powerful.

"You'll never get a boyfriend being that tall," Allie stated as she put on her heels, "Boys hate girls who are taller than them."

That wasn't true. The wrong kind of boys hated girls who were taller than them. Being tall just meant when she started dating, she had a higher chance of whoever wanted to date her being the right kind. It was a gift really. She already knew her future husband would love her – what she worried about was her sisters and how they dated any boy who showed the vaguest of interest. Was that the kind of man they would marry as well? She'd rather be alone than be with a boy who couldn't care less about her.

"Well – maybe someone will put up with the rest of you just to have your boobs," Allie added.

Their mother pointed toward the doorway to the kitchen. "Allison, out, now." She sat down on the edge of her coffee table and pulled Julia closer. "Look at me. You are beautiful. You are smart. You are good. And it takes a special person to lead with kindness always in their heart. You are a gift to everyone around you, and you are going to do amazing things. It is an honor to be your mom. I'm so proud of you. And your sisters will start coming around – they just need time to figure themselves out. Not everyone knows or likes who they are, but they'll get there – once they're secure, they'll be kinder. Their problem is a them problem. Never take somebody else's 'them problem' to heart, because that's what will make it a 'you problem'."

Julia wrapped her arms around her neck and rested her head against her shoulder. "I love you. You're a gift too." The greatest gift she could ever ask for. Not everyone liked their parents. And not everyone had parents who liked them. It was an unimaginable tragedy not to love or be loved. "Can my friends stay the night tonight?"

"All of them?"

Julia nodded.

"You're killin' me, Kid." Her mother kissed the side of her head. "Fine. On one condition. No giggling past midnight."

xxxxx

Getting dressed into day clothes again just isn't comfortable. She takes off her makeup, combs out her hair, and puts on a pair of clean pajamas. After that, she makes a cup of tea, lures the animals onto the couch for some extra warmth, then curls up under the blanket she has been letting Aubrey borrow to watch the news. It's difficult to keep up with what is happening. The police are out of touch and sketchy, Brian has brought home no news, and even Naveen is being vague about the whole matter. Someone has even been doing an excellent job at handling the reporters – and that concerns her. Press can be a bad thing, but keeping them silenced means something even worse is being covered up. She wants to know what happened for Aubrey's sake.

It's difficult to feel like she's helping when it takes catching her off guard just to get the smallest bits and pieces out of her. She wouldn't even describe Aubrey as just traumatized from what she can see – no, the state Aubrey is in can be described as nothing less than unbridled terror. She has seen a lot of fear at work. She has pulled kids out of some unimaginable situations. They've been starved, beaten, living in squalor – but something happened in that place. Something so long and drawn out and violent that it took skill to survive. The three of them didn't get out of there by dumb luck or by hiding until someone found them. They survived by skill and then Aubrey did something necessary but horrible to get out of there – she just knows it. Something so unspeakable happened that the only way out was an act of self-defense. And even that is somehow just the tip of the iceberg.

What she does know is that she owes Aubrey everything. Chloe never would have gotten out of there at all if not for Aubrey. Aubrey took the brunt of it. Chloe had a single, unfortunate knock on the head. The bruises that Aubrey had were all at various stages of healing – and then the broken arm, the bruise across her throat, the internal bleeding. She took the brunt of it for days. The few times she had woken up at the hospital before really 'waking up', she had no idea where she even was. She just kept demanding they leave her and help Chloe first.

The door opens and Julia turns off the TV without learning anything new at all. "Hey," she greets a very red-in-the-face Beca, "Are you okay?"

"I hate Aubrey," Beca states and walks toward the hallway, "I hate her."

Nothing new there either – except maybe whatever the reason is this time. What happened to Beca is a lot more obvious than whatever Aubrey went through. It's trauma she has seen a thousand times. Whatever happened, Beca watched it from the sidelines – and, whether she believes it or not, there was nothing she could have done to stop it. And whatever she saw, it shocked her so much that even weeks later, she's still in that initial stage of it. She can't even bring herself to believe it happened.

They both need help. Serious, professional help beyond what she herself has to offer. But neither of them is going to accept it – and the system is so broken, it probably wouldn't serve them anyway. The best she can do is keep Aubrey comfortable and safe while collecting the bits and pieces of whatever she has to say and wait for Beca to come around on her own time. She had been most afraid Aubrey would be the one to shut down – to just turn herself off and go through the motions, completely severed from reality. It saddens her to think of her fear and devastation as progress and how years of trying to get through to her finally paid off.

"Why do you hate Aubrey this time?" she asks when Beca circles around the other way and heads toward the kitchen.

She stops in the middle of the room and stares at her, mouth agape. Then without a word, resumes going to pour a glass of water.

Whatever it is, if it's actually any particular reason at all, it's a reason that Beca doesn't want her to know. That means it's either serious or embarrassing, and judging by the look on Beca's face, she's going to go with 'embarrassing'.

"Do you want to do something?" Julia cranes her neck to see into the kitchen. "We could watch TV or…I don't know." The options are pretty slim picking when Beca doesn't want to be around people and she doesn't want to be out in the cold – and here they are living in New York City in the Fall.

To her surprise, Beca comes back and sits down on the opposite end of the couch.

"So, I guess we're going for the awkward silence?" Just the company is nice, regardless. Julia places the remote on the table and nudges it in Beca's direction then cozies back up with her warm mug and the pets. "Do you need anything?"

Beca shakes her head. "You?"

"No. Thank you. Do you want to play some video games?"

"You play video games?" Beca asks.

"Not really. But I'm a fast learner if you're willing to teach me."

They both stare at the black TV screen while Beca considers the offer. "Yeah, okay."

xxxxx

February, 1987

"He keeps looking at you."

"Seriously, he's staring right at you."

"No, don't look!"

One of Julia's friends grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back around. "How am I supposed to know what he looks like if I can't see him?" she asks, "Is he cute?"

"He looks like…he works for Gabicci."

"So no?" She tried to look again, but they spun her back toward the bar. "I just want to see what he looks like! He's looking at me; why can't I look at him?"

"He'll think you like him."

"How do I know I don't?" She turned her head.

"Oh god, he's coming over here." The five of her friends huddled against the bar on either side of her like a group of wild animals trying to protect their young – from a somewhat portly man in a sweater vest. The most threatening kind. They left no room at the bar for him, so he stopped in front of her and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"We need your full name: first, middle, and last!" one of her friends shouted. That was quickly followed up by all of them needing to know his age, career, future life plans, and shoe size.

"Sure!" Julia broke free of their hold.

"We'll be keeping an eye on you!" one of them shouted after her. It was a little unclear if that was a promise or a threat.

"You have quite the posse with you," he commented.

"It's my birthday," Julia explained, "They're all visiting."

"Happy Birthday! Should I let you get back to them?"

"No." God, she said that way too quickly, "No, they visit all the time. We all talk every day. It's fine, really." There was really no need to reiterate that it was okay.

"What do you drink?"

Her mind blanked on what her friends told her was safe and enjoyable. "I just turned 21," she admitted, "I'm kind of new to this. Dealer's choice?"

"Do you like raspberry?" he asked.

"I do."

He ordered them both the same fizzy raspberry something. "I'm Noah," he introduced himself when he handed her a glass.

"Jules – I mean Julia – Jilli– I'm sorry, I have a lot of names."

"You're not an undercover agent, are you?"

She grinned. "You won't tell anyone, right?"

Noah crossed his heart. "Who are we spying on?"

She looked at him.

"Me?"

No, that wasn't – her cheeks turned pink.

"The not telling is going to be difficult in that case. I'll need some amnesia once I go home." He smiled and he was cute – oh, he was cute. A table opened up a few feet away and they made their way over to sit down.

It was difficult to keep her giddiness at bay between the drinks she had already downed and not being up moving around. She gripped her glass with both hands to appear calm. What did people even talk about at bars? It was so hard to hear.

"How long have you known your friends?"

"Kindergarten," Julia answered, "We were all in the same class."

"Kindergarten?" he asked, "Kindergarten?"

She smiled and nodded.

"I don't even talk to anyone I met in high school, let alone kindergarten. That's impressive."

"What about you?" That wasn't a specific question. "What – um…" She closed her eyes. Maybe she should have asked for a drink of water. "Tell me about yourself."

"My name is Noah Angel Beale. I'm 25. I work at the local aquarium. My life plans include managing an aquarium and owning ten alligators. And my shoe size is eleven." He wasn't even looking at her as he said it – he was looking behind her.

Julia smiled and cringed at the same time. "My friends are still staring us, aren't they?"

"I'm not sure any of them have even blinked since you walked away."

"We might need to circle back to the ten alligators," Julia said, just then taking it all in, "You mean own them at the aquarium, right?"

"Yeah, that is exactly what I mean – at the aquarium. Of course."

"Are you in college? Are you studying anything right now?"

"Zoology – with duel minors in Oceanology and Herpetology. You?"

"Social Work." It sounded so boring up against that. "I want to work with children."

"So we both want to work with wild animals intent on eating us alive."

"Yeah." Julia laughed. "I guess we do. But I think yours have sharper teeth."

"But less attitude."

"Touché." She chanced a glance at her friends. They definitely were barely even blinking. "Do you want to go back to my place?" What was wrong with her? She released her drink and pushed it away with the back of her fingers. "I'm sorry, that was-"

"I do not want to go back to your place."

Of course not. They had met like five seconds ago.

"You're, uh, you're far too beautiful to only know for one night. And maybe a little too drunk."

"Yep," she agreed with the latter part. Yeah, definitely a little too drunk, and maybe needed to stop talking.

"Can I take you on a date sometime? I saw you from across the room, and all I could think was I would really like to take you on a date."

Oh. Well then… "I would love that."

xxxxx

Either Beca is very good at video games or she is very terrible. More data is required to make a reasonable scientific judgement. The one time she beats Beca, she is certain it's because Beca just feels bad for how many times she has lost.

"Are you sure you want to keep playing?" Beca asks her at some point.

"I'm having a blast." And really, she is. Laughing at driving herself off a cliff three times in a row is the most innocent amusement she's had in week. "I swear this guy doesn't turn."

"Yeah, that guy, uh, he has good acceleration but a low turn ability."

"So it isn't me."

Beca doesn't answer that.

"Okay, maybe it is a little." Julia slams the controller down on her lap as her car drives off the road again. "No! I'm going to master him. He has a secret somewhere or else why would he even be in the game. There has to be a way to win."

"…no one else on the track, maybe?" Beca suggests.

"Funny."

"We could play a different game if you want?"

"Oh no." Julia settles back into the couch. "I'm determined. I will get him across the finish line in something other than last place."

"So do you want to keep racing this track or…?"

Julia chews on her lower lip. This track does have an awful lot of cliffs. "New track."

"New track it is."

xxxxx

June, 1990

The first thing that struck her as off was how rested she felt. More rested than she had felt in months. It was the light shining through the cracks in the curtains that woke her – not the usual whimpers. He rarely cried - Darius. Instead, he made these tiny, pathetic little sounds with his lower lip jutting out and tears brimming his eyes. It was the most adorable thing she had ever witnessed in her entire life. She would take him out of his crib and kiss his nose and then each of his eyebrows on her way to feed or change him. He would look at her, that little lip still trembling until he got what he needed. She would have given him the universe, if she could have – every planet, every star, whatever he needed.

She turned to Noah and shook his arm. "Did you feed the baby?"

"What?" Noah mumbled. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "No."

"Did he sleep through the night?" she threw the blanket off and slid her feet into her slippers on her way to the door.

"Way to go, Darius," Noah cheered him on, "Give Mommy and Daddy some sleep, Little Buddy."

"Are you still asleep, Little One?" Julia turned on his bedroom light and walked over to his crib, "It's time to be awake and start your day, Sweetie. You must be hungry." She placed her hands on the edge of the crib and looked down at his face. It was still – ashen, almost. "Darius?" She rubbed his arm with the back of her finger. He didn't move. Didn't even twitch.

"Daddy is going to take you on a walk today. We can go to the pond and I'll show you your first fish. Gotta wait til you're at least one for that first gator."

Julia stared at his chest – waiting to see it rise with a breath.

"What's wrong?" Noah asked.

This…didn't make sense. "Darius?" She slid a hand beneath his head and another under his back and lifted him out of his crib. "Hey?" Bouncing him did nothing. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Her stomach dropped and she lowered herself down to the floor with it, kneeling on the plush carpet, still trying to understand.

"I'm calling 911." Noah fled the room with steps shook the whole house as he ran down the stairs.

CPR. She needed to do CPR. Her training kicked in on autopilot and she balanced him on her lap, two fingers starting compressions on his chest. Two fingers. His chest was so tiny, it only took two fingers.

"No, I can't go upstairs," Noah spoke from the kitchen, "The phone cord doesn't reach that far. I don't know – just send someone!"

Burning hot tears, hotter than anything she'd ever felt, filled her eyes, and she leaned down to give him mouth to mouth. He was cold. Stiff. He had been like this for awhile. He had been fine when she had checked in on him before going to bed. That was ten o'clock. It was nearly nine when she woke up. He might have been this way all night. She kept trying to revive him regardless – unable to stop and look at the reality in front of her.

Minutes passed by like hours until she heard sirens outside. After that, they were microseconds. She placed him on the floor at the request of the paramedic and stood to give him space.

He knelt down then looked back at his partner and shook his head.

"Do something," Julia demanded.

"He's gone. I'm sorry," the paramedic said. He looked at his partner again. "Time?"

"No." Julia knelt back down. "Do something. This is your fucking job." She looked at Noah to back her up – but he was just staring in dumb, silent shock. "No." She took over the task of CPR again.

"Ma'am."

"No." This wasn't happening. "No." It was a terrible, horrible nightmare and in a few minutes she would wake up to a whimpering hungry baby. "No. No. No." She shoved the paramedic off of her and leaned down to breathe air into him again. "Come on, Buddy. You can wake up. Come on."

"Get her back," the paramedic demanded of Noah.

Now he moved. Noah took her by the arm and she fell from her knees to her butt. He tried helping her to feet, but she turned and shoved him away. "What is wrong with you?" The second paramedic caught her on her way back to Darius – stepped in front of her, grabbed by the arm. "Get off of me. Get off of me!" She twisted herself free, stumbled back into the changing table, then sunk to the floor in the corner between the table and the wall. "Wake up," she whispered to herself, "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." They placed him on a stretcher too big for his body, and she shook her own legs to wake herself up as they covered him with one of their own blankets. "No, he won't like that one! He likes the – he likes the one with the – with the dogs on it! The-" They weren't listening. They were talking back and forth and Noah had backed himself up against the wall next to the door. She drew her legs in closer to her body and drew in rapid, shallow breaths through her mouth. This was a nightmare. That's all it was. And she was going to wake up.

There was a point they tried to speak to her, but there words bounced off some invisible barrier between them. Everything they said was garbled, and she couldn't even say anything back anyway. They wheeled him from the room and she tucked her face into her knees, knowing somehow that if she followed, it would be real. Noah disappeared down the stairs, and no more than ten minutes later, her mother was at the door. Time passed in a blur. She was going to die too. She was sure of it. No matter how much air she sucked in, it wasn't enough, and by the time her mom sat down in front of her, she was sure she was about to pass out.

"Jules…"

She hit her away when she tried to touch her hair.

"Sweetheart."

"No." Her mother's voice sounded too real. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. "No. No. No. No. No!" She kept saying it until she was screaming it. "No! No! Oh my god. Oh my god. Mom. Mom."

Her mother stood and moved the changing table, sliding it just enough that she could fit in the corner as well. "I've got you. I've got you." She sat sideways and pulled her between her legs, both arms wrapped around her.

"Oh my god. Oh my god." The same three words wouldn't stop. She covered her mouth to quiet herself, but then she was just screaming them louder into her hand – again, and again, and again, gasping long and hard in the middle of words and syllables. In the blink of an eye, the entire world was just over. That's all it took. She went to bed and woke up and – She sandwiched her arms between the two of them and gripped her shirt so tightly that her nails dug through the fabric and into her palms deep enough to draw blood. Her whole body shook like someone had put a quarter in it.

"I've got you." Her mother couldn't seem to find more words either, and she kept repeating them over top every 'oh my god'. "I've got you, Sweetie, I've got you."

xxxxx

"How are you doing it?" Beca asks.

"I think I've figured out the trick." She is only second to last, but it's better than spending five minutes completing the track while Beca and every NPC wait for her. "Sheer, dumb luck."

"I meant coping."

Ah. That. "How are you doing it?" she asks.

Beca shrugs. "I just am."

"Me too. I just am…" They'll both feel it eventually. She tries not to worry about it. Tries to think of her own coping mechanisms as well as ones to offer Beca when her time comes as well. It'll be difficult without many people here to lean on – but she got through the worst thing that could happened to a person once already. Chloe – well – she still has hope she can get better. "I have hope." Yeah. She has hope. "And I know Aubrey needs as much stability as can be provided right now." She needs to trust that somebody competent has control when she's out of it.

"Isn't that exhausting?" Beca answers.

"If you ever have kids one day, you'll understand. I consider myself lucky to be where I'm at with Aubrey right now. It's an honor to be trusted – not a burden. You want your kids to know they can rely on you when things get hard."

Beca nods and stares hard at the TV.

"If you ever want to talk, I'd think of it the same way. You're part of the family now – whether you want to be or not." If Beca really wanted to escape them, she would. "How are you? After the other night?"

"Better." Her voice is hoarse and she clears her throat. "Better. It was a stupid thing to do. Thanks for not throwing me into the crazy house."

"You're welcome."

xxxxx

June, 1990

Days went by after the funeral. She knew it was days because the room alternated between light and dark. The time in between was fuzzy. She would get up to use the bathroom. She must have been drinking water, because she was still alive. It was difficult to really know what she was doing. She'd wind up in the bathroom without even having remembered walking there and then back in bed without remembering that transition either. Her pillow was in a constant state of damp from tears and a perpetually runny nose that she'd try to control every so often with a single sniffle. Never was she out of bed long enough to let it dry. She couldn't bring herself to shower. To brush her teeth. Comb her hair. Do anything. She was his mother. She was supposed to keep him safe. And all she could think of, even in her dreams, was how severely she had failed him.

They had conducted a small investigation regarding his death. She was found innocent almost immediately – but found herself to be completely at fault. Why hadn't she woken up in the night to check on him? She should have set an alarm. They couldn't even figure out how he died. 'This kind of thing just happens sometimes' is what they told her after the autopsy. 'This kind of thing just happens sometimes' should have been reserved for freak snowstorms or growing taller than one's sisters in the span of a year – not for when someone's child died. People didn't just die for no reason.

People tried to visit – her friends, her parents, her husband whose face she couldn't even look at so he was sleeping on the couch, but every connection felt severed. They were in the same room, but on completely different planes of existence. She couldn't even try to reconnect – her head hurt so badly that all of her effort went into just laying there, just dealing with it, just surviving. She didn't even want to survive. She should have died right there on the nursery room floor. But she didn't want to be dead either. She just wanted to stop feeling the pain.

"Jules." Her mother sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. "We're going for a ride. Come on."

It took less effort to be pulled upright than it would have taken to fight. She stared at her lap as her mother located her shoes and a jacket then stood when she was forced to. The entire room spun and her vision darkened around the edges. Just drinking water wasn't enough to keep her body running. Both her mother and the bed kept her from falling over completely – but neither were able to prevent her from blacking out.

Her head was still pounding when she opened her eyes again. The room was dark and the bed she was in wasn't her own. Brief bits and pieces of waking up, being in her mother's car, sitting in an empty room for hours all came back to her, but none of them made a lot of sense. She knew one thing now and it was that she was alone and had no idea where she was. And that came with a kind of fear she had never quite experienced before.

Still weak and dizzy, it took a second to be able to stand. The floor was cold, even with socks on. The whole room was cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked toward a small sliver of light that she assumed must be the location of a door. Outside was a lobby with dimmed lights. Beyond several sporadically placed chairs was a desk that took up the entire back wall. Immediately upon exiting her room, the woman sitting behind the desk looked up at her.

"Go back to bed."

Julia kept walking forward. "I don't know where I am."

The response was an eyeroll and, "You're in the psychiatric ward. Go back to bed."

The psychiatric ward. Oh. "I'd like to call my mom."

"Telephone hours are between six and seven pm. They'll go over your privileges with you tomorrow and how to earn them."

"How is calling my mom a privilege? Can I call my husband?"

The night nurse didn't respond. She gathered up a stack of papers and carried them across to the other side of the desk where she began to file them.

"Um…can I get some Tylenol or something?"

"The med nurse isn't on duty right now. You can talk to them when they get here tomorrow morning. Can I see your bracelet?"

Julia looked down at the hospital bracelet around her wrist. She held up her arm and the nurse took a brief look at it then picked up a clipboard and began to write. It was apparent that any need she had wasn't going to be met by this woman. She would have to wait until morning and figure out what she was going on. "Do you know what room I'm in?" Behind her, the hallway was full of identical doors all cracked open with no indication of which one she came out of.

"It's on the bracelet."

"Thank you." She looked at the bracelet, wrapped her arms around herself again, then made her way back to Room 3A. Once back, she could see it contained two beds and someone was sleeping in the second. There was also a bathroom with no door and a single wood closet that was more or less just an open box with some clothes stacked on the bottom. It was a psychiatric hospital, but it gave off the energy of prison. It was nothing like the children's wards she had visited while at work every now and again – full of color, comfort, hope. This place had a very clear message – if you were here, you were viewed as though you had done something wrong.

Her bed had one pillow with no pillow case and the blanket was thin and scratchy. She managed to half hug the pillow while still being able of rest her head on it then drew up her legs for warmth. It was then she realized she was wearing a hospital gown that provided very little cover over her arms, legs, or the top of her back. For being in a place that was supposed to help people feel better, she sure felt cold and alone – and scared. She didn't even know why she was scared now that she knew where she was; the place just radiated something that people should be afraid of. The front desk lady had been shut off and bitter – and she had to earn the right to talk to her own mother and husband? Her stomach started to feel sick at the realization she was cut off from civilization as she knew it.

She would deal with it in the morning. They would understand when she told them why she was grieving.

Sleep didn't come easy. She tossed and turned and woke up cold almost every hour. She wanted to wonder why her mother would trap her in this place – but she knew. It was difficult to argue the decision. She hadn't been out of bed in, well, she didn't know how long. Days? A week? And she still wanted to be back there. In bed, time had paused. Here, it was moving forward again.

In the morning, at 7am sharp, a new nurse walked around and knocked on all of the doors. Her roommate got up with barely a glance at her, changed her clothes in the wide open bathroom, then left the room. None of her own clothes were anywhere to be seen. She made sure her hospital gown was covering her lower back and butt then walked back to the front desk. "Did I come here with clothes?" she asked a new nurse.

"When were you admitted?"

"Yesterday. Last night?" Time was a little fuzzy – but it had to be at night. She was beginning to remember sitting in that empty room, waiting to get checked in for hours upon hours.

"If you have clothes, someone will bring them to you later."

Julia folded her arms. "I deserve the dignity of being in clothes."

"Can you get her some paper scrubs?" the nurse at the desk asked another who was walking by behind her.

"Why can't I have my own clothes – or do I have to earn those too?"

"Someone will bring them to you," the nurse reiterated, "It's medication time." She pointed to a line of people next to what resembled a ticketing booth – only instead of tickets, a man was handing out pills.

"I'm not on any medication. I want my clothes. Now, please."

"Good luck," another patient said as he walked by, "It took three days to get my shit."

The nurse leaned forward and examined the bracelet around her wrist then began flipping through a stack of papers on her desk. "It says here the doctor prescribed you two medications. You'll have to get in line."

"I never saw a doctor." And if she had, she wouldn't have agreed to medication without knowing exactly what she was about to take.

"You'll see him later today."

"How did he prescribe me something if he hasn't seen me yet?"

"Ma'am." It was dehumanizing the way the nurse looked at her – like someone telling a dog to sit down. "You can take it up with him."

People were staring at her – few of them curious, others entertained. The curious ones averted their gazes when she looked back and they went to stand in line beside a door. It led to breakfast she supposed, and while she wasn't particularly hungry, she lined up as well – skipping medication and not counting on anyone to bring her that pair of scrubs.

"You must be new," a tall, too thin man with a thousand freckles commented as he lined up behind her, "I mean, I know you're new here. I've never seen you here before."

"How long have you been here?" Julia asked.

"Which time? Look, just keep your head down. The faster you do what you're told, the sooner you'll get out. If you want something, you're better off asking one of us. Just make sure you have something to trade."

"Like what?" She had literally nothing. Not that she would even think about giving it away, but they even took her wedding band.

"Whatever you can get – a fork, a pen, if you want a big favor, I'd suggest whatever medication they're giving you. People here aren't picky. You're in a building full of people who crave pain however they can get it."

It was then she noticed the scars on his arms – some running up and down the entire length of it, others smaller, straight across his wrists.

"You want clothes?" he asked, "I can get you some. Maybe not your own, but…"

"No." Julia turned to face forward, "Thank you, but I'll be okay."

"That's what they all say."

xxxxx

"Do you want to hear a joke?" Julia asks.

Beca glances in her direction.

"Boomerangs are Australia's greatest export. They're also they're greatest important."

"Dude, that was terrible."

"But you're laughing." She smiles at the TV.

"Okay, my turn. Um, what's worse than raining cats and dogs?"

"What?" Julia asks.

"Hailing taxis."

Julia snorts then covers her mouth and nose with her hand. "What do you call a magic dog?"

"What?"

"A labracadabrador."

"I actually felt pain from that one," Beca replies.

"Did you have any pets growing up?"

"No." Beca reaches over and pets Bark's head.

"Me neither. I got a dog later on though – a therapy dog. I told everyone I got him for work, but, I mostly just got him for me. He was a good dog. Chloe used to dress him up and he would just sit there and take it."

"Why did you tell everyone he was for work?"

"I didn't want people to treat me like I was incompetent."

"You're probably the most competent person I've ever met."

"You're pretty competent yourself, you know? One bad run in with grief doesn't change that. Neither does letting yourself have support."

"Have you ever wished you were dead?" Beca asks.

"No, not really. But sometimes I feel like I wish time would just…stop indefinitely. Like a sleep that you can wake up from whenever you're ready to keep going and nothing will have moved forward without you. A break, I guess. Loss is hard – especially when you wonder if you could have done anything differently that would have changed it. I did a stint in the hospital once, because I wanted it to stop so badly that I stopped."

"Why?"

"How about we trade? I'll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me and you tell me what haunts you about what happened the most."

Beca stares straight forward at the TV. "You're manipulative, you know that?"

Julia smiles a little. "I prefer to think of myself as smart. Cunning. Chaotic good, if you will. So, do we have a deal?"

"You first."

xxxxx

"So, Jillian," the psychiatrist said, "Can you tell me why you think you're here?"

"I know why I'm here."

"So you know that you have loved ones who think you need some help and this is the best place to get it, right?"

"People can be right about one thing and wrong about another." Julia crossed her legs and smoothed out the hospital gown over her knee. "I don't believe this is the best place for me."

"And, yet, your family thinks it is."

"I'm not wearing underwear right now," Julia stated, and he looked rather uncomfortable by the admittance, "Do you think my mom would want me in a place that won't even provide me with basic decency?"

"I'm sure someone will bring you your things. But that's a problem for the nurses. I'm here to talk with you about medication. I was told that you're refusing that. Can you tell me why you're so against it?"

"I'm not against it. What I'm against is you prescribing it before having even met me. I'll take it because of a discussion, not a demand."

"You saw the therapist earlier, right? And the two of you went over how things work here?"

"Yeah. She gave me a list of my basic human rights and a another list telling me how to earn them back. Why can't I call my husband?"

"Think of being here as sort a reset."

"I don't need to be reset. I need my family."

"Your family brought you here," he reminded her, "They brought you here because they think you need some help."

"I'm not denying that."

He stared at her for a long moment then leaned back with his arms on the armrests of his chair. "So what kind of help do you think you need, Jillian?"

The question took her off-guard because she didn't have a specific answer. Not yet, anyway. She was still trying to adjust to the reality of what happened, and suddenly she needed to know what exactly she needed to cope?

"Take the medication."

"I'm going to be a real pain in your ass." She folded her arms. "I want out-patient therapy, and then I will discuss medication with a doctor of my choosing. I want to go home."

"That's not going to happen, Jillian."

"Now."

"You signed a voluntary admittance contract last night. Do you what happens if I change that?"

"If I'm here voluntarily, why can't I leave? You don't get to change that."

"I do if I don't think you're ready to leave. And if I do change that, legally, you can be held here for fifteen days under a court order – and on day sixteen, if you're still refusing to take accountability for your mental health, you will have to be transferred to the state hospital. Getting out of there is a lot more difficult than taking a few pills and attending some group therapy sessions. So how about giving this place a chance? Tonight, take your medication and we'll talk about any changes we may need to make tomorrow."

Julia stared at him.

"I have another patient I have to see now," he ended the session, "Go back to your room. Give it some thought. I won't be making a recommendation for any privileges today."

She sat there for a moment longer, processing the situation, and then silently stood up and left the room. They couldn't do this. It had to be illegal. She walked back to her room as the gravity of what was happening really began to weigh on her. They couldn't send her to the state hospital. She wasn't of unsound mind. She had just suffered a major loss of her child, and these people were doing the very opposite of helping. The more she thought about asserting herself over the case of medication, the more she realized this might not be the hill she wanted to die on if she wanted to be able to go home as soon as she could and figure out how to help herself.

She would take the medication. She wouldn't like it, but it was the logical thing to do.

There were paper scrubs waiting on the bed for her when she entered her room. She changed in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom and felt as least a little better with some modesty. Next, she was going to need to acquire a hair brush and a toothbrush – and then figure out the showering situation seeing as the bathroom in her room contained only a toilet and a sink. The list of rules and privileges sat on her pillow and she picked them up to reread them.

It was required that she attend at least two groups therapy sessions per day, attend therapy individually, take her medication as instructed, go to meals, take care of personal hygiene, treat everyone with respect, blah, blah, blah, be a mindless drone and a model citizen. If she did those things, she could earn phone privileges, visiting hours, outside time – this was worse than prison, even prisoners got time outside. If she was really good, she could get dessert after meals. She crumpled up the papers and threw them back at the bed. How was she even supposed to know when therapy sessions were? There had to be a schedule somewhere.

Once again, she made her way to the front desk. "How do I know when group therapy sessions begin?"

"They'll announced them here in the lobby ten minutes prior," the nurse answered.

"So I just sit here and wait?"

"Do you have something better to do?"

"No." Julia plastered on a smile so sweet that it sickened even her. "Thank you for your help." She took up and empty chair near the far wall.

It wasn't a very long wait before someone gathered them up for some type of session where they all sat in a room and took turns talking about what brought them to where they were. She sat back against her chair, arms folded, legs crossed, and listened far more than she spoke. Every time class got 'off track' talking about a specific person, they were reeled back in and it was the next person's turn. It was easy to feel like what happened to her wouldn't have mattered anyway – not to the person in charge of the group, at least. Its participants were full of understanding and compassion for one another. But the comfort and advice of the group wasn't welcomed. She said enough to get her participation trophy and made mental notes of people she was interested in chatting with outside of the session. Friendship was, however, openly discouraged.

People needed connection. It couldn't fix everything, but it could provide what someone needed to get through. Yet half of them were forbidden from calling their own damn families on the phone. Maybe a reset benefited some people – but she wasn't one of them. She had her wakeup call. Now she was ready to go home.

xxxxx

"I lied to you," Julia admits, "I lost a son. It was…" She still doesn't have words for it. No recorded feeling in human history describes what losing your child feels like. Thinking about it years later was still able to zap the energy and joy right out of her. "I lost all my kids at one point another. Darius. Danny. Now Chloe. Even Aubrey, for awhile."

"I'm sorry. That's... Was Aubrey because of the dinosaur thing?" Beca asks, "Because, in my defense, we were all kind of drunk."

"Not because of the dinosaur thing. I have to hand it to you though – you did a master job at embarrassing her with that one."

"It was still kinda funny," Beca whispers with a cringe.

"It was very funny." It's a shame that Aubrey is so worried about failure that she can't find humor in herself. Maybe one day she'll wake up and see what a wonderful girl she is.

"How did you lose Aubrey?"

"I failed her." And it will always be one of her biggest regrets. "She needed me and I couldn't show up. I fought tooth and nail to be there for her; it just wasn't enough. Your turn."

"Nothing happened to me," Beca says while shaking her head, "Nothing. I got a few creepy phone calls and got shot at because I was helping Chloe – but nothing happened to me. I kinda wish something had. How crazy is that?"

"It's survivors guilt – it's not crazy. It's the furthest thing from crazy. Is that what bothers you most?"

"I don't know. I saw so much…shit. Maybe it's the fucking underground tunnels and Chloe's-" Beca stops herself and shakes her head.

"Chloe's what?"

"Trust me when I say you're better off not knowing anything that happened in that place," Beca answers.

"You don't want to tell me because I'm her mother and knowing whatever you were about to say will hurt," Julia says, "I'd rather know what happened to her."

Beca pulls both of her legs up onto the couch to sit crisscross and fiddles with the controller on her lap. "She, uh, she hit her head after she got separated from me and Aubrey. She knew Aubrey would go after her, so she, uh…she used her blood to leave a trail."

"Smart girl." It's an odd combination to be both deeply sickened and full of overwhelming pride at the same time.

"It was in these underground tunnels. Aubrey said they were prohibition tunnels. We went down into some of them before, the three of us. There was bad shit down there that time too. Fucking cursed is what they were."

"I'm so sorry, Beca." Julia reaches over and rests a hand on top of one of hers, a little shocked when she doesn't pull away. "I'm so, so sorry."

xxxxx

"Here you are." The nighttime medication nurse handed her two pills in a little paper cup after dinner which she promptly swallowed down with some water. It felt a lot like defeat – though she was confused as to what she was even fighting at some points. Not letting some doctor who didn't even know her pretend like he did, for one thing, but her anger was bigger than that. It was fire in her chest. Two pills made her want to burn the place down. She wanted to scream. To throw things. Anything that might put the fire out.

Instead, she sat down on a tiny leather chair next to a few other patients and watched gameshows on an ancient TV until it was time for lights out. A wave of vertigo washed over her when she stood to get ready for bed. She gripped the back of her chair and waited for it to pass, much to the dismay of a nurse who assumed she was just being defiant and told her to 'move along'.

"I'm not feeling so great." They had to do something about that, at least. She stood there, gripping the chair with her nails, waiting for them to do something.

"Go to bed," the nurse replied, "See how you feel in the morning. You can ask the doctor to adjust your medication if you need to."

"Did you take this job to help people? Because you're not helping me." The room was still spinning enough that she stumbled a little upon letting go of the chair. The nurse took her by the arm to help her to bed, but it was furthest thing from the kind of 'help' she was talking about. In the time it took to get from the chair to her room, beads of sweat had begun forming on her back and forehead. The vertigo was still present even as she sat down. It was a relief to be more exhausted than she was uncomfortable and laying down to sleep had her feeling somewhat better. She fell asleep within minutes on top the blanket, because lifting her body off of it enough to move it out from under her and cover up was more effort than she could conjure up. She was even more tired than she was cold.

Only about an hour passed before she woke up – still tired, dizzy, sweating. It was the nausea accompanying those things that woke her. She rolled over into several different positions in effort to ease it. None of them worked. If anything, moving only made it worse. Her mind and body were struggling under the weight of how drained she was and she waited it out, hoping to fall back to sleep, as long as she could before she was positive she was going to be sick. Getting up was hard. She sat on the edge of the bed for a solid minute, debating whether or not she even could. It was a sense of urgency that finally told her there wasn't an option.

She didn't even bother with the bathroom light. It wasn't a big bathroom anyway. Finding the toilet took all of a few seconds, even in the dark. Not wasting any time once she was in there, she dropped to her knees and twisted her hair back with both hands. Panic seized her, but she tried to keep it back. Side effects from new medications were normal. She just wasn't in the position to cope with them properly. At home, she'd be calling someone for help making sure she wasn't about to pass out on the bathroom floor. She didn't feel feverish, but her whole body was shivering – and once she started vomiting, it felt like she couldn't stop until her muscles couldn't find the effort to continue.

Even without a door, her roommate snored on. She got the sense that most people there had been there before on several occasions – the woman sharing a room with her was probably used to it.

The wall caught her once she was able to sit back. The tiles were freezing. She was freezing. And yet she was drenched in sweat – and being wet just made her all the colder.

This place wasn't made for people who struggled with being separated from their families. The only reason she was going to last was because she had no other choice. She rocked her head side to side against the wall to calm down then took herself back to bed once she could stand up again.

The cycle continued several hours before nausea stopped waking her up and she fell into a sleep so deep that the nurse had to circle around and knock twice in order to rise her for breakfast.

She had to be smarter about this, she realized while she was standing in the morning medication line – her head pounding and begging for uninterrupted sleep. No one around her looked quite as miserable as she was. Either they were fine with the place or they knew something she didn't – and whatever they knew, she wanted to find out.

The nurse handed her two pills that she subtly tucked between her teeth and lip before swallowing just the water. She discarded the medication down the toilet then rinsed the awful, bitter taste from her mouth with sink water.

"People would have paid you good for those," her roommate said when she caught her. She didn't seem all that interested in ratting her out. She just waited for her to leave the bathroom so she could change her clothes.

Maybe so. But she knew for certain that no matter how desperate she became, it would never be such a selfish desperation that she'd be willing to commit an action that may potentially be harmful to someone else. She did, however, have an idea.

xxxxx

Beca does end up pulling her hand away after about thirty seconds. "How long do you think it will be until Aubrey gets back?"

"Awhile, I'm guessing. My husband is the kind of guy you send to the store for milk and he comes back three hours later with five shopping bags and some takeout."

"But does he bring the milk?"

Julia grins. "He does. Most of the time – and it's pretty easy to forgive him when he doesn't. Wherever he actually took Aubrey, I'm assuming it's somewhere she's going to like."

"So you don't know where they are?"

"No. But I wouldn't worry. He'll keep Aubrey safe – from people anyway. Wild animals is another story. He's going to get himself eaten one day; that is something to worry about."

"The boat is still in the yard," Beca says.

"That doesn't mean anything. He's involved with a few sanctuaries across the states. If I had to make a wild guess, I'd say Noah and Aubrey skipped off to Brooklyn to play with the sharks."

"What's it like being psychic?"

Julia looks at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm not psychic. People are just…predictable."

"You call it predictability. I call it reading minds and seeing the future."

"Call it what you want, it certainly makes life easier if not boring sometimes."

"Am I predictable?" Beca asks.

"Everybody is predictable in their own way."

"Everybody?"

"Mhm."

"What am I thinking right now?"

Julia pauses and pretends to study her – narrowing her eyes, tilting her head to one side. "You're thinking that you could really go for some snacks right now," she says, "Maybe even some coffee."

"I guess everyone has their off days."

"Are you hungry?"

"In a house that constantly smells like donuts? Literally always."

"It does smell extra donut-y today, doesn't it?" Julia pushes the blanket back and stands up.

"Conrad says he has some sort of event tonight somewhere in the city," Beca explains and gets up as well, "He also says he's planning on reopening downstairs."

"Don't tell Aubrey that," Julia says immediately. That girl has enough reasons to panic running through her veins. The news of a constant stream of strangers isn't something she's going to accept easily. It's understandable though. This may be a home, but it's also a place of business. And rent needs to be paid. "Let me tell her. Did he say when he wants to reopen?"

Beca shrugs. "Soon? He doesn't exactly seem to be the kind of guy who has a lot of patience."

"Are you psychic?" Julia inquires on her way to the kitchen, "What do you want to eat? Do you want some coffee?"

"If I was, you know what my first prediction would be?"

"What?" Julia pulls open a few cupboards and looks inside.

"You getting caffeine poisoning."

"I'm not going to get caffeine poisoning from drinking a few cups of coffee per day," Julia says with a good natured roll of the eyes, "Seriously, what do you want to eat?"

"You're not going to get any sleep either."

"What are you – my mom?" She grabs a pack of Oreos and turns around. "Hm? There's pretzels in there too if you want something more salty. Or, we could just eat both."

"Both is good."

"Great." Julia tosses them both on the table then grabs a can of coffee, "Have you ever dipped Oreos in coffee? It's akin to dipping them in crack."

"You're a weird mom," Beca tells her, "Good, but weird."

"What was your mom like?"

"Nice try. You're starting to become rather predictable yourself."

"I never claimed to be different than anybody else," Julia glances over from brewing the coffee. "I know I'm predictable. Makes it all the more shocking when I'm not." She winks at her. "I'm glad you're here, Beca. I like you." She turns around fully when Beca doesn't respond. "I do. And, trust me, you'd know if didn't. I'd still be nice to you, but, you'd know."

xxxxx

"How are you doing, Jillian?" the psychiatrist asked.

"Good. Better. I think I was just going through a lot yesterday."

"Any side effects to the medication?"

"No." Not aside from dizziness, sweating, nausea, vomiting, and exhaustion. None of those things were as bad as they had been throughout the night, but they were still there just enough to remind her how much she despised this man's presence in his profession. "I don't feel any better though. Is that normal?"

"It can take up to a month to feel the full effects," he said, "It's completely normal not to feel anything right away. The most important thing is that you're having no physical side effects. If you do start to feel any, however, they'll most likely subside in a few days."

"Well, right now, I feel great - physically."

"Great. Yesterday, you were confirming my views on lobotomies." He laughed.

Julia laughed along with him even though his words made her stomach lurch. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Are there any other questions I need to answer or am I free to go? I don't want to miss any of today's sessions. It turns out they were really helpful yesterday. They really put some things into perspective."

"I think we are alright then. It seems like we're on the right track. I'll check up with you again, tomorrow."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." Julia placed her hands flat on his desk to help stand – and, when she turned, knocked a pile of paperwork onto the ground. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry." She waited for him to kneel down to pick them up then she snatched his wallet off the corner of his desk. "Do you need help or are those private…?"

"I got it," he said, mildly irritated, "Just go."

"I'm sorry," Julia told him again as she fled out the door, "Sorry that you're such a dick." She tucked his wallet underneath her arm and looked around for the guy with freckles. She found him sitting along a wall, reading a book. "Hey, you got a minute?"

"For what?"

"I need a favor, and I've got something to trade."

He glanced up at her from over his book then at the wallet once she moved her arm.

"It belongs to the psychiatrist. Probably not much of use in there, but it could be fun to fuck with him, right?"

Freckles stared at the wallet. "How did you get that?"

"Knocked some papers off his desk. I want two things for it."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to make a phone call for me. And I want a hairbrush."

"A hairbrush?" he asked.

"Yeah, a hairbrush. Can you do that?"

"Give me thirty minutes."

Julia grabbed his arm before he could stand. "Wait. Take something from the wallet, then trade the rest for the brush. Let's see how far we can spread this thing around, huh?" She dug through its contents and helped herself to a punch card for a local coffee shop. One punch away from a free coffee. Nice. "Bring me the brush and I expect you to make the call tonight."

"I like you." Freckles took the wallet from her. "Give me fifteen minutes instead. I'll meet you outside your room."

For the first time since it happened, Julia smiled for real. She watched him go, resisted the urge to punch the air, then walked as casually as she could toward her room.

"Why are you so happy?" her roommate asked.

"I'm going home. Tonight. Also, I'm finally getting a fucking hairbrush. And I'm one drink away from a free coffee at Coffee Beanery."

"Nice."

"Isn't it?"

xxxxx

"So, what do you want to talk about? Or is now the time for awkward silence?"

"We can talk about why you're building a house of pretzels on the coffee table," Beca suggests.

"All the topics in the world we could talk about," Julia says, "And you want to discuss how I deal with boredom in my leisure time? Or are you impressed by my architectural skills? Smart using cookies as the foundation, yeah? Maybe you and Aubrey can use this in the plans for the new house. I always wanted to live in a house made of junk food."

Beca stares at her.

"What?"

"I see why you work with kids."

"Because I secretly am one? Go find me something sticky. This is going to blow right over the second one of us breathes wrong." She shifts into a move comfortable position, sitting up on her knees between the couch and the coffee table.

"Sticky?" Beca asks.

"Yeah," Julia confirms, "Sticky."

"Oookay."

The way Beca looks at her makes it seem like she has never encountered anyone like her before – which is ridiculous, because she knows for a fact Beca has spent plenty of time with Chloe. And she also knows that Chloe is far more talented at building pretzel houses than she herself is. The years they spent playing in the middle of their own living room feel so far away now – and that's so much sadder than feeling like it was just yesterday.

"I didn't know which." Beca holds up a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a bag of marshmallows in the other.

"Both are perfect. Come help me."

xxxxx

It took over an hour to brush out her hair after days upon days of neglect, and the lack of a bathroom mirror didn't make the job any easier. Once she was finished, she didn't bother to trade. She didn't need to. She handed the brush to a sad looking man with lengthier hair, not uttering a single word as she did so. Then she sat down on a chair and waited.

It took half the day for the psychiatrist to realize what he was missing. Once he did, she was the first person he approached. "Where is my wallet?"

"I don't know."

"Where did you get that?" he asked about the punch card she was fiddling with.

"I found it – in your office. It was in your wallet. But I don't know where that is now. I traded it. I really needed a hairbrush."

"Hey, man." Freckles brushed by him, holding up his debit card, "How much money you got on this thing?"

"I think there's a session for anger management going on right now," Julia suggested when his face began to turn red, "I think it's just in that room right over there. Good professionalism, by the way, I'd be calling me a bitch right about now."

The psychiatrist sat down on the chair directly across from her, breathing hard through his nose. "Do you what's going to happen when I refer you to the state hospital?"

Julia leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "Tell me."

"You can get the best lawyer out there and you'll still never get out. You know why? Because no one believes a documented sociopath. Now get me my wallet or you'll be there tomorrow."

"No." Julia leaned back. "I'm leaving tonight – and there is nothing you can do about it."

"We'll see about that." He stood up and approached the nurses at the desk and they all stared at her as they whispered.

She stared right back until they dispersed. Her smile faltered. Her plan was fool-proof, but that didn't stop the all encompassing fear. If they were doing this to her, then who else? Who else hit a bad spot and this was how they were treated? How many people got worse instead of better – and that's why they ended up back here? She looked at the clock. She only had to sit with this for three more hours. Three more hours and then she would be out. But how many people would still be stuck? Half these people were probably trying to protect themselves – just like she was, and for them it backfired because they didn't have the connections she did.

She sure was uniquely prone to crying for someone with sociopathic tendencies, and she took herself to her room before it became obvious to the psychiatrist that she was just an everyday terrified person – wouldn't want to put his professional opinion into question.

xxxxx

"What are you doing?" Beca asks.

"I'm building a clock tower," Julia answers, "What are you doing?"

Beca looks down at her own building – a wobbly pretzel cube, stuck together at the corners by marshmallows. "It's a shed."

"A shed. It's lovely."

"You hate it."

"No!" Julia wraps her in a hug. "It's perfect! Everywhere needs a…a shed. Do you plan to store anything in it?"

"I plan to eat it."

"That's a perfect thing to do with a shed."

"You want a piece?" Beca offers her a pretzel.

"Best shed I ever tasted," Julia says mid-bite.

"You're a shit liar."

"You think I've taken a bite out of a shed before?"

Beca laughs.

"I try not to eat buildings. At least not ones probably covered in lead paint. Gingerbread houses are a different story. I blame that on Santa though. He has a very strong hunger for graham cracker walls every Christmas Eve."

"Does Chloe believe that?"

"Nope. Doesn't stop me from trying to convince her of the truth though. It is well know across the world, the whole world, that Santa has a ravenous appetite for sweets – and, yet, somehow I'm to blame?"

"You've eaten like ten Oreos in the past five minutes."

"Shut up. Leave me alone. Chloe's obviously already gotten to you. It was only like eight of them." She runs her tongue across her top teeth to make sure all evidence has been devoured and continues to build. "I think Santa just knows to frame me. The Easter Bunny too. And also the ghouls that come out on Halloween... Holiday mascots really have it out for me." She licks some of the Oreo frosting from the side of her finger. "I don't know what I ever did to them. Why don't you go get your radio and turn on some music for us? Show me what you like to listen to."

"Uh, yeah, okay."

Julia watches her back until she has disappeared into the bedroom then dismantles the remainder of her 'shed' and eats only the marshmallows.

"Dude, what happened to my building?" Beca asks as soon as she gets back.

"What?" Julia asks, betrayed by her voice going up in pitch.

"That's low." Beca sits back down beside her and steals an Oreo from in front of her. "I'll be taking this as payment for my construction services."

"What do the kids say these days before turning on music? Is it still 'let's get this party started' or is there a new, cooler phrase now?"

"That was never a 'cool' phrase." Beca turns on the radio and spins the dial through all the channels and then back again. "I can't believe you had to grow up with this being your only option."

"What are you talking about? I had records and 8-tracks. The face you're giving me is just cruel. You're looking at me like I grew up without color TV or something."

"In the music world, you basically did."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll have you know I had all the most cool up-to-date technology of the time. Eventually you're going to feel outdated too – and it'll feel absolutely amazing to see how far the world has come in such a short period of time. I feel like I'm in a constant state of awe when it comes to technology today. But the nostalgia of an FM Radio is still nice."

Beca is grinning so wide, her cheeks are turning red. "How about some R&B?"

"You turn on whatever you want. I will be happy to listen."

xxxxx

Her nerves were getting the best of her. She sat on a chair in the lobby again, watching the clock, scratching at the hives forming on her arms. Never in her life had she ever felt this level of impatience in the past. Impatient to the point she was scratching her arms until they bled. But it was only just a matter of time. Soon, she would be going home. Everything was going to be okay.

The main door opened and Naveen walked in in full police uniform. He walked to the front desk, escorted by hospital security, without glancing her way. It wasn't until a nurse pointed her out that he looked at her. He was void of emotion as he thanked the nurse then walked her way. Good acting. "Stand up," he demanded.

Julia stood.

"Jillian Beale, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law." Naveen cuffed her. "You have a right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you prior to any questioning. Let's go."

Julia allowed herself to be guided out of the building, silent until they reached his police vehicle. "Care to tell me what I'm being arrested for?"

"Grand theft auto," Naveen joked and uncuffed her, "Don't worry. I have a hunch the charges have already been dropped." He opened the front passenger side door for her. "Are you alright?"

"No." Julia got in and moved so he could close the door. "Do you think this was too manipulative?" she asked when he got in the car.

"Smart and Cunning? Yes. Manipulative? No." Naveen shut his door. "Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?"

Julia looks at him. "You've known me from years. Do you think I play Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Well, there is something known as an Alignment Chart. You, my friend, would be known as Chaotic Good. You have a good heart and a very unique way of getting things done. Fuck the law if it doesn't work for the people, if you will. Fortunately for you, the law is usually on your side."

"I can't believe they let you into the police force," Julia commented.

"Are we ever going to tell anyone we knew each other prior to our jobs?"

"God, no, never. They'd prevent us from even being in the same state as each other." Julia buckled up. "Please take me home."

"I texted Noah. I figured this was probably not a homecoming that would work well as a surprise." Naveen started the car then reached over and took her hand. "Do you want to tell me what happened in there?"

"It was awful." It was too soon to process it now. "I just want to go home."

"Alright." He released her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you there."

"Thank you." Julia rested her head down against his shoulder. "What do I owe you?"

"I'll hit you up if ever I need a new pair of gloves."

xxxxx

"You actually know these songs?" Beca asks when she sings along.

"Why do you all act like I'm a thousand years old?" Julia asks, "I don't even have grey hair yet – although Chloe and Aubrey definitely want me to."

"It's the mom-vibe."

"What does that even mean? Mom-vibe?" Her track record with kids is starting to show that she's a god-awful mother. "Just because I love my family, I have a mom-vibe and that makes me seem old?"

"If you had been in that place, Chloe and Aubrey never would have gotten hurt," Beca says.

"What makes you say that?"

"Do you listen to rap?" Beca asks.

"Kind of you to assume might old ears might be able to decipher what those young whippersnappers are saying." As much as she wants to pick Beca's brain about what she just said, maybe now isn't the time. "I love music. I will be happy to listen to anything you want to listen to. I used to sing some A Capella back in my day. Where do you think Chloe got her love of music from?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I didn't compete, but, I sure had fun."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah. I do. Horrible things aside, do you?"

"Yeah, but don't tell Aubrey. I don't want her to think we have anything in common."

Julia ruffles her head and teasingly pushes her off to the side. "I think you and Aubrey are exactly the same and that's why you go at each other so much. She's a good girl, Beca. She is. She's just had a lot of people always trying to convince her that she isn't – and they're so wrong, but she believes them anyway."

"Am I being indirectly blamed here?"

"No." That isn't what she meant at all. "It goes far deeper than the two of you always going to head to head. If her parents ever show their faces around here, I will personally bash them in."

"That is why I don't think they would have gotten hurt if you were there. You do realize you're terrifying, right?"

Terrifying? That's a new one. Julia laughs in surprise. "Beca, I am the least terrifying person. I love my kids. I'm protective. Also, his face deserves a little bashing."

"You don't think he'd bash yours back in return? He seems like a man who likes bashing in faces."

"Let him try. He fought terrorists and an innocent little girl, never a mom protecting her child." Okay, maybe she is a little terrifying. Had she been on that island, she would have killed that bastard the first chance she got – or died getting her kids out of there. That's what she wants to think anyway. In reality – who is to say it would have gone any differently for her than it had for Aubrey? Aubrey who had tracking skills, hunting skills, intelligence, hardiness, and just as much love for Chloe on her side? "Beca, if anyone could have gotten Chloe out of that place unharmed, it would have been Aubrey. Aubrey is far more terrifying than me. He had to hurt her like he did for a reason – imagine if she hadn't been in too much pain to keep her head on straight. He would have been dealing with a one-man marine corps. He hit her in all the right places because he knew how dangerous it would have been not to. She would have skinned him alive."

"Yeah, well, I wish she had," Beca mutters.

"Me too." For the most part. Really, she just wishes nothing bad ever touched her. She leans back against the front of the couch and sighs. "One day, I'm going to bash her dad's face in," she decides, "And it's going to feel really good."

xxxxx

May 1994

Her desk phone rang as she was studying some notes she had taken on a current case of suspected child neglect. Little girl. Showing up to school sick and unbathed more often than not. Turned out her mother just couldn't afford to turn her heat and water back on after a few months of unemployment. A little secret financial help and she should be good to go – there was the matter of coming up with a reason it was no longer considered an urgent matter without ratting herself out over two hundred dollars. "Beale," she answered without looking up from her paper work. A shrill scream in her ear led to her holding the phone back a few inches.

"Got a situation," her boss said, "Need your expertise. Now."

"Where are you?"

"My office. If you forget where that is, you can follow the sound of screaming." He hung up the phone.

"Okay." She stuffed her papers into a manila folder then pushed in her chair. The same angry shrieking from the phone filled her office once she opened the door. She followed it down the hall to her boss's office and was almost hit in the face with a paperweight when she walked inside. "Whoa there." She held up a hand to protect her face from other flying objects and looked at the boy in front of her. He was five, maybe six, years old with a hundred lifetimes worth of rage. "Hey, hi." She knelt down. "What's your name?" She looked at her boss when she received no answer, only to get a shrug as a response. "We – we don't know his name? How did he get here?"

"He showed up at school this morning after weeks of not attending and said his sister had been hit in the head and was bleeding."

"And do we have his sister?"

"She was transported to Cape Canaveral Hospital. It was just a surface wound. A lot of blood, but nothing major."

The boy drew in a deep breath and approached her, stopping inches from her face. "I. Want. My. Sister!"

"Okay, Buddy. I hear you. I understand. You want your sister." She turned her boss again. "So, what's the problem? If it's just a surface wound, is someone bringing her back here?"

"We were able to locate an emergency placement for her for the night."

But not for him… Julia nodded and sat back on her heels, smiling at the boy to calm him down.

"He'll be sleeping here for tonight," her boss elaborated.

"Yeah, I understood that."

"I'm not fucking sleeping here!" The boy stormed away, grabbed the coat rack in the corner, and tipped it over. "Take me to my sister!" He let out another piercing scream at the top of his lungs that had her rubbing her ears afterwards. "Now!"

"Have they left the hospital yet?" Julia asked.

Her boss gave her a look. "No."

"Call your emergency placement, tell them they're no longer needed. Let me go pick her up."

"I'm not going to have two kids sleeping in my office when it's not necessary, Jules."

"Because two is worse than one who won't stop screaming?" He was yelling so loudly, she doubted he even heard her words. "This kid needs to see his sister. He needs to know she's okay. You said he said he showed up at school after weeks of not being there to help her. Come on, Jeremy."

"I'm not keeping two kids in my office. It's not happening."

"Okay. Okay." He needed her 'expertise' – time to get crafty. "What if I go get your sister and you stay a night with me until we can sort out whatever is going on. How does that sound?"

"Jillian," Jeremy barked at her, "A word outside my office, now."

"You really want to leave him alone in here? What's the problem? I have a guest room, some air mattresses. This office is no place for him. He is beyond distraught right now. It's one night."

"We have rules here, Jillian."

"Oh, fuck the rules, Jeremy. You think your wife is going to give a damn about those rules when you tell her you're spending another night here?"

He stared at her – hard.

She stared back.

"Fine," he hissed, "But, I swear to god, if we start getting questioned, I'm throwing you under the bus."

"No, you won't," Julia said, knowingly, "I'm saving your ass at home right now – without me, your wife would be serving you up the divorce papers tonight." She inched forward on her knees toward the boy. "Hey, Buddy, I'm going to take you to your sister, okay? You just have to come with me. The mean man here can't stop us."

Jeremy rolled his eyes.

The boy looked up at him. "Bitch baby," he said then stormed toward the door.

Julia placed a hand over her mouth, holding back a laugh so as not to condone his language. Wow. Yeah, this was gonna be a hard one to place. She got to her feet and patted Jeremy on the shoulder. "Goodnight. You're welcome."

"I hope he gives you one hell of a time," Jeremy responded, "Janet has more information at the hospital. She'll fill you in. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, Julia. Good work today."

Julia led the boy out the door and offered out her hand only for it to be smacked away. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked, "My name is Julia. I'd really love to know yours." She didn't actually expect an answer, nor did she receive one. "Can you tell me your sister's name?" Nothing. At least the ear-shattering shrieking had stopped as well. "It's really brave of you to be looking out for your sister like this. She's lucky to have you. How old is she?"

"Three or four," he answered.

Three or four. So she was bringing home a little little one. "What a great big brother you are." Julia opened up the front passenger door to let him in. "You wanna sit up here with me until we pick her up?"

"No."

"Okay." She closed the door and opened the back instead. "How did she get hit in the head?" she asked once she was in the car and buckled up. Silence. "Can you tell me what she was hit with?" Still, nothing. "That's okay. Sometimes it's hard to talk when things are scary. But you're both going to be okay now. I won't let anything bad happen to either of you. You're safe now."

The ride to the hospital was a quiet one. Julia turned on some music to ease some of the tension, but couldn't actually pay attention to it. The child in her backseat didn't seem to be listening either. He spent the entire ride chewing on his nails and kicking at the back of the front passenger seat. Once there, he tried to bust out of the car, but was thwarted by the child safety locks. "Sorry, Buddy, I have to let you out. Those are just to keep kids safe when I'm driving."

They walked side by side into the emergency room entrance and then to one of the rooms where Janet, another social worker, was standing outside on the phone.

The boy pushed past both of them to get inside.

"Jeremy?" Julia guessed when Janet hung up.

"You're insane," Janet said.

"Yeah, I know. Tell me what I don't. Who is this kid? What happened?"

"Daniel Delgado. He showed up to school this morning after they hadn't seen him for weeks, claiming his sister had been hit in the head by mom's boyfriend. Boyfriend was caught trying to flee the home, they're still looking for mom."

"No one at the school called it in when he stopped showing up?"

"He had been suspended for stealing a few weeks earlier, and I guess when he didn't come back, no one put in much effort to see why."

"What was he stealing?"

"Food. From what the teacher said, he had a history of hitting other kids and taking the food out of their lunchboxes."

"I can see why. From the looks of him, no one is feeding him at home. And the sister?"

"Don't know. We didn't find anything telling us anything about her at the house and I'm not sure she knows how to speak. She's doing okay though – the head wound was superficial. They prescribed her some meds for a UTI. You're going to need pull-ups; she's definitely not potty trained. Someone was diapering her with bath towels – and not very well."

"Poor baby. Is she malnourished? Dehydrated?"

"No. It looks like the food he was stealing, he was probably feeding to her."

"Signs of sexual assault?"

"Not that the doctors could see."

"Good. I'm guessing her brother fought being examined?"

"Bit the doctor. And the nurse. And the second nurse. Good luck with him. I could barely get him in the car – Jeremy had to come pick him up from here because he was destroying everything he could get his hands on. I hope you prepared your husband for him."

Husband. She had one of those, didn't she? "Um, I actually need to call him and tell him we're on the way. Can you stay for a few more minutes so I can do that?"

"Yeah. I'll start the paperwork for you taking them home."

"Thank you. I'll be right back." Julia fished around in her pocket for some quarters and located one of the hospital's payphone. "Hey," she said before he could even say hello first.

"Hey. What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, um…"

"Jules, what's wrong? Are you at work? Do I need to come get you?"

"No. I mean – yes, I'm at work, but you don't need to come get me. I'm on my way home. I'm bringing home two kids."

"Kids?"

"Yeah, like, the things I work with – the miniature version of adults. Those things. I'm bringing two of them home. Is that okay?" Honestly, she wasn't really sure what she was going to do if he said no. There wasn't an obvious Plan B to her decision.

"Why?"

"A pair of siblings just came into the system – they found an emergency placement for one, but not the other and…I think they need to be together. The little boy needs his sister."

Noah released a lengthy breath. "What do they need? I'll go to the store."

"I lied, I said we had two air mattresses for the guest room. The little girl needs pull-ups, size 3/4. Pajamas for tonight, clean clothes for tomorrow at least, 5/6 for the boy. I can pick up something for dinner on the way home. I'm sorry, I just-"

"I got dinner," Noah said, "Take care of them. Bring them home. But I need you to be honest with me here."

Julia steeled herself, waiting for a question about whether or not this had to do with losing their son. It didn't. Not at all. But she could feel it coming.

"Are we keeping these kids, Julia?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Is this an emergency placement for the night or are we keeping these kids?"

"I don't know if they're even available to keep. They're still looking for their mom and…no word on a dad, just word on mom's boyfriend being a douche."

"Alright. I love you. I trust your judgement. Bring them home. Also, your puppy peed on my shirt again."

"Sorry. You know, it's strange, he never pees on my shirts – but then again, I don't leave my shirts on the floor. You think that could have something to do with it? He also never chews my socks – weird how keeping them in their drawer deters that. I love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you in awhile."

Julia hung up. If not her, who would keep a boy that screamed non-stop like a banshee? It evened out if his sister didn't make a peep. She turned and walked back into the hospital room to see just what kind of little girl she was bringing home as well. The cutest one on earth apparently. Despite needing a good bath, she was the most adorable thing Julia had ever laid eyes on – even more so than the puppy at home. She had bright blue eyes, the most gorgeous red hair… And the second both children looked up at her, she realized, yeah, they were keeping these kids. Something about them both told her that these were her kids.

"I've got it," she told Janet and signed a few papers on a clipboard, "Go home. Say hello to your dad for me."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." Julia pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. "Hi. What's your name, Baby Girl?"

"Don't worry about it." Daniel put himself in front of his sister.

"I want to help you guys. To do that, I have to know your names."

"No. You don't. And she doesn't talk."

"But you do. Why don't you tell me her name?"

"I said no."

"Okay. Okay." Julia smiled at him. "Are you guys hungry? My husband went to go get you some clean clothes and some dinner."

The girl opened her mouth, then promptly froze she her brother turned to look at her. She wrapped her arms around the stuffed bear she was holding and shut down to the question.

"Well, I know I'm starving." Julia stood back up. "Let's get signed out of here and go home. You guys are both going to stay with me for awhile. And you know what? You can help me out. I have a new puppy at home and he really needs some playmates. You think you can help me with that?"

"No," Daniel said, but his sister had visibly perked up at the mention of a puppy.

"If you change your mind, he is always ready to play – and he doesn't have a name yet. Maybe you can help name him." Julia reached out her hands to help the girl off the bed, but her brother blocked her again.

"I'll get her down." He hopped off the bed then turned and helped her down with him.

"Daniel," Julia said, "You're a really great big brother. Can you hold her hand in the parking lot and keep her safe from cars?"

"Let's go, Chloe." Daniel took her by the hand and led her out the door.

Chloe. Julia smiled to herself. She had a son named Daniel and a daughter named Chloe. Jeremy was going to kill her. She was looking at months of tedious paperwork being dropped on her desk. Maybe even years. "Wait up, Guys. I still need to sign her out."

xxxxx

"Now what do you want to do?" Every pretzel, marshmallow, and Oreo had either been eaten or was part of an elaborate architectural exhibit.

"What else is there to do?" Beca asks.

"Hm." Noah took the truck, so taking a ride wasn't an option even though they had exhausted all their was to do inside. Half of her was tempted to brave the cold and walk to Aubrey's apartment just so she knew someone was getting a start on packing up her things. "I don't know." Back home, she knew of a thousand things to do, even if she didn't feel like leaving her house. It'll take awhile to get to that point here. Her entire life has been lived in Florida – outside of her first time at summer camp, this is the first she's ever felt homesick. It's still a little difficult to wrap her mind around that she isn't going home.

"What are your hours at your new job going to be like?"

"Part time for now. I need to know Aubrey is going to be okay before I take on more. I think she's going to freak out if any of us are gone for any amount of time. I wish there was a way to just…prove to you guys that we're all safe."

"Nobody in this house is safe, together or apart," Beca tells her, "We should all be sleeping with guns at night. Aubrey isn't wrong in thinking that something bad is going to happen to everyone around her."

"I know. It already has."

"The only thing safer about being apart than together is that if someone does come back to kill us all, they're liable to make it so she has to watch."

Julia visibly cringes.

"I think Aubrey would just rather know it's happening even if she has to see it than be in limbo than she is with Sophia and Chloe. I don't know why. At least limbo has hope."

Aubrey needs certainty. It's not a wrong thing to want or need. "What do you think, Beca? Do you think I should not take the job?"

"I think you should take the job. It's shit being stuck here all day."

"Yeah, yeah, it is. You and Aubrey need to find a way to keep busy too without overdoing it. Can you do me a favor? Can you convince Aubrey to come with me to help clean up Chloe's classroom?"

"You want me to convince Aubrey to do something?" Beca confirms.

"I think you have more sway right now than you know. Can you try for me? Please?"

"I'll give a shot," Beca says, "But no promises."

xxxxx

"You're sure these are siblings?" Noah asked.

"Half-siblings, if I had to guess. Same mom, different dads." Daniel had beautifully tanned skin, deep brown eyes, and the personality of a firecracker with a very short fuse – everything made him angry. Chloe looked like she had marched in straight out of Ireland and hadn't stop smothering the puppy in the gentlest kisses since she stepped foot inside. Her main concern had been that Daniel would show violence toward the dog, but he seemed more intent on proving to the two adults in the room that he was an angry, independent person who was more than capable of taking care of himself and his sister alone. He didn't trust them and he was scared. That was more promising than if he were just cruel.

They had set them up a space in the guest room for the night. Noah made dinner that they had both scarfed up in a matter of minutes. And after that, they just…were. Daniel sulked in the living room. Chloe put on Noah's boots and seemed to be pretending the dog was a horse – a horse in desperate need of cuddles. Maybe Chloe herself was in desperate need of cuddles, but Daniel wouldn't let either of them near her. He didn't even want them to look at her for too long – which made it difficult when all Julia wanted to do was scoop her up and smother her in gentle kisses. However, patience was key to reach her brother.

That didn't mean she could neglect them, however.

"Guys," she said, making a calculated decision to remain seated on the floor with them as she spoke, "You're going to need to take baths tonight."

Chloe nodded. Even if she didn't speak, she definitely understood what those around her were saying.

"No." Daniel disagreed. "You're not giving her a bath. I'll do it."

"I can't let you do that. Chloe is too little to be in the bath alone, and I need to make sure that she's clean. I can let you take a bath together, however. You can be right there with her. I'm not going to hurt her – or you. My whole job is to keep you both safe. But she needs a bath. Parts of her are probably feeling very uncomfortable because try haven't been cleaned in awhile."

"I always clean her."

"And you do a wonderful job. She needs a grownup's help now though. Look, her head is itchy."

Chloe had been combed for lice and didn't have any, but that didn't stop her from incessantly scratching her head. And other parts of her were definitely not feeling the best if the way she kept tugging at the crotch of her pull-up meant anything. She needed a good oatmeal bath to relieve the itching.

"I promise, you can be right there," Julia assured him, "You can watch or you can get in the bath with her. Your choice." Giving him time to continue with an argument would be a mistake, so she stood up. "Come on, Chloe, bath time."

"Chloe. No." Daniel pointed a finger at her.

"Chloe. I have bath crayons. They're really fun. I'll even draw with you." Julia held out her hand.

"They are fun," Noah backed her up. "Now that I know they exist, I plan to use them all the time."

Julia shook her head. God only knew what pictures and words she was going to be scrubbing off the walls of her own shower. "I've got bubble bath too. You ever had a bubble bath?"

Chloe shook her head. She released the dog and took off the boots then got up and took Julia's hand.

"Follow or stay, Daniel. Your choice." She gave Chloe's hand a tiny squeeze and led her up the stairs. It came as no surprise that Daniel followed behind them, stomping his foot down on every step on his way up. "We got you new pajamas." She pulled them out of a bag that lay on a stand in the hallway. Noah had picked out a kitten theme for Chloe and, surprise, surprise, alligators for Daniel. "Wow. These are so nice. Do you like them?"

Chloe hugged her arm and rubbed her face against it.

That would be a yes. Julia placed them on the counter then ran a bath with a good amount of oatmeal and bubbles. It was a little difficult with the use one only one arm, Chloe clinging to the other, but the struggle was worth it. She was about to strip off Chloe's shirt when Daniel went on the defensive again.

"Keep her in her clothes."

"I can't bathe her in her clothes. Baths don't work that way." Julia went through with stripping her naked, ignoring Daniel grabbing her arms in an attempt to stop her. She lifted Chloe up and out her down in the water. "Is it nice and warm?"

Chloe looked stunned for a moment then plopped straight down and sunk as deep as she could into the water.

So she liked baths. Julia laughed as she waved her arms and legs around, splashing water up over the sides of the tub. Hopefully their home insurance covered water damage.

Daniel stripped himself part of the way down then joined her in the tub, still wearing his underwear. Bruises were partly visible on the inside of his thighs, and Julia tried to look as subtly as possible. Her heart hurt for him – for both of them, but mostly for him. "I'm not going to hurt your sister," she promised him again as she began washing the grime off of her, "And I'm not going to hurt you either. And I won't let anyone else hurt you." She was careful – washing Chloe's hair first then her body, trying to figure out a way around washing the parts she knew Daniel didn't want her to touch so as not to cause an outburst. In the end, she put the cloth in Chloe's hand and directed her in how to wash herself as best as one could direct a preschooler to clean themselves.

"Got something for you guys," Noah said when they were nearly done, "Fresh out of the dryer." He placed two warm towels next to their clothes.

"Thank you." Julia drained the tub, handed Daniel his towel, then wrapped Chloe up and lifted her out of the tub. Once she picked her up, she didn't want to put her down. "Hi," she whispered and touched their foreheads together.

"Hi," Chloe greeted her back.

"Chloe!" Daniel yelled at her. "No!"

"You do talk." Julia grinned and made a sound of unrestrained joy. She hugged Chloe close, cradling her head, and buried her face into that beautiful (and very wet) red hair. "Do you know cute you are?"

"Yes," Chloe answered very, very seriously.

Maybe she was making the wrong choice, but her gut instinct when it came to Chloe's well-being told her patience be damned. She placed a kiss on her head.

Chloe curled right into her. "I love you already."

"I love you already, too."

"I hate you," Daniel let her know.

"That's okay," Julia assured him, "I'll love you and keep you safe regardless."

His shoulders dropped as he studied her and Chloe. "Forever?" he asked.

It was a big promise to make when she didn't even know if they'd be available for adoption, but she knew she had to make it – and she would do everything in her power to keep it. "Yeah. Forever."

xxxxx

It's impossible to get some of Beca's words out of her head. They turn on the TV and she sits there staring at it, not seeing it at all. "Can you excuse me from a minute?" she asks after an indefinite amount of time.

"Yeah, sure."

"I'll be right back." Julia stands and walks back to the bedroom. She glances down the hall at Beca, who seems content to just be watching TV, then closes the door behind her and opens the window to the fire escape. This time when she calls Naveen, she doesn't include Nadia on the other line.

"Are you okay?" Naveen asks right off the bat.

"Yeah, I'm fine now. I just have a question."

"What's that?"

"How do I take the bastard that did this to my kids down?"

"Julia." Naveen's voice becomes quiet. "I think this runs deeper than a jealous fiancé. The best thing any of you can do right now is to tell me what you know and lie low."

"That's not good enough, Naveen. I want everyone involved in hurting them dead, even if I have to kill them myself."

"I know. I do as well. Let me handle it for you. As of right now, everything is under control."

"What does that mean? What is going on? I'm in the dark here."

"I think this Jesse Swanson may have been under the influence of an operation of well-known criminals. I don't know what they want or why they would use him to get it, but I do know they're dangerous. They have connections all over – the military, state police all over the country. I've put together a team that I trust and we're doing what we can to keep them cornered until we can pin this on them. They won't be making a move any time soon if we can help it."

"None of that is believable, Naveen. Not one thing you said makes any sense."

"Maybe not, but I need you to trust me. If you love your kids and want to keep them safe, you'll stay far away from this. Help them move forward. Can I trust you to do that?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Okay. But you need to keep Aubrey close enough that she feels like she's getting answers, because I can't make any promises that she will back off from this."

"Do your best. I'll do mine as well. And, Jules?"

Julia leans against the handrail. "Hm?"

"I'm going to do my best to keep all of you safe. Is it alright if I can find a way to have the police dismiss their security and hire my own to watch after you? They'll be discreet; you won't even know they're there. They don't mess around, however."

"Okay."

"Alright. Nadia and I love you. Tell Noah we love him too. I'll call you soon, and you can call me if you need anything – anything at all. You're a good mother, Julia. The best I know. You don't deserve any of this. I'm sorry."

She picks at the paint peeling off the side of the wall. Then why do all her kids end up suffering? "Thanks, Naveen."

"I'm serious, by the way – now is the time to hold your kids close, not to be cunning in trying to protect them. Promise me that you won't try to take matters into your own hands."

"I promise."