As it turns out, breakfast with Amelia was apparently a foolish idea. Not so much in principle, because the two of them were able to accomplish quite a bit in the arena of catching up, but more so in actuality. Casey hadn't been able to gulp down more than a few bites before nausea took over, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to alleviate Amelia's obvious concern after the fact.

It had been all she could do to assure the younger girl her cooking had nothing to do with it. To divert her back to the topics of school and exams in hopes of avoiding too many questions.

For the remainder of the morning, Casey had nursed a glass of water and grilled her half-sister with inquiries about everything that had happened since she left North Island, and even though she could tell Amelia wasn't buying her distractions for a second, the younger girl mercifully went along with it until the moment she clambered out of the car and rushed to catch up with a few friends standing outside of the school.

After that, Casey drove back home. Tried to pretend she didn't get sick again. Twice. She even tried to call the number Evie had texted her from, but to no avail, and then spent a significant amount of time sitting on the couch, frowning at her mother's television because she couldn't seem to focus on whatever was passing across the screen.

She was bored. Or—anxious and unable to focus. Or some odd combination of the two.

Casey spent at least an hour after that puttering around the house tidying up odds and ends. Attempting to make lunch until the smell of bread somehow managed to turn her stomach for a third time.

And now, she is at the bar again, Theo padding along at her heels while she carries a mug of ginger tea—the box procured midway through the journey there from home—through the back door and out onto the beach beyond.

She freezes just as quickly, as Theo moves to sit on his haunches beside a familiar figure in one of the chairs at the edge of the beach, and Casey feels her eyes widen before she can stop it while her mother regards her with an unnervingly sure grin.

"I wondered when you were going to show up."

"I—I thought you'd be taking the boat in for repairs."

"Decided to do that this afternoon once Amelia's out of school," Penny shrugs, aware of Casey's almost immediately perplexed expression, and moving to explain while her daughter sits in the chair beside her own, "Engine needs work."

"I could go with you."

"We'll see."

"We'll see?"

"I was hoping we could talk first."

"About?" Casey questions, tightening her hold on the mug of tea in her hands, and hoping that her expression is steady enough, despite the sudden lurch of anxiety in her gut.

"What's going on with you and Rooster?"

"I—nothing, Mom."

"Uh-huh."

"No, really. We're—we're fine."

Casey is aware of the doubt in her mother's gaze, and she steels herself against it as best she can, hoping to disguise any flicker of uneasiness in her own features by taking a small sip of her tea. But she hates lying. Hates that the consequences of her decisions are seeping into not only her relationship with her best friend, but her mother as well.

She has every reason to believe things will go in a similar direction with her dad later on, and the discovery has Casey biting down on her lip, aware of the slight shift in her mother's expression before she moves to speak.

"Things just seemed a little—tense."

"How so?"

"Seriously?" Penny quips, lifting an eyebrow in response to the question, the reality of Casey's obvious attempt at feigning ignorance almost causing her to laugh, "Maybe because you two are usually stuck to each other like glue every time he comes back from a mission."

"We—talked."

"Yeah. A few hours after he showed up."

Casey is almost tempted to remind her mother that she was actively helping behind the bar for at least a part of that time, but stops herself, because she knows the excuse will be torn to shreds in seconds. That help hadn't been needed. Not really. And Casey knows if she even attempts to use the instance as a reason for putting off the reunion with Bradley, such as it was, her mother will call her on it in next to no time at all.

Penny seems to pick up on the direction of her thoughts as well, if her slight grin is anything to go by, and Casey has to work to suppress a groan as she conceals another wince behind her rapidly dwindling mug of tea.

"Go on. Spill."

"Mom!" Casey groans, offering her mother a light nudge to the shoulder in retaliation for the push, in hopes of buying herself a bit more time to come up with a suitable reply. She forces herself to ignore her guilt, at least for the moment, aware of Penny's gaze on her the entire time.

If even a fraction of the turmoil she feels makes it into her expression she is well and truly screwed.

More so than she already is, at any rate.

"It's just—that last mission. He's still—"

"Torn up about it?"

"Not talking about it. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Honey, you know how he can be," Penny sighs, Casey's renewed groan and roll of the eyes providing answer enough, even without a verbal reply, "Maybe he's just trying to protect you."

"And maybe he should stop doing that."

"Ouch. Sounds like there's a lot of feeling behind that statement."

"No, I—I didn't mean it like that."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I—I am," Casey nods, the lie almost coming easily given the justification she has built for it in her mind. Because technically, it's not a complete lie. Not really. Bradley isn't talking about that mission. The one that led to—this.

And she isn't talking about the issue at hand either. The consequence. Whatever she should be calling it.

All in all, probably not the best combination, but there really isn't anything she can do about that, now.

"I'm sure. I am. I just—"

"You wish he'd remember you've already seen him at his worst?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Well I'd say just give him time, but he's a pilot," Penny says, noting the small twitch at the corner of her daughter's mouth, because Casey already knows, somehow, where she is going before she says another word, "Emotions aren't really their thing."

"Right. You know, I'd almost forgotten about that," Casey laughs, the humor somewhat short-lived, though it is not capable of fully disappearing, given the way in which Theo has moved from his place at her mother's side, to rest his head on her knees, instead, practically begging her to scratch him between the ears, "But it's not exactly like I can tie him down and force him to talk."

"I suppose you could always go for the whole 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach' thing."

"Mom, you know I'm hopeless in the kitchen—"

"But you did Thanksgiving dinner the year before you graduated high school."

"Correction. I nearly burned the house down trying to make Thanksgiving dinner."

Penny's brow furrows, and Casey realizes with a jolt that somehow, miraculously, her mother had never actually learned the truth behind that day that had almost turned into a disaster. The intent had been for her to handle the holiday meal herself, all those years ago, but Casey had realized rather quickly that she was in over her head. She had already been nervous, even before offering to cook, because her dad and her stepfather were going to be in the same room. With Pete back from deployment, her mother had agreed to include him in the plans for the day. Insisted on it, actually, so that Casey wouldn't be forced to choose between her parents.

Casey wanted to do something special to mark the occasion. To give herself a reasonable excuse for remaining occupied in the kitchen until whatever initial tension existed between Amelia's father, and her own, had dulled a bit. But in spite of her best efforts, the girl who couldn't even manage to successfully cook a package of boxed macaroni and cheese had soon found herself in the middle of a kitchen-sized hurricane thanks to a particularly unmanageable turkey, and everything had rather rapidly spiraled out of control.

The meal, for all intents and purposes, had been a lost cause until Iceman turned up, invited by Penny as another means of keeping Pete occupied if tensions ran too high, and Casey honestly thought that there could have been no way his help with the meal would go unnoticed…

But apparently, on that count, she had been wrong.

"Okay. So, if you didn't cook that dinner, who did?"

"Technically, I did. Some of it, anyway. But I had a wingman."

"Ice."

"I can't believe he didn't tell you."

"I think maybe he knew how important it was for you to think you could do something like that on your own," Penny suggests, offering her daughter a soft smile, and noticing in seconds how Casey bites down on her lower lip, while her eyes take on a faint shine that hadn't been there, before, "So new theory. Take Rooster to Ice and Jo's. You and Jo can cook, and Iceman interrogates him until he comes clean."

"Wow. Talk about throwing somebody under the bus."

"Hey. If it works, is it really that bad?"

Casey cannot help but laugh, then, because she can picture the event so clearly in her mind. She can even see Jo going along with it. Handing her a glass of wine, and becoming privy to a secret of her own after Casey's inevitable refusal of the beverage.

Even if that small fact wasn't a possibility, she hesitates at the thought of ambushing Bradley like that, regardless of how amusing it might be in reality.

"I think I'll try to go solo for just a bit longer," She decides, relieved, to say the least, that her mother appears to be buying her solution to her somewhat manufactured 'problem', at least for the time-being, "Thanks, though."

"Genius advice is what I'm here for."

"Well speaking of pilots who may or may not want to talk about emotions, do you happen to have any plans to spend time with Dad?"

"Casey—"

"What? I spilled, like you requested. Your turn."

Eyeing her daughter with a reluctant grin, Penny realizes in seconds that she truly should have seen this coming. And honestly, she isn't entirely sure how to answer, when the part of her that has always been instinctively pulled toward Pete Mitchell is at odds with the part that suggests she should steer clear.

She'd been down that road before. Too many times. And although she knows her daughter would love nothing more than for her to give Pete another chance, Penny isn't exactly sure that she can.

"We don't have plans. Not yet, anyway."

"Do you want to have plans?"

"Am I completely awful if I say I don't know?"

Casey almost immediately shakes her head, a small frown tugging at her lips over the thought of somehow making her mother feel pressured by her chosen line of questioning. That hadn't been her intent at all, and she is almost immediately preparing an apology. An assurance that if Penny doesn't want to pursue anything other than friendly conversation, she has every right to do so, regardless of Casey's own foolish dreams, and her unfailing ability to put her foot in her mouth.

After all, she has her own set of circumstances that she has no idea how to deal with. The idea of being uncertain over what decision to make is not really that much of a foreign concept at all.

"Not at all."

"You're not sugar-coating me right now, are you?"

"God, Mom. No," Casey assures, a startled laugh escaping as she leans back in her chair, her head dropping back to rest against the wooden surface while a sigh deflates her shoulders, "And for the record, I'm sorry if it seemed like I was trying to meddle."

"You didn't."

"You're not sugar-coating me right now, are you?"

Her mother's laughter over the word for word repetition of her own question goes a long way in easing any of Casey's lingering concern at having over-stepped, and her mother gives her hand one final squeeze before pulling away completely.

The two of them fall into an easy silence after that, and Casey catches herself breathing yet another sigh of relief, even in spite of the lingering guilt she feels over not being entirely truthful to someone who had always made sure to be honest with her. And she reminds herself that she just has to wait until after she tells Bradley. Then she can stop with the lies.

She needs to find the right time. The right place. And tonight, after dinner with her dad, at a bar filled to the brim with pilots is definitely not either.

Casey suppresses a sigh as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to focus on the sound of the waves on the beach. On the warmth of the sun on her skin. She takes the time to simply enjoy a moment or two of rest with her mother, and tries to ignore how easily all of this could blow up in her face.

At the back of her mind, Casey is well-aware that prolonging the inevitable really never does seem to do her any favors, but her lips twist into a wry grin as she recalls that such a thing never really came close to stopping her from plowing ahead, before.

She'd always been a bit of a slow learner in that regard, anyways.

…

"Ouch. You look like you've had a day."

"Always so kind," Pete sighs, unable to resist a laugh as soon as he sees Casey's attempt at an innocent smile, and she almost immediately squeezes into his arms for an embrace. There hadn't been time for that, the previous day. Not in the bar, certainly, and then there had been the small matter of his untimely removal from said bar while Casey and her mother looked on. And for a moment, he lets himself fall into the familiarity of her head tucking beneath his chin. The squeeze of her arms around his waist.

But even as they both pull back, and Pete keeps an arm slung over Casey's shoulders, he honestly should have known she wasn't exactly going to let him off the hook.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Maybe after a beer or twelve—"

"Ha. Funny," Casey huffs, shifting to land an elbow against her father's side, and then dodging away before he can retaliate, jogging ahead a few steps so that she can pull open the diner's glass door, "What's up?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Casey frowns because she knows her initial suspicions regarding the reason for her father's exhausted appearance are true. She knew that, even before seeing him face to face. But now that he is here with her, sidling through the narrow space between tables in the diner until she selects a booth in the back corner, by the window, she can see it in the somewhat tense set of his shoulders. The slight tightening at the corners of his eyes.

And she knows he isn't going to dive straight into exactly how everything is affecting him, at least not with her.

No, Pete Mitchell isn't going to do anything to inadvertently pin her between him, and her best friend, and Casey catches herself tensing for a moment as she decides to do something she can't trust will be the right thing, in the end.

"Okay. For tonight, in the walls of this diner, I'm no longer Switzerland."

"Casey—"

"I'm not. I'm—revoking the neutrality clause. So anything you have to say about Rooster—how he—I don't know, how he's driving you crazy, or something—the floor is yours."

"Is he driving you crazy?"

"Okay. We aren't talking about me right now."

"We could be," Pete offers, completely failing to suppress a snort of amusement as he watches Casey narrow her eyes at him, while the toe of her boot nudges against his shin beneath the table. He knows what this has to be costing her. That her careful neutrality when it came to the tension that exists between him, and her best friend had only ever been out of a desire to maintain her relationship with them both. He knows it makes her anxious. Uncomfortable. Desperate to fix something that may not actually be salvageable. And perhaps that is why he is suddenly so determined to give her any chance he can to walk away from the discussion altogether, "You didn't answer the question."

"You're wasting anti-Switzerland time, you know."

"We haven't even ordered our food yet."

"And you seem to be forgetting how fast I can eat when I'm hungry," Casey replies, her stomach giving a rather well-timed rumble as if to prove her point, "So? What happened?"

"You're not gonna give up on this, are you?"

"Nope. Not a chance."

Aware that he is not anywhere near achieving a victory, given the stubborn determination he can see so clearly in familiar green eyes, Pete can't help but think back to the little girl that had refused to let him help her down from the tree she had gotten herself stuck in until he swore he wasn't being sent away on any other missions for at least half a year. The toddler that had thrown herself into the deep end—literally—because she didn't want to wait to learn how to swim.

Casey might be older now, but there are still traces of that little girl in her features. In her absolute refusal to back down from something once she set her mind to it. And even though a waitress is walking over to take their orders, Pete realizes that the minor reprieve is exactly that. Minor. Temporary.

As soon as that waitress walks away, with a lingering smile for his benefit that is causing Casey to smirk all too predictably, Pete watches as his daughter leans forward to place her elbows on the table, and wisely decides to come clean before she can set in on her interrogation yet again.

"It was—tense."

"I suspected as much already, interestingly enough—"

"He's not—not exactly willing to talk," Pete elaborates, almost immediately taking note of the slight quirk to Casey's brow, one corner of her mouth twitching with her efforts to contain what is likely a knowing smile, "But I'm sure you knew that already."

"Me? No, I had no idea."

"Uh-huh. Sure you didn't."

"The whole Switzerland thing applies to him, just like you, remember?" Casey begins, aware of the not so subtle attempt her father is making to deflect her from her desire to hear his version of events, without pushing him too much herself, "What do you mean by not willing to talk?"

"I mean he barely said three words to me before flight training."

"And after?"

Casey watches her father's expression shift in response to the inquiry, and she has her answer before he needs to say a word. Her eyes lock with his, and remain there, even when the waitress returns to place their drinks on the table and promises that their food will arrive in just a few more minutes.

"Something happened—during?"

"Yeah."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Might be better if you didn't," Pete admits, sensing the words will only spark Casey's curiosity, and finding confirmation of that belief in the slight narrowing of her eyes as she leans just a bit closer across the table, "He was trying to prove something. To prove me wrong. We both let it get out of hand."

"And did he?"

"Did he prove me wrong?"

Casey's answering nod is all the confirmation Pete needs, and he seizes on the opportunity presented by the reappearance of the waitress with their food to delay his answer for just a little while longer. Because truthfully, he isn't entirely sure he has one. The myriad of reasons for trying to keep Rooster away from the same exact career that had killed his father were no easier to explain now than they had been to the kid himself on the tarmac earlier that day.

Something Casey seems to sense in an instant, if the way she manages an understanding smile before turning her attention to the steaming bowl of soup in front of her to give him a moment to think is any indication at all.

"You don't have to answer that, you know."

"I thought you said you weren't Switzerland right now."

"I'm not. But I'm not a hostile interrogator, either," Casey states, stirring her soup despite the fact that she has no desire to take a sip just yet, "I'm not gonna waterboard you if you decide there's something you really don't want me to know."

"Waterboard?"

"It's a theoretical example, Dad, don't overthink it."

"Someone needs to start paying closer attention to what you binge on tv," Pete jokes, pleased to note Casey is laughing more earnestly now, while simultaneously lifting a small spoonful of soup to her mouth, "You're sure soup is all you need? I thought you said you were starving."

"I've got the biscuits too, remember?"

It is more than a little obvious that the answer doesn't exactly pass muster, and Casey momentarily forgets that she never did blow on the soup in her spoon to cool it down until the temperature scalds the inside of her mouth and the entire surface of her tongue as a result. Distracted by the burn, she reaches for the glass of water on instinct, aware of her father's bemused expression as she gulps at the icy liquid for some measure of relief.

For a moment she wonders if her father is going to press the matter. Ask her why she is opting for soup when the usual fare they partake in at any diner they can find when reunited is far greasier. But, for whatever reason, he doesn't. At least, not for now.

Instead, he seems to seize on another direction of conversation entirely, the sudden shift throwing Casey for a loop, and leaving her floundering for a moment despite the fact that she knows the question is innocent enough, on its own.

"I take it you're seeing Rooster later on?"

"We're—we're supposed to meet up at the bar."

"Are you okay with this?"

"With what?"

"With walking between the lines."

Casey takes a moment to mull over the meaning behind the words, her fingertip tracing a line of condensation as it navigates a path down the side of her water glass. And she honestly doesn't think she is okay with it, truly. Not in the truest sense, because she misses the way things used to be. She wants them to get back to that more than anything.

From the looks of things, and from her father's admittedly vague description of today's events alone, though, that is not likely to happen any time soon. And so, Casey takes a steadying breath, abandoning her spoon for a moment in favor of looking her father in the eye.

"Well I'm not walking away from either one of you, so—yeah. I—I guess I am."

"If you need to—stay away for a while, I understand," Pete proposes, the sudden comprehension that dawns in Casey's features almost as predictable as her ensuing reply.

"No. No, Dad, absolutely—absolutely not!"

"It's just an offer. If things get too intense, I wouldn't exactly blame you if you chose your friend over some old pilot that's seen better days."

"Well for the record, you're not the only old pilot I know that's seen better days. And I don't plan on cutting either of you out of my life any time soon."

Pete spends a moment flabbergasted at the vehemence behind his daughter's reply, despite the very real fact that he honestly should have seen it coming all along. He can recognize that familiar challenge in her eyes. The very same thing that pushed her to test her own limits—and very often his, and Penny's too—ever since she was small.

He isn't entirely sure when his daughter turned into the stubborn pillar of strength sitting across from him in the booth, but it has never been more clear that she had been on that path all along. And Pete can't help but shake his head as a laugh breaks free, Casey's expression growing curious for a moment before something not all that far from resignation takes its place.

"You're going to tell Iceman I said he was old, aren't you?"

"Probably."

"Guess I should try to visit before you get a chance, then."

"That might not be a bad idea."

Casey can't help but smile at the obvious humor behind the words, and she settles back to her soup, sensing somehow that the teasing is likely her father's attempt at steering the conversation back towards more stable topics. And she gladly accepts that development, eager to get back to the familiar ground the two of them seem to always coexist on, no matter how much time passes between visits…

She's missed him. Missed this, far more than she can ever put into words. And despite how a part of her fears things will never return to normal between her dad, and Bradley, she knows that she will take these moments with both of them as often as she can.

Even if those moments have to occur separately.

…

Hello, darlings! And welcome to another new chapter! I know that nothing much really happened here, plot-wise, and I really did want to throw in at least the start of a bit more Casey/Rooster time at the bar as well. But, as you can probably already see, Penny and Mav sort of stole the show on me. Oops? I hope none of you mind all that much? I promise, Rooster will be in the next chapter, for sure!

As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! And special thanks to Boris Yeltsin and ChiTown4ever for leaving such lovely feedback the last time around! I truly do appreciate your support, so much more than you know, and I sincerely hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last!

Until next time, loves!

MOMM