Trent looked over as he heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs.

It was Bea and she looked...resigned.

"Hey...you okay?" he asked.

She sighed. "Yeah, more or less. Um. I know you want to talk to me, and I know it's going to be unpleasant, and I know that I'd rather have a shitty conversation while I feel shitty instead of having a shitty conversation while I feel good, so...I'm ready if you are...where is everyone?"

"Mae's in the basement, Gregg went home, Ann, Claire, and Melody are having a girls' night doing karaoke at Miller's," Trent replied. He stood up. He'd been alternating between playing Knights of the Old Republic and editing his work that he'd pounded out during the hectic chaos of saving the house. Tabby had managed to get them pushed through a professional editor and back to him pretty quickly. "I'm not going to yell at you, Bea."

"I know, because you're a great boyfriend. Can we do this in the backyard?" she asked. "I need some fresh air."

"Yeah. Come on, babe."

He'd heard her take a shower at some point and most of the times he'd come to check on her she'd been asleep or dozing. He'd coaxed her into eating half a sandwich and some chips, but beyond that she'd had nothing else. They walked out through the backdoor and sat down on the patio chairs in the evening light. It was almost eight now.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just looked at nothing in particular ahead of them. A cool breeze blew across them.

"Okay, hit me with it," Bea said.

"I'm...frustrated, because you tried to hide something from me," Trent replied.

Bea was quiet for a few moments, then sighed. "Now I know how Mae felt. So, I genuinely mean this, and I'm not trying to use this as an excuse to get out of this talk, but...last night is kind of a blur. I remember the party, and it starts getting blurrier after that."

"What do you actually remember?" Trent asked.

"I remember...we watched a movie. An older movie. That was silly. And then I remember throwing up on the bathroom floor. And crying. I remember that now. And...my dad? And that's about it. I remember being very sad. Like hopeless."

"Yeah," Trent said, feeling a stab of pain as the very distinct sound of Bea wailing in wretched despair that she wanted her mom.

She looked at him and sat up suddenly. "Holy shit, what happened? You look like you're about to cry."

"It was extremely painful, watching you...scream and cry for your mother," he replied. "I felt so fucking bad for you, and there was nothing I could do."

"Oh. God. Shit. Yeah, that's...oh man, I'm really sorry, babe."

"It isn't your fault, Bea. That isn't what this is about. I'm not upset about what happened while you were shitfaced. I mean, I'm not happy about it, but it is what it is. I'm upset about what happened before getting shitfaced. Leading up to it. You were wrong, Bea. You shouldn't have hidden that from me, that you were planning on getting wasted, and hiding it. And that is not cool, Bea."

She stared at him, looking at once both guilty and a little defiant. "You would've stopped me," she said finally.

"Yes, I would have."

"I had to know," she replied. "I had to know what would happen."

"Why?" he asked. "Why is that so significant? Why do you have to know what would happen if you drank specifically too much? Should I do that? Should I found out what happens when I drink enough to give myself alcohol poisoning?"

"Oh come on," she snapped, standing up suddenly, "there wasn't even enough booze in that six pack to give me fucking alcohol poisoning. You're being fucking ridiculous."

Trent felt a tremor of real fear and confusion run through him. He was used to having rational conversations with them all, but especially with Bea. He didn't know what do when faced with her being like this. This was not rational. She seemed to notice that and suddenly hugged herself and sat back down.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, that was mean."

"It wasn't just mean, it was incorrect, and you know that," Trent replied. She looked up at him sharply. He realized that this wasn't working and forced himself to calm down. "Okay, this...conversation isn't going the way I had hoped it would. I'm used to you being...reasonable." He sighed. "Fuck, that came out wrong."

"No, it didn't," Bea said. She sounded tired suddenly. "You're right. You're always right. Just like she was."

"...who?"

"My mom. She was always right. I thought...maybe she was wrong this time. That her caution about my alcohol intake was unfounded. But of course she was right again!"

"Why does that bother you?" he asked, abruptly realizing that they'd unexpectedly stumbled onto some deep fracture in Bea's psyche.

"I don't know!" She stood up suddenly. "Maybe because I wanted not to be fucking perfect all the time! Maybe some stupid part of me wanted my mom to be unreasonable at least once! So my stupid rebellious thoughts didn't seem so hopelessly juvenile, even to myself as a thirteen year old! There was unity in rebellion! All the other kids I talked with had stories of their parents being utter dickheads, entitled brats who just happened to have aged out of high school and reproduced, and their suffering under their stupid, asshole parents gave them a sense of camaraderie! And I never had that! And it's a stupid thing to want! And that just left my dad, and by the time he was actually in charge, suddenly, I had to be the adult! I had to be the bigger person! Anytime we got into any kind of dispute, he'd just pull a fucking power move of 'I'm the grownup Bea do what I said' and I had to because I didn't want to provoke him into a fucking stroke or something!"

She groaned and sat down suddenly, grasping her head. "Goddamnit, I'm never fucking drinking again. I've still got a fucking headache."

"I'm sorry, babe," Trent murmured.

"No, I'm sorry, because you're right. I should have told you. I should've been responsible. Hell, I should've just been less irresponsible. So fucking stupid," she growled, but when he began to say something she raised her hand, staring at the ground. "Sorry, don't-you don't have to reassure me. I was stupid, but...my emotions are weirdly difficult to regulate right now. They're very powerful and negative and I'm kind of being overwhelmed by guilt. You put together a fucking amazing birthday party for me and got me-"

She froze and slowly raised her head. "Um...so am I imagining that you got me a handwritten note from the woman who authored Cyber Wars and a case full of every book in the series? Or did that really happen?"

"That really happened, babe."

She looked at him and suddenly began to cry. Trent immediately got up and sat down beside her, hugging her.

"I'm such a bad girlfriend," she moaned. "Fuck, fiancee. Fuck!"

"You aren't a bad fiancee, Bea," he replied.

"I don't know how you put up with this shit."

"Bea, come on, you're acting like you're this nightmare who is constantly wrecking my life or something. You're fucking amazing like ninety eight percent of the time."

She laughed softly after a moment. "And the other two percent?"

"The other two percent you're...varying levels of annoying."

She laughed again, then sniffed and wiped her eyes as she slowly disengaged from their hug. "I guess that's a pretty good track record...I still feel like a bitch, though. I did fuck up, I know that now. And I just-ugh, one of my best friends ever is essentially exiting my life, functionally speaking, and we've only got limited time left, and I pissed away an entire day being hungover because I wanted to prove how fucking tough I am and then just proved that alcohol and me just do not mix."

"At least you know now, right? Like, you're really not going to drink anymore after this, right? I mean, I can understand getting tipsy, but-"

"No, you were right the first time," she said firmly. "I'm not drinking booze ever again. I mean I didn't even really particularly like being tipsy, I'd much rather be stoned. Way better feeling on all accounts." She looked at him suddenly. "I know this is going to sound weird, but this is an authentic request: will you just let me feel guilty? I understand that you love me and you don't want me to feel bad things, and that you forgive me-" she paused. "You didn't actually say-"

"I forgive you, Bea. I accept your apology and I forgive you, just so we're clear on that."

"Okay, good. I understand all that and believe me I appreciate it, I truly do, but I did something stupid and wrong, and I did it knowingly, and I should feel bad for at least a little while about it. Let me do something to make it up, please," she said.

"Well, all right," he replied, because that did make a certain kind of sense. If their roles were reversed, he'd want something a little more tangible than an 'I forgive you' to feel like he'd made some penance for his massive fuckup. "I'll see what I can think of."

"Thank you," she whispered, then groaned. "Ugh, I still feel so shitty…" They both looked over as the backdoor to Mae's parent's house opened up and Candy came out holding something small that Trent couldn't quite make out.

"Is now a bad time? I have something for you, Bea," she said.

"Now's fine, Candy," Bea replied.

"Okay." She came over into their backyard. "I popped over and visited while Trent was gone and got all caught up on some of what happened, and I talked a little with Allan. I'm sorry you're feeling so poorly, Bea, but...I think your father wanted you to have this." She held up a shot glass filled with a murky red substance.

"...what is it?" Bea asked cautiously.

"Tabasco sauce mixed with some pepper and crushed up aspirin and a few drops of honey," Candy said.

"What the fuck?" Bea replied immediately. "That sounds...horrible."

"Oh I'm sure it is," Candy replied, "but your father was telling us stories last night about old times with him and your mother. He very specifically told us your mother's hangover cure. I think he told it to us in the hopes that I'd pass it onto you after you'd...suffered enough."

"What?" Trent asked.

"I think your father wanted you to suffer through a hangover enough that you'd swear off drinking. I also think he was reluctant to share the hangover cure with you because if you had a way to counteract the hangover, you'd be more tempted to get shitfaced more regularly," Candy continued.

Bea sighed. "Well we don't have to worry about that ever again. I'm done drinking. Full stop. No arguments. I'll stick with weed."

"That's a good idea. Alcohol can be fun, but fun can turn to...not so fun a little too quickly, like making your way down an ice hill. It's all too easy to slip and slide painfully all the way to the bottom. Weed is...well, there's not really any danger of that. Do you still want it?" she asked.

"You aren't fucking with me, right?" Bea asked.

Candy laughed. "No, dear, I wouldn't do that. And I don't think your father was messing with me, either."

"Well, give it here then," Bea said. She accepted the shot glass, sniffed it cautiously, made a face, stared at it unhappily for a moment, then threw it back and swallowed it all. "Oh, God! That's fucking awful!" she said, coughing as she passed it back.

"I bet," Candy agreed, accepting it.

Bea groaned and stood up, continuing to cough. "I need-I need something to wash that down. Ugh, sorry, thanks Candy."

"You're welcome, Bea." They watched her go inside and shut the door, then faced each other. "I heard about Mae and Gregg, I take it everything turned out all right?"

"Yeah, I got the tire changed...Jacob came by. We had a discussion," Trent said.

"...about what?" Candy asked, her eyes widening a little.

"Well...what do you think we had a discussion about?" Trent asked.

"I...don't know," she murmured, her tail twitching behind her. "It could be...you know...anything."

Trent sighed softly. "You forgot to tell him about the council."

"The coun...oh! Oh I'm sorry!"

"Yeah. He's gonna noodle on it. How about you?"

"Um...still noodling myself. And sorry, I was...I was very distracted."

"Yeah, I'll bet. From the sound of it you were quite distracted."

She stared at him for a moment. "Did...did you and Jacob discuss our...our private matters?" she asked, her voice low.

"I don't know what you mean, Candy," he replied. Her eyes widened a little further and her tail thrashed. "Yeah, it's a little annoying being on the other side, huh?"

"Trent, you...have such an ego," she whispered.

"Do I?"

"Yes! I am old enough to be your mother! You should not feel this comfortable...fucking with me," she whispered harshly.

He couldn't help but chuckle, just a little. "I don't know, I think that's your fault, Candy," he replied, a little nonchalantly. "You've fucked with me often enough...not that I'm complaining."

Candy continued staring at him, twisting her lips in something that might have been a smile, like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her tail thrashed a bit more. All at once, Trent became aware of the fact that Candy was aroused, and that he was actually dancing at the edge of an abyss, and the look on her face said that she was dangerously close to either punching him or kissing him. How in the hell had he gotten here? And so abruptly?

He cleared his throat and took an actual step back. "I should go inside and see to Bea."

"Should you know?" Candy murmured.

"Yes. Yeah. Definitely."

"You don't want to stick around? Maybe come visit in my house?" she asked. Now he stared at her with surprise. She stared back, then slowly lost her smile. "Has Mae...spoken to you?"

"About what?" he asked.

"I...oh. Dear. You'd know about what if she had. Goodness." She seemed to make an effort to contain herself. "This is getting out of control. Goodnight, Trent," she said, and abruptly turned around and walked away.

Trent watched her go, deeply confused by the exchange. Once she had gone back into her house, he spent a moment looking up at the sky. The evening light was slowly bleeding from it, fading into twilight, darkness not far away now.

He sighed heavily, shook his head, and went back inside.