Third chapter up! Behold, plot!

Simon knows that he's done the right thing.

"Up by fourteen points? Good job, Marisol!"

Underneath the shower of praise pouring forth from her leaders, the little brunette girl puffs up with pride. "Thanks so much, Grace! I'm just so happy you're ok!" She lingers in front of Grace a little longer than usual, which earns her a head pat in conciliation before she finally turns and dashes away. And then the next child stumbles forward, dragging what looks to be the cracked half of giant crystal. The throne in which Grace used to sit is vacant—something precarious remains unspoken between them concerning that chair, even though procedure clearly states that Simon is the one who should sit on it. Instead it is tucked away deep within the women's changing room, and Simon and Grace simply stand side by side.

If pressed very, very firmly, Simon will be the first to—stubbornly—admit that Grace is much more charismatic than he is. He can be a capable leader, but during Grace's absence in the hospital wing there had been a strange sort of emptiness permeating throughout The Mall Car, as if everyone's souls had collectively been dimmed. In fact, today's raid had been orchestrated all for Grace to celebrate her coming back to them. Simon is positive that Grace has figured that out already without ever being told—the car had been a Class C, a car classified as resource heavy but with few nulls present at the time of scouting and little sign of being a puzzle car. A Class C car is definitely not a thing worthwhile enough to bring the entire Apex out of The Mall Car for, but it is safe and allows everyone to interact with Grace freely without overcrowding her too much. Simon can tell that the constant attention and well-wishing after her miraculous recovery is starting to grate on Grace's nerves after a while. The numbers discovery did not help at all.

Grace doesn't know how tense everyone had been while she was under. The car had been more akin to a wake rather than a mall with the staggering number of glassy eyes and small hands wiping sniffling noses. She doesn't know that Simon had been forced to consider a hard possibility of what to do if Grace had not woken up—even unto himself, Simon can not casually arrange the words "Grace" and "die" within the same sentence. The rational solution would be to simply pick up the reigns where Grace left off and carry on. But then he would have had to tell the Apex the truth of what had happened to Grace, that during their journey back to the Apex after the turtle car disaster, Grace had decided to turn her back on all of them and all of their shared Apex ideals after meeting two nulls and one old lady working for the false conductor.

Simon has no clue of how the Apex would react to such news. As he observes Grace sink down to one knee and thank yet another Apex member for another offering, Simon thinks it would go very badly. Innocence has been irreparably broken for him, but not for them. It irks him to withhold the truth—in fact the act of concealment almost makes him like Grace had been, and this thought mildly infuriates him—but Grace is alive and back to her old self and happy, and the rest of the Apex is happy too. For all of their sakes, Simon can keep one secret. However, if Simon could be a tad more honest to himself, he would admit that Grace's presence filled some void within him as well. During her absence he had missed her smile, her laughter, her warmth; he'd missed her terribly.

Finally done with post-raid procedure, Grace manages to catch Simon's eye and gives him a slightly pleading look. Help me out here, it begs. Undeterred by at least three polite dismissals and one really, really fake yawn, there are a few children stubbornly hanging around who seem content to cling onto Grace all night. Under different circumstances Simon would find it funny—Grace being the one who is actually getting tired of constant adoration-he is definitely going to save this for juicy banter later. Simon doesn't know all of the children's backstories, but he partially remembers that at least one of them who's making a solid attempt to permanently weld himself onto Grace's side had had a father with some kind or cancer before boarding the train. The kid is most likely triggered. So, Simon steps in to help.

He claps his hands together. "Alright, Apex. It's time for dismissal. We have gear maintenance at 0900 tomorrow." As if on cue, a collective sigh makes its rounds around the food court, but no one complains. Grace herself leans back on a hard plastic dining table as the remaining children file out to their various destinations. She turns her head to him.

"Gear maintenance?" she questions. "That is the first thing that pops up into your mind?"

"What? Maintenance is important." And is something you don't do as often as you should, Grace, really, Simon thinks to himself, recalling the awful timing of how Grace's harpoon gear split and snapped in two. "You asked for an out, and I just gave you one. Besides, having fully working equipment that performs optimally at any time is critical-"

"Yeah, yeah." By the way she is waving her hand at him, Grace's mind is already on something else. "I'm getting a corndog before I'm going to bed. You wanna come with?" Of course he wants to come with. Simon may not be hungry, but there is a slushy machine nearby that he doesn't mind partaking from. "And thanks by the way, for helping out back there. It's getting harder to find ways to get out hugging the same kid three times over without hurting anybody's feelings."

"You mean, you're getting tired of your adoring fans?" Simon snickers at her false look of reproach. When she throws one, two soft jabs to his upper arm in lighthearted retaliation, he pretends to hold his left arm in pain.

"Do I smell jealousy, dear Simon?" Her smile shows teeth.

"Not all, dearest Grace," he quips as he turns his back to her and uses two fingers to fill his slushy cup with two flavors at the same time. "I think you're smelling those funky looking corndogs." He fills his cup, secures the lid on tight, and spins around to see- AH! "WHA-?" All he can see is a terrifying combination of a stark white face with a blush of pink where the nose should be. "What the-?"

"Ha ha! Oh wow…" His outburst is interrupted by Grace chortling to herself as she lifts up that flat white face, which happens to be a rather unsettling-looking mask, to reveal her familiar brown one. "So it is intimidating. Thanks." She slips off the mask completely and admires it for a moment.

"Jesus, Grace! What was that?" Damn it, he almost spilled his drink.

"That was a gift from that Charlie kid. He said he had found it ages ago but had forgotten about until I mentioned something today about how I missed having a mask," explains Grace while giving the mask another once over. "I think it's porcelain or something very similar, so not very durable for raiding, but it's pretty cool, you know."

Simon doesn't find it pretty cool. The mask reminds him oddly of that tentacle creature he had seen in her memories that had attacked Grace all those years ago. He briefly wonders if she even is aware of the similarity.

"Simon?"

"Huh?" Simon hasn't yet realized that he's been eyeballing that mask for a full minute.

"You're staring at it." She cocks her head to one side. "You have something against this mask?" Her question sounds laid-back, but Simon hears something searching in her tone. The question could be entirely innocent, but Grace is naturally observant. Does she notice how cagey he's been recently?

"Eh heh…" At times Simon behaves very well under pressure. This is not one of those times. He rubs the back of his head in embarrassment and mentally kicks himself for almost believing there was a connection between Grace's memory and her choice in masks. "I… It's just- You scared me, that's all…"

"Uh huh… Alright…" She rolls her eyes. "Oh great Apex leader, frightened over a hunk of porcelain…" Unbeknownst to Grace—and Simon himself really— an anxious Simon sounds much the same as an embarrassed Simon, and therefore his gaff slips beneath Grace's notice. Instead of growing suspicious, she gives him another playful punch on the arm and runs off to get her corndog while Simon stands there and tries to catch his breath.

His unoccupied hand drops down. Why is he so-? Suddenly he hears the soft sound of something quick and unknown slithering by him, and Simon nearly jumps once again out of his skin.

"Hi, Simon." He looks down to see a small blond, another member of the Apex, filling a slushy cup with blueberry flavor and staring up at him oddly. Simon tries his best to squash how flustered he feels and puts forth his most calm leader face. Way to inspire confidence, Simon, he scolds himself. Getting worked up over nothing in the middle of your own base… "Bye, Simon." The boy squeezes by him and walks away after filling his cup for the night. Simon groans as he watches him leave. Perhaps an early bedtime is a good idea. His nerves are deteriorating at such a rapid pace that he's gotten jumpy over eleven year olds. With a burning red face, he sits down and slurps at his slushy.

Inside his own head he repeats the same mantra. Grace is happy, and the Apex is happy, he is happy… So why does his brain continuously finds the most implausible things to worry about? He knows that Grace remembers nothing about their ill-fated journey with the nulls, but there is a bee in his bonnet that occasionally wonders what if? What if Grace starts to remember somehow? The bee had first deposited that unwelcome thought within him not long after Grace awoke, and like a slow moving avalanche it has only grown larger and more dangerous over time. After all, he had been right before to suspect Grace's odd behavior way back even before they had met the old lady. Yes, she is back to her normal old self, but that Grace she had become in the end, the one he had no longer recognized, had also started out as the old Grace as well. Simon drains the liquid out of his cup, leaving the remaining shaved ice behind.

This isn't how their relationship should be at all, but Simon regretfully understands that he can not trust Grace like he did before. She is almost everything he wishes her to be, except possibly as more than friends. He cannot allow himself to get closer to her, but he can't pull away either. There is just too much history between them, eight years of adventures and laughter and near death experiences and warmth and leadership and cuddling underneath stolen blankets in the night. Simon can barely remember the sound of his own mother's voice, but he can still feel the tug of Grace's fingers on his ponytail from this morning, or whatever constitutes as morning on this blasted train.

Simon slumps forward and places his chin on his hands. Oh, Grace… He wishes that she'd come back already with her corndog so they can leave, and he can go to bed and attempt to bury these feelings for another day. Simon sighs again just as another thought strikes him. Where is Grace, by the way? The blond lifts his head from his hand and looks around, but this section of the food court seems to be deserted.

"Grace!" Simon yells. There isn't a peep in response. Come on, he thinks, those corndogs aren't that good. Grumbling, Simon stands up and scratches his side while yawning.

"Graaace!" He has half a mind to round the next corner and head over to the corndog stand and complain but abruptly decides not to. Simon is tired, and he decides that would be a waste of too much energy. Grace Monroe has dominated his mind for long enough today. Instead, Simon trashes his cup and takes a left out of the food court entirely. Grace may give him hell tomorrow about leaving her behind at the food court, but in truth she's ditched him first.

Somewhat vindicated at the thought of Grace being annoyed, Simon finds sleep very easily as he climbs into his hammock for the night. It doesn't last very long.

Grace dreams of small, warm round things. Small green round things—or are they small green disk things? There is a name for these; for some odd reason she can't recall it.

Grace doesn't dream very often, or perhaps not often since she boarded the train all those years ago. With the number of fantastic situations in which she finds herself on a daily basis, Grace figures that her human imagination decided that it couldn't compete and had long since packed up and left. It's a surprise that she finds herself dreaming now. She has to be dreaming. The disk green round things have faces. They clamber around her and clamor for her attention—you're missing something Grace!— but Grace banishes them with a single hand held up in dismissal. She's not going to be bothered by small children in her own dream. She has enough of that in real life.

Disk round green things? You don't remember anything, Grace?

And as expected, the magnificent leader of the Apex gives a bow after another stupendous performance-

Perhaps you do remember it. You're going to keep cycling though your memories until you do.

Grace is eight years old. She remembers breaking out of the hold of her latest au pair and running out into the stone courtyard to scare away a flock of birds. She learns how to say the word arrivederci that day.

"…and how do you kids actually know that was the real conductor?" the redhead smugly interjects. She's quite a bit older than either Grace or Simon with a number that's more than quadruple either of theirs as well. The redhead says that there is no rhyme nor reason for the train. Every person is on board because they are. Grace doesn't like this nihilistic explanation; she knows what she's seen that day in The Pumpkin Car. And when she creeps over to Simon's sleeping spot that night to discuss it, she is surprised to find that he agrees with her. Together they slip off into the dark. One can't trust adults; they think they know everything.

Large violet…instruments? One shouldn't think of them as people.

Grace is almost sixteen, and she catches a glimpse of herself in a full sized mirror for the first time in years. The reflection she sees makes her emit a little gasp out loud, and she reflexively covers her mouth with her hand even though no one else is in range to overhear. Slowly she creeps closer to the mirror's surface. Grace is amazed; Grace is terrified. It's impossible, but at the first glance of herself she had truly thought she'd seen her mother on the other side of the glass. And for the first in a long, long while, she feels a burning pang of grief—

"Grace!" A new voice lifts Grace out of older, cloudier memories and into much more recent ones.

You really should bring back one for Simon. He's just going to get hungry in the middle of the night as per usual…

Grace smiles. "I read it in a book once."

You're not going to remember, are you?

What does one call green disk round things? Come on, the answer is on the tip of her tongue…

"Grace, wake up… Please…"

Stop bothering me, already… I'm totally going to read your book.

Violent violet instruments can be mothers too. Why is her face wet?

You're getting closer.

"Grace!"

Grace's eyes blink open. Ugh! And then she shuts them again when the overhead lights immediately trigger a raging headache. A single focused attempt to rise up upon one shoulder is stopped by many hands.

"Don't get up!" "You may be injured!" "Please be okay!" If Grace had been in a less dire state of affairs, she might have laughed at that moment—somehow she's gotten the attention of thirty plus children all directed solely at her. Her Apex are a stubborn bunch; it's useless to resist.

"Are you okay?" Grace recognizes that voice. She opens her mouth to reply but then decides against it. Her tongue feels too heavy to be properly trusted. The atmosphere is tense; everyone is obviously on edge—and Grace also is slowly starting to become alarmed—Disk round green things?—but still she has a responsibility to everyone present. She cannot allow herself to freak out. "Can you open your eyes?"

Can you turn down the brightness? Grace wants to snap, but her headache is suddenly gone as quickly as it came. She might as well get this over with. Experimentally Grace opens one eye and then the other, fully prepared for anything, but surprisingly nothing happens. What she does see is a mishmash of wet, anxious faces and glassy eyes. Ah, let her guess. She's blacked out again, hasn't she?

"Give her some space!" There is the sound of many small feet shuffling backwards, and Simon holds up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

But Grace is already pushing away his upheld hand and sitting up. Simon means well, she knows, but if Grace allows him to start down this path now, she's going to be subjected to every medical checkup known to mankind—or rather Simon-kind. And everyone is watching. The longer she remains here sitting on the hard tile, the more embarrassed she becomes. "I'm..fine," Grace manages to retort, and she takes a second to thank whoever is listening to her prayers that her voice sounds strong. "I'm fine." Stabilize the situation now. Ask questions after. Neither Simon nor the children seem convinced, but Grace can work on that. She steadies herself with one hand on the wall behind her, ignoring outside cries of protest—a small voice tells her that it is important to be seen standing up under her own power sans help—and then she remembers… That's right. She's still in the food court. How long has she been here?

Grace opens her mouth to ask, but once again thinks otherwise. Her brain is almost back to a hundred percent normal functioning capacity, and she pushes all crazed thoughts of violet instruments and green disk things aside. Now is not the time. She will need to converse with Simon on this—firstly to wring out any information they can, and secondly to formulate some plan to keep the rest of the Apex from worrying. Her father had once quoted: "Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence." They're going to have a heck of a time attempting to smooth this one over…

Thankfully Simon does not ask anymore questions. He knows her well enough to have a decent idea of what she's thinking, hopefully. His face is shadowed, but his hand is outstretched. That's good; Grace doesn't put much faith in her walking abilities either. She raises the other hand not currently clinging to the wall—only to find some kind of obstruction-

"Grace, what is that?" Suddenly the entire world consists of only Simon, Grace, and one crumpled and stained white paper bag partially crushed in her left hand.

"That…was your corndog," Grace finds herself muttering before she even realizes that she's speaking. "And mine too. I was going to get one for myself, but then I…" He's just going to get hungry in the middle of the night as per usual… Momentarily stunned, Grace lets the grubby little bag drop to the floor. Her hand is sore. Just how long has she been clutching that thing? Grace tries not to relay the panic she feels. Luckily, only Simon notices it.

"I think Grace needs to rest, Apex… Whatever has happened, it doesn't do any good to crowd her like this…"

Grace is suddenly conflicted. Simon is giving her an out, bless him, but he's also talking about her in third person terms as if she's not right there in front of him, dammit. The embarrassment she's been wrestling with resurfaces in double time. The current scene she pictures quite plainly. Simon, with his sure footing and impressive number looks much more like leadership material than she does right now, and Simon actually sounds commanding here. Damn it, he's getting better. How awful to think of something so inconsequential in a time like this, but Grace is not one to be beaten so easily in the contest of relevance. She will not allow herself to be known as the weaker one after this.

Grace takes Simon's outstretched hand with her sore one and tacks on an appropriately wan smile. "I think Simon may be right this time… I probably didn't allow myself to rest enough from last time. I'm sorry, guys." Her voice is apologetic. "Can you forgive me?" Grace knows that a kid can endure a lot of scary things if one makes certain that events turn out good in the end. She's learned much from leading them. Most of them are frightened and just need an encouraging word or two to take the edge off.

There is a slow trickle of "I forgive you!" and "Please don't do it again." from some of them. It's not what Grace wants or expects, but realistically tonight—or morning or whatever—won't be the end of their worrying. It's a start.

Grace turns to Simon, but before she speaks, something alarming catches the corner of her eye. Little does Grace realize that six hours ago she had performed the exact same action. Grace had walked over and selected two of the least diseased looking corndogs present and had shoved them into a long white bag and then she had looked up and- What was that? She feels a sensation akin to when one runs down a flight of stairs but in the process misses a single step—that sinking feeling when one's foot meets air instead of solid surface. There should be a memory to recall… Small green round things… Her hand squeezes Simon's in a sudden vice-like grip.

"Gah! Gra-!" Simon starts, visibly confused, but he is stunned into silence by her terrifyingly blank face.

"Simon. What is the name for that?" Grace's voice sounds distant to her own ears. If she was more aware of herself and the shakiness of her own voice, then she would feel grateful that all of the Apex have already left the scene.

The blond frowns. "That's a…er…a wall?"

That answer was so counterproductive that it very nearly causes Grace to snap out of her reverie—almost—she knows what a wall is, doofus. Disk round green things. Her eyes bore into a certain section of the green and grey tiled wall. The thing stares back at her with a stylized smile etched in thick black lines. It stands there, all green and scaly on two hind legs, somehow balancing one ridiculously oversized corndog in one hand and a round, heavy shell on its back…

Following the direction in which her eyes are staring, Simon at last understands what Grace has been trying to ask."That's Turtle Dog," he replies. "It's a just stupid mascot for the hotdog and corndog stand. Don't know why it has such a dumb name, but you've come here many times-" All of a sudden, he stops talking. You've come here many times, but not in the last week or so, not since before… His eyes widen in rapid realization.

"A turt-" Like water though a sieve, the word escapes Grace before she's even registered it. A turtle. A round green animal, thing, pers-

Simon manages to catch her before she slumps forward.

Thanks for reading everyone!