We're finished at Al's, slightly ahead of schedule. I'll admit, doing the pneumatics last week was one of the most interesting things here. It's kinda like hydraulics, or electronics too. The lines are wiring, the switches are mechanical, and I guess the big air tanks are like resistors, and the compressor is a battery. Kind of, anyway. There are also things like steppers, or gates—or I'm not sure what they'd be in electronics—transistors, maybe? Anyway, things that will only actuate after a previous action is completed. Maurice explained it in detail when he was getting me to lay everything out and secure the lines under the machine frames.

It's cool watching it all come together. But now it's the afternoon again, and we're packing up. Properly. A full sweep for any rogue tools, signing off any incomplete paperwork, and also generating a final report—well Kristoff is doing that part. Back to the workshop from tomorrow, but I get the feeling we'll be seeing this place again. The other engineers are pretty chill, and they've got some interesting equipment here. We'll just deal with any overflow—and it's good, because January is usually a quiet month for us.

We also have a contract to do the guarding upgrades I was sketching the other day, and more besides. Al joked with us that it was still cheaper than re-training everyone who drives a forklift. Given the number of forkies we saw while the plant was operating, I actually believe it. Mostly. A lot of the plant equipment is getting old, and the guards were installed back then, which was fine, but now, they're not quite up to code, and I also recall overhearing something about a safety audit—so maybe Al's trying to get in ahead of that, so there's less to do after.

It only takes a little while to get from Al's back to the workshop, despite that, it's still late, so we decide to just unload the van, and we can properly pack out and sort everything tomorrow. Give the workshop a once-over as well. Check our consumables, things like grinding discs, blades for the drop saw, welding gases. Just do a big supply run. Maybe new boots for us as well, as they're starting to show their age now. I close the main roller door, then duck out the little side entrance, locking it behind me.

The trip home is completely uneventful—even with school just starting again—which I find odd, but not enough to comment on to Kristoff. A text from Joan, asking if Tina can stay over again—despite the fact Joan has sword-fighting tonight. I actually have to think that one over, because even with school being back, has the group actually started again for the year? In the end I text Joan back and just ask. Next week, so yes, it's okay if her girlfriend stays over again.

They've been spending a lot of time together—a lot more than usual—so I had to ask. Turns out Tina's changing schools this year, because there's one that's just a short walk from her new place, and it is quite a drive to get to Universal Heights. So the two of them are spending as much time together as they can, while they can. Completely missing the point that they can still do this while going to different schools. Teenagers. But I understand.

I make my way inside as Kristoff parks the van in the garage. I can hear raised voices. An argument? Shouting. Something serious. The sudden quiet is shocking. I'm still standing just inside the door, desperately hoping they're not breaking up over something so trivial. It's hard to mend a broken heart. But if something has happened, I'll support them—both of them—as best as I can.

That's when I hear heavy footsteps above, and a door slamming. I can hear sobbing, and I as I look around I see Tina sit at the top of the stairs, short hair falling across her face, one hand pressed against her cheek. She looks guilty when she sees me, and very worried, but I have no idea why.

"She is here." She shouts in the direction of Joan's room, then slowly makes her way down the stairs to me. She stops just on the landing, looking up to meet my eyes, and letting her hand fall from a reddened cheek. "Miss… Miss Bergman?" Her voice is small, and I hate how it sounds. "I have to tell you some things."

"I think you both owe me some answers, but before anything else, are you actually okay?" I try to get a good look at her cheek. "Do you want me to call your mom?"

"You—you'd do that?" She seems very surprised, and still somewhat apprehensive.

"If Joan hit you; if you didn't want to stay because you didn't feel safe, I'd never try to keep you here."

"Joan's right, you're a cool mom." Tina stares past me, into the lounge room. "Can we sit there, please?"

"Of course." We both sit. Kristoff comes through the door at that moment, checking everything is okay. I point at the stairs. "Upstairs, get her side of it." He just nods and heads up. "And you, Tina, can you tell me what happened?"

"Do I have to?" Weirdly, it's not a challenge. It's almost like…

"Are you scared of Joan doing something?" God, I hope it's not what I think it is. Please don't let it be that.

"No!" She looks up, afraid others might have heard. "Well, a little bit, but…"

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I do not like where this is going.

"I'm more afraid of… umm, if I say… and then, what happens to her?"

Maybe it's better; maybe it's worse. The tension is starting to eat me up inside, and I think even Tina can see it on my face. I take a deep breath, somewhat shaky, because right now I am both deeply worried for Tina, and furious with my daughter. Another breath, and I ask the critical question: "Did Joan hit you?"

"Yes." The honesty in that reply is almost shocking in its sincerity and weight. How can a fifteen year old speak like that?

"Is this the first time?" I ask it before even thinking.

"No."

My mask crumbles, and I turn to shout up the stairs. "Joan. Isobel. Bergman!"

Tina's saying something behind me, but I can't quite catch it. I hear a door, and stumbling footsteps. Joan's rushing down the stairs, and I see the exact second her foot catches, sock slipping just a bit too far off the step. It's too late, and even with her arms out, I know it's gonna hurt. She tumbles down two more steps, slamming into the wall next to the landing, then sprawls out, half down the landing itself. There's a lot of swearing, and somehow, Tina's there before I am. Tina's face is stern but apologetic. Joan's wincing, but I can see the shame on her face. The tears welling up that have nothing to do with her tumble.

No jokes this time. I look my daughter straight in the eye, and she shrinks back from it, not bothering to move yet.

"Joan, did you hit Tina?"

"Yes."

"And…?" I leave it hanging. Will she tell me?

"It happened before, I was—" Tina cuts her off.

"Miss Bergman, she told me to tell you, if she ever did it again." I look between them, not quite parsing the information. Tina looks down at Joan, stroking her hair. "I told your mom, but it was hard."

"I'm glad you did," Joan finally starts to pull herself right way up, wincing and grimacing, then curls up in the corner of the landing. "I can't be that person. I can't. But if I did… and again… and now I'm scared. Scared of being…being like…" That's not just fear. She's terrified. "…being like Him."

And I know exactly who she means, and why she's so afraid. It breaks my heart to see it. At the top of the stairs I see Kristoff, who obviously just caught that last part. Down here with me, Tina is cautiously approaching Joan, just sitting next to her. Braver than I could be. I let them have this moment. There will be repercussions, and they both know it. I motion for Kristoff to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom. Joan has a few scratches from her tumble, and is probably going to be sporting some very colourful bruises. I'm impressed nothing's broken.

Kristoff's back a moment later, and opens the kit on the landing, placing it between the three of them. When he starts to help, Joan just shakes her head. She doesn't let me, either. So Kristoff steps past them, gripping my shoulders in a brief gesture before standing at my side. Tina just sits there, cross-legged, in front of Joan. A cotton swab in one hand, and bottle of antiseptic in the other. Joan's still all curled up in the corner, too ashamed to even look up now.

I look to Kristoff, then to her. "Should we be here?"

"Yes." But it's sad. Almost defeated.

So I watch, for once, able to hold my tongue. Kristoff is there to hold my hand. I guess this is new territory for him too. Tina just sits there, dabbing at the cuts with the cotton swab, not forcing Joan to do anything. I don't understand. There's a pretty bad one on her arm, and Tina gently presses the swab against it, then slowly grabs a dressing and piece of gauze, then wraps a couple of turns of bandage around Joan's arm. I can see the care there. Devotion. With barely a touch, she makes Joan look up, just so she can see if there's anything else that needs cleaning. A cut above her brow. Tina leans in to kiss it, blushes, then swabs it with antiseptic and puts a band-aid over it.

Then she turns her cheek to Joan, letting her touch the welt there—much faded now. Joan grabs a salve from the first aid kit, kissing all over the mark she made before very gently rubbing the salve over it. Throughout it all, Tina was still, but not from fear. I don't know how I could know that but I did. Then Joan closes the kit, and slowly stands. Tina stands with her, their hands together. They are defiant, and determined, but also worried. I can see it in the lines across their brows. The way those smiles don't reach their eyes.

Joan turns to Kristoff first. "Can it—Can it just be mom this time, please?"

"Okay then snowflake." He nods, pats me on the shoulder, and leaves, heading for the kitchen.

Tina turns to me then, fire in her eyes. "We have to talk about it, don't we?"

"Yes," I agree automatically. "But I don't know where to start anymore." I look between them, seeing what they really have in each other. "I honestly don't. Not after seeing that. I don't think anyone would."

"Thanks… I think?" They're both staring at me.

"It's hard to be kind when you've been hurt like that," I gesture for them to sit somewhere amongst our couches. "Especially to the person that hurt you. Even more to trust like that again. Yes, I am angry with you, Joan—but I'm also proud that you're taking responsibility for it. Even if you did kind of dump it on someone else."

"That's not fair," Tina protests, her arm already around Joan's shoulders. "Not really. She told Mister Bergman after the first time."

Now that is a revelation.

"I… I didn't think I could tell you—admit it to you, mom." Joan is looking right at me. "After knowing what he was like, and if I was becoming like that too—I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't."

"I also hit back this time, like she told me to," Tina's looking at me, earnest but worried. I can see Joan touching the bandaid above her eyebrow. "Just… maybe my nails were a bit long, or I moved wrong, or something. I didn't mean to do that."

I see it as a Joan sneaks in a kiss. "I know you didn't. But she didn't even know." Another kiss.

"No, I didn't." I'm perfectly honest. "And I wouldn't, if you hadn't told me. But I guess it's time for some harder questions, about why this even happened."

"It's stupid, really." They look at each other. It's funny, seeing them realising they're on the same page about this. "I probably overreacted."

"Well, I did tell you Bex kissed me." Tina's blush is very clear. "And that I liked it. And kissed her back. But you know the whole story. You know why we did that."

"I do," Joan pulls her into a loose hug. "I kind of understand, but… maybe I don't understand enough."

"I guess, I mean, you're only a few months older than me."

"Now, if you two wouldn't mind giving me some context?"

"Oh." And Tina's just looking at me, rabbit in the headlights expression plastered across her face. "I kind of kissed another girl. She was getting over a lot, so I was comforting her, and she reached out, and… things happened. But I'm really confused, because I love Joan, and then it feels like I might kinda be falling for Bex as well, and I… well… I told my mom about it, and she doesn't really have any idea about this. Said I should choose who was most important… but… but what if I can't? What if I don't want to?"

And here I thought this would be easy. Oh no, they're both looking at me. I let out a little laugh. "Well, I guess I did just say that."

"Tink's mom shouldn't make her choose like that." Joan's looking between the two of us. "But I… I don't know. I want to be the one you choose Tink, how can I…?"

I hold up a hand, an idea slowly forming in my mind. "Quiet, please. I need to ask you two some tough questions. Or maybe you don't know the answers yet, and that's perfectly okay. But I want you to think before answering."

"More than you would, mom?" Sass, but I deserve it.

"A lot more." I look at Tina. "You too, though I think you've always been the more reasonable one."

Tina smiles at me, then shifts about to sit cross-legged. Joan does the same next to her.

"So, Tina, you love Joan, but you think you're falling for this other girl, as well?"

She just nods.

"And you don't want to choose. You don't want them to make you choose."

"No—or yes?" I facepalm.

"Sorry, that wasn't very clear, was it?" I take a breath and try again. "You don't want to choose; you want both of them?"

"Yes. But…" She's looking at me, confused. So is Joan.

"You have no idea if the adults will let you?"

"I guess that's part of it, but also… do people do that? Can you have more than one 'proper' girlfriend—I mean, at the same time, without cheating and… stuff?"

"First, yes," I hold up my hand so I can count on my fingers for them. "Second, also yes. Third, this is where the hard questions come in—and they might be a bit uncomfortable, so you don't have to answer them to me, but you'll need to tell the girls involved, okay?"

"I…I guess?"

"Mom, what are you getting at?" Joan's looking shiftily—and uneasily—between me and Tina.

"This: Tina, are there things with this other girl… umm, Bex? right—that you can't get in your relationship with Joan." I hold up my hand before they answer. "Take your time; and the same question applies in reverse—are there things in your relationship with Joan that Bex can't offer you?"

I turn to Joan.

"And now, you, baby, if Tina is in love with you and Bex, how would you feel about it? Could you accept it—or better, accept Bex too?"

They're both very, very quiet. Looking between each other, then at me, then brows furrowed in thought as they stare into the distance. I sit back on the couch. Maybe this is just too much for them to process. Part of me wonders if it's even appropriate to be talking about this with them, but I had to do something, right? I just hope it's the right thing. I'm just glad they're more reasonable than the mess I was at fifteen. Maybe… maybe I am a pretty good mom. And I still think of you, Elsa—wondering if you could handle something like this, with your history of failed and burnt-out relationships before we found each other. Could be you'd have wiser advice for hearts.

Tina's looking between both of us, wavering between confused and distraught. I see Joan put an arm around her, but she shrugs it off. I sit up again, facing her, and I try for a soft smile.

"You don't have to answer—you don't have to know." She's looking at me now, and I see the way they're holding hands. "But think about it, even if it's hard. Even if… even if the answers might break your heart. I'm sure Joan, me, Bex, and your mom can help you try and put the pieces back together. You can still be friends. You'll still be welcome here—I guess when Joan cools off if it does happen that way."

The way they look at each other there. "We'd still be friends, right, Tink?" The worry in my daughter's voice. It hurts.

Tina sniffles slightly, then playfully punches Joan on the arm. "I'm an 'evil little pixie', not a monster."

"I still need to apologise though." She looks down, then back at Tina. "I need to make it right. I have to earn your forgiveness." She takes a deep breath before continuing, gesturing vaguely towards the stairs. "And I'd like to do that where it's just you me, if that's okay with you."

"You just don't want to look soft in front of your mom."

"Oh, she knows." Joan winks at me. "But I'm thinking of more than just words…"

"Oh… oh." The pitch in Tina's voice, and the way she's blushing. "Maybe we should go back upstairs then."

"Yeah, let them cook dinner in peace and judge us for being horny, emotional teenagers."

I have no words. I really don't. So brazenly honest. But I watch as Joan attempts to actually carry Tina up the stairs, pausing two steps from the landing. Because I can see it in her eyes. She knows exactly what I was talking about the other night, carrying her up to bed.

And the last thing I hear, in the best, most petulantly mocking tone I have ever heard from either of them: "Did you just call me fat?"

They'll be okay. They can figure out the answers later, and just be themselves now. It also gives me time to figure out how—or whether—Joan should be punished for what she did. Honestly, because I am so lost right now, it's not even funny. We… we never had issues like that. I don't think Kristoff did. I know I need to talk to Cara about it, at least—but I don't even know if I should wait for Tina to do that first, or if it's something I need to be responsible for, or even Joan…

I swear, I'm utterly hopeless sometimes.

"No, you're not," Kristoff's there, kissing my hair. "You just haven't figured it out yet. I might give Bulda a call though, she knows relationships."

"Oh no…" The amount of melodrama in my voice…

"I heard most of it," He smiles as I turn. "But you didn't need my help. You probably don't need Bulda's either." Another smile, wry this time "But I do need to catch up with my adoptive mother, it's been a while. I'm sure you can handle dinner. Or order us something."

"Yeah, I'm not going upstairs to ask."

"Very wise."

"Go," I point my thumb over my shoulder, towards his office. "I'll figure something out for dinner. And dessert. Mmmm… especially dessert."

And Kristoff just laughs as I head into the kitchen. I can de-stress a bit by baking. Or… and I smile, remembering those times. Pancakes. Pancakes, and far, far too much sugary stuff for dessert. The world can wait—there are pancakes to be made.