A/N: In retrospect, I really should have made Gabbi 18 instead of 17, but it's too late to change. Sigh. Please kindly look past any age-related inconsistencies. Thank you.

The Thing About Fairs - Part 2

The thing about fairs was, Gabbi would have really liked to experience one.

Instead, she was stuck behind the chain link fence, peeking through the holes and hoping no one spotted her so that her entire plan wasn't ruined. What plan, one may ask? Oh, the plan she and Ezra decided was completely feasible and not at all ridiculous involving government-grade earpieces, line-feeding, and hiding in the bushes like she was motherfucking James Bond.

'Here,' she'd said as she passed over the headset and the matching transmitting device that was supposed to be clipped on a belt but would have to go in a pocket. 'Put this on."

It was discrete enough, but still visible. He'd have to pass it off as an earbud.

'What is this?' Ezra had asked, confused.

'It will let me talk to you. Just don't hold your ear like an idiot,' she instructed as Ezra held his ear like an idiot.

He'd gotten the hang of it in the end. After many, many attempts at conversation.

Jealousy coursed through her as she watched the Selected eat popcorn and laugh and ride all the rides she couldn't. Too many people, Mom would say. Too many germs to upset her delicate ecosystem. The dumpster to her left was just as germy, but at least there weren't a thousand small children around to cough on her. At least, that's what she told herself when everyone got to ride the bumper cars and she had to stay behind.

Moaning wouldn't get her anywhere. She was lucky that this plan even worked at all. So many white lies and moving parts had to be coordinated. It was exhausting, made her feel dirty. Illness aside, she didn't like lying to her family.

General Ledger hadn't been keen on this idea, but he knew how much it meant to Gabbi. How much she had been looking forward to this. His offer to her many nights before now coming to fruition.

'I'll pick you up right here at ten sharp,' the General said as he let Gabbi off on the corner. They had taken his old Cadillac instead of one of the palace-issue cars in order to avoid any prying eyes or unwanted questions. 'Don't be late. If anyone suspects a thing, we're both in deep trouble.'

'I'll be here, I promise.'

She had no intention of entering that shop, another better one in mind a few blocks away while this one was caddy-corner to the fair. She told him that she was off to fulfill her bucket list. He didn't have to know about her side quest.

Footsteps on the pavement had Gabbi ducking behind a few bins, eager not to be spotted by one of the many teenage employees that made frequent smoke breaks in this very lot. However, she recognized the mop of brown hair attached to the very dirty converse running her way, and so stepped under a streetlight so he wouldn't have to look very hard.

Ezra ran up to Gabbi, out of breath by the time he stopped to bend over and put his hands on his knees.

"How did I do?"

Gabbi flicked him on the forehead.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being an absolute dork!" she shouted, hands on her hips. "What was with all the staring? And the awkward silence?"

"I panicked! I knew exactly what to say and then when she looked at me I just froze." Ezra looked genuinely anguished, leaning up against the chain link fence and hiding his face in his hands. "Ugh...I messed it all up didn't I?"

"No, you didn't. She would have kicked you out right then and there if you did."

"But it wasn't great."

"No, it could have definitely gone better."

Ezra grumbled and pulled at his hair. He looked like a mad man, all crazy-eyed and flushed. "I'm never going to get a solo date at this point. You know, I'm one of the few left who haven't?"

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Mom wrote me a letter. It was full of the usual 'I love you' and "glad you're having fun', but she mentioned the money and how grateful she was that it could buy them some new winter clothes." Ezra's smile was happy but rueful too. "Not that she would say it outright, but it really, really helped. For the first time in a long time my family is comfortable, and I'm screwing that up. And after all you did to help me, too."

"Hey," Gabbi said softly, approaching him like a baby fawn and putting a hand on his shoulder. "There will be other chances. This thing is far from over. Besides, I didn't do this out of the goodness of my heart."

"I don't believe you."

Gabbi didn't believe herself, either. Somewhere along the line, she had started to actually care about Ezra and his potential future with her sister. She found herself worrying about him, about if he was going to stay and if she would have to be alone again. Selfish, she knew, but since when was that such a bad thing when it made the both of them so happy?

"Time to keep up your end of the bargain," she said, pushing herself from the fence to create some distance between them.

"I have..." Ezra checked his watch. " ...one hour before I'm supposed to be back here to take the car to the palace."

"That's more than enough time."

This shouldn't take too long. In theory. At least, it never did in the movies, and what Gabbi wanted wasn't too complicated.

Ezra looked around before settling on a bike rack. They were tucked behind the back of the fair where all the employees and vendors parked, so there wasn't anyone around to protest when Ezra sauntered over like he worked there and picked a bike at random.

"Are you - are you stealing that bike?"

Fear prickled down Gabbi's spine. She hadn't signed up to break any laws.

"Nah, think of it as borrowing," Ezra said with a smile, picking the lock with practiced ease. "I'll give it right back."

"You do this often?"

"Abscond with pretty girls while I'm on a date with a princess? Not really, no." He was trying to be suave, and if Gabbi were honest, it kinda worked. "If you mean the bike lock, I've got the same model at home and I'm prone to losing the key."

So nonchalant about theft, but there really was no better idea. Gabbi didn't have a car, and neither did Ezra.

"Getting on?" he asked.

Gabbi didn't think too much. She got on the front of bike, sitting down on the square handlebar and putting her feet between the front wheel. She hadn't done this since she was a child, but it was all muscle memory. The same drop of fear and anticipation in her gut as Ezra pushed off, that momentary lack of balance and uncertainty until they were cruising down the bike lane, cars whizzing past them.

Fear turned into joy, the breathless euphoria that came with doing something reckless. Gabbi tossed her head back, enjoying the wind through her hair. She'd seen Delia do the same thing on the swings, and now she understood why. It felt like flying. Freedom.

"Where to?" Ezra shouted over the noise of the road.

Gabbi snapped back to her senses and told him to turn left. Back to the spot the General dropped her off. The spot he believed she had been at the entire time.

The shop was nothing special: a grey building at the end of a strip mall, neon lights flickering so that the word TATTOO read more like TTOO. The bike bounced as Ezra hit a pothole pulling into the nearest parking spot next to a SUV with the windows held up by duct tape. When she got off, she stepped onto the butts of half-burned cigarettes. Never before had she felt so out of place.

The urge to get back on the bike and ride away was strong, but she had already come this far. Ezra was here, with her, ready to make her bucket list complete. If she left, there would only be regret.

So, pushing down the butterflies in her stomach, Gabbi took a deep breath and walked inside.

The shop itself was small and dingy. It needed a good paint job, and the floor was cracked tile. Walls were painted black, and the whole place lacked creativity. Maybe she had looked up the wrong place...

A bell rang, signaling the empty lobby that there were customers.

"Hey," a man said as he lumbered towards the desk. He didn't make eye contact, just sunk into the cracking chair behind the computer. "You have an appointment?"

Ezra looked at Gabbi and nudged her forward. He was just as lost as her, his skin as clear and ink-free as a newborn's. They must have looked like quite the pair, stumbling in like deer caught in headlights.

"No, I, uh don't have a phone."

"You serious?" He eyed Gabbi with suspicion. "You Amish or something?"

"No."

"You even old enough to get tatted?" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, kid, I don't have time for any funny business. Come back when you're eighteen and - "

"I have a waiver," Gabbi interjected, sliding the piece of paper across the desk and into the hands of the skeptical man.

"And him?"

Ezra had been hanging back by the door, rocking on his heels, clearly out of place.

"He's my brother," Gabbi lied easily.

The man grunted, his eyes shifting from the waiver to Gabbi and back again. Clearly he didn't trust what was going on, but there was nothing he could do if all the tees were crossed and i's were dotted. Nothing except deny Gabbi his services and send her packing to find another tattoo artist this late at night.

"Wait here."

The man disappeared behind a door.

The next guy to walk out was completely different from the receptionist. This guy was smaller, leaner, with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin from his knuckles to his neck. Long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and shoved into a ball cap. Glasses slid down his hooked nose, which actually held not one, but two different piercings.

"Hey, I'm Matt. I'm going to be your artist," he said cheerfully. "You know what you want?"

"Not at all."

"No problem, we can figure something out. Follow me."

Ezra tried to follow them both, but Gabbi gestured for him to wait in the lobby. She knew it wasn't particularly fair, that Ezra had risked just as much to get her here if not more, but this was something personal. And what she wanted wasn't very appropriate to show her sister's suitor.

"What was the point of bringing me all this way if I just have to sit in the lobby?"

"You're moral support."

"Well, as moral support, at least let me hold your hand." Ezra grinned his dorky grin and pointed to a tattoo up on the wall of two pandas rolling on their backs. "Look, we could get matching ones"

Gabbi laughed. "Wait here."

This time, he obeyed.

Inside the room, the walls were painted a dark blue with hand-drawn murals scattered around. The kind of stuff found on graffiti walls or city subways. A TV played old cartoons in the corner off a set that was at least twenty years old. And then, there were all the tools: trays upon trays of them stacked and organized on carts around the room.

Matt gestured for her to sit on a chair that looked a lot like the kind found in doctor's offices. Getting up on the pleather was only a tiny bit traumatic; thank god the lights in this place weren't the same medical fluorescent that usually came with these chairs. Everything was dim and classic rock played gently from the speaker system. It was the exact opposite of a doctor's office. Gabbi forced herself to breath normally, in and out, and stave off the panic.

"First time?" Matt asked, taking her silence for nervous jitters. And Gabbi was nervous. Just not for the reason Matt thought.

"That obvious?"

"Yeah," Matt laughed, organizing his tools. "Most people come in with a clear vision for their first tattoo. That, or they're too drunk to remember."

"To be honest, I didn't know if I'd have the guts to walk in here until I did."

"Nothing to be scared of. Needles don't hurt too bad, just a sting and you'll get used to it."

"I'm not afraid of pain." Gabbi walked over to the table and sat down. She pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in her bra. "I want something to cover this. Something delicate. Something beautiful."

She traced the scar she'd had since she was five years old. That old, silvery thing that went from sternum to the end of her ribcage. Matt stared at her for a second, processing. Then, he walked closer.

"Not afraid of pain, huh?" He reached out and traced the line of her scar, not touching but hovering over the skin. "That's right on the ribcage, some of the sternum. Lots of bone and thin skin. You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Gabbi laid down on the table, her back prickling into goosebumps as it made contact with the cold pleather. Illness made her cold, her extremities always screaming for oxygen that her poor heart barely had strength to push, but this was a whole new level of frigid. Matt noticed immediately, taking in the purple splotches, the shivers running down Gabbi's body, and got up and left the room. He came back with a space heater and turned it on, pointing it Gabbi's way.

"That better?"

Gabbi nodded. "Thank you."

Strange enough, the needle didn't hurt. She read article upon article on the internet about how tattoos hurt the longer the artist worked the skin, pulling and scraping until the shading was done. Instead of pain, Gabbi felt only the repetitive poking sensation of the ink gun as it traveled up her scar. It wasn't painful. It was soothing. She spaced out the hum of the machine, to the song Matt sung under his breath that was different to the music coming from the speaker system.

She almost fell asleep. Almost.

When Matt was done, he pulled away and wiped down his work. His hands were clinical yet gentle, never lingering. Gabbi appreciated it, but was reminded of the doctors who ran their latex-covered hands over every inch of skin. Year after year of poking and prodding. This was nothing new, and yet, it was the first procedure she had chosen for herself.

"Wanna see the final result?"

Gabbi didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded and let Matt guide her to a mirror in the corner of the room. What she saw made her gasp.

The intricate vine inked onto her skin climbed the length of her incision - starting at the ribs, snaking under her left breast, then traveling up her sternum where delicate leaves and flower buds bloomed. It stayed low enough that it would be covered by most necklines (she preferred turtleneck sweaters anyway), the lines thin and delicate. For the first time in a long time, Gabbi saw her body as something beautiful. A temple held up by nature, filling in the cracks where time had taken its toll.

"It's beautiful."

That was an understatement. Gabbi didn't have the words to describe the work, to describe how she was feeling. So many mixed things that built into tears at the corners of her eyes.

"So, I get the royal seal of approval?"

She spun around quick, hair whipping in front of her face. She didn't even care that she was still half-naked. All that mattered was that she was discovered. This tattoo artist knew who she was. But how? She had been so careful...

"Believe it or not, I know who Aspen Ledger is. That guy you came with isn't your brother; his face is plastered all over the TV. That combined with those very unique scars...I can do the math."

Matt handed Gabbi her shirt, helped her pull it over her head, and then her sweater.

"What do you want?" Gabbi asked, wary.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Matt took off his ball cap and ran a hand through his messy hair. He looked distracted, wistful. "My sister had a heart defect when she was born. She made it to ten before she died on the waiting list."

Oh. Gabbi felt like crying for a whole new reason.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be." He smiled at her. "I'm not gonna say anything. Just tell your friends about my work. Maybe if I get a few high end clients in here, I can finally pay to update the space."

Back in the waiting room, Ezra tapped his foot absentmindedly, staring at the sample artwork hanging on the walls. The kind of tattoos meant to attract the eye of drunk bachelorette parties. As soon as he saw Gabbi, he jumped out of his seat, grin on his face.

"Well, let's see it!"

"Wouldn't you just love to know," Gabbi teased, bypassing Ezra's curious enthusiasm to meet Matt at the check out counter.

"It'll take two to three weeks to heal," Matt said, punching some numbers into the computer. "No swimming during that time. Keep covered in the shower. And moisturizer will be your best friend. This booklet will tell you all about aftercare."

She took the booklet with all its colorful picture and slipped it into her pocket.

"Cash or card?"

"Cash."

Gabbi passed over a couple of hundred dollar bills - birthday and holiday money saved up from Uncle Osten's cards. Truth be told, she wasn't sure how much the tattoo was. She hadn't gotten Matt to quote her before he started, and she let him do his own thing. IF she hated it, at least she wouldn't have to stare at it for long. But she loved it, and he deserved to be paid well.

They left the store with a wave goodbye, Gabbi lingering just a second longer to remember this place, this moment. It was nothing special, but it had changed her life.

The bike was right where Ezra left it. No one had tried to take it. Gabbi thought it would be hard to ride back on the handlebars with a healing tattoo on her chest, but she managed just fine.

The fair was still in full swing when they returned.

The parade of royal cars, however, was not.

"Shit!" Ezra cursed, locking up the bike and running to curb. "What time is it?"

"Late." They had passed Ezra's curfew by ten minutes. "I'm sorry."

"I'm so dead. They probably think I ran away or got human trafficked or persuaded to join clown school."

"Calm yourself. No need to act like a clown," Gabbi said as she pulled out her phone and started dialing. "The only one who's dead here is me."

"Who are you calling?"

The line picked up. Gabbi braced herself.

"Hi Grandpa, can you do me a favor?"

.o.O.o.

General Ledger picked them up on the corner three blocks from the Angeles Province Fair.

To say that he was displeased was to say that the sky was blue. It was written over every line of his weathered face. As soon as he saw Ezra slide into his backseat, his frown deepened further. Gabbi didn't want to sit shotgun with a mad General, but like hell was she going to sit with a boy in the back. She was dying but she wasn't suicidal.

"So, did you do the thing?" the General asked, peeling away from the curb and into the flow of traffic.

"Yes, I did the thing," Gabbi parroted the same tone back at him, annoyed at the patronizing that always came with his disapproval. Not that she got it very often. Which was probably why it bothered her so much.

"Hmmm."

"Thank you for the ride, Sir," Ezra piped up, oblivious to the fact that anything he said was only going to make the situation worse.

"I didn't realize I was picking up friends."

"Ezra is a Selected. He missed the car back to the palace. All those funnel cakes didn't agree with his delicate system."

"I'm sure."

The General was not an idiot. He was not swayed by Gabbi's story. But he was also not an inflammatory man. He would wait until they were back at the palace to interrogate Gabbi. Which would not be fun. She had precisely twenty minutes to come up with a damn good excuse to get her out of a world of trouble.

The ride back was silent, not even one of the General's jazz records playing to soften the harsh quiet. It must have been a torture tactic. Get her to squirm and doubt herself so that by the time they were home she'd crack like an egg.

It wasn't the best ending to the night, but hey, at least she and Ezra weren't stranded.

Ezra noticed something was off when they parked around back where the royal family kept their personal cars, and not around front like he was used to. The road back here was gravel, rocks crunching under their shoes loudly when all Gabbi wanted was to be discrete. The General's cane crunched as he hobbled towards the door, locking his car with a chirp behind him.

The back door put them near the servant's quarters and the kitchens. Ezra was clearly lost - not having been back here before - but the General didn't care.

"You'd best get to bed, young man, before someone comes looking."

"Oh, right, um, thank you again for the ride." He stuttered a wave, looking awkwardly from Gabbi to the General then back again. There was nothing Gabbi could do. "Goodnight."

He took the first set of stairs he saw. This particular set would lead to the second floor. Not terribly far from where he had to go, but far enough. Gabbi felt badly that she couldn't escort him properly, but the hand on her shoulder told her there were more important conversations to be had.

"You should get to bed as well."

Gabbi bit her tongue and walked the long trek back to her bedroom. She hoped to lose the General in the twists and turns, but he remained on her trail like a bloodhound. Never before had she resented his presence in her life; usually the General was the least intrusive member of her family. Now, however, she found herself wishing he would leave her alone.

When the double doors to her room shut behind them, the General turned on her.

"You told me you were getting a tattoo for your bucket list."

"I did. I would show you, but it's not really in an appropriate place and it's not done healing - "

"Then how did Mister Sigurdsson-Esser wind up with you?" he demanded, his tone leaving no room for nonsense. "Be honest with me, Gabrielle Amberley Schreave."

"Wow, whipping out the full name, huh?" Gabbi ran her fingers over the pamphlet in her pocket, using it to ground herself and organize her thoughts. "I was...I was helping him, that's all."

"Helping him do what?"

Gabbi flinched. There was no good way to lie about this. So many of them already weighed heavily on her. She couldn't shoulder any more.

"I may or may not have given him pointers...to help him on his date with Delia."

The General stared at her for a good minute. Maybe two. Then he deflated like a balloon, his skin sagging and his eyes drooping as if this news had aged him a whole decade.

"So that was why the security gate documented one headset missing. You stole it."

"Not my proudest moment, but Hayden and I used to do it all the time to play spies! You would play with us!"

A poor excuse. The General didn't even hear her. He just put his head in his hands and rubbed his weary temples.

"Do you remember what you promised me last time we spoke?"

Gabbi shook her head.

"No more excursions." That rang some very vague bells. The General paced the room, his cane clacking on the parquet until he reached the window, staring out pensively. "I thought I had made it clear the risk you were putting yourself and that Selected in, but I must have done a poor job. Now, not only have you been reckless, you've actively engaged in treason."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad - "

"Says the girl with nothing to lose about the boy who has everything at stake." It would have hurt more if he had yelled, if he had thrown something or hurt her in some way. That would make the hurt she felt logical. Instead, it felt as if he had done all of those things without ever raising his voice. "If you were discovered 'helping' him tonight, the results would have been disastrous. The whole institution of the Selection would be thrown into jeopardy. The validity of any match your sister made would be called into question. And Mister Sigurdsson-Esser himself would be thrown into prison for conspiracy against the crown."

"How could it be conspiracy when it's me he was conspiring with? I am the crown!"

"You are a young, sheltered girl who can be easily manipulated. What do you know of the world or how it works? You've lived in a palace your entire life; the cruelties of this world have been hidden from you at the behest of your father, and rightly so. Mister Sigurdsson-Esser could be a spy or a foreign agent sent to do us harm. These things have have happened before. How would you know any different?"

There were so many terrible things Gabbi wanted to say, so many horrible things she could never take back. Comments about why he cared so much about the Selection when he violated its 'sanctity' with her own grandmother. Baseless abuses like he had no right to berate her when he wasn't family. Angry things meant to cut deep - as deep as the pain she felt in the pit of her stomach.

What caused the pain was the knowledge that the General was right.

"I guess I wouldn't, since you clearly think so little of me."

"Stop that. You know I think the world of you," the General admonished, fingers flexing in agitation atop his cane. "I want you to stop being so reckless!"

"What does it matter if I'm reckless? I'll be dead in three months!"

Her voice echoed off the ceiling and the walls, leaving devastation in its wake. If she had thought the news of her thievery had caused the General to age, this might just send him to his grave.

"What?"

His voice was a whisper that cracked at the end. Gabbi had never heard him so hurt. So betrayed.

"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything." Gabbi squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears, as she pulled back her duvet and got into bed. "I'll sit here, on my bed like a good little girl until I rot, just like you want."

She kept her gaze focused on the duvet. On the stacks of blankets at the foot of her bed: some knitted by her mother, some donated via fan mail, and some collected from other family members and friends. All different patterns and patchworks that held such sparkling individuality. Gabbi loved to look at them, loved to rub them between her fingers on a sleepless night and pretend the person that gifted the blanket was with her then.

She focused on the blankets, and definitely not the General getting closer and closer with each hobbled step.

He reached out his arms to hold her, and she flinched back.

"Don't touch me!"

He didn't listen. He sat down next to her and pulled her to his chest. She was ashamed to say she fought him, that she squirmed and tried to reject his affection. He didn't deserve it after calling her a traitor. But she couldn't help it. She loved him more than the world.

So, when she felt those arms around her with that familiar scent of pine and wool, she fell apart.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't tell anyone." This had been her burden to bear. Alone. So, so alone. "The doctor gave me the diagnosis and I made them keep quiet. I didn't want anyone to worry. And I thought...I thought it would be worth all the trouble to see Delia happy. To know that I had played a part in that. But it doesn't matter what I do, I keep messing everything up."

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. The General pulled her closer and held her safe.

"You're not supposed to leave before me."

His voice cracked, and Gabbi cried even harder.

"I'm sorry I keep disappointing you."

"You could never disappoint me, Gabbi girl. Never ever."

"Please don't tell Mom and Dad."

"Gabbi - "

"Please," Gabbi begged, tears soaking the General's sweater. "I want to tell them on my own, when I'm ready."

"Oh Gabbi girl," he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "No one's ever ready to say goodbye."